tagLoving WivesOne Night At A Party...Ch. 1

One Night At A Party...Ch. 1

byquinn rogan©

One Night At A Party (The True Conclusion - Chapter 1)

When I woke, it was with that instant realisation that comes to you, sometimes, in the instant of waking, that you've made a complete idiot of yourself, and you've got a lot of ground to cover before you get back to where you started...

The events of last night came back to me, in a rush, and I felt a hot flush of embarrassment wash over me. I turned my head and breathed a silent sigh of relief when I saw that Mary was not beside me.

It had been a mistake – a huge mistake – to start on the whisky, after my chat with Billy. What was it they said – "increases the desire – kills the performance"?

When I had pursued Mary into the house, after her unwitting exposure to the dog walker, she had been standing, stripped to the waist, in the hall, flushed and expectant, her eyes bright, lips parted, breasts cupped in her hands, nipples erect...

I, too, had been erect – very erect. I think I had had a hard-on since my first sight of Billy dancing with Mary, more than two hours ago. I kissed Mary very hard on the mouth, my hands pushing hers aside as I grabbed her breasts. I pushed her back against the wall and lifted her short skirt. My hand plunged between her thighs – her panties were soaking and my fingers pushed the yielding material into her slit.

The underside of my cock was pressed against her thigh, and I rubbed it against her. Then she moaned – and, instantly, I had a mental picture of Billy feeling her aroused moistness last summer. Had she moaned this way then? If she had – the thought was the final trigger for me!

Too late, I leapt back. The eruption had started, and there was no way it was stopping, now. I bent over, clutching my pulsating cock, through my trousers, and groaned, helplessly, as the darkening stain of spreading semen spread over the front of my tan slacks.

I looked up and met Mary's eyes. I couldn't read her expression – a mixture of disappointment, sympathy and frustration, I thought, but probably, mainly, frustration. In these few post-ejaculatory moments of sexual indifference, I didn't even notice her naked breasts...

In any case, it was then that another tragedy struck, as the after-effects of the whisky and two hours of constant arousal caught up with me, and another eruption heralded its imminent arrival – this time, from my stomach!

I rushed to the bathroom, but didn't quite make it as far as the toilet before nature took its course...

It didn't take long for my stomach to void itself on the bathroom floor, and I didn't feel too bad, once it had done so. I was splashing cold water on my face, when there was a knock on the bathroom door.

"Are you OK?" Her voice was neutral.

"Yes, thanks," I replied. "I'm – sorry, Mary."

"Yes. Well, I'm off to bed."

I listened to her departing footsteps and waited until the bedroom closed before I went to the kitchen, to get a bucket and cloths to clear up the bathroom. I made sure it was done properly, then took off all my clothes and rinsed them through before putting them in the washing-basket.

Then I cleaned my teeth, vigorously, and decided to have a shower. It was while the water was cascading down on me that my thoughts returned to the night's events, and disclosures, and my cock began to stiffen again. Perhaps, Mary would still be awake, and I might still be able to rescue the position...

I towelled myself dry, then, tentatively, opened the bedroom door. I could see Mary's head on the pillow, her body curled up on its left side, in her usual foetal sleeping position. I slipped in behind her, shivering a little as my naked body made contact with the cold sheets on my side of the bed. I moved against her, and felt the unwelcoming feel of warm pyjamas against my bare chest and legs.

In the complex game that is marriage, there are some signals that are instantly recognisable, and my hopes died. I turned away from Mary, and tried to compose myself for sleep...

But sleep would not come. My mind was assailed with images of Billy's hand unfastening the front of Mary's bra and sliding over her breast, toying with her engorged nipple. I thought about Billy's invitation to 'cop a feel' of Sheila's tits, but it didn't compare.

Then, I thought about fondling Billy's wife's breasts, while he did it to Mary, in the same room, with me watching... My hand slid down to grip my swelling penis.

What if they had turned up, tonight, just as Mary and I were... I began to fantasise about inviting them in, reluctantly, for a drink, and finding out that Billy had told Sheila about his adventures with Mary, and his conversation with me. Somehow, the conversation would lead to Billy exposing Sheila's breasts, then me doing the same to Mary. Then, I would start feeling Sheila up, and Billy would do the same to Mary – and I would watch!

I don't know when the fantasy turned into a dream – or if it ever did. Somehow, it led me into unconsciousness, and sleep – and the inevitable return, this morning, to wakefulness, and apprehension.

My first thought, that my fantasy had actually happened, was the worst one, and the relief when I realised that Billy and Sheila were not in the guest bedroom, with the inevitable huge embarrassment of 'the morning after', was enormous.

But the reality – my premature ejaculation, and subsequent violent sickness – was not a whole lot better. I could hear Mary moving about the house, now, and I dragged myself out of bed to try to smooth things over with her.

In the event, it turned out OK. She was pleased that I hadn't left a mess in the bathroom, and the disastrous end to our sexual encounter wasn't mentioned. Just before lunchtime, the boys returned from their grandparents, and things returned to normal. I did a few odd jobs around the house, then we had our Sunday dinner, then watched TV for a couple of hours before the kids went to bed. They had been allowed to stay up late the previous night, so it was only a matter of minutes before Mary was able to confirm that they were both fast asleep.

I settled down to watch a historical drama on the box, while Mary, I thought, went into the kitchen. After about five minutes, suddenly the screen went black.

I looked up, and Mary was standing by the lounge door, completely naked above the waist, the TV remote control dropping from her hand. She smiled at me.

"A bit of unfinished business, Charlie," she announced, in the silence which followed the TV switch-off.

Her left hand was stretched upwards, holding the doorjamb, while her right was cupped under one of her breasts, holding her nipple between finger and thumb. She had a wicked grin on her face. This wasn't like her – she wasn't usually blatant about sex, and left it to me to do most of the running.

It was a big turn-on for me and I guess it showed on my face as I half-rose, then sank back down, in my chair.

"I've got nice tits, Charlie, haven't I?" she breathed, tweaking her nipple. I resisted the temptation to go over and fondle them. I wanted to watch this. I had never seen Mary like this before and it was quite breathtaking.

"Oh, yes," I said, trying to keep the quiver out of my voice.

"They were the best tits at the party last night, weren't they? They've got a bit bigger since I had the kids, but they're still just as firm – and my nipples are longer."

"They're beautiful, Mary," I said. "Easily the best pair of tits at the party."

For me, saying the word "tits", outside the bedroom, was erotic in itself – and to hear Mary say it was even more so.

She now had them cupped in both hands, looking down at them.

"Who's got the next best ones, Charlie?" she said, without raising her head. "Do you like Beverley's?"

I remembered Beverley had been the other girl who got her tits felt at the beach.

"Yeah," I said. "They're OK. But they're not as good as yours."

"Have you had a feel, Charlie? Have you seen them – bare – like this?"

"No," I said.

"Do you wish you had?"

I shrugged. I didn't know the 'right' answer. I didn't want to spoil the mood.

"Some of the boys have," she murmured, and now she glanced back to my face.

I stood up, and moved towards her, but didn't touch her.

"How do you know?" I asked.

"She told me - Beverley."

"Who?" I asked. "Who's felt them?"

"Oh, Tom, and Alan, and... " she hesitated, then "... Billy."

I knew she was now skating on thin ice, and she knew it, too – but she didn't know that I knew!

"How do you know she was telling the truth?" I asked.

She held out her arms and I went to her and kissed her. As I did so, she reached out and switched off the lights. There was enough moonlight to see by. We moved, together into the room. We sat down on the settee.

I took her in my arms and cupped one of her breasts in my hand. I nuzzled her neck and repeated my question.

"I saw her – with Tom and Billy last summer," she said, hesitantly, in a low voice. "That barbecue we had, in August, on the beach. Beverley threw some beer out of a can at them and they chased her up the beach, into the trees. I ran after them, but they didn't see me. By the time I caught them, Beverley's swimsuit top was down to her waist and they were both feeling her breasts and kissing her. She squealed a bit at first, but they knew she didn't mean it. She was enjoying it... "

"Was that as far as they went?" I asked, my cock rock-hard, hearing this 'edited' version of what I knew had really gone on.

"I think Tom was touching her – down there, outside her swimsuit – as well, but then they heard Tony calling for Beverley and the boys disappeared and I pretended to find Beverley just before Tony did – and I talked to her about it when we got back to the fire!"

"Well," I said. "That's a surprise!"

I didn't sound very convincing, not even to myself, but Mary didn't seem to notice.

"She had had quite a lot to drink," she said.

"Well, OK," I said "but two of them!"

Mary didn't say anything. I wondered what she was thinking. If she thought I was about to slag Beverley off, she might go silent on me. I had to stop her thinking that way.

"I wish I'd seen it," I said. "What did you feel like – watching?"

"It was really pretty – sexy," Mary said, after a second's hesitation, her voice low and breathy. I squeezed her breast, then put my other hand on the other one. Her nipples were rigid.

"Did they feel her breasts at the same time – I mean, Billy feeling one, while Tom felt the other?"

"Yes," whispered Mary. "That was when Tom was touching her between her legs, as well. I think, if Tony hadn't turned up... well, I don't know."

"You mean – they might have... gone further?"

"She was pretty far gone," said Mary, dreamily. "She'd have let Billy put his hand inside her shorts – I'm sure of that."

"Billy?" I said. "I thought it was Tom who … "

"Oh, yes, Tom," she said. "She told me later she would have let him... "

She trailed off. I didn't mention the "shorts" bit – she had already said Beverley was wearing a swimsuit. Billy had said Mary was wearing shorts and, anyway, I could remember, now, what both girls had been wearing. Mary had been the one in shorts – and she had wanted Billy's hand in there, sliding into her aroused vagina … Fucking hell! The thought of it nearly stopped my breathing altogether. I squeezed her tits and kissed her hard on the mouth.

"How did you feel – watching?" I asked, hoarsely.

"Ohhhhh," she said. "It was... " Her voice trailed away. I trailed my thumbs over her nipples.

"Did you wish it was you – with a different man's hand on each of your tits?"

"No!" she said, automatically, then "no – not... not like that... exactly."

"But you were turned on – watching?"

"Yes," Mary whispered.

"So you must have wondered – part of you – what it felt like. What Beverley was feeling – her tits exposed to two men – having them felt and fondled – then feeling a hand between her legs."

I moved a hand down to Mary's knee and slid it up her thigh.

"What a pity you've only got two hands," she laughed, a bit shakily. I took a deep breath and asked the question I'd been nerving myself to ask for the last ten minutes.

"Did you ever have two guys feel you at the same time?" then, hurriedly, "like – before we met, or something... "

I knew I had put the question badly. I felt her tense up.

"You've never asked me that sort of question before," she said. "We've never talked about what happened before we met."

"No," I agreed.

"Why are you asking me now, then?" she said. She had moved away a little and was leaning back against the settee. My hand was still up her dress, but her breasts were now out of reach.

"I don't know," I answered, weakly. She looked at me for a moment or two, then smiled – a little nervously – and put her hand on top of mine, at the top of her thigh.

"I have got nice tits, haven't I?" she said, again. I pushed my fingers against the damp gusset of her panties, and reached my other up to cup her breast again.

"You've got great tits," I said. "All the other guys are jealous of me."

She smiled, again.

"So you wouldn't have expected me not to have had – a few adventures – before we met?"

I shook my head.

"You know Alan – my cousin?"

Of course I did. He had been at our wedding and I saw him regularly at other family get-togethers. He was a year or two younger than me, an accountant, married, with four or five kids. We got on well. I nodded.

"Well, he... ," she stopped. "Oh, this is difficult, Charlie – we've never talked about this before."

"Go on," I said, my cock rising in anticipation. "Was he – the first?"

"Yes," she said. "We were staying at his house, one summer, during the holidays. We were in his bedroom, listening to records, and he asked me to – let him see them."

"What – just like that?" I said.

"Yes," said Mary. "We went to stay with them for a week every summer and it was during the last winter that they had really grown. As soon as we arrived, I could tell that Alan was different – he treated me differently – more like his equal. I couldn't understand it, but I had always sort of hero-worshipped him, because he was two years older than me, so I was delighted."

"Well, one day, it was raining and we went up to Alan's bedroom to listen to his records. He was very quiet that afternoon and I thought I had done something to upset him – then, suddenly, he asked me if I would do him a favour!"

"I asked what it was and he went very red and quiet again, and I got really worried. I thought he must be in some awful trouble. I remember thinking he might have been caught shoplifting, or something, and I couldn't see what I could do to help. And then, suddenly, he asked me if I would let him see me 'stripped to the waist'. Those were the words he used and I can never hear them now without remembering that afternoon. The rain battering against the window, and my tummy turning over. I can feel it now!"

"I felt terrible. I didn't want to do it – but only because I thought he might not like them when he saw them. Well, also because I had never done anything like that before, and I was scared we might get into trouble, but then I looked at him and he was like a little dog, looking up to see if I would give him a treat."

"So I stood up and turned away from him and tugged my t-shirt over my head. I was looking at that little window. The rain was streaming down the panes. I held my t-shirt for a moment, then dropped it on the floor, then, pretending to myself I was alone and just changing for bed, or something, I unfastened my brassiere and pulled it off. I held it in my hands, but I dropped my hands to my sides, then I forced myself to turn round."

"He looked at them for ages and I thought he didn't like them and I was just about to cover them with my hands, and my bra, when he said – 'They're really lovely, Mary – really, really lovely.' Then he stood up and put his arms round me and hugged me. He wasn't wearing a shirt and I could feel my breasts pressing against his chest, then he moved back a little and put his hand up and touched one of them."

"Then – then, somehow, we were on his bed and he was kissing me and his hands were all over my bare breasts, and he kept saying 'thank you, they're really beautiful'."

"Did you do any more?" I asked.

"No," she said. "Oh, I could feel his erection pressing against me while we were kissing, and I enjoyed that, but I wouldn't have dreamed of touching it, and I don't think he expected me to. I think it was the first time for him, as well – touching a girl's breasts, I mean, and seeing them – and he certainly didn't try to touch me anywhere else. But he wouldn't leave my tits alone – not that I wanted him to!"

"How long were you up there?"

"I'm not sure," she said. "Well over an hour – maybe even two. Time just seemed to slip by, then we were called down for tea."

"Did you do it again?"

"Once – the next day. We went home the day after that. And it wasn't so good the second time. It was a nice day and we didn't really have an excuse for staying in. So we had to go to the beach with the others but, halfway there, Alan pretended he had forgotten something and I went back to the house with him to get it. As soon as we got inside, he grabbed me and undid my bra in the hall. Then he pushed me against the wall while he felt my tits. It was all very – rushed – and then he tried to feel between my legs and I got frightened and pushed him away. And we had a bit of an argument and I ran out of the house. And, the next day, we went home."

She looked up at me, her eyes a little fearful of my reaction. At that moment, I loved her more than ever. I kissed her mouth, gently, and squeezed her breast. When I moved my mouth away, she was much more relaxed, and we settled together on the settee.

I wanted to hear about Mary's sexual history before she met me – but, even more, I wanted to know about her more immediate past.

"Why did you want to know if I'd felt Beverley's tits?" I asked, after a moment. "Did you think I had?"

"No," she murmured, with a smile. "I just – wondered."

"What if I had?" I wanted to know.

"I don't know," she said. "Quite a lot of that – goes on – and I – just wondered."

I had to get her to admit to something, herself, without frightening her off.

"I've been – tempted," I said. "Haven't you?"

"What? At parties – and things?"

"Yes," I answered. "During slow dances – when you're close to someone, and... "

She laughed a little and slid her hand onto the uncomfortable bulge in my trousers. I leaned down and lightly kissed her nipple. It was very hard.

"Do you – get like that?" Her hand closed round my cock, and squeezed.

"Sometimes," I confessed.

"Who with?"

"Well, Beverley, and Nicola, and Anna …. "

"Can they feel it?"

"Can you?" I encountered, seeing my opportunity, at last.

"Oh, yes," she breathed, her grip on my erection tightening again.


"On my tummy."


My mouth dried as I anticipated her answer.

"Can we go to bed, now?" she whispered...

For some reason, Mary kept her panties on as we slipped under the duvet, so I didn't take off my shorts. We left the curtains open, and the moonlight streamed across the room.

For a few moments, we lay together, hugging each other, as the first chill wore off. My hands caressed her shoulders and back. Her breasts were squashed into my chest. My right hand reached down and cupped her bottom. I pulled her against me.

"That's what they do, when they're dancing." Her voice was low, sexy. "They hold my bum, the pull me into them – onto their cocks."

"Who does it?" I asked.

"All of them."

She was still playing safe.

"Do you enjoy it?"

"I do – sometimes."

"Who do you enjoy it with?"

"It depends – how I feel, as much as who it is."

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byquinn rogan© 3 comments/ 156068 views/ 17 favorites

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