Without a Net

Eddie, however, merely reclined in his seat, watching with an amused smile and jawing with Ben. And why not? Both he and his wife had had sex with other people lots of times at our parties. We'd all worked through the jealousy issues years ago. In fact, Eddie was probably the most laid-back of any of us. He was happy if Donna was happy; and he seemed to take Steve's unconcealed craving for Donna as nothing more than the 'kid in a candy store' mindset of a rookie swinger.

Feeling helpless, I looked over at Jean to see how she was holding up. She was perched uneasily on the edge of the sofa, only a few feet from where Steve and Donna now stood locked in a forceful embrace, flesh pressed tightly together. Jean's face was ashen, and her eyes had a glassy stare. She was obviously feeling humiliated, and trying to ignore the tryst without actually looking away. God, I hope she'll talk to me after this, I thought. And... I hope when the dust settles, she gets to keep the house...

Steve and Donna were oblivious to all of it, and holding nothing back. They kissed greedily, extravagantly, tongues parrying and thrusting playfully. Their arms intertwined as if trying to caress every square inch of the other's naked form; and their torsos ground against each other, so that even Donna's modest tits squeezed out at the sides.

Before long, Steve reached down to cup both of Donna's plump, elastic ass-cheeks, giving them a firm squeeze. She signaled her approval by pushing her backside out to meet his roving hands, allowing his fingers to begin exploring the space between her legs. Soon she widened her stance, spreading her thighs apart so that her pussy was open to his touch. This gave the rest of us quite a view--her ruddy lips glistened with moisture and parted easily to reveal that her clitoris was engorged and aroused. The fragrance of sex was heavy in the air, and despite myself, I found I was mesmerized by the intensity of the raw lust now on display. It was hot even by the standards of our get-togethers.

Steve toyed with Donna from behind as they continued to kiss--stroking her labia with a light touch, teasing her clit. Occasionally he circled the entrance to her canal, as if about to enter her... only to pull back, leaving her hungrier for him than before. She got wetter and wetter. The way she squirmed signaled that she wanted him to ease his fingers inside her, but he was determined to make her wait a little first.

At length, Steve reached under her thighs and lifted her bodily off the ground. (I always envied petite women that--I'm big boned and tall, and never been with a guy beefy enough to manhandle me with total effortlessness.) Donna wrapped her legs gamely around his waist. Steve was still stiff as a poker, of course, and the base of his hard-on pressed up against Donna's wide-spread crotch this way. Clearly she wanted him to stick it in her, then and there, but he continued to tantalize her instead.

They went right on kissing, passionately, frantically, as he turned and carried her over to the coffee table. Then, laying her gently on top of it, he disengaged his mouth from hers, and brushed his lips along the silky olive skin of her neck. She flexed her back in pleasure.

From there, Steve worked his way down. He kneaded and fondled her breasts, kissing and stroking her dusky, hard, hyper-sensitized nipples. Donna's eyes were closed, and she was sucking in deep breaths through slightly parted lips. Periodically, the jolts of erotic energy radiating from her areolae sent a delicious shiver through her body.

The man continued southward, nuzzling the taught skin of her flanks and massaging her trim patch of pubic hair with his mouth. Her pelvis pressed back against him luxuriously; and, seeing where this was headed, she spread her legs gracefully to form a wide V, feet raised toward the ceiling. Donna's body language told the tale--she was at his disposal, unconditionally.

Steve dove between her legs eagerly, pressing her labia still further open with his fingertips, and running his tongue sensuously along the length of her gash. His pace was slow, insistent, smoldering. I glanced over at Jean, and it looked like she wanted to disappear. She couldn't, though--and nor, it seemed, could she wrench her eyes away. I caught a tremble in her lower lip, and a tear at the corner of her eye, as she watched her husband tend with single-minded devotion to the pleasure of another woman. I wondered when was the last time Steve had taken care of Jean that way. Had he ever?

Steve's mouth caressed Donna's most private recesses with a steady cadence, and she began to rock her body in time to the rhythm. Gradually, alluringly, his movements picked up speed and became less inhibited. A soft, high-pitched cry escaped Donna's lips every time she exhaled now. Eyes closed, she ran her fingers through the man's hair, allowing her entire body to writhe with pleasure. The juices flowing from her pussy were starting to drip onto the table below her.

(As you know, I wish Donna had handled the situation differently. But at that moment, if I'm honest, I was also more than a little envious of her. In fact, I was getting wet myself just watching the two of them, and had to cross my legs to stem the flow.)

At last, when Steve's tempo could go no faster, he plunged his tongue into Donna's vagina--continuing to rub her clit lightly with his fingertips at the same time. This finally pushed Donna over the edge. She arched her back, ground her pussy hard against his face, and let out a series of throaty, bestial moans. "Oh...oh yeah... ah... ah, ahh, ahh, ohhh GOD yeah......"

He responded attentively--intuiting the drumbeat in her brain... matching it with firm, steady strokes on her nub... thrusting his tongue inside her as far as he could--so that she kept on boiling at a fever pitch. On and on she rode the orgasm, her face flushed, her locks damp with sweat, her hands pressing his head to her crotch, her body squirming with delight. All the rest of us watched silently, transfixed by the woman's raw animal energy.

She remained in that state of rapture for a very long time; but at last she came down off the high. With a brush of the hand, she stilled Steve's movements, and he withdrew his face from her crotch. He rose, and for a moment stood there indecisively, sucking in deep, ragged breaths, and looking down at Donna's engorged, wide-open pussy with a wild look in his eyes. His cock was very red and very straight, and if anything appeared larger than before. I think that he'd been dreaming of fucking Donna for so long now, that he still couldn't quite believe it was coming true--maybe still feared that the opportunity would be snatched away from him at the very last moment.

Donna's eyes flickered open; and even caught up in the flush of exertion and afterglow, she couldn't help but notice the strange mix of raw lust and nervous apprehension in Steve's features. The sight brought an impudent smile to her lips. "Well, hon, are you just going to stand there? Or are you going to stick it in?"

That was all the encouragement Steve needed. Impetuously, he positioned his penis so that it nestled snug against the entrance to her vagina. Then, moving hastily, as if fearing she would change her mind, he grasped the tops of her thighs with both hands, and, wham banged himself up against her backside, plunging his cock straight down her canal. Had she been less wet, less relaxed, the man's impetuousness might have been a problem. Primed as she was, however, Donna only gasped in delight to feel how keen he was, and how gloriously he filled her.

For a brief moment, Steve remained transfixed by the sight of his pole wedged to the hilt in Donna's cunt, and by the delicious way her folds splayed out to accommodate his girth. A dazed look of joy washed over his face. This was what he had longed for, I think, more than anything else--to feel his manhood jammed so tightly, and so very deeply, inside Donna.

Even in the midst of this coital bliss, however, a troubling thought must have flitted through Steve's mind, because I saw him sneak a peek toward Eddie, like the kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. It was a look that said: 'How can it possibly be "ok" that I've just stuck my cock into your wife? How can you possibly stand for it...?' Yet, Eddie wasn't concerned. In fact, he didn't even notice Steve's brief pang of conscience. He was too focused on his wife's expression--soaking up her evident enjoyment vicariously, with a big grin plastered on his face.

I understood Steve's confusion. We'd all had moments like that, during the first few months after the group was organized. Several couples had dropped out when things started getting real, and I didn't blame them at all. Swinging isn't for everyone. To Eddie, though, by this point, it simply wasn't that big a deal anymore.

Jean, of course, did not share Eddie's equanimity. I was keeping an eye on her, and she wasn't doing well. We'd all had front-row seats when Steve put tab-A into Donna's slot-B, and it was plainly not a spectacle Jeannie had ever expected, or wanted, to see. Her face was bright red, her lips pursed, and it seemed all she could do to keep from breaking down. My friend was obviously struggling to process her husband's betrayal, to make sense of it, to try to figure out how to respond. I wanted to go put my arm around her, but I feared that would only call attention to her distress, and add to her sense of humiliation.

When Steve turned his mind away from Eddie and back to Donna, I caught a smug gleam in his eye--as if congratulating himself on 'getting away with it.' Moving fluidly and unhurriedly now, palpably savoring the moment, he pulled most of the way out of her vagina, poised there for a second... and then drove his shaft in again, all the way.

Once more, Donna caught her breath with giddy pleasure. Reaching a hand down, Steve started to massage her clitoris, gently and rhythmically. I imagined her flesh must be extra-sensitive, given the way she was stretched to accommodate him. At any rate, she squirmed with gratification at his touch.

Soon, Steve began to rail her in earnest. By this stage, he was holding nothing back--letting years of frustrated desire loose, without the slightest restraint. I lost count of how many times he pulled out and then slammed his cock home again. Yet, although his movements were frenzied, they still retained a sense of fluidity and coordination. Like they were finely calibrated to some cadence only he could hear, a cadence that pounded maddeningly in his ears.

And through it all, he kept his fingertips pressed against Donna's nub, rubbing with insistent, circular strokes, maintaining her body at a feverish peak of arousal. My friend was in the perfect mood to enjoy Steve's unbridled lust. The heady mix of drink and desire had unleashed the hot-blooded Italian puttana that lurked below her down-to-earth façade. Her own passions fed on the man's frenzied desire, and the sensual heave and sway of her body complemented his movements perfectly.

As for the rest of us, well, we couldn't tear our eyes away. It had been a while since we'd invited a new couple into the circle, and the way these two were going at it made me think that we'd gotten a little flat. I couldn't remember when any of us had been that wild for each-other. It was thrilling to watch, and I'm ashamed to admit that I forgot about poor Jean for a while.

Donna was so drenched and slack by now that the man could plow her freely, meeting no resistance whatsoever. With her legs up in the air the way they were, Steve's groin smacked up hard against her ass each time he entered her. There was a marvelous physicality to their performance. Her thighs shuddered conspicuously when he thwacked home, and his testicles bumped up impertinently against her asshole. Her B-cup tits had flattened a bit on her chest when she lay back on the table--and now, they wobbled exuberantly as he pounded her, causing her large, brown nipples to trace exaggerated ovals.

They went on this way for some time, with gradually increasing speed and vigor--Donna reveling in being desired so excessively, Steve exulting in realizing his secret fantasy, and both of them awash in a sea of thrilling physical sensations. I don't think Steve could have lasted much longer; but in the end, it was Donna who lost it first. She was breathing so hard and fast that she was close to hyperventilating, and her moans had become high-pitched, airy, and nearly constant. At last, her eyelids fluttered, and her body bucked and thrashed on the table: "Oh, yesss Steve... that's it... harder... HARDER... oh GOD YEEEESSSsssssss..."

This, in turn, sent Steve over the edge as well. The man threw back his head and let out a roar of triumph and consummation. He rose up on his toes, as if trying to summon every ounce of leverage he could, firmed up his grip on her thighs, and began thrusting his dick into Donna with firm, compact, efficient motions--over and over and over. Each time he hit bottom, his body spasmed and his glutes contracted. There was no doubt at all about what was happening--Steve was blasting his load inside Donna's cunt, just as far as he could possibly reach.

They both had one hell of a climax--muscles tensing, eyes locked, bodies straining, as if trying to discover some way they could smash themselves even closer together. It was clear that they never wanted it to end; and their frantic contortions and labored breathing continued unabated for a very long time. At last, though, their energy finally started to diminish. With his desperate, animal hunger finally fed, Steve's cock softened slightly, and his lunges lost their intensity.

Even so, Steve went on thrusting into Donna for a good while more; but gently now, using small movements--simply stirring the seed he had planted in the woman, and savoring the moment. His face was pure contentment. Donna had her eyes closed, and was rocking her pelvis slightly, enjoying the contrast between the cascade of sensations that had gone before, and the quiet, subtle friction of their mingled flesh now. She, too, looked extremely satisfied.

Finally, reluctantly, the man pulled out, his penis much diminished by this point. Donna just lay there for a bit, sweaty and exhausted. Her vagina gaped open, and a trickle of semen began to drip from it. When Steve caught sight of this... well, there's no other way to say it: a sly, shit-eating grin crossed his face, and his cock gave a little twitch. Gushing his sperm into Donna must have felt like one more exploit he had gotten away with--one more liberty that he hadn't dreamed he would be allowed to take.

Again, this really reflected Steve and Jean's unfamiliarity with how we did things. Bareback sex had always worked just fine for our circle--we kept our dalliances within the group; and we women had enough sense to take reliable precautions against unwanted surprises. But I have to admit that I hadn't really thought it necessary to apprise the newcomers of all these technical details--I figured they'd be content to watch and learn. If I'd had any notion they'd want to participate in the final round, I'd have briefed them more fully.

* * * * *

Thinking back over what I've told you so far, I feel maybe I've been a little hard on Steve.

Now, don't get me wrong--he was acting like a complete asshole that evening. He and Jean had been dealing with some heavy stuff as a couple, and instead of managing his feelings and attending properly to his wife's emotional needs, he'd allowed himself to wallow in toxic self-indulgence.

Still, Steve is human, and fallible. He was in a new and unexpected environment, facing some very powerful temptations; and he, too, had obviously been working through some serious shit in his own mind. I have to bear some blame for my stupid idea of inviting them here; and I know Donna would admit that she made mistakes as well. That's not to excuse what Steve did. Just to say that the way he acted at the party doesn't capture the totality of the man. He is perfectly capable of generosity and thoughtfulness.

Small case in point: before returning to his seat, Steve bent over and gave Donna a kiss that was tender, heartfelt, sweet. She opened her eyes and smiled at him warmly, and I found the image truly touching. I do think that living out such a powerful and long-standing fantasy must have served as a kind of therapy for the man. He was exuding a sort of peace that I hadn't observed in him for years.

Nevertheless, we must acknowledge that Steve had only arrived at this 'breakthrough' (such as it was) by making some really terrible choices. And now? Now he was going to have to face the fallout.

Steve helped Donna unsteadily to her feet. Then, releasing her hand, almost wistfully, he shuffled to the couch and sank down in his former spot, next to Jean.

I think it was only then that Steve began to get an inkling of just how badly he had screwed up. He gave his wife a sloppy, sheepish grin, as if to say 'oops, how did that happen?' He grasped that he had blundered--but incredibly, still seemed to think he could minimize what he'd done. Maybe laugh it off.

Yeah... no. Instead of acquiescing meekly to his 'shenanigans,' or even huffing in exasperation, Jean shot him a glare that was truly livid--almost like literal fire was jetting from her eyeballs. It made him flinch. Something had snapped in the woman's brain. Maybe it happened at the moment Steve came inside Donna, I'm not sure. At any rate, although Jeannie's face showed the same beet red that it had for most of the evening, it was a different kind of blush now, denoting raw fury instead of shame or humiliation.

Gingerly, Steve tried to stretch an arm around his wife, still pretending that it had all been no big deal. She was having none of it--she crossed her arms and scooted out of his reach. For a moment I thought there would be a scene, but no bombs ended up going off. Apparently, Jean had decided to wait until they were alone to really air it out.

What made it all so disorienting was that I was the only one who fully grasped the drama bubbling between the two of them. Donna was still coming down from the pleasurable high she'd been on (not to mention sloshed). Eddie was oblivious; Suzanne is a ditz; and my Ben is a bit dense about all things emotional, god bless him. Charles may have had an inkling what was going on, but he played his cards close to the vest.

Anyway, the women still hadn't completed their keno cards, and Suzanne was champing at the bit. "Ladies turn! Laaaaadies turn!" she squealed. Donna excused herself for a few moments, tiptoeing to the powder room to get herself in order, before returning to snuggle up to Eddie. I spent the pause trying to refocus on the game, and on the group as a whole.

Soon we were ready to proceed; and it didn't take long to draw the final three red balls. That brought us to another moment of truth. As the host, I'd recused myself from the competition (though I did have some special plans for Ben after everyone else went home). That left three contestants. "Ok girls," I called out, "tally up. Whoever has the most hits is our second lucky winner of the night!"

Donna responded quickly, with only a bit of a slur to betray her inebriated state. "I could have gone for another helping," (the woman is insatiable), "but I only managed a measly four hits."

Suzanne burbled excitedly as she finished totting up the score on her fingers. "Oooh, I got ten! Did I win?"

Then, before I could reply, Jean broke in--fixing me with a steady gaze. There was a note of brittle steel to her voice that hardly sounded like her at all. "Thirteen." Yikes, that was a wrinkle!

(Ok, time out, let's address the elephant in the room. Did Jean really hit thirteen numbers? I remain skeptical, but I never had the nerve to ask her. It would be like a one-in-a-million pick. Still, Suzanne didn't mind; and I wasn't about to call out one of my two best friends under such circumstances!)