The Devil Comes Out at Night Pt. 01

"If you want to," I said. I felt wicked when I said it, but it was a warm, buzzing, thrilling kind of wicked.

"Gentleman," Bob said, "looks like it's our turn to put on a fashion show."

When the men were behind the closed bedroom door I got up and switched on the old radio. A big, elaborate floor-standing model from years gone by, it crackled to life with the sound of a talk show, two male voices discussing baseball. I turned the elaborate bakelite knob and found a music station, big band music that sounded like the Laurence Welk show. As I stood there, something was welling up in me that I'd never felt before. I felt sexy. It seems odd to say I'd never felt sexy before that night. I suppose I had, way back in the early days with my husband, when our love was new. Ever since then I've become set in my old-fashioned ways, the plainly dressed, every-hair-in-place church lady. A stereotype for sure, but a carbon copy of my mother and she's had what appears to be a pleasant life. So there I was, in a dusty, dimly lit mountain cabin, wearing a bathing suit like Marilyn Monroe's, my beauty parlor hair hairsprayed in place, feeling sexier than I could ever remember.

I guess now's a good time to tell you about those daydreams I have, sexual fantasies that involve more than one man. My husband is a kind, loving man, but he's not a lover. He's always been just as conservative as me when it comes to our private time in the bedroom — there's never oral sex, it's always missionary, and it's always over rather quickly. It's nice, don't get me wrong, I'm not one of those wives who dreads the wham-bam missionary, the "wifely duty", as they say in church counseling. No, I really do enjoy it most of the time, it feels good even if I'm tired, but in this day and age, with so much shown in movies and on TV, a woman like me can hardly help but fantasize about something more exciting. I don't know why my mind seems to go to multiple men, it just does, and I've never tried to stop those thoughts. It always seems like the most impossible kind of thing, the kind of thing that can't possibly come true. I don't know about you, but those types of fantasies feel safe to me, because there's no way they could ever come true. I don't remember if any of those fantasies crossed my mind when I was standing by that big radio in the cabin. If they had I think it would have frightened me, scared me straight and sent me running for my bedroom and I would have locked the door. But no, those fantasies didn't cross my mind. I just felt sexy for the first time in my life, and I stood there and reveled in the feeling.

My slightly blurry, scotch addled brain was admiring the art deco design of the radio dial when I heard movement behind me. Bob and Jim and Harvey were back, picking up their drinks. Jim and Harvey took big sips of theirs and they looked a little nervous about what was happening. Bob smiled and looked right at home. Jim and Harvey had normal men's bathing suits on, Harvey's a size too big, cinched at the waist. Bob was in a very brief speedo style suit, his hairy body outed in a way I didn't expect.

"Bob!" I said. My eyes were wide and I'm afraid my mouth hung open. I giggled uncontrollably. "You wear that? In public?"

"If that's the reaction women hide from me, maybe I shouldn't," he said. "In my defense, I only wear it occasionally, when the mood seems right. Is it hideous?"

"No! I mean it's...just surprising, that's all."

It was surprising. Bob Smythe was hung! He looked almost unbelievably masculine and I couldn't seem to look away. In hindsight I wonder if Jim and Harvey were disappointed. I feel like I barely looked at them, but as distracted as I was by Bob's speedo I did in fact take in the whole scene — bare chests and stomachs, manly legs and bare feet. I must have looked more than I thought because I remember the sight vividly — three men lined up for my perusal, showing me themselves as never before. I just wish the damned scotch in me didn't have control over my eyes. I'm afraid I stared at Bob's barely covered manhood much more than I should have.

"Vanity's one of my character flaws," he said.

"No, it's fine," I said, watching the three of them take their seats. Bob was on the couch. I took my place on it, too, keeping a respectable distance. "I've always laughed at those kind of suits on men," I said, "but...you actually pull it off pretty well. Maybe it's the tall, slender thing. You always look trim."

"My wife won't put up with a belly," he said. "She starves me regularly."

"She does not," I giggled, suddenly much too comfortable with my nearly naked male companions.

Bob smiled. I've always found his smile attractive and room brightening, white teeth that are straight for his age, and crinkly blue eyes that are piercing and melting at the same time.

"It's interesting to think we would have all been in the pool together," I said. "I don't know why, but I pictured myself swimming alone. I don't know if I would have...joined the three of you if I'd known you were going to be there."

"Because you brought your sexy suit, you mean?" Bob asked.

"It's not sexy!" I protested. "Is it?"

I looked down at myself and saw my body and my cleavage as if for the first time. It looked like somebody else's bosom, somebody else's bare thighs, sitting on somebody else's couch. I looked at Bob and he was somebody I hadn't met, hairy and suntanned, wearing such a small bathing suit he looked positively naked when he was sitting down. I took a sip of my drink and ogled him some more. His subtle smile was attractive as hell.

"What your verdict?" he said. "Sexy, right?"

Was he talking about himself, I wondered, or me? Me, I decided. My bathing suit. Yes, that's what we were talking about.

"Yes, I guess maybe it is," I said, looking down again at the way my nervous breathing was heaving my bosom. I tried to stop it, but it only got worse, and then I realized I'd been looking at it for much too long a time. I felt six male eyes on me, looking at me in a way I hadn't experienced before. "What's...your definition of sexy," I said, "when it comes to this kind of thing?"

"That," Bob said, his eyes squarely on my chest. "Your breasts are just...beautiful. That suit looks like it was made for them."

He took a more relaxed posture on the couch, leaning back against a throw pillow, one leg on the floor, the other bent at the knee resting on the cushion. His posture and the casual placement of his legs opened things up and the speedo was much more visible. My eyes went to it again. His seemingly massive penis was straining against it, imprinting it's shape on the slightly shiny, very thin fabric. I could clearly make out the bulbous end of the big thing, more of a separate entity that the tip of my husbands penis. It looked raw and dangerous.

"That suit looks like it was made for you," I said. "Do they size them like condoms?"

Bob smiled and my heart raced. I could scarcely believe I'd said such a thing. It wasn't like me at all. I was starting to spin out of control, and I didn't mind the feeling.

"No, they're stretchy. I have to be careful when I'm around a beautiful woman like you. There's...nowhere to hide."

He looked down and I did, too. I couldn't even take a breath as he grew. It was the most surreal moment of my life, sitting on a couch in the quiet, watching Bob Smythe get an erection.

"Now you've gone and done it," he said. "I'm sorry, Margaret. Shall I...go get my pants?"

I truly didn't know what to say. I was so far out of my element, I just stared like an idiot. I answered him with a shake of my head. Jim and Harvey shifted in their seats. I couldn't make myself look at either of them, so I don't know what they were thinking. I don't even know what I was thinking.

"We're adults," I finally said. "It's not like the whole congregation's going to hear about this, right? This is all...private, right? I mean...otherwise, we shouldn't be..."

"Oh, that goes without saying," Bob said. "Right guys?"

I mustered the courage to look at Jim and Harvey. "Definitely" and "Absolutely" were their answers. I found myself looking at their crotches, too. I know from my husband's bathing suits they often have a mesh lining, so things were more under control than Bob's exhibitionist display, but there were definite lumps where I don't think lumps were before. I felt a rush of feminine power that was new and exciting. My body in my bathing suit had given three men erections!

I sat back against my corner of the couch and pulled up my leg like Bob had done. It was blatant body language and I hadn't thought it through, opening my crotch wide to all three of the men. When I felt the fresh air down there and the stretch of those tender muscles of my upper inner thighs I though about retreating to a more lady-like pose, but I stayed there, relaxing with my drink in my hand, wondering if my poor grooming habits were showing. I don't shave as cleanly as I should in my 'bathing suit area', and to my horror, when I snuck a look, the edges of my hairiness were showing. I sipped my drink and weighed my options. It should have been a simple slam dunk — close your damn legs, girl! — but I didn't move, choosing not to, I guess, or maybe I was just numb from the sensory overload and the alcohol.

"This takes me back to my youth," Bob said. "My college days. There was an evening very much like this."

"Tell us about it," I said.

"Are you sure, Margaret? It's a story that can't be told without, some, well, it's rather blue. Dirty, I guess you'd say."

"I know what blue is," I said. "I sneak a romance novel into my purchases at the used bookstore once in a while."

"You do?" Bob said. He smiled that meltingly handsome smile again. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised, a beautiful woman like you."

"Tell us your story," I said. I sipped my drink, the scotch even warmer, its heady aroma and smooth taste overtaking my senses.

Bob told of a night of drinking with his dorm roommate and a female friend of theirs whose room was down the hall. Trish was her name. Bob and his roommate were both in boxer shorts, their usual lounging around wear. The conversation between friends had turned sexy and Bob and his friend had erections.

"She said we could take them out and touch them if we wanted to," Bob said.

"Did you?" I asked.

"Of course!" Bob said, smiling again.

"What happened then?" I asked, nearly breathless, excited and terrified to hear the answer.

"My first threeway. It was a first for all three of us."

"Just like that?" I said. "You just started...doing it?"

"No, it was...first she wanted to watch us. It could have stopped there as far as I was concerned. That was exciting enough."

"What do you mean watch you?" I asked. "You with your roommate?"

"No," Bob chuckled. "Nothing like that. I'm strictly a lady's man. No, she wanted to watch us...touch ourselves. I'm pretty sure it wasn't her first time as a voyeur. Maybe it was a high school thing, a way to stay safe but still have some fun. Kids are always coming up with creative ways. Have you heard of soaking? Supposedly the Mormon kids do it."

"No, I don't think I have," I said.

"How can I put this delicately," Bob said. "The boy puts his hard...erection inside the girl, and they just lie there without moving. They think that if there's no movement it doesn't count as intercourse."

"That's crazy!" I said. "Of course it counts!"

"Well sort of, yeah, but if they truly believe it, and no one else knows that it ever happened, what difference does it make?"

My response should have been something about God knowing about it, but He was nowhere to be found in my mind. Instead, there was only the ideas Bob had planted there, the ridiculousness of "soaking" and the much less ridiculous thought of Bob and Jim and Harvey touching themselves with me watching, the kind of 'never happens to me' experience that would be a fascinating visual finale to a thrillingly new kind of evening. It was one of those thoughts that takes over everything, pushing aside all reason.

"So the touching yourselves thing," I said, choosing my words carefully, "would you all like to? I wouldn't want any of you to feel uncomfortable."

I looked at each of them, Jim and Harvey nodding, both of them looking surprised and a little bewildered. Bob nodded and smiled. They all looked at each other with subtle signals of agreement.

Bob's is the first male erection other than my husband's that I ever laid eyes on. It was out quickly, through the leg opening of his speedo, looking positively huge, with that massive tip that looked too big for the rest of it. Bob pulled at the stretchy fabric and his hairy testicles emerged, but it must not have been comfortable because he quickly took off the speedo and he was naked. I hadn't expected that, for some reason, and my heart leapt into my throat.

The hair at the base of the big erection looked like a soft brown cloud. I was fascinated by how the hair on his legs melded with it, and the hair below his bellybutton. My husband isn't a hairy man, but Bob is. Seeing him naked in all his glory reminded me of the pictures of Burt Reynolds in Playgirl Magazine, pictures a friend of mine showed me decades ago. Bob was just as handsome as Burt, in his own way. I wanted to say, "you should grow a mustache," but I didn't. Sitting there looking at his naked body, there was only quiet music from the radio, and silence from me and my three companions. Deafening, energetic silence.

It was broken, just barely, by the exhale of breath that Bob's touching hand forced out of him, a soft noise that was the barest whisper of a moan. His big, manly hand had encircled his erection, and it was moving. They were slow movements, up and down, more thorough than I expected to see, his hand making the big bulbous tip disappear, and then stroking downward to the base, the big penis seeming to emerge from the encircling fingers...long...longer...it can't possibly be that long! And then up again the hand went. I could hear it in the quiet room, the sound of skin on skin.

Jim was the next brave man, standing from his chair, letting his erection spring forth when he pulled down his bathing suit. He sat down, as naked as Bob, his manliness less extroverted than Bob's, a smaller erection but still bigger than my husband's, with more skin than hair showing on his body and a belly that spoke of his wife's skill in the kitchen. I'd eaten her macaroni and cheese and her cookies, so I understood.

Harvey didn't stand. He lifted his behind off the chair and pushed his baggy bathing suit down over his knees, keeping it around his ankles. His manhood was another kind of surprise, uncircumcised, crookedly bent, my husband's length but quite a bit bigger around. It looked primitive and animalistic. I was unprepared for the stunning visual of its head emerging from the foreskin when Harvey's stroking hand started doing its thing.

The sound of three men masturbating upstaged the soft music in my ears, and my unblinking eyes took in the scene. It was a stunning thing to witness. Just stunning. A display of masculinity the likes of which I'd never dreamed of.

"What happened next?" I asked Bob, my eyes looking deep into his, my voice taking me and everyone else by surprise. "What happened with your college girl."

"She helped," Bob said.

Two words. Two words I was thrilled to hear. My desire to touch the three of them, the way they were touching themselves, was overwhelming. It was the Devil. Pure and simple. He'd overtaken me and things were going to spiral into darkness. I knew it. I couldn't fight it. I didn't want to fight it.

Bob's massive hardness felt as warm and as solid as I'd imagined. If ever a hunk of manhood deserved to be called a cock, the thing that was in my hand was it. A cock that throbbed. A cock that was rippled with sinew and muscle. A cock so big it needed two hands.

"Oh, Margaret!" he said, his voice softened by my touch.

His eyes closed and he sprawled his long body into more of a recline, sighing with a quivering breath as he rested his head on the back of the couch. I felt an amazing sense of power, a big manly man reduced to whimpering at my touch. My hands were stacked one above the other, moving slowly up and down the tower-like cock, bumping over the edge of the big tip with each stroke.

"Is this okay?" I asked, smiling coyly, knowing the answer.

Bob looked at me, his face soft and happy. "Margaret, that's so much better than okay. But I don't want to hog all your attention. Jim and Harvey would love it, too."

I reluctantly let go of the best thing I'd ever touched. I held my hands out, beckoning my newly intimate friends. They rose from their chairs and I installed them on the couch, three naked men sitting next to each other. I pulled the low table with the puzzles on it out of the way, and I knelt on the floor between Jim and Harvey's legs. I was hit with a blast of conscience, a sudden clarity as to what was happening, their eyes looking like the eyes I saw every week at church. All of us were happily married, all with much to lose.

"This is crazy," I said. "Are we all, still, okay with this? It's just something we'll all remember quietly, right? No talking about it?"

"Not a word," Jim said.

I was looking into his eyes when I wrapped my right hand around his cock, and I looked into Harvey's eyes when I took hold of his with my left. They both moaned, two different sounds from two different men. Bob made a nice noise, too, his big cock back in his big hand, his blue eyes watching me slip deeper into the Devil's grasp.

I didn't say anything as I was giving two handjobs to two men at the same time. Jim and Harvey didn't say anything either. They both had looks of amazement on their faces, amazed, I would imagine, to see me, their prim, proper, always-buttoned-to-the-neck church secretary down on my knees doing what I was doing. I was amazed, too. The whole day was starting to feel like a crazy dream I was about to wake up from. The warm, hard cocks felt so good in my hands, like they belonged there.

"What happened next, with your girl?" I asked Bob. Even my voice seemed detached from reality.

"She was an enthusiastic blowjob giver," Bob said, his eyes searching mine, looking, no doubt, for an inkling that I might be one, too.

"I don't know if I can do that," I said.

"Then don't," Bob said. "This has been quite a night already. There's no need to push beyond your comfort level. If you'd like to finish us I'm sure we'd all be appreciative, but only if you'd like to. Otherwise you'll have to listen to us each taking care of ourselves in the bathroom."

"No, it's not that," I said, stroking the two cocks slowly. "I just...don't... know if I can. I've never tried."

"Oh!" Bob said, looking kindly and sympathetic. "Well this is the perfect chance to give it a try, if you'd like. You've got three patient men who care about you."

"You'll all tell me if I'm doing it horribly badly?"

"There's no such thing, Margaret," he said.

Jim was the lucky — or unlucky maybe — first man in my mouth. His cock looked the least challenging, so I wet my lips and touched them to it, and let two or three inches of him slip inside, onto my cradling tongue. He groaned and my eyes opened wider. It was a good groan, a happy groan, so I moved my head up and down, feeling the warm tip of him against the roof of my mouth. After ten or fifteen seconds I stopped.

"What do I do?" I asked.

"It's fine," Jim assured. "It's nice."

I looked at Bob. "Any tips from our expert?" I asked him. "I need guidance."

"Jim looks happy," he said, "but ideally you want to put more of yourself into it. Let go of Harvey and concentrate on Jim. Stroke him with your hand and follow your hand with your mouth. Squeeze with your tongue. Let your saliva flow and make it all slippery. Sex should be messy and make noises."