Without a Net

"Uh... good effort, Suzanne," I proclaimed, "but it looks like the newbies have cleaned up tonight. Jean is our second winner!" I plastered a big smile on my face as I said it, but I was starting to have an awful feeling about where this was headed.

Steve had been looking distracted, and he jumped when I announced his wife's name. I saw him glance over at her with a mixture of hope and anxiety, wondering what she was thinking. He took a little peek down at his equipment, too, which remained soft and damp--as if asking himself whether he could get it up again so soon.

Well, that was just stupid--he'd burned that bridge about an hour ago. Jean wasn't in the mood to think about her husband anymore. Instead, she rose and prowled toward where the other men were sitting, silly grins splashed across their faces.

For the first time that evening, Jean wasn't self-conscious about her nakedness. She stood tall, purposeful, utterly unconcerned with how she was seen. That self-assurance made the woman radiant. Her large breasts and hard, rose-pink nipples bobbed gracefully as she stalked across the room; and the trim patch of goldenrod at her crotch suddenly seemed designed to tease, rather than conceal.

Panicked alarm bells started going off behind Steve's befuddled eyes when she left him in the dust. Only now was the oaf starting to connect all the dots. "Uh, babe..." he called out; but she ignored him and his voice trailed off weakly. He fidgeted on the couch, trying to think of some way to escape the hole he'd dug himself into, but coming up empty.

I was worried too, not for his sake, but for Jeannie's. My friend was flying without a net--I didn't want her to make a mistake she'd regret forever in the heat of one intensely-charged evening. Rising hurriedly, I intercepted her with a hand on her upper arm, murmuring in her ear so only she could hear me. "Stop and think a minute, dear--there's no need to be hasty."

She stared back, icy blue eyes looking right through me, voice low and steady. "I know exactly what I'm doing."

I despaired. How could I possibly accept that she was rational at that moment? I tried one more time, still pitched only for her. "There's lots of things you can do, short of... you know... and I've got condoms upstairs..."

Her expression remained unchanged. "I'm fine."

By now Eddie and Ben in the peanut gallery had started to boo and hiss at my interruption. "No kibbitzing! On with the show!" Of course, they didn't have all the facts. I was miffed with Donna, though. She should have been there at my side, helping me salvage the situation; but instead, she was too wrapped up in her own musings to be of any use. Feeling helpless, I returned to my seat. Events were just going to have to run their course.

* * * * *

Well, Jean certainly had a plan in mind, and she didn't hesitate to put it into effect. Pacing over to Charles, she took his wrist, drawing him to his feet. A wide Cheshire-cat smirk spread across Charles's features as he rose. Suzanne added in a coo of delight. "Ooh, Jeannie, good choice!"

The pair stood face-to-face for a long, lingering minute, staring at each other frankly. Jeannie was a bit shorter, so her jaw angled upward as she locked eyes with the man. It was a struggle to read their expressions. Charles was still smiling, but it remained just a surface-level phenomenon. No doubt he was gratified to have been chosen for the woman's attentions; but the precise overtones of this pleasure, the deeper feelings that his smile concealed... these things remained obscure to me. And as for Jean, well, aside from the piercing flash of her eyes, her face remained cool and impassive.

Yet, even if I was struggling to catch what was going on in their minds, they appeared to understand one-another with brutal clarity. They may have been two people with next to nothing in common, but it seemed that the drives and urges surging through them at that moment made a perfect complement. And their shared awareness of that fact created a sort of private intimacy between them as well, from which the rest of us were excluded. Perhaps that is why the tone in the room was starting to feel so very different than our usual playful encounters. The banter had died down, and the mood was becoming intense--pregnant with danger and possibility.

After a few heartbeats, Jeannie blinked and broke eye contact, lowering her gaze to Charles' lithe, strong torso. Slowly, shyly (was that timidity showing through?), she raised her slender fingers to his chest. Then, closing her eyes, heavy-lashed, she nestled the side of her face, the rustle of her honey-gold locks, against his pecs.

The woman tarried there for a long moment, feeling the smoothness of the man's silky-tan flesh, listening to the desire pounding in his chest. You could tell she was breathing deeply, by the slight parting of her mouth, and the delicious rise and fall of those teardrop breasts. Then, with a soft-shuddering intake of air, absorbed in her own private reverie, Jeannie began dragging her lips tenderly across his skin, sucking his nipples, stroking her hand over the sculpted lines of his back, kissing her way slowly down his abdomen...

Her movements were unhurried; but soon enough she arrived at her destination. All the guys had gotten pretty hard watching Steve and Donna go at it, and needless to say Charles's dick was dialed up to 11--jutting out longer than I'd ever seen it, a thick, ruddy brown, massive ball-sac swaying ostentatiously. Now, with her lids still closed and an expression on her face that conveyed care and solemnity, Jean knelt to pay homage to his cock.

She began with those prodigious balls of his--nuzzling them, letting their velvety skin play over her nose and chin, taking first one testicle and then the other gently into her mouth, basking in their biological heat. Then, languorously, she began running her lips over his rod, enjoying the contrast between the elastic softness of his foreskin and the granite-hard erection beneath.

When she reached the tip, Jean tugged the sheath back with deft fingertips, and took the head of Charles's penis in without hesitation. For a moment she just savored the glans with her tongue; then, she began to work her lips up and down the shaft. Her cadence was leisurely--lissome and sultry, tuned to rouse the man up slowly, passionately, irresistibly. After a bit, she opened her wide, liquid-blue eyes again, gazing up at him with unabashed candor.

Charles was clearly enjoying himself, face still beaming with that wide, complacent smile. Automatically, his hips swayed slightly, in and out, keeping time with the woman's bobbing head and darting neck. His lids were half-closed in a basilisk stare--and although, for the most part, he was focused on the sight of Jean getting him off, I saw him take a self-indulgent glance over at Steve from time to time. I'm not sure how I could tell, but there's no doubt that it was a look of superiority. A look of 'your wife's got my cock in her mouth' alpha-male one-upsmanship.

The dynamics of this evening, the emotional undercurrents, just kept diverging further and further from our usual carefree antics. Everything was off-kilter, charged, fraught. And, God... don't tell Jean I said this!--it was all hotter than hell. I mean, this was a dramatic performance, right? I may have been the only one there who entirely grasped the nuances of the situation, but by this point the vibe was palpable, and it had all of us spellbound.

After a while, Charles gripped Jeannie's head lightly, fingers curving around to ruffle through her hair. With soft, seductive movements, he began to take charge of the pace. She accepted the change willingly; and little by little, he began thrusting himself deeper between her lips.

On and on he went, further and further, showing no signs of stopping. Throughout it all, their gazes remained locked, eerily intent, almost unblinking. Before long, it became clear that the man was pressing Jean close to her limits--maybe beyond what she understood her limits to be. Her eyes were watery, her lips red and swollen. Yet she didn't try to deflect him or pull away. Instead, closing her eyes and dropping her hands, she made a visible effort to relax, and simply let it happen.

And happen it did. Bit by bit, quarter-inch by quarter-inch, Charles buried himself inside her. Soon, a bulging of Jean's neck left no doubt that he had driven his way down her throat. Frothy bubbles pooled at the corner of her mouth and dripped down her chin. And then at last, with a final, easy heave, his shaft disappeared completely. Jaws straining wide, she remained poised there--his balls squeezing up around her dainty chin, and her nose mashed into his pubes. Charles had nothing more to give.

Apart from a thin soprano gasp that escaped Suzanne, the room was dead-silent. I had no idea Jean was capable of throating like that--and until that moment, I don't think she knew it either. In fact, I have to admit that the sight made me a wee bit jealous. I enjoy giving head, and pride myself as a lively little cocksucker, but I've never managed to work up to that kind of all-the-way-in deep-throating. (Even with a regular guy, I mean, leaving Ben aside.) Donna can do it, but it took her a lot of practice to develop the skill. So, it was quite a surprise to find that my prim-and-proper friend was a natural.

At any rate, now that he was lodged in her neck, neither of them seemed eager for Charles to pull out. Instead, with a dreamy air, Jeannie just hung there on his pole, breathing through her nose, and gently pivoting her head to create a little friction. At the same time, she snaked a hand between her thighs and--with a light, delicate touch--began to stroke her plumped-up clit where it stuck out between her pussy lips.

When the fizzy eros of her crotch splashed up against the raw relinquishment of her throat, that strange alchemy had an immediate effect on Jean. Almost instantly, the flush in her ivory cheeks flamed up a fiery crimson; her light-pink nipples reddened and stiffened perceptibly; and urgent, stifled moans began to seep out around Charles's penis. Then, abruptly, her muscles tensed, her breasts heaved, her frame convulsed, as a sharp, galvanic surge of orgasm coursed through her body.

The pleasure of it made Jean's back try to arch; but Charles cradled her head tighter and held her close. One last time, he smashed her face into his groin, bending his torso over her as if to maximize their physical contact, and his depth in her throat. Though the man's poker face remained hard to read, a slight tension around the eyes signaled that he very badly wanted to pour his seed down her throat. He held back, though--you see, he didn't intend to settle for anything less than my friend's cunt.

For a brief spell, they remained there, locked together in just about the most intimate pose one could imagine. Jeannie's climax was quick, sharp, cathartic. For perhaps 20 or 30 seconds it had complete possession of her--whole body quivering, eyes squeezed tight shut, silently sobbing with the passion of it... And then, as quickly as it began, it all washed away, and her body relaxed utterly.

Sensing she was done, Charles released her and she pulled free. When his rod hove into view, it was a huge, sloppy, throbbing, ochre-red--despite the evidence of my senses, I found it impossible to believe she'd taken the whole thing. It drew long, sticky ropes of saliva from Jean's throat, too, as it emerged. They wobbled and glinted in the air for an instant... before breaking to splatter across her face and breasts.

Neither of them cared about any of this. As the woman stood to face him again, their eyes remained linked, and it was clear that the secret understanding between them remained in effect, perhaps running deeper than ever. And I have to say that this Jeannie--still glowing with the embers of ecstasy and self-abandon--gave the impression of being more alive, more decisive, more in-the-moment than I ever remembered seeing her before.

* * * * *

Leaning in and going up on tiptoes, Jeannie raised her mouth to Charles's ear and murmured something. Then, she stepped back and flashed him a mischievous, dimpled grin. Whatever she said, it made the man's cock jerk upward with obvious enthusiasm.

She'd spoken quietly, just for him. I was nearest to the couple, though, and I think I caught her words. I mean, please don't quote me on it. But what I heard her say was: "Take your best shot--I'm not on birth control."

Since then, I've wondered what Ben would have done in that position. I'd like to think he would have shut things down immediately. Or at least had the decency to pull out before he came. But the male of the species is a funny thing, and I guess it's not so surprising that such a revelation would only sharpen Charles's hunger to fuck her. Evolutionary biology and all that crap, right?

Anyway, with her partner now 'read-in' on her fateful secret, Jean pivoted on the ball of her foot. As she did so, her eye chanced to meet Steve's hollow, bloodshot stare. Grasping that this was his last chance to throw some water on the fire, he stood--limp-dicked, shoulders a little hunched, fists balled. "Stop it, Jean," he rasped. "It's enough. You made your point."

"My point?" she snapped back. "What's your point? That you can do whatever you want, but I can only go as far as you let me? Well fuck that, Steve. We came here to have fun. You chose your fun. Now I'm choosing mine. And if you don't like it, well, you know where the door is."

We all just sat there for a moment, stiff, hardly bearing to breathe. Only Charles was unfazed by the exchange. "You heard the lady," he hummed at last, that smooth smile still playing over his features. "You need to chill out. We're all friends here."

As far as the group was concerned, these words hit the right tone, eliciting a low murmur of general agreement. Steve was out of line. Once you've chosen to play the game and taken your pleasure from it, it's too late to get possessive. Sensing the collective disapproval in the air, and faced with the undeniable fact that he had created this disaster himself, Steve gave up. Oozing a hangdog air of defeat, he crumpled back down onto the sofa.

Jean still had her back to Charles. There was a blotchy flush in her cheeks, and I guessed it signified a complex bouquet of emotions--with righteous indignation as the root-stock, to be sure, but a strong graft of guilt and embarrassment as well. At some level, my friend knew that she truly was taking this too far. But her anger at Steve for all the ways he'd let her down--both tonight and in the past--continued to burn bright. She simply wasn't about to let him dictate terms. Not after he'd spurned her in order to fuck Donna.

So, staring steadily at her husband, meeting his despairing expression with icy indifference, Jean bent at the waist, propped her arms on the coffee-table (what was it with that table?), and planted her feet wide on the ground. Then, with the calculated flirtatiousness of a cat stretching its spine, she tipped her ass up--causing her labia to spring apart easily, and revealing the slick, ruddy pleats within.

I found it impossible to reconcile the feral creature before me with my slightly-prudish friend. They were like two different people. This woman's tresses were lank, and falling in a tangle around her face. Her teats dangled deliciously beneath her torso, swaying easily as she breathed. And her pussy was spread wide, exposing her perked clit, her cute pucker of an asshole, and the wet, gaping entrance to her vagina for all to see.

She couldn't have offered Charles a plainer invitation, and he wasted no time taking her up on it. Still phenomenally erect, the Asian lothario sauntered up to her backside. Dick in hand, he positioned himself, inserting his glans into the soft receptiveness of her vaginal ring.

A muffled groan came from Steve's direction, and I couldn't help feeling a twinge of pity for him. It wasn't hard to guess what was in his mind. For the first time since the two of them started dating, some other male had got his penis inside Jean's reproductive tract. And, what's worse, she lacked even the slightest shred of protection. That detail was something Ben or Eddie would never have stood for. But Steve had made this bed, and now he was going to have to lie in it.

Charles got straight to work. Without ceremony, he dug his fingers into Jean's haunches and plunged his way into her--penetrating her with a single steady, even stroke, until his groin crushed up against her ass. Her canal was so slack, so drenched, that it was easy going. Her toes curled at the sensations jolting through her crotch, a trickle of her own juices dribbled down her legs, and she let out a low, guttural purr. "Yeah..."

Charles's face was all smug enjoyment. After sitting there a moment, balls-to-the-wall in her vagina, he pulled out nearly all the way, and then rammed smoothly home again. "Oh God..." Jean panted, her hips giving a quiver of excitement.

If you haven't figured it out by now, Eddie can be a little juvenile at times. This was one of those times. Caught up in the moment, eager for Charles to pick up the pace, perhaps thinking it would lighten the somber mood, Eddie decided to whip up the crowd. With a boyish grin, he glanced around at the spectators. "Fuck her. Fuck her. Fuck her." he chanted, thumping his fist on the arm of the couch. Suzanne giggled like it was hilarious, and joined in her girlish falsetto. Soon Ben chimed in as well. "Fuck her! ... Fuck her! ... Fuck her!"

In response, Charles smirked, pulled back, and then slammed home--much harder this time. Jeannie's body shuddered from the impact, her buttocks and thighs rippling. "God, yeahhh..." she breathed.

Again, the man hammered her. And again. Soon, he was pounding steadily, settling into a rhythm with the singsong chorus of the onlookers. With even Donna lazily adding her voice to their goading, Jean's gasps provided the pornographic punctuation marks. "Fuck her! ahh... Fuck her! ahhh... Fuck her! ahhhh yeah"

As this glorious, obscene sensory onslaught continued to gain momentum, Jean's voice gradually transformed into a single, incessant, throaty moan. "uh-huh uh-huhhh oh-yeah oh-yeah ohhhhghgh yeah..." Convulsively, she jammed a hand up between her legs, grinding the flat of her fingers rhythmically against her pussy, fingertips brushed by the thrust and sway of Charles's pole as he reamed her. Her face got redder and redder, and the raucous impulses ricocheting through her nervous system mounted higher and higher. Then, at last, she hit the breaking point--and found herself carried away in the grip of a second, tremendous orgasm.

From where I sat, this climax appeared more profound than the one she'd had throating Charles. It certainly went on much longer, surging and ebbing in powerful, irresistible waves, on and on and on. It wasn't possible to watch a thing like that without being affected by it. Even as my eyes remained riveted on their coupling, I found myself slipping a furtive hand between my own thighs to finger myself. And I wasn't the only one. In fact, Donna had started sucking off Eddie at some point, and I think it was right about now that he came in her mouth.

Well, and who can blame us? The fact is, Jeannie was putting on one hell of a show. When the flood of rapture first took hold, her eyes rolled back in her head, her shoulders tensed, and her voice rose to a strained, uneven warble "Fuck me, Charles! Fuck me, Charles! Ohhhhh GOD fuck me!" Then, as the flood continued to build, she braced both arms on the table, and started banging her ass backward against the man--timing her lunges perfectly to his tempo, smacking so hard against his groin that it made his leaden ball-sac slap up audibly against her clit.