Third-Party Joinder

Alone in the center of this big bed, I'm watching the clock on the dresser. It's late now, so late that it isn't even really Friday night any more. My husband, Matthew, knows I'm waiting for him up here. He's been downstairs for nearly an hour with something he had said he needed to take care of.

I didn't want to wait for him. We had gone out to dinner with his bosses to celebrate the end of the lawsuit that had dominated so much of his life. Now that he had won, he was on the short list for partner for certain. There, at the very posh restaurant, he had slipped his hand beneath the crisp, white tablecloth, and swept his broad palm over my thigh. He had plucked at my garters, playfully at first, before moving his hand up higher, over my mound. His fingertips curled under my smallest, sexiest silk panties, dipping into my wet heat. All the while, he had kept up a conversation with the stodgy partners as his hand made an intimate promise with me.

Once we arrived at home, he kissed me long and deep, his hands cradling my face. I leaned into him, sliding my hands over his shoulders, but he pulled away, breaking contact.

"I have to handle something down here first," he said. "I'm right behind you."

I bit back my protest and resolved to use the time to my advantage. Upstairs, I was able to shower and slowly spread a luxuriant lotion over my skin. I took my time to choose my favorite nightgown, the long one in black silk. I slid the strap on over my shoulder, thinking of how he would slide it back off in a few minutes. I walked my fingers down into the gown's V-neck and remembered that he said he was right behind me.

I slipped between the sheets then, already wet. It would have been easy to give myself a quick orgasm right then, but that would have been cheating, I thought. Now, still waiting, I have begun to reconsider my decision. Slowly, honor is losing its battle with hunger. I squint at the clock; it's two in the morning now. I sweep back the sheets and the duvet and swing my legs out of bed.

My bare feet don't make a sound in the thick carpet of the hallway and the stairs. He's done well, my husband. It's a big, lavishly decorated house. It says old money. It's all dark paneling and heavy furniture. I have never been crazy about the rather gothic decorating scheme, but after I married Matthew, I slowly warmed up to it. During our first week in this house as man and wife, we christened every room. He bent me over the settee his parents favor when they visit for tea. He pinned me to the thick carpet in the library. I rode him on the formal dining table. The many pleasant memories make it difficult to dislike the furniture.

I find him at his desk in the study; he is surrounded by piles of paper, legal pads and books. The lamp in the corner makes a circle of light on the center of the desk. The fire in the fireplace belies his intention to come upstairs to bed anytime soon. I march right up to the desk and plant my hands on the thick layer of papers. I lean over, offering him the view deep into the neck of the nightgown.

"You said you would be right up," I say.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I did say that. I just started to pack this up, and --"

I reach across his desk and put my fingertips on his mouth. "No more excuses. Now."

I plant my knee on the desk and hoist myself experimentally onto it. I have driven cars smaller than this desk, but I've never tried to support my weight on it before. He rises from the chair, very slowly and deliberately. When his mouth covers mine, I can taste old, old scotch on him. His tongue claims my mouth, and far away, I can hear an avalanche of books and paper as he sweeps the desk clean for me. No more excuses. Now.

His hands have never been hard, but I can feel their strength as they close on my arms. He lifts me squarely onto the now bare desk, and I can hear him breathing hard against my neck. His mouth is hot against my skin as he lowers me onto the desk. As my eyes drift closed, I am arching into him, turning my face into his thick, dark hair, as he leans over me and slides that strap off my shoulder. I start to reach for the lamp, but another hand closes over mine.

It's different. The palm is rough on my skin. I gasp, snapping my head around.

My brother-in-law is here. The subject of a dozen forbidden fantasies is here, standing over us. David has been here all along, sharing a drink with my husband, helping him celebrate. He's been watching us, too. The lamplight throws the hard planes of his face into sharp relief, even as the light from the fire heightens the golden glow of his blond hair. I have to touch him. I want to feel the sun-rough stubble on his face. I want his mouth to close over my fingertips, sucking them, drawing them in with his tongue. I want to spread my hands over the broad plain of his chest, warm beneath that shirt, then over his flat stomach, then to the worn jeans, where I can see his cock swelling, making an enticing bulge, ready for the cup of my hand.

My mouth is watering, but my hand is steady, and still trapped in his hand. Matthew slides a smooth, warm palm up my leg, eagerly hiking my gown up. The strong fingers find their way under the G-string, slick with my juices. His fingers nimbly brush my clit. A shaft of pleasure electrifies me.

His whisper in my ear is hot. "Touch him. It's all right. It's all right."

David releases my hand but guides it up to his face. My thumb passes over his lips, and he takes it into his mouth. The wet heat of it makes me melt around my husband's hand. The silk of the gown slides down to expose first the upper curve of my breast, then my hard nipple. Matthew's mouth descends onto it hungrily, sucking greedily at it as his hand works at my cunt. When my head drops back, David cradles it in one hand, holding me steady for his eager kiss. His tongue strokes steadily over mine, the pressure of his mouth firm. He breaks away from my mouth, catching my swollen lower lip in his teeth before smoothing it over with his tongue.

Matthew releases my breast, brushing the nipple once, twice more with his tongue before he lifts me off the desk. He carries me to the deep rug in front of the fireplace. As I prop myself up on my elbows, the two of them undress, one of them on each side of me. I can feel their eyes on me. Matthew's long fingers make short work of the buttons on that expensive shirt. He deftly removes the cufflinks I gave him two years ago. He backs toward the desk to put the cufflinks there, and then he slides the shirt from his shoulders and pulls off his undershirt to show me that smooth chest. He starts to unfasten his belt, but then he stops. In my anticipation, I sit up on the rug, gathering the gown up so that I can take it off.

"Not yet," he says. "Soon enough."

David undoes the first couple of buttons of his own shirt before pulling it over his head. His bronzed chest is covered with golden hair. He casually casts the cotton shirt aside into the shadows. The two of them stare down at me, smiling lazy, hungry smiles.

David sits next to me, claiming my mouth in another long, searing kiss. His hands gather up my hair, holding me still. This is no settled family man's kiss. There is real hunger here, an immense, bottomless appetite. My hands find his chest, at last, savoring the heat, the hard expanse of him.

Matthew's strong arm passes around my waist, lifting me off his brother. I can feel the low rumble in David's chest as our contact is broken. Part of me is his already.

But Matthew knows where to touch me. He knows how to touch me. He always has. His mouth is over mine, a perfect fit. David's hard hands slip under the gown to take hold of my breast, a bestial squeeze, his rough thumb sweeping over my nipple. I arch up into them, my husband and his brother, making a long, desperate moan, a plea for more and more. David's hand slides over to the other breast, and I can feel the heat of his breath on my aching nipple.

"Now, babe," Matthew says, tugging at the gown. "Take it off. Show him."

It feels so strange. My arms seem to be moving by themselves as they take up the gown and pull it up, sliding it over my body as I turn to face David. Behind me, Matthew lifts my breasts up, an offering to his brother, and I reach out for him. David's mouth closes on my breast again, sucking at me hard. My head rolls back onto Matthew's shoulder as my mouth opens and closes on wordless sounds of wonder.

"You want something for that pretty mouth, babe?"

I nod as Matthew kisses me again, rolling the untended nipple between his fingers. Rough fingers pry my thighs apart, closing on the wet scrap of fabric between my legs, sliding it down and away into the dark to join my gown. David's hand is on me now, working the slick folds of flesh there, plunging deep into me. The scent of my arousal is heavy in the air. I hear Matthew's belt unbuckling and the sound of his zipper. His arm, around my waist again, pulls me against his cock, firebrand-hot against the small of my back. I shift back into him, grinding my ass against him. An unfamiliar, almost inhuman sound issues from deep within me. David's eyes meet mine, as if in recognition of this new thing emerging in me. He reaches for me, pulling me forward into another kiss.

"Unzip me," he growls against my open mouth. With one hand fisted in my hair, he lowers me toward his belt. My hands are awkward on it, with the button above his zipper. He chuckles softly.

"Easy, girl," he says. "Let me out."

I can feel the sweep of Matthew's hand over the curve of my ass as I work at his brother's zipper. Three of Matthew's fingers enter my pussy slowly, pumping me regularly. I reach for David's tool, finding it long and thick, hard and heavy in my hand, just as I had imagined it. I lean forward to give it a long stroke with my tongue. I look up at him to find his head thrown back, his eyes closed, and I take as much of him into my mouth as I can, reaching into his pants to take his balls into my hand at the same time.

Matthew enters me then, in a single long thrust, pushing me forward into David, making me cry out in delight. Matthew withdraws slowly before taking another thrust, harder than the first, as David begins to roll his hips, back and forth, fucking my mouth as my husband fills my cunt over and over. I can hear the blood rushing in my ears, the labored breathing of these two brothers as they move in slow, patient strokes. I start to twist a little to give Matthew better access to me, to feel him touch me deeper than before. David's cock leaps up into my mouth as his breath hitches above me. I give his balls a squeeze. His hand rests on my head, slowly twining in my hair, holding me on him.

Matthew's thrusting grows harder, faster, reaching deep into my channel, his balls against the slick heat of my cunt. His harsh breathing quickens, and the sound that comes from him is not the familiar grunt and hiss of our usual lovemaking. This man, given to climaxing with a soft gasp, pours himself into me with a bellow, a savage cry. He gives up an aftershock of pleasure, a short spasm and then another, before pulling out of me. My muscles close again around that empty space.

David pulls me off his cock and hauls me up by the hair to face him.

"Come here, babe," he growls.

He holds me close to him, the wiry hair of his body scraping my sensitive skin, making my nipples hard again. He sweeps me beneath him onto the deep rug and rises up over me, blocking out the light. I arch my back up toward him, answering him in a deep, primal way. He puts his mouth against my neck. I can feel the harsh scrape of his stubble against me, the wet heat of his tongue. His cock enters me without preamble, finding me effortlessly, filling me completely. Then his teeth fasten onto my throat, closing a circuit as I cry out for him.

He doesn't start with a long slow thrust like his brother. David pumps me hard and fast, breaking away from my neck to whisper harsh, lewd encouragements at me. His hand makes a fist in my hair again, pulling hard, baring my throat for him. He stretches me, fucking me harder and faster than any of my secret fantasies dared to imagine. I feel myself reaching up and up toward distant pleasure, and then I feel it engulfing me, coming around me and over me in every way pleasure can surround me. It makes my ears ring, and I cannot hear myself scream, and I cannot hear him roar his triumph.

Later, as I am catching my breath, I see David's frame in the firelight and my husband on the rug behind him. Another thrill of pleasure races through me. We can never be the same after this, I realize. It's the first coherent thought I have after the torrential orgasm, and I knew it would be an unwelcome intrusion.

I wait for one of them to speak. The silence goes on for ten long seconds. It's long enough for me to look at the snowdrift of papers on the floor near the desk. The real world is pressing in, fogging the glass of our little bubble.

I find David's shirt nearby and put it on, deliberately. I stand up slowly, feeling the ache in my thighs. Heat coils uneasily in me again, as I look down at them on the floor at my feet.

"Come upstairs to bed," I tell them.

They both look up at me. I expect censure from my husband, disapproval of sorts from my brother-in-law. Instead they just look curious. They look like wary animals, wanting to eat from a trainer's hand and fearing that the treat will be withheld.

I smile at them both and turn toward the door.

"Come on. No more excuses. Now."