Loving Neighbors

I awoke to the sound of Linda’s breathing; it was soft and rhythmic, and the heat of her body radiated beneath the single cotton sheet that was pulled lightly over our naked bodies.

I felt a little staleness in my mouth, from a little too much wine. And then as I blinked back the sleep, a single ribbon of daylight splitting the crack in the bedroom curtains, the focus of the night before began to sharpen, and it make me love Linda even more. I pulled in tight, spooning into her from behind, and as she stirred I kissed the back of her neck and reached to cup a warm, bare breast.

I nudged into her, gently, and she nudged back. There was no more wonderful way to greet the new day, and as I thought some more about our night, spent in delicious exploration with our best friends, I felt a swelling down deep.

Linda felt it, too, as I gently rolled her nipple between my thumb and forefinger, and she welcomed me by lifting a thigh and reaching down between her legs, taking me in her hand and guiding me into her folds that were moist and warm and wanting.

* * *

We had known Michele and Alan for a dozen years, from the day Linda had brought them a housewarming lasagna and a bottle of red to celebrate their move in next door. We soon learned that we had much in common with them: we were all busy with our careers, and we enjoyed the same music, films and food. We spent considerable time with them, especially in the summer, on our back deck, privately framed by tall trees, or theirs.

But nothing, ever, led me to believe we would experience what we had last night. Slipping into Linda’s inviting body now, enveloped by her heat and wetness, I was still remembering every last detail, and I suspect she was, too.

The wine had flowed freely, another generous sampling of Alan’s newest find, and with our yard softly illuminated by two strings of decklights and the stars overhead, our bordeaux-brave talk had drifted from nonsense to naughty.

Linda and I felt absolutely comfortable with this couple. More than one night in bed we had floated the idea of a little safe fun with them, wondering if they were “the type” -- a curious thought for us, who hadn’t ever explored any kind of swinging lifestyle.

“I keep threatening Alan that I’m going to get my boobs done,” Michele was saying, laughing, taking our talk to another risque level. But just two inches and one cup size.”

Michele was truly lovely, lithe and firm and wonderfully proportioned, in no need of a bra or surgical enhancement. Now, as often before, I was not averting my eyes from her nipples, which were practically always erect and pressing against the tight T-shirts she favored.

I figured it was her wine talking, looking at the two empty bottles on the table, and I played along.

“So that would be to what, Michele, 36C?”

She shot me a look of mock horror and amusement, blended neatly into one expression.

“How did you know that?” she asked, raising an eyebrow, happy I'd risen to the bait.

I felt myself blushing furiously. Talk about a wild guess; I figured she was very similar to my wife, so I had merely added two inches and one cup size to Linda’s measurements.

“Yes, Brian,” Linda asked mischievously, milking my discomfort. “How did you know that?”

“We compare statistics,” Alan chipped in helpfully. “There’s a lot to be learned by bringing in the laundry from the line, and reading the tags.”

“Tell you what,” Linda said to Michele, leaning closer to her friend, teasing two husbands. “When you go, I’ll join you. I’d like mine done, too, because I want mine to look like these.”

With those words she reached to the bottom of Michele’s snug T-shirt and gave it a smooth tug upward, revealing to us all Michele’s braless bosom.

A good thing the crickets were chirping, because neither Alan nor I could find a word.

My eyes, like Linda's, were glued to Michele, as though I were a schoolboy who’d not seen breasts before. I was flustered, aroused, unable to look away. That is, until Michele did precisely the same thing to Linda, baring her heavenly bust to the night.

“Why would you want to change these, sweetie?” she said to my wife. “They are lovely.”

Alan and I sat there like idiots, wordlessly, and I know he was staring at my wife, as I was ogling his. I felt a great arousal below my waist, and as I did, Michele dipped her finger in her glass and traced a circle of bordeaux around Linda’s puckered, erect right nipple. She leaned down and suckled the small bud clean, then pulled the T-shirt back into place on my wife’s body.

The women were playing us like violins, and to the dance music from the boombox at the corner of the deck, they got to their feet and began a sexy bump and grind, turned on equally by each another and the effect they clearly were having on us.

The dance became a sultry strip tease, and their shirts and shorts and thongs were soon gone, eased off by one other in an incredibly erotic fashion. Alan and I were mesmerized, that is, when we weren’t cheering them on.

They warmed to our encouragement, and their hands wandered daringly, hinting contact, then touching each other every so briefly, then lingering, fondling each other, squeezing and pinching, running softly over the curves of their breasts and shapely behinds. On the last chord of the song, Linda and Michele faced each other, took each other’s face in their hands and they kissed. It was more than a peck. Much more.

I had never been so aroused in my life, and by the sound of Alan fighting for breath, neither had he. I had never seen this side of my wife, nor did I much know that it existed. Perhaps she didn’t, either, but the mood of the night and her easy, warm friendship with Michele and comfort with Alan had erased any shyness.

The two women fell into our laps, laughing hysterically, naked as the day they were born but a whole lot more womanly.

“What have we here?” Michele asked Alan, giving him a playful squeeze through his nylon shorts. “Seems my lover likes what he’s seen...”

“Same as what we have here, Michele,” Linda replied, squeezing me likewise.

“Hon, you're not comfy like this,” Michele said to her husband, leaving him to read between the lines.

I could hear Alan gulp from three feet away as Michele slipped out of his lap and sat provocatively naked in her chair. Linda wasn’t far behind.

“You too, baby,” my wife said to me, her smile lighting up the night.

Buzzed by the wine and our bold partners, Alan and I slowly shrugged out of our T-shirts and stood, a little rubber-legged. I’d seen a thousand men in the showers at the gym, but never like this. And never in this swollen state had I exposed myself to another man. Nor, good God, to his wife.

With our thumbs hooked at the waistbands of our casual shorts, Michele stopped us in our tracks.

“No, not like that!” she scolded. “Linda and I helped each other. I think it’s only fair that you two do the same.”

I looked at my wife for a signal -- any signal. She was just smiling and nodding.

“Go ahead, Brian,” she said. “Don’t best friends always help each other out?”

“I’ll get you for this,” I growled, trying to hide my unexplainable arousal at the idea. I drained the rest of my wine glass, happy for the liquid courage.

And with that I stepped behind Alan and began to slide his nylon shorts and briefs down his hips, crouching as I did. They stopped for an instant, obviously impeded by something hard, but with a little insistence I got them moving again. I was crouching behind him, sliding them slowly to his knees, warming to the task when I saw the look in Linda’s eyes: wide and lustful.

“Omigosh...” she managed as I stood once more.

Alan stepped out of his shorts, buck naked, his legs trembling. He was moving as if in time to the music in the background but I think he was terrified more than anything. If he was, I was glad I had company.

He turned to face me, and anyone who says a man doesn’t check out another naked man is a liar. I unashamedly looked down to see what was impressing my wife. Alan was semi-erect, thickening and growing full, bobbing in involuntary reflex. Linda had long said I was nicely equipped, but next to Alan, I felt like a boy. Dare I say he was magnificent, and by now I was fully erect in my shorts, aching to be released.

Linda was applauding now, and Michele was adding a low wolf-whistle of appreciation. Alan ducked behind me quickly, eager to take himself out of the spotlight, and as he moved in close, he stabbed me with a hot sword. He was getting harder by the minute.

Now he duplicated my actions of a few moments earlier, and he too encountered resistance as he pulled down my shorts and briefs. My eyes locked on those of my smiling wife, but just until I felt my erection spring gratefully free. Then I looked at Michele, who was stroking Linda's thigh, and she nodded approvingly with a smile of deep mischief.

Another heavy beat was throbbing from the boombox, and Alan and I thought there was nothing we could do now to deepen our embarrassment. So we began to dance, horribly and clumsily. My best friend very soon was in the spirit of it, and we began our own physical ballet for the benefit of our lusty, hooting wives. It was hardly the sensual strip-tease of Linda and Michele, but it surely had the desired effect, given their reaction.

We ground our butts against each other and pirouetted this way and that. Then, throwing caution to the wind, Alan reached out and helped himself to my cock, taking a few loose strokes as we danced. If our wives could fondle each other, why not their husbands?

The shock of another man’s hand on me passed quickly, and I went with it, enjoying Alan's skilful touch. I repaid the favor, too, though I was barely able to wrap my fingers around his girth. I locked eyes with Michele as I gave her mate a very brief handjob, and now she was speechless.

We moved like this to the end of the song, flirting, teasing, touching, then returned to our chairs. I don’t think I had been more turned on in my life.

Evidently, our wives shared the feeling.

“These cannot be wasted,” Linda said to her friend, nodding at the very conspicuous arousal displayed by the two men who had just sat back down.

“You’re quite right. Trade you?” Michele said, and her wink to my wife didn’t stun me as much as Linda’s reply.

“Yes.”

There were no inhibitions left, not now. Alan and I settled back, not sure where this was going. There was no doubting how turned on we were, not judging by what thrust up between our thighs.

“Baby?” Linda said to me, as if asking my permission. She needn’t have.

I nodded to her without a word; we had privately discussed the possibilities that existed with our friends, and at this moment, everything was as it should be -- need, love, caring, respect. And four completely naked, absolutely stirred adults.

The women moved to us and both settled to their knees between our legs -- Michele between mine, Linda between Alan’s.

“Watch your own wives,” Michele said in firm instruction, and that only turned up the thermometer even more.

I looked over to Linda, who was studying the challenge presented by the big, meaty shaft that pointed at her. Realizing it was too big for one hand to stroke, she used both, slowly at first, then a little more quickly. She looked up to me and smiled.

“Do you want to see your wife suck your friend, honey?” she asked me sweetly.

I was just about to say yes when I felt my own cock swallowed almost whole by Michele. I gasped at the sensation of being deep-throated for the first time in my life, then I thought my entire core was afire when I saw Linda open wide and take half of Alan’s cock into her mouth.

The entire scene was surreal. I was watching my wife giving incredible head to my best friend while his wife was devouring me. They clearly had no interest in lovemaking, not by the way they were increasing their pace now. It was a cocksucking contest, pure and simple. They had planned this all along, and Alan and I were nearly lifted out of our chairs as they worked their hot, wet mouths on us.

We were transfixed by our wives’ eagerness, gobbling and slurping at us. I would cheat for an instant and look down at Michele, seeing her head bobbing up and down in my lap, but I was more intent on Linda, seeing her trying to work Alan’s massive organ into her mouth. She’d stop for an instant, grinning up at me, and her fists would massage his fat, slick shaft, his loose balls bouncing and slapping the heel of her hand before she’d plunge her face down again.

I was fighting for breath, as was Alan, and what we were watching and had done had us both very close within just a few minutes. I felt the familiar ache deep in my loins and knew I was almost there, but all I could do was watch Linda. Alan was coming, of that I was certain. My wife’s cheeks were puffed out, her eyes wide as he exploded with a howl.

She forced her head down but couldn’t contain what was throbbing into her mouth, so she drew back. Alan was still spurting violently, one thick, white rope after another splashing into Linda’s hair and onto her shoulders. She was a creamy, gorgeous mess.

That finished me off, at the instant I felt my cockhead practically dusting Michele’s tonsils. She nearly choked on the first spurt and she too lifted away, jerking the rest from me onto her skin, massaging my come into her breasts. Michele and Linda were encouraging each other, giggling, gasping, talking dirty for their own benefit and for ours.

“Tie?” Linda finally asked brightly.

“Tie,” Michele replied. She turned to my wife and they kissed, openly, pressing their tongues into each other’s mouths, sharing the yield of their very happy, quite exhausted husbands who slumped back in their chairs.

For another hour we drank wine and talked about a very special, quite extraordinary friendship, Linda and Michele having squeezed into a single chair, petting each other lovingly.

Our neighbors left at 2 a.m., crossing our private yard to their place next door, holding hands.

We were all still naked.

* * *

Linda pressed harder back into me, meeting my thrusts. It was a lazy way to make love, but it seemed the perfect way to enjoy each other.

I came meekly, still spent from a few hours earlier, and grazed on my wife’s shoulder in the afterglow. She was almost purring, blissfully happy to be wrapped tight in my arms.

“Baby... when?” I asked her. “When did you and Michele cook up tonight?”

She rolled over and kissed me, then smiled wickedly.

“A month ago,” she whispered. “In bed.”