Suburban Style

"Are you sure you won't be embarrassed having me naked right next to you, with your wife watching and everything?" Sally chided.

"We were both very concerned that you people still wearing clothes might be feeling left out," said Jason. He eyed the tight sweater that loudly announced the enormous size of Sally's twin melons, and his eyes tracked up the slim legs that disappeared into her denim miniskirt. He said, "I promise I won't be offended at the sight of you undressing in front of all of us."

"Okay," said Sally, grabbing the bottom of her sweater, raising it over her head. Her movements lifted then dropped her shoulder length curls as the sweater moved up, before getting tossed to the corner. Sally's bright, almost fluorescent violet bra curved just barely above her nipples, holding her chest out like a library shelf. She unbuckled the belt, then worked the zipper of her tiny skirt, kicking it away as it fell to the floor. She stood still for a few seconds, in the bra and a stylish matching thong, her shapely waist and flat stomach in between. The thought of so little covering such a heavenly body, and standing inches from the largest, and growing, cock I had ever seen, was making my head swim and my dick start to swell—a condition I noticed I shared with every other male in the room.

Sally arched her eyebrows at Jason, with a look that asked a thousand questions at once, laughed, and in a flash unhooked the back of her bra and tossed it away. Her Ds relaxed into soft globes resting against her chest, and jiggled at her giggles. She grabbed her thong strap and pushed it down her legs, bowing to us in the process, her boobs dangling fetchingly, as if to boast how natural they were.

As she straightened back up she flashed her black landing strip above her protruding labia that glistened with moisture, no doubt reacting to the growing lizard just inches away. Sally folded her arms below her breasts, turned to Jason and said, "Sooo, what do you want to do?"

Jason read from his paper a little nervously, "I would like to fondle every square inch of your incredible body."

Sally almost seemed disappointed, and it seemed everyone else in the room was taken aback as well. I know I'd assumed that when the room's most well-endowed couple faced each other stripped for action, we'd see Jason's mighty sword thrusting and conquering Sally's hills and hollows.

Then it seemed obvious that Jason had it right. I realized the stirring in my loins was from the thought of actually touching and manhandling the goods Sally offered. And cute as Jason's wife was, he'd never get such a voluptuous dish served in his home.

Sally, seeming to follow the same logic sequence, shrugged and said, "Fondle away."

She dropped her hands to her side as Jason inched closer. He used both hands to brush Sally's dark brown perm behind her shoulders and away from her face. He now looked more than 90 percent toward a full-fledged boner, making it impossible to keep what had to be a full 12 inches from occasionally brushing its tip against the skin around Sally's belly button, causing the beast to twitch and move even closer to fully horizontal.

Jason's fingers lightly traced features on Sally's face: eyebrows, lovely sloping cheeks, the slightly pointed chin, the thin, wide lips. He continued along her long neck and throat. His hands moved out to her shoulders, taking extra time to outline the edge of each delicate collarbone, before zigzagging down her chest, barely grazing the foothills of the rise to her boobs. He reached, palms up, for her breasts, gently hefting both at the same time with the tips of his fingers, almost as if he were weighing them. They rippled to his touch like a pair of small waterbeds.

Jason placed a hand on each of Sally's shoulders and turned her around, giving us a view of her backside that looked like a work of art. Her hair hung at shoulder-blade length, and her form curved in from her arms to her waist, then back out to her round butt, like some fine, naturally formed cello. From the rear you could see the outside crescent-moon edge of each breast.

Jason dragged his hands down the length of her back, then, sensing Jason reaching for the middle of her body, she bowed her arms out slightly to make it easier for him to run them in and out of the steep indention that was her waist. He gave her butt cheeks a soft squeeze before squatting to massage her ankles, sliding his hands up and down each of her thin legs. At the top of her legs he reached inside to visit her underside, then, ran a finger up the length of her butt crack, before spending a minute rubbing her ass cheeks like he was polishing them. He stood back up, grabbed her firmly by the hips and turned her back around to face us. By now her face was flushed and her eyes had a relaxed, half-lidded look.

Jason asked, "Would you please put your hands behind your head?"

I almost passed out when she did. Her new position caused her tits to lift and move forward. Her back arched and pushed her pelvis our direction. She looked so defenseless and available.

Jason's right index finger circled the darker rings of her areolas, both just high enough on her breasts to make them point slightly upward, then moved to the center to rub each nipple, both hardening and lengthening before our eyes. Sally's eyelids fluttered shut and she stood up even straighter.

Jason grabbed full handfuls of each breast and spent some time kneading them, until, moving back to her body's outline, he sent his palms skiing slowly from under her arms into the valley of her waist, then back up at the angle of her hips.

Sally flinched and giggled, eyes still closed, as Jason explored her stomach, raked a finger back and forth through her small line of pubic hair, and stroked the ridges of her labia. In an uncharacteristically quick move, Jason's middle finger suddenly disappeared inside Sally, forcing a dainty squeak from her throat. He seemed to probe inside, then gave a few slow, piston like moves before withdrawing.

Sally let out a stuttered breath. Her eyes were open now, and rolling. She laughed a little and said, "I guess you did say every inch."

"That's right," Jason replied distractedly. He focused on Sally's cunt, where he was rolling her clit between his thumb and forefinger. Sally's mouth opened and her eyes widened, but Jason had finished. He stepped back, wiped his handful of Sally's pussy juice on his stomach, and stepped back, hands on hips.

"That's it? said Sally, hands still behind her head, too stunned to be sure what she meant by the question. "You're done?"

"Oh no," said Jason. "I'll have this with me for the rest of my life. But you can sit down if you want."

It sure looked like Jason's pecker would remember the past few minutes. It was scary, sticking straight out except for its upward curve, oozing precum, twitching occasionally, and well, huge. I made a quick survey and the hard-on count was unanimous—even Terrence was showing a major bulge beneath his slacks.

Sally smirked and launched a playful slap in Jason's general direction, but all it did was jiggle her boobs as Jason had already marched his purple-headed gargoyle back to its seat next to Nora, who scolded, "So she's what you'll be fantasizing about instead of me?"

"No," said Jason, "in addition to you, Miss 'I-would-like-you-to-give-me-oral-sex-until-I-climax'."

"Touché," conceded Nora, then commanded, "stop it, now," as she fished Jason's finger from her cunt.

Jason and Sally's engrossing performance distracted me from what would otherwise been an obsessive anticipation. Two people still wore clothes, and my wife was on deck to lose hers in front of everyone. I should have been able to predict weeks ago Terrence would be her choice for a partner. Somehow our long marriage left me with no idea what sort of public sexual activity she'd choose with a one-time partner. I'd know in a few minutes, and the thought was, a little disturbingly, keeping my dick hard.

Without prompting from Cheryl, Dina squeezed my bare leg and said, "Wish me luck." The fact that comment struck me as odd made me realize I was being pretty self-absorbed. Certainly Dina would be at least as nerved-up as I was.

She left her shoes where she sat, so it was in a twinkling that she was unzipping the side of her skirt. Before she let it go she took a deep breath. Even I could hardly wait to get a look at the body I knew so well. The skirt dropped to her bare feet, leaving her only in modest flesh-colored panties and her olive spaghetti-strap t-shirt, which she peeled, somehow only jostling a couple of hairs on her head, and let the light shine on her impressive size Cs that sloped slightly downward, then out for an impressive set of 40-year-year-old knockers. She stepped out of her underwear and froze for a moment in a very sexy still picture. She was thicker in the middle than the younger women in the room, but she still had a well-shaped figure, with a trimmed delta of pubic hair. Her stylish dark brown bob, wide, classy cheekbones, stunningly pretty face, and those tiny black glasses that looked arousingly out of place on her naked body, made a guy feel lucky to be in the same room. I took the dead silence in the room as a sign my admiration was shared.

Cheryl handed up a slip of paper and Dina said, her throat nervously swallowing the first word, "Do ... do I even need to read this? Come on Terrence," she said, waving the slip of paper, which made her breasts rock from side to side.

"Do I disrobe now?" he asked as he joined Dina.

"Rules are rules," she said.

His shoes went, then he unzipped and pulled off the black dress slacks, allowing glimpses of his red jockey briefs under the tails of his blue Oxford cloth button down, which he unbuttoned as his eyes blatantly roamed Dina's body. She probably didn't notice, because she was doing the same to him.

When the shirt flew to the corner, it became obvious his red shorts were straining at their contents.

"Excuse me," Terrence said formally to Dina, "but there's no polite way to do this." He pulled down the band of the underwear and dark steel popped out like it was spring-loaded. At 6 inches it was in the range of normal, but it was incredibly thick, giving the shaft an appearance of great power behind an equally thick, almost pure black warhead.

For the second time this year, Dina and Terrence stood naked together in Cheryl's house, but this time the mood seemed a little less playful, a little more dangerous. My throat dried up wondering where Dina would take this.

Dina read from her paper, "Terrence, I would like to feel your penis inside my vagina."

The words hit me in the face with their clinical clarity and the quickly growing awareness that my wife was offering herself as the first to be penetrated. I was irritated with myself for being both embarrassed, and excited.

Terrence didn't seem phased. "How do you want to do this?" he asked.

The question clicked a switch in Dina I'd seen turned on before. Although nude as she could get (except for those glasses), the project management professional part of her brain clicked in and she lost all her self-consciousness as she took charge.

After some calculating and negotiating that seemed completely out of place with her nakedness, Dina leaned against the back and arm of the couch, one leg on the floor, the other extended along the back cushions. My mind could hardly process this latest incongruity: Dina's innocently friendly we're-figuring-this-out smile as she chatted with the man who was about to impale her, and the brazen spread of her legs that opened every detail of her pussy as though we were in an anatomy class.

Terrence kneeled on the sofa in front of his target that glistened wet as flower petals in the rain. He lowered his body until his face was inches from hers. He braced his hands on each side of her head, one on the sofa back, the other on the arm. His broad chest now hovered just above her breasts that had flattened slightly into her reclining chest. His dark body looked massive and dominating poised over Dina's whiteness.

Now that they were in position, Dina reached both hands toward Terrence's engorgement that shined like it was varnished. Cradling it lightly with her fingertips, she guided his hips and ramrod toward her opening. Terrence's meat twitched every few seconds on its short journey, then the tip made contact with Dina's soft tissue. She moved Terrence's thick appendage up and down, locating her opening—the two well-oiled surfaces slid easily over each other.

Finally Dina stopped and pushed. A fraction of an inch slipped inside, then another. The next few fractions were more difficult as Dina's opening stretched to accommodate a thicker visitor that it was used to. But in several more seconds, with a small exclamation from Dina, the head was gone. I could tell Terrence was aching to slam home the prize, but Dina moved slowly. One inch, two inches, the slimy black cock gradually disappeared into my wife's vagina, under her precise direction. I was horrified at being thrilled. With each inch she lot out an "Ohhh," or "Mmm," until Terrence's full length buried inside Dina. She looked into Terrence's eyes and said, "I've thought about this for a long time, and it feels even better than I'd imagined." She crooned that last word, then picked her foot off the floor and squeezed her legs together, bringing a long, low groan from Terrence's throat.

Then it ended. "Okay, thank you," said Dina, sliding Terrence's hips back until he was no longer connected with Dina. It wasn't hard for her to do, Terrence was too stunned to do anything but follow orders. I glanced at his wife and noticed her sucking in her cheeks, trying nard not to explode with laughter. Everyone else seemed as surprised as Terrence.

Obviously struggling to keep his formal civility, Terrence said, "Don't you want to finish?"

"Oh, I did. You felt wonderful," said Dina.

Terrence stood from the couch, gathering what dignity he could find, trying not to look puzzled. His still-rigid member looked a little less ominous as it led Terrence back to his seat on the floor. I noticed Dina and Pam exchanging quick smiles. Some secret sisterhood thing, I suppose.

Mercifully, Cheryl showed her brilliant timing, announcing, "How about a break before Round 2?" To murmurs of agreement from the group, Terrence was the first on his feet bolting for the bar.

To be continued...