Quickies at the Party

Quickies at the Party

They go off for a quickie, then she goes off for another.

By Mr & Ms Screwloose

This story is about 90% true. Back in the good old days, when birth control pills were common but STDs were not. The names have been changed to protect all us libertines. But the party, sneaking away for a little nookie, another trip for more nookie: all true.

This story contains themes of women having sex outside the primary relationship. If that bothers you, please don't read any further. Just close this page and move on.

HIS

Some years ago, a couple decades by now, my wife and I were at a party, evening, after-dinner, munchies and wines and cordials. We weren't married yet, just engaged. We had been together for three years and were still living every day in the scalding heat of young sex.

There were twenty-ish people at the party, mainly couples, mainly people I worked with and their significant others. We had socialized with many of them before so she knew them, too. We had a few drinks, talked easily with people, had some munchies, talked and drank and talked some more.

This was before the days of universal blue jeans on everyone. Dress code then was slacks and good shirts for the guys, skirts or slinky slacks and good blouses for the women. It was spring, warm, so lightweight fabrics for all. Abby had on a light silk blouse, medium blue like her eyes, and a straight skirt, black, thin material, tight across her hips and lovely butt, short but not really mini. I was in my usual preppie attire, gray slacks and blue button-down shirt, loafers.

At one point, we were alone, talking, we got a little frisky. My hand on her butt. Hers on mine. We got a little hot. Sooo, she and I sneaked upstairs, separately, to the other bathroom for a quickie. The downstairs bathroom was often occupied, so no one would think it odd that that someone went upstairs instead. I went up first, she followed a couple minutes later.

After we closed and locked the door, we made out like teenagers, kissed madly as we always did -- we really were madly in love, and happily still are -- and then we couldn't wait any longer. Straight skirt up, pantyhose and panties down to her ankles, bend over, hold the sink, slip it in, hold onto the boobs for traction, wham bam thank you ma'am, three minutes, great fun. We very rarely screwed from behind, doggie, but in this instance that was all that was available to us, so "any port in a storm." Stay cuddled up until we can breathe normally. Panties up, stockings up, pants up, skirt down, zip, zip. (Skirts are sooo convenient to get into, aren't they?) Cum seeping out into panties, but what the hell, back down to the party.

I'm sure the host noticed when she and I disappeared together for our little interlude and then came back smiling, because he gave me the hairy eyeball about using his facilities for sport. After all, we lived together, couldn't we just wait a couple hours and do it at home? (A couple months later, he actually did mention to me that he wasn't the only one who noticed our quickie-absence. But what the hell, this was the era of free love.)

A while later, she was talking to a guy that I knew she found very attractive. They moved off into a corner for private chat very close together. Looked a little intimate, but I was occupied myself with male and female coworkers and friends, so I didn't pay much attention.

She went upstairs again to the bathroom. I hadn't noticed that he had already gone up. She didn't come back down for more than five minutes, almost ten. I noticed, maybe others did, too.

When she came back down she was nervous, so I knew she had been up to something. Did she just go off for a quick snog and feel, or did she actually let the guy fuck her? She certainly would have been lubed up, with my load still in her, dripping out, so not much foreplay needed to get ready.

The way she walked over to me, I was sure: yes, she had just been fucked. Again. Twice in, what, an hour? Less than an hour? What a slut! Yes, but she's *my* slut, and I love her. It was not the first time that we played with others, openly, and it would not be the last. I let her know that everything was alright between us.

On the way home, she told me about her dalliance.

Yes, she was hot for that guy. We had known him for about a year, met him four or five times at cocktails or real parties. He was tall, taller than I, and I'm over six feet, and I have to say, he was better looking than I am. I was not surprised at all that she was attracted to him. Hey, whatever gets her juices flowing is a good thing.

When they moved into the corner to talk more privately, he shielded her from sight, his back was to the party, and this enabled him to touch her without witnesses. His touching progressed from her arm to her waist, to her hip, down to her ass, and she did nothing to stop his progress. His hand on her ass pulled her toward him till their hips were touching. Over the next minute or two, his hand came back up to her arm and then to her breast, and still she did nothing to stop him. She looked out at the crowd, at me in particular. She was sure that they could not see his hand molesting her body. They both had drinks in their hands that were visible to the room, so it looked just like a quiet little talk. And he continued his advances and she liked it a lot and encouraged him.

Their conversation turned to more immediate, direct topics, like, Can I have your number and Can I see you sometime and Can we sneak away for a couple minutes here. And sneak they did.

She already had a pussy full of cream from her fiance (now husband, namely me), and the attentions of this tall, gorgeous man were making her even wetter. She felt slippery and sexy just standing there. So, sure, we can get away for a few minutes. Why don't you go upstairs to the other bathroom and I'll join you after a decent interval so it doesn't look as though we are going away together. I'll let her tell you the rest of it in her own words.

HERS

I had met Larsen several times before at similar parties, and I thought he was just gorgeous. So when the opportunity arose to talk to him at length, and privately, and, frankly, to flirt with him, I was delighted. We started in a little group, then the group faded away and we just moseyed into a corner to be alone. Not out of sight, not hiding, not at all, just in a corner spot that physically did not invite anyone else to join us.

My guy was still out there, busy talking to a lot of people. He and his fellow geeks find no end of topics to debate. Oh, and the geek group includes a lot of girl geeks, too, so he wasn't wanting for female company. Not that he should have been wanting, given that he had just fucked my little tail off like half an hour ago.

My pussy was still hot and dripping, I was still glowing from my recent lust-filled session with my guy. I could feel that my panties were soaked with his cum and my juices. Every time I moved a little, I could feel the wetness, and it turned me on even more. I would squeeze my legs together so feel the damp panties, then stand with my legs more apart, to try to cool the goodies. And I know that a deliberate legs-apart posture is enticing to most men. So I tended to relax with my legs well apart in my tight straight skirt.

As we talked after a few minutes, Larsen rested his hand on my arm. I liked that. When he moved his hand to my waist, I liked that, too. Even more. I checked the crowd to see if anyone was watching. No, no one could see him touching me in this position.

I didn't do anything to discourage him from this approach. In fact, I tried to push my hip on that side farther into his hand. When, a few minutes and another glass of wine later, he felt down my hip and onto my ass, I was hardly surprised. I was delighted. He pressed on my butt to pull my hips closer to his. What a good idea! With just a little movement of my feet, my hip was firmly pressed into his hip. And with just tiny movements, I could feel the end of his erection in his pants, pressing into me. Oh, yummy!

We were so close that I didn't think anyone could see between us. I scanned the crowd again, my guy especially, and still no one was watching us in any obvious way. He took advantage of that, raising his hand ever so slowly up to my breast. His touch was electric! My nipples were already hard, protruding, and ultra-sensitive. Thin blouse, thin bra, my pointies were standing out waiting to be touched. I gulped when he pinched my nipple, and I pressed my breast hard into his hand.

Our conversation from then on was much more personal. He wanted to call me, he wanted to see me. He knew that I was engaged to Tommy but that did not deter him. Oh, I wanted so much to kiss him and hold him, but that was not possible in this public place. Our little corner nook was private-ish but still very visible to the large room. So when he suggested that we might sneak away for a few minutes, I was all for the idea.

We planned to meet upstairs, in the other bathroom, where I had been laid not long before. (Can you really call it "laid" when you're standing the whole time?) I tapped lightly on the door and whispered, "It's meeeeee." And there he was.

He took me in his arms and kissed me passionately, and I responded with equal passion. I glued my breasts and hips to his body as he pulled me to him. He reminded me that we didn't have much time. I agreed. I stepped back, pulled my skirt up to my waist. He pulled me to him again, ran his hand over my hip and thigh and cupped my crotch. I pushed my pussy hard into his hand so he could feel my heat. He pushed his fingers in hard to separate my lips. I could feel his fingers through my stockings and panties, I wanted to feel more, and inside. The coverings had to go. Down went the pantyhose again, and the panties, and the shoes, all of it. From the waist up, I looked respectable: Aren't I pretty? From the waist down, a tart: Please fuck me. His pants fell to the floor, too, in response.

I sat briefly on the sink with my legs out wide so he could get into me. He reached into me with his fingers while we kissed, and felt my hot, swampy, wet femaleness. In turn, I reached for his hot, twitching erection and pulled him closer to me. He used my wet mixture of cum and juices of arousal to lubricate his cock.

His arrow found my labia, and he pressed his manhood into me! It felt wonderful when he sank his cock deep into my love tunnel. I loved it! I cried out a little. My cheek was glued to his. I murmured to him how delicious his hot, hard flesh felt stretching my insides. Oh, god, that wonderful cock! Hot and hard and hungry for my sex! I was so slippery from Tommy's cum and my lust juices that he slid right into my tight hole, easily in and out.

He picked me up by the butt, I locked my legs around his waist, and he moved me up and down a little by the hips, pumping inches of his steely cock into me and out and in. It was in so deep, he hit bottom and stretched my vagina length and width, over and over. He was so strong, holding me impaled on his cock like that and pistoning his hard rod into my womb.

He came, and I came when I felt him pulsing his cum into me. I had to bite on my finger to keep from crying out. People downstairs may only have suspected that we were fucking up there, but my cries of orgasm would have proved it.

I held onto him, exhausted, for a minute, and then we really had to go. He put me down, standing, and as he pulled out of me, a small stream of hot cum and hot juices just fell out of me, some onto the floor but mostly down my leg. Two loads of man juice, mixed with my sex juices, a nice mess. A wonderful mess, you bet, a thrilling mess.

I had just fucked two men, one of them my lover and one almost a stranger, in the middle of a party. And half the people at the party probably knew or suspected. Where else could we have gone? There's nothing else upstairs but bedrooms and the bathroom. Either would have been most suitable for such an assignation. And the evidence was flowing out of my sex, into my underwear, into my stockings, down my leg. God, what a slut!

I quickly wiped up the puddle on the floor, and the streaks down my leg a little, got my clothes back on. I looked in the mirror: mussed hair, wrinkled blouse, makeup. Holy hell, how long have we been in here? Everyone will know! What will my fiance think of me? Will he forgive me, that I just got "carried away" (ha ha)? What will they *all* think of me? And what will they all think of him, too? I'm the one who fucked up, but will they think badly of him? No choice, though, I have to go back down and face the music.

Larsen repaired his clothes quickly and went out first, to give me a couple extra minutes to put my appearance back together. As I went down the stairs, I looked for the disapproving smirks in the crowd. Not many, whew. I went to the bar to get another wine. I could feel the juices sliding down from my crotch, past the panties, onto my leg. God, I hope that it doesn't show too much. The skirt was not long, well above the knee, and soon the little stream would get down that far. If they saw the sperm of two men going down my leg, that would become a tale of legend that I could not live down.

I walked purposefully but not confidently over to my guy, who was waiting for me. And what did he do? He hugged me, he kissed my neck, whispered to me, Did you have a good time? All was forgiven? Oh, frabjous day! That's why I love this guy so much! But what must the crowd think of him? His fiancee went off in the middle of the party to fuck this Norse god of a guy. And he forgives her? Wow, what a... wuss?... cuckold?... nice guy?... saint?

I have seen Larsen only a couple times since then, at similar gatherings. We talk politely like old friends. It's clear that the spark is still there. He still wets my pants. But we haven't acted on it. Yet. I get a twinge in my pussy whenever I see him. He can see that my nipples strain visibly toward him, craving his touch. I would like him to scratch my itch again. We've talked about it obliquely. If he called, I would answer. If he wanted to meet, I probably would. And willingly, happily spread my legs for him in whatever hotel or motel or back seat we could find.

And my loving husband would not object to a little dalliance here and there. Anything that turns me on... he gets the side benefits from my increased lust. Isn't that a wonderful arrangement!

Maybe I can have both of them at once...