The Writers

When I compared our cocks it forced me to recognize that I had never lost my erection. I'd skirted with the idea of a threesome for ages and now that it was happening, seeing Deb in all her sexual glory, seeing her about to be with another man - it was every bit the fantastic turn on I thought it would be.

Seeing John excited by my wife was hot too. If it were any other man I would ardently desire to see him give her great passionate pleasure and for her to gratify him too.

But what I hoped for with John was that he would fail to excite her, or better yet that she would scorn and reject him at the last second.

Waving the gun he ordered me to stand aside.

Then as he was hobbling forward she brazenly reached out, flailing, but eventually taking him by the cock, and pulling him close. "Constable, I owe you my life."

I wanted to stop it but I was frozen in my troublesome lust.

Would she take his handsome cock into her pouty lips? Deb would be hotter than any pornstar and I would have a first row seat. I longed to see her acting lasciviously, and sucking John's cock would do the trick.

Leaning back against the pillows she brought his cock to her cleavage and sandwiched it between them. He knelt on the bed trying not to get tangled up in his pants, but obviously enjoying the tight feeling of her boobs on his organ. My resentment abated slightly, knowing that this was an act he could never accomplish with the tiny titted Dora. In a contest of wives mine was the winner.

I watched helplessly as he began to thrust. She held her breasts together encasing what I was sure was an evil sweaty dick. The head poked out, getting closer and closer to her alluring mouth. Did she know it's size from the feeling of it gliding between her boobs?

She never looked better and there was no sign that she would turn him away. Wanting both to watch and wanting John to lose, my last hope was that when he came he would give her a tiny impotent dribble, or maybe that it would taste bad and she would spit it out. She never spits out mine.

With frantic thrusting he jammed forward five or six times, then grunted and splattered audibly on her chest.

I was quite surprised he hadn't gone for the blowjob - pleasantly surprised.

Even now he might have turned it around and gone for a prolonged event. Or stayed for round two. But his next action was to step away.

Deb beckoned me to her. "Baby, will you kiss me?" She spread her legs widely.

I crawled between her creamy thighs. She grabbed my hair impatiently, "Get to work. I need it now."

Just before starting I checked on John only to discover him watching - judging. She pulled my head back saying, "I can't be left high and dry, can I?" I couldn't help but smile from ear to ear while licking her cunt.

I knelt there on hands and knees servicing her puss devotedly. John put his lips next to my ear. So close only I could hear saying, "You and your wife Debbie are made for each other." Then he reached back, grasping my balls and squeezing just hard enough to exert his dominance - like a homoerotic competitive handshake. "You're a cuckold and she's a whore."

Next he tried to stuff his cock into my ass. Blindfolded, she would have no idea what he was doing and with Debbie holding my head fast I tried to dodge his efforts. But being deflated and spent he couldn't.

He had tried to humiliate me but for the second time tonight it was only him who was humiliated. I heard the front door slam as he retreated.

She skimmed over her orgasm - so close. Then pulled on my arms, her signal that she was ready for the main event. With Deb, no matter what else we did, the fucking was the most important part. She had the most certain and strongest orgasms from penetration.

I slid into her wet gash in one motion. It was mine alone. Her body responded subtly but I knew the understated arch of her back, the little tilt of her head, and the widening of her legs. She was no whore.

Instantly her first contraction seized her. I pistoned unceasingly lest I spoil it. For the time being I was merely an observer, at best a helper. My one task was to change nothing, only following along the crests and troughs of the waves. Anything else and it could squelch her climax

Her fingers played over one nipple while she cupped the other breast, offering the rubbery erect flesh to me, "Suck it!" I knew that desperate plea. My sucking would throw her over the edge into rolling sexual paroxysms.

No sooner had my lips surrounded the pink knob than her next convulsion captured all her thoughts and feelings.

Grinding her mons against me she clutched at my head in frenzied intensity. She forced my mouth hard against the one breast then moved me to the other one, as she often does, finally ending up with me kissing the cleavage between for her gradual let down.

I'd forgotten, but was suddenly aware of a pool of sticky-slick cum. The thick goo was instantly all over my face and in my mouth before I knew it was there. I was being compulsorily reacquainted with cum and it wasn't mine this time.

John must have left three times the normal amount, to be squished and smeared over my lover's chest with my face as the instrument to spread it.

I don't think she realized what was happening. At least not at first. But with her petit mort in the recent past she regained a connection to reality.

At this point our normal practice would be for us to kiss while my plowing of her pussy would build to a lightning crescendo to bring about my own orgasm.

Instead she held my head in place, refusing to let me near her lips. Whether her goal was to avoid tasting John's ejaculate or to make me keep tasting it - I didn't know.

The culmination of my efforts was near and I couldn't stop now. I was ramming her gash with my more turgid than ever cock, when unthinking, I did the unthinkable. With my slimy face held to her bosom I licked the copious puddles.

With what can only be described as cum mania I lapped at the abhorrent mess. I reveled in the nastiness, shooting my own nasty discharge far into Deb's cunt whilst simultaneously swallowing John's. There would be no mistaking the concurrence for sheer coincidence.

With a groan I lifted my head, pumping and holding my spurting cock stock still and buried deep. It was a most intense orgasm, lasting the full breadth of at least twelve pulsing shots of streaming goo.

Meanwhile, cum dripped from my soaked lips back onto Deb's chest. Strings of his gunk wavered, connecting her and I.

I looked in her eyes as she stared scrupulously at my glossy face. Her expression shone as a manifest intoxicated glee. Strikingly, she was high at the sight of me.

I dashed to the bathroom, washing my face, then showering to persuade myself that it was all gone. Reflecting in the shower I speculated that she had unwittingly trained me to enjoy nastiness. That this was not a latent surge of homosexuality.

When I returned she lay undisturbed, still a beautiful pin up, still with scarves artfully arranged, and still with now drying cum painted across her chest.

She beckoned to me. Motioning for me to lie down next to her. With her arm around me she comforted my soul, "It's alright. We had fun. Feeling better after your shower?"

I couldn't bring myself to put my thoughts into words.

"I don't think you know this about me," she started, "but I'm conflicted sometimes. I love you and I love being with you. But as a lady, it doesn't feel right to enjoy the messiness of it. I'm embarrassed by the towel I need to sop up the leftovers after we're done. I hate that I like the taste of your, you know, when you want me to kiss you there."

I stared at the ceiling, listening but not responding or interrupting. She might as well have been describing my own conflict.

"But this last week, sitting at my desk crafting stories for hours on end. It's freed me to embrace things." It was odd to hear her say this since I'd been freed too.

"When my mind is engrossed in a story it's like it's not me doing those nasty things. I stop worrying about what you'll think of me."

I wanted to scream, "Me too." But, like her, I worried about what she would think of me. If I stayed hidden behind the 'romantic' stories there was an excuse for my actions.

I started to speak, to confess how much like her I felt. But my words caught in my throat.

Debbie leaned over, picking up her phone and typing a short message.

When my phone chimed I picked it up and read, "Catherine had been abandoned by the constable, no longer under his protection. Who now could stop Heathcliff from leaving his mess in unspeakable places?"

I typed back, "Heathcliff had succumbed to his darker daemons. When the constable's deputy finally arrived it was too late, but..."

Author's note:

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I often attempt to create tension in the main character's motives. In turn, this often means that characters in the story have flaws and might not even be nice to each other all the time.

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