Wasn't That a Party

Keeping up the incredible barrage, he, even more impressively, reached under her waist to, apparently, from the almost unbelievably intense response, maul her clitoris; working her pussy until she was bucking and writhing and whining, uncontrollably.

Mark swung around to capture her dynamic facial expressions—grimace and rapture, clenched jaw or gaping mouth, eyes wide, then squeezed shut.

Mewling pathetically, Sierra's entire body went suddenly stiff, as she climaxed. In the same instant, rearing up again; head thrown back; hands clutching, tight, her hips; with a primal howl, Carl's orgasm overcame him. His whole body shook as his hips rattled against Sierra's bottom, until he staggered back, enervated. Sierra's arms let go, and she collapsed onto the bed, a stream of jism flowing out of her stretched anus, and dribbling down her thighs.

Recovering relatively quickly, Osborne grabbed Sierra's nearby bra, and cleaned himself with the inside of the other cup. Then, with a "Thanks, bud," he took the camera-phone from Mark. To Sierra, still trying to regain her composure, he said, "Take care of my buddy here. Make him feel real good!" Stepping to the door, he turned and watched Sierra climb off the bed and, wiping uselessly with her hand between her glistening, dripping inner thighs, drop to her knees directly in front of Mark—a glob of cum, oozing from her ass, dropped to the floor between her feet.

As Osborne quietly slipped out of the room, Mark looked down at the naked figure before him, and, pulling out his vibrating boner, letting it spring out against Sierra's nose, he hissed, "Oh yeah! This is what I'm talking about!"

Leaning forward without a word, Sierra, engulfed Mark's cock, sliding her rounded lips right down into his pubic beard. Holding onto his waist, she started pumping steadily, plunging deep over him each stroke, sucking hard with each withdrawal. After less than a dozen strokes, Mark came, grabbing her head to hold her in tight, huffing and puffing. His body twitched in time with the swallowing spasms of Sierra's neck—presumably with each ejaculation. Sierra kept him in her mouth, looking to be swirling her tongue around him as he softened, letting him fall out only as he pulled away. Staying put, on her knees, she stared at him as he tucked himself away. Giving her some sort of goofy grin, he said, with attempted nonchalance, "I trust I'll be seeing you again—all of you." With that, he left her naked and alone in Gayle's master bedroom. Sierra tried, with one hand, to catch the drips from her backside. As she hobbled into the ensuite, one could almost feel sorry for her.

"I wonder how that works. What is his hold over her?"

"Maybe nothing. Perhaps he's just astute—recognized, in her, a latent submission and is just successfully exploiting it. She doesn't actually seem unhappy."

"Yeah. She certainly got turned on. Wonder where her husband is."

"Oh," Gayle muttered in a disapproving tone, "he's probably still in the TV room, armchair quarterbacking."

When Sierra emerged from the bathroom, seemingly fully dressed, walking just a little gingerly, and promptly left, we began scanning, once more, through the other feeds—rooms we hadn't checked, yet. The games room, while pretty much continuously recorded, was completely benign. Besides people hanging up jackets earlier in the afternoon, the cloakroom recording wasn't tripped until much later. Neighbours, a married couple, stumbled in, playfully tussling and necking.

She massaged him through his pants, kissing his jaw and whispering in his ear, just loud enough for the camera to pick up; paraphrasing the time-worn Mae West line.

Grabbing their coats, he muttered, "Let's go quickly—before I take you right here!"

"Ooooh," she replied as they left, "wouldn't that be ex...," and the screen went blank—for only a moment, of course."

"Ah, Steve's lovely PA," Gayle announced. Mary-Ann showed up briefly, stepping into the camera's view. Glancing around, she clutched her blouse at her throat to keep it from gaping, then, grabbed a coat from the rack, and slipped it on, covering the brief flash of her boobs. "Hey," Gayle exclaimed, "That was my coat!" On screen, Mary-Ann furtively texted someone, then crept off-camera. I remembered, when Steve inquired about her, last night, someone had mentioned seeing her leave quietly, no goodbyes, apparently in an Uber—thought she might have been ill or something.

"I think I've had about enough," I told Gayle, rocking back in my chair, and stretching as she paused the video's blacked screen.

"How 'bout one more room? After all, the den could prove interesting."

"Okay, then. Just one more room."

The recording trigger showed Dennis—my husband, Dennis—coming into the room with Carol Osborne, the VP's wife—that VP's wife. I turned on Gayle. "What the fuck is this?" I demanded. "Did you know what was on this?"

"No-o-o!" she protested. Her wide eyes swiveled from me back to the monitor. "Shhhh!" My eyes followed.

On screen, Dennis turned and spoke. "Hey, so what did you want to see me about?" Gayle leaned forward, focused on the video feed from their home office. I watched, trembling; barely keeping my anticipated rage in check.

"I am certain that my asshole husband is fucking around on me," Carol stated, almost matter-of-factly. "And I'm looking for a bit revenge—a bit of getting even—at least to start with."

"But, why me?"

"Less chance of work-place complications," she explained, the predatory seductress becoming evident in her voice. Grabbing the front of his shirt, she pulled Dennis close and rubbed herself against him, cooing and mewing as she, then, let go and began unbuttoning her blouse. They looked to be playing a bit of tonsil-hockey, Dennis holding her shoulders, as she let go of her own top to begin trying to get his clothes off.

I froze, pulling my hand abruptly off from where it was idly caressing my erect nipples. I waited for an interminably long instant before the image of Dennis pulled back and held his erstwhile seductress at arms-length. "You are a very attractive woman, Carol, and I am very tempted; but..., I am a married man. I love my wife and I'm sure she wouldn't approve. Sorry, but I can't help you."

Gayle whispered, as if privately addressing the image on the screen, "Right answer, Ol' Denny-boy! Right answer." I felt a weight dissipate—or more like a smouldering extinguish, when Dennis gently pulled Carol's blouse closed again.

"Oh, well," Carol concluded. "Can't say I didn't try."

As they turned and left, Dennis said, "Sorry I let you d...." Then they both disappeared out the door.

"Phew," Gayle allowed, "That was close."

I hadn't realized just how tense I had been until I heaved a huge breath and felt the relief infuse from my gut out through my extremities. Though I'd never admit it to anyone, I felt myself washed with a terrible guilt that I had jumped to the worst-case conclusions, and not trusted Dennis from the get-go. "Oh, well," I figured; I'd make sure I made it up to him—without him ever knowing. Smiling to myself, I turned my attention back to the screen, as Gayle hit 'play' again.

The den cameras triggered again, less than an hour later according to the date stamp, and that footage showed Carol entering once more, only this time towing Steve behind her. Kicking the door closed behind them, Steve said, sounding just slightly baffled, "So, Carol, what did you need to see me about?"

"Well," she purred, "I guess I needed to find a way of giving the birthday boy something special on his special birthday." Stepping in to smooch with Steve while undoing his shirt and baring his chest, she whispered in a husky voice, "Got any ideas?" Without waiting for a response, she pulled Steve—who offered no resistance—over until her legs backed against the couch.

"Oooh!" Gayle hissed, watching the spectacle, "You brazen hussy, you!"

Steve succumbed to her temptation 'way, 'way too quickly—in the opinion of his dear wife, Gayle—shrugging off his shirt and fumbling at Carol's blouse while she deftly opened his fly. Leaning back just enough to pull his lips from hers, he asked, "What about Carl, your dear husband?"

"Fuck him! He's probably fucking someone else—right now! Right here in this house." Steve raised an eyebrow at that.

"I'm pretty sure it's someone from the office!" Carol muttered as she dropped to a crouch and fished out Steve's rather striking dong. I thought it better to say nothing at that particular juncture. Nevertheless, Carol expertly gobbled him up, taking several good, long, deep, steady strokes, before hopping up, quick-like and flopping herself back supine on the couch. As Steve followed with his eyes, Carol pulled her top wide open, baring an impressive pair. Without pausing, she flipped her skirt up over her waist, exposing her naked pussy.

Silently, hands on either side of her chest, Steve leaned in to cover her, eliciting a breathy "Oomph!" as he unceremoniously pushed into her in a single, steady drive. Gasping at the sudden penetration, Carol raised her legs, locking her ankles over Steve's lower back, and heaved her hips to meet his thrusts.

"That weak son of a bitch!" Gayle snarled at the monitor—about twelve hours after the fact. I simply looked on in concern as Gayle stabbed at the keyboard to shut off the playback. She turned her flint-sharp gaze on me, obviously seething. Turning back to the now benign screen, she growled, frighteningly, "That whore! She wants revenge? I'll show her revenge!!"

I just sat back and tried to remain inconspicuous, thankful that I was not the object of Gayle's wrath.