Thick and Thin: the End

Chrissy turns to me, eyes wide and shining; chin covered in spit. "Right down my throat. Whenever you want."

Her hands are on my thighs and I put mine on top, ready to pull her in and make, 'Whenever you want', be right now.

Lance sees it and laughs. "You're taking your eyes off the prize again, partner. Chrissy, show him the prize."

Still smiling, Chrissy backs off the seat cushions and stands on the floor in front of me. Gracefully she turns around, spreads her feet apart and bends forward at the waist until her elbows rest on the coffee table. There's the prize. The prize I've tasted, but not yet truly had.

"What do you say, Bryan? Can you hold out a little longer?" He speaks and looks at me in a way that says he's really leaving it up to me. If I want her to go ahead and suck me to climax right now, that's my choice to make.

I tell myself again there's no reason to wait; I'm sure I'll be ready for round two very quickly tonight. Then I look back at the gorgeous, athletic ass, its secret centre exposed with no hesitation or shame. If I am out of things, recovering, for even a short count, will Lance get there first? Will I have to follow after he's already reamed my wife with his thick weapon? That won't do.

"I can wait," I choke out. "Not long, but I can wait."

Lance laughs again. "And do you forgive Chrissy for inviting me to crash your party without your knowledge?"

At this, Chrissy turns back around and sits on the edge of the table and gives me a look that's both anxious and defiant.

I have to laugh myself. I'd sure as hell been pissed to find him waiting at our door, at her invitation no less! But once again, he's turned what would have been a night of hot passion into a veritable cauldron of volcanic eroticism. I never would have come up with that ball-sucking trick on my own, but now plan to put it to frequent use.

"Yes, I forgive you." She squeals and comes back across the loveseat, putting her face up to mine as she kneels between my legs. I take her face in my hands and kiss her hard, our lips sliding against each other in the slippery saliva.

When I break the kiss I insist, "But no more surprises. If you want to have Lance over for a playdate again, you check with me first."

She gives me her little girl smile and drops her eyes demurely.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Lance gets to his feet. "Now that apologies have been made and accepted, how about we move this party over to the big couch so there's room for all of us?" He tilts his head to the 3-cushion sofa to his right that stands a few feet away and at a 90-degree angle to the loveseat.

Chrissy backs off the sofette again and I follow her. Our erstwhile guest holds his glass out towards us and we pick up ours from the table. "Friends and Lovers," he says with a smile.

"Friends and Lovers," we echo before we all drink.

"Um, Bryan," Lance continues, with a mirthsome look on his face. "You might want to bring out some towels for us to lie on like last time. It looks like things are already getting messy."

My cock absolutely shines with spit and my pubic hair is a foamy mess, while Chrissy's body also glistens with saliva from chin to belly. The light blue polo shirt I'd been sitting on has a very large dark spot. Chrissy pulls it away and fortunately it looks like the heavy cotton has protected the loveseat from the worst of it.

A look of housewife terror flashes across Chrissy's face, but it's quickly replaced by goofy giggles as she wipes my shirt across her torso before handing it to me. I accept it, take another drink before putting my glass on the table, and walk back to our room to drop the used spit rag into the hamper and grab some new ones for cum.

I use the opportunity for a piss break while I'm in our bathroom, but it takes quite a while to get the urine through a rifle barrel that's already locked and loaded for semen. Finally finishing, I wash my hands and splash cold water on my face before grabbing a stack of folded towels from the linen cupboard.

Back in the living area, my partners-in-sin have already moved to the larger sofa, bringing our margaritas and the ashtray over to its accompanying coffee table. Lance sits on the outside of the arm nearest me, facing my direction and puffing on the second joint. My wife is kneeling on the floor between his spread legs. Her back is to me, but the bobbing up and down of her head tells me what she's doing.

"Damn, partner," Lance smiles at me through a cloud of smoke. "I was starting to think you'd passed out and I was going to have to try and handle this wildcat all by myself."

Chrissy gives a feline growl out of the corner of her dick-filled mouth and rakes her nails lightly down his muscular quads.

Mumbling something incoherent, I walk over. To get to the sofa I have to step so close to them that I could easily reach out and touch the back of my wife's head as she noisily feasts on the thick meat stick of a guy we've known less than two months.

Setting the stack of towels on the table, I spread two large ones on top of each other, covering the centre seat cushion and the one on Lance's end.

"Go ahead and put one here," Lance says. "I have an idea." Holding the joint between his lips, he puts his hands on either side of Chrissy's head and guides her to her feet as he stands up himself. He passes her the joint and she takes a long hit.

I open a fluffy towel and then fold it back in half before draping it over the sofa arm. I feel like the fucking towel boy at a Roman orgy.

At least, I do until Lance bends Chrissy over the sofa arm and puts her beautiful ass on open display and in the perfect position for worship or abuse. He steps away and throws out his hands towards her in a Ta-dah! gesture and I'm suddenly promoted from Towel Boy to Favoured Senator in the decadent Emperor's court.

Lance and I move past each other, me to stand behind her vulnerable backside and he to get on the sofa. He puts the joint into Chrissy's mouth as he gets into position, lying on his back on the same cushion where she's supporting herself on her arms. It's clear that the Guru-Sheikh-Emperor of Debauchery intends to get back to where he was when I came in with the towels; with his cock buried in the throat of the love of my life.

To get his thick cum tube into sucking range, he has to hang his legs over the sofa arm. In a moment of outside observation, I see our convoluted position looks a little ridiculous. But I also have no doubt we would have fit in perfectly in ancient Rome.

I begin by just standing behind my wife, running my hands over her smooth skin, from her lower back to her upper thighs, with most of my time naturally spent on the ass I've been lusting after ever since Lance opened it for business a week ago.

From this position, I'm once again seeing only the back of Chrissy's head. Lance reaches out and takes the doobie from her mouth, takes another hit himself, then holds it towards me. My hands are busy with something better just now, so I shake my head no. He nods his head approvingly, tamps it out on the edge of the smokeless ashtray, and leaves the remainder of the light and fun cigarette in a groove.

A small cloud of smoke comes up from around my wife's face as she finally releases her last hit. Then she resumes eating Lance's ham hock. She'd been enthralled with it last weekend because of its unusual proportions, looking even thicker than it was, because it wasn't extra-long as well as extra thick. She'd gone after him ravenously and tried to deep throat him the way she does me. But both Friday and Saturday, she hadn't been able to get her throat open wide enough to take all of him.

But looking down at her now, I'd swear she was kissing his naked balls from around his billy club, which she could only do if she'd gotten him into her throat. Then I consider her new trick with me earlier; getting my balls into her mouth while she deep-throated me. If she can do that, then maybe she can take all of Lance's cock now.

The look on Lance's face certainly supports the idea that she's made it to his root. When he notices me staring, he gives me a nod and a wink that confirm my observations. Then he says, "How's that ass taste, partner?"

I drop to my knees behind my wife and begin to find out.

It tastes wonderful! I just want to bury my face in her crack and motorboat back and forth across her sweet pooper. Okay, I'm drunk and stoned. But not that drunk and stoned. Not so drunk and stoned that I forget that I want her to enjoy this as much as I do. Everything I do now has to support getting her ready, willing and able to take my cock inside her ass for the first time.

We hadn't turned down the lights in the living area and I'm getting a better look at her asshole than I've ever had. Revelling in its erotic beauty, it seems to me to be a bit more swollen than when she'd first let me kiss it. I run the flat of my tongue across it and get the same feeling, that it's protruding just a bit more. I think back to the way she reamed herself so actively with her fingers on Thursday and then let me finger fuck her last night.

I'm apparently still more stoned than I thought, because in my mind's eye, I suddenly see good old Analyst Nerd pondering the recovery time Chrissy would need for her elastic anal sphincter to return to its normal size and shape. The weed is certainly bringing back lots of college memories I hadn't thought of in years.

Well, I'm not that over-analysing kid anymore and simply resolve to be even gentler as I love on my wife's delicate anus.

But, if there is a problem, it doesn't seem to be affecting Chrissy's pleasure. In fact, she's quickly squirming and pushing back against me in ways that tell me she wants me to be less gentle, not more.

So, I pin her to the sofa with my face and try to drill my tongue through her sphincter and her mouth comes off of Lance's cock to sound her pleasure.

"Eat my ass! Oh, God, eat my dirty ass! Do it! Stick your tongue right up my asscunt!"

As I marvel over the word, 'asscunt,' I do my best to fulfil her request. And I'm actually getting deeper into her than ever before. Even deeper than when her anus has winked open at orgasm. Have just a few sessions of finger fucking really loosened her up like this? I slap my mental analyst and tell him to go sit in the corner. This is the time for analizing, not analysing.

She's grinding her pelvis against the sofa arm, obviously trying to rub her clit. I slide my hand up under to give her its back and knuckles to work against. The extra friction and the rapid tongue-fucking I'm giving her quickly send her into a shaking orgasm.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck! I'm cumming like an assslut, like a fucking assslut!"

My old avatar, Analyst Nerd, sits happily stoned in his corner, but now cradling a small chalkboard. With a smile, he puts a check mark under my name for first score of the night.

Lance grins madly at me across Chrissy's back and I feel a grin just as broad on my face as she pants and gasps between us. Then the man who's helped me defile my lovely wife does a deep crunch and brings his head close to hers. While gently stroking her hair, he says in a stage whisper, "That's because you are. An assslut. Aren't you?"

"Assslut," she confirms in a decadent whine.

"Now that you've had your husband's tongue up your backside, what do you want next?

"Fingersss," she hisses.

"Do fingers feel good in your ass?" he continues.

"Yesss."

"Why else do you like fingers in your ass?"

Her voice sounds strangled; her throat tight. I'm not sure if it's shame or excitement from being made to say these things out loud, but I strongly suspect the latter.

"They get me ready for cock. Tongue, fingers, cock." Then in a stronger voice. "Get me ready!"

I can't believe what I'm hearing. My intelligent, educated, self-confident wife is talking like a cock-addicted nymphomaniac in a 5-star Literotica wank story. My cock hasn't been touched in over fifteen minutes, but it's jutting up now and feeling like the skin could split.

"How wet is that pussy?"

When I finally realize Lance is talking to me, I pull out the hand that Chrissy jacked herself against, dragging the back along her pussy lips. It's slick and shiny and I show it to Lance as I get to my feet. I take a good, long lick and reply, "Very!"

"Then you have what you need to give her what she wants," he says simply.

I pivot to stand up against her left hip. My right hand reaches down, curving under her ass to her pussy, where there are indeed copious amounts of natural lubrication.

Cupping my fingers, I drag the surface moisture backwards and up over her asshole. Then I'm rubbing, tickling and penetrating her anus with my middle finger, using everything I've learned from the last two nights to pleasure her.

My fingers dip deep into her cunny for more lube and play the quick finger-change game she'd done to herself on Thursday night; my index, middle and ring fingers taking one deep plunge each before being replaced by the next in fast sequence.

The sounds she's making are muffled because she has Lance's dick back in her mouth, but they're happy sounds. Then she comes off his cock long enough to utter her next command. "More!"

I guess I look confused, because Lance chimes in with, "More fingers, Bryan. One at a time is fine for playtime, but now you need to get her ready for something bigger." He grins wickedly, "Hell, even your needle dick is thicker than a finger, isn't it?"

It's mean, but I have to laugh. There are very few men that Lance couldn't call needle dick in comparison to him, so I don't take it personally. But I do take it to heart. One finger becomes two, two becomes three, and Chrissy seems well pleased with the way I'm jamming them in and out of her asscunt.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

In fact, she seems so well pleased that I prepare to reach my left hand under from the side to get to her clit and bring her to another orgasm.

But then I hear, "Ready for the real thing?" Looking over, I see Lance has a hand on either side of Chrissy's head and has drawn her up on to her hands on the sofa cushion.

The animal sound of her answer makes me wish I could see her face too. "Hell, yes! Give it to me!"

I pull my fingers out of my wife's ass and move around behind her. Lance gets to his feet and steps over. Apparently, the Guru wants a good view to watch his student reach his goal.

I'm going to do what I did with my fingers and dip my cock into her sopping wet pussy for lubrication before putting it through her anal bullseye. I take myself in my right hand and angle it down at her snatch. My left reaches out to pull one cheek to the side, but when I touch her, she clenches her cheeks and brings her knees together and down into the side of the sofa.

I yank my hand back; have I hurt her? But how could I have? I haven't even gone near her anus yet.

"Wh-what's wrong?" I sputter.

I look to Lance, standing at my side, for help or explanation. He has an expression on his face I haven't seen before. It's like his habitual mien of confidence, but amped way up. Smug is the word that comes to mind.

He looks at me as he speaks, but the words are for my wife.

"Tell him."

Chrissy lets out a long, "Ummmm," and then says, "Not you. Him."

I stand there, blinking stupidly. Lance places a hand on my shoulder, almost consolingly, but also pushing lightly. 'You could have knocked me over with a feather,' is the cliché that fits and that light pressure has me moving to the side without knowing how or why.

Lance steps into my place and Chrissy immediately unclenches her muscles and jauntily presents her ass to him.

When he puts both of his hands on her ass cheeks and roughly pulls them apart, there's no flinch from her, just a long moan of anticipation. Lance lays his cock in the crack of her ass, like a fat Polish sausage going into a fluffy, white bun. He saws it up and down, just an inch or so, but the friction across her anus, sensitized by the attentions of my tongue and fingers, brings an even more animal-like sound from her throat.

His right hand leaves her ass cheek and holds his cock horizontally behind her. This asshole is going to take my wife's asshole right in front of me. But instead, he does what I'd been planning to do. He rubs the head up and down her pussy lips to separate them and then pushes into her. A long mewl of pleasure comes from her mouth.

Lance groans along with her as he pokes into her in stages: 2 inches in, 1 inch back, 2 inches in, until he hits bottom, where he holds still and the two of them appear to just soak in the sensations.

I stumble back and have to put a hand on the top corner of the sofa to hold myself steady.

Lance's eyes are closed, his face turned upwards with that look of relief and pleasure that I associate with finally getting to piss after having to hold it a long time. After a moment, his hips begin moving. He's not sliding in and out, just bouncing lightly there at the bottom of his stroke. Chrissy keeps up her quiet sounds of joy.

His eyes remain closed as he sighs, "I swear to God, every time I push into this hot, wet pussy, I think it's her best hole. But then I bury myself in her tight, dirty asshole or her hungry mouth and I'm sure that's the best one." He laughs. "Thank God, I don't have to pick just one."

'Every time? Pussy...asshole...mouth...best hole?!'

His face remains turned up to the ceiling, but his next words are obviously directed to me, as opposed to being more of a soliloquy on the pleasures of my wife's fuck holes.

"And what about that mouth, Bryan? Your cock and balls inside at the same time? How incredible was that?" He begins rocking his hips further back and I can see his cock appear and disappear as he slowly strokes in and out of her gash.

"It took all week, but Chrissy's a good student. Aren't you, baby?"

"When I love my subject," she murmurs.

Lance chuckles. "She was so proud of herself when she was finally able to take all of my thick log down her throat yesterday."

Beams of harsh light finally begin poking through the thick fog around my brain.

'Yesterday?'

"All week?"

I don't realize I've said the second thing out loud, until Lance opens his eyes and looks at me with definite smugness.

"Of course. What do you think your wife has been eating for lunch all week?"

'Lunch?' Then it all comes rushing in. It's like sitting in an evidence meeting with Clive and Paul and watching all the cheating spouse's lies come tumbling down.

Monday was the only day we'd taken lunch together this past week.

Tuesday, she went to a client lunch with Bridger.

- But paralegals never go on such lunches.

Wednesday was another client lunch.

- But at least that seemed to involve the sisterhood, so it had been more believable.

And it was the sisterhood on Thursday and Friday as well.

Thursday with a broken-hearted girlfriend.

- But, according to Anurak at the pool party, that girlfriend had been perfectly happy with her boyfriend just the Saturday before.

And Friday with another girlfriend, one dealing with sexual harassment at work.

- But her rich-white-man of a managing partner had ended up taking a female paralegal's side against two male associates? Not likely.

It was far more likely that I'd fallen for four bullshit excuses that enabled my wife to have Lance's cock and cum for lunch.

Lance must have seen the blood drain out of my face, because he says with fake concern, "You okay, partner? You're not going to pass out on us, are you? Maybe you should sit down."

The bastard is really enjoying telling me how he and my wife have put the horns on me. I want to smack the smug smile off his face, but he's right about me feeling close to passing out. My whole life has suddenly blown up before my eyes and I'm seeing spots. I hate that I appear to be following his orders again, but I do need to sit down.