It was she who came up with the idea of the bed in the garden. We had been gushing fantasy after fantasy in the rosy new day. So many possibilities. “I want to watch you,” I told her. “I want to watch you fuck another man. I want to see him make you come. I want to see him come inside you, and then I want to fuck you.”
She said she liked that. Two men to focus on her, nothing but her. “And… I want to be outside.” She’d added to the imagined scene. “At dusk. That magic time just as the sun is setting. Like last night. I want you to watch Henri fuck me on a big, dreamy bed outside.” Of course, I knew the dreamy bed she meant: the big four poster we had been sleeping in since we arrived at the villa, with shrouds of white muslin draped about it. “You know what day after tomorrow is? Solstice!” She paused. “What about it? We could invite Henri over for a little solstice celebration. Watch nightfall on the longest day of the year?”
“That’s not what I will be watching, I promise.”
And she had held my hand and led me back to our room.
*
That was how I found myself disassembling our beautiful, dreamy white bedframe on the longest day of the year and reassembling it in a perfect secluded meadow surrounded by little stands of summer trees in all their glory, listening to birdsong as I worked. It had been easy, all in all, a couple of bolts to loosen, a mattress to roll out on an old wheelbarrow. I worked quickly: I had a vision to realize, a dream to fulfil for both of us to share. When I was done, I sat in the shade and admired the little bower I had created, and the image of my wife being fingered by our imminent guest flashed into my psyche.
That had been the day he had shown us the café on the bluff overlooking the ocean, and we had shared some oysters and a bit of wine before heading home for an “aero” on the patio of the house. We had all been relaxed, laughing together, enjoying life. In retrospect, I remember the shared glances, how closely she stood next to him, how she seemed giddy and carefree.
The three of us had enjoyed a glass of Pernod and a bit of wine as the late afternoon had stretched toward dusk, and then we had pulled together a quick light dinner with the little delicacies we had found during the day: fresh strawberries, fresh bread, a bit of cheese. All along, her eyes kept meeting his. She wore a light sundress, later telling me she’d felt Henri’s gaze on her body like heat or sunlight. “It was like he knew how wet I was under my dress. Like he was imagining all the ways he was going to take me.”
It had happened after dinner. She had gone inside to get some water. Henri had followed with a few plates and glasses from our little picnic while I sat outside enjoying watching the night slowly fall over the lush rolling meadows, savouring the last few swallows of wine.
She had been standing, filling a pitcher with cool water, when Henri strolled inside, and she had felt a sudden thrill of nervousness at being alone with him. He was standing very close behind where she stood at the sink and placed the dishes gently on the sideboard. He lingered behind her, only a centimetre away. She could hear his heart pumping through the muscles of his chest, the heat coming off him after sitting outside in the fading summer sun. The electricity between them was as thick as the silence, and she could feel her nipples coming alive, erect under the thin cotton of her sundress. She knew he could see them too, and that he knew how soaked her panties were. Her breath was shallow, almost panicked, and she knew he could hear that too, cutting through the deafening silence.
He reached out and touched her, grabbing a lock of her hair and letting it run through his hands, then a fingertip traced down the small of her back, making her gasp. His hand slid lower, grazing lightly over the curve of her ass. She stood paralyzed, trembling as his touch slipped under her dress. She moaned as he slowly teased his fingertips up the insides of her thighs, letting them hover over the drenched spot in her panties, almost touching but not quite.
His lips brushed the back of her neck, and she could feel his cock pressing against her through his trousers. He slipped the sopping crotch of her panties to one side and touched her, a single soft stroke on the bottom of her clit, and her body shuddered in orgasm, crying out as the heat and desire of the afternoon and pulsed into his hand, drenching his fingers. She had been breathless for a few moments and then turned around and kissed Henri hungrily, her hand cupping his hard cock through his pants. She had never wanted to be fucked so badly as she did in that moment. “I wanted him to bend me over the kitchen table and just take me. Fuck my pussy, my ass, cum on my back. I didn’t care.”
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But at that moment, I had called from outside, wondering where everyone was. She and Henri had separated, and she had fixed her panties and dress and brought out the pitcher of water, with Henri trailing behind.
That night, lying beside her bare body, her breasts full, her nipples erect, I kissed her lips, still sweet from the Pernod we had shared with our guest earlier, and slid my fingertips lightly over the curves of her hips and breasts as she moaned softly, her breath shallow. I knew how aroused she was—could almost taste it.
That was when I’d asked the question that changed everything. I looked at her, writhing contentedly under my touch, and decided to take the plunge. I kissed her softly and then ran my hands up the insides of her thighs towards the source of the moist heat emanating from between her legs.
“Did… did being around Henri make you wet?” I let my fingertips just barely graze above her clit, and she visibly gasped and shuddered.
“Maybe?” she admitted in a whisper. She paused for a second. “Remember,” she says, slurring a bit, intoxicated by her arousal as much as from alcohol, “how you said that if I ever wanted to fuck someone else, it was ok with you?”
That had been another tipsy night, one where I had confessed my fantasy of her fucking other men, doing whatever she liked with them, telling me about it. We had fucked for hours that night, thinking about it, but had never really spoken about it since. She reached between my legs and wrapped her fingers around my hard cock, as if confirming a suspicion.
“I do remember,” I said, my cock swelling in her hand, and I kissed her again, hungrily, as my fingertips slid down over her slit. She was dripping, wetter than I can recall her ever being. “I remember that the only thing I asked was that you were supposed tell me about it.”
She grabbed my hand and moved it between her legs, placing it against her drenched mound and pushing my fingers into her sopping slit. “I guess I had better tell you something then.”
*
And so, as I put together our love nest in the clearing that summer’s day, she had phoned Henri. He had been pleasantly surprised by her call and, in his good-natured way, had agreed to an evening joining us, as my wife put it, “outside, but in bed”. He surmised immediately what had transpired between my wife and I as if it were an expected outcome of his tryst with her. “I am relieved that everything worked out ok,” was all he said. With our plans set, she had gone to the market to get a few provisions for our summer evening. We had a quick light lunch and then lazed in our vast outdoor boudoir as the shadows continued to lengthen into late afternoon and early evening, occasionally sharing glances full of the pleasure of anticipation.
*
The air cools into a sweet June early evening breeze, and I watch her stretch and luxuriate in the linens and throws, her hands lazily wandering over her body as she lies in her white cotton dress. Her panties came off hours ago, left in the green grass of the meadow, and her dress is pushed up around her hips. She teases her fingertips over the insides of her thighs, around her pussy, already swollen and wet. We had talked about her desire to finally feel Henri’s cock inside her, to taste him, and my own desire to see her face as he enters her, to be with her as she feels another man pleasure her. The afternoon seems to move in slow motion, sleepy and dreamlike, into the magic hour of sunset. I feel myself getting hard, aware that the time grows ever closer, watching her arousal rise, her thighs now slick with anticipation. Sitting watching her, I pull the metal chain and leather cuffs idly through my hands as her eyes meet mine, an unexpected surge of desire and appreciation for my wife rising in me. It is a matter of minutes now.
I raise myself from my chair, my cock swelling in my shorts as I stroll towards her. The mattress dips as I kneel beside her, touching her lightly, every movement languorous and deliberate, savouring the simmering need that both of us feel. I plant soft kisses on her neck, her lips, and her thighs. She has been edging for days, we both have, and she responds to every touch with quivers of delight. We kiss deeply, hungrily now, and my cock is pulled against her as if by magnetic force, a tractor beam of heat through my shorts connecting me to the smouldering need between her legs.
My lips trace a gentle path down her neck over her breasts and to the insides of her thighs, lingering to smell and taste my wife. She trembles now, her breath shallow with need, desire dripping from her. She is ready for him, ready for another man’s cock to slowly slide inside her while I watch.
I arise and step to the head of the mattress, and she offers each wrist in turn as I close the cuffs around them and attach them to the rails. The cuffs had been her idea. She had wanted him to take her so badly that evening at the kitchen sink, to be overflowing with lust and have him fill her and have his way with her, and we both liked the idea of watching him take her, the idea she was all his to enjoy.
I kiss her again, my cock throbbing now, wanting desperately to be inside her, but I am determined to restrain myself, letting the tension build with each passing second. My hands continue to breeze over her body as she writhes under them, squeezing her legs together in anguished anticipation. Behind the fog of my lust for her, I’m aware that it is fully dusk now. He will be here any moment.
I get up and pace silently back to my chair, then sit and gaze at the beautiful sight of my wife writhing in the rumpled sheets with her panties off and her hands chained to the bedframe, her white dress pushed up to reveal her gorgeous wet pussy, softly gasping, wanting desperately to touch herself. I unzip my shorts and begin to gently stroke my stiff shaft. She smiles at me blissfully as I do, and a few moments later I see Henri silently pad through the meadow with his usual ease. She sees him as well, turning to watch him approach. I sense for a moment the intense chemistry of their attraction following their interrupted rendezvous the previous night, the almost gravitational pull of their bodies towards one another. Henri stops to gaze at my wife, stretched below him in fervent repose, and I can see the tentpole in his shorts.
He unzips slowly, mesmerized by my wife’s body writhing under him, and cradles his thick member in his hand. I am surprised and impressed by his size, and I can see the rush of pleasure on my wife’s face as he slowly slides his throbbing organ inside her, not bothering to take off his shorts. She moans softly, and my own cock throbs as I watch him enter her slick pussy. He moves slowly inside her, savouring each thrust, and she turns towards me, her gaze meeting and holding mine as she feels another man’s cock fill her and fuck her. I am edging myself even now, stroking myself to the verge of exploding and then backing off, wanting each moment to last forever.
Her pleasure is growing with each thrust, her orgasm building as Henri takes her in front of me. He pauses and pulls out for a second to remove his shorts and then enters her again and she cries out as his thick shaft just barely penetrates her dripping honeypot, teasing her with the prospect of more, each little thrust generating more pleasure and more need. He holds her left leg up as he fucks her now, caressing her thighs and kissing her feet with the ease and confidence of an accomplished lover. My wife’s looks at me with a gleam in her eyes that is a mixture of ecstasy and triumph. See what pleasure he can give me? they seem to say. See his thick cock throbbing inside me? Watch him fuck me the way I need to be fucked. He lightly teases her clit with this fingertip as he continues to thrust, and my wife’s moans fill the night air.
The string of lights my wife had carefully arranged around the canopy are now bright as the darkness thickens around us. I get up and walk slowly to where my wife lays her head on the pillows as Henri continues to move inside her and kiss her lips, her breasts. I am rigid, taut, bursting.
I stand and move around to my wife’s cuffed wrists. She understands and disengages momentarily from Henri to turn over onto her knees and face me with her ass and hips in the air for Henri to take her from behind. I kiss her tenderly as he slides inside her, tasting her hunger and need once again as he buries his thick shaft inside her. We stare in each other’s eyes as he fucks her, kissing lovingly between her moans. My own cock is standing at rapt attention, pulsing, and she notices and slides it between her lips for a few moments, the soft caress of her mouth and tongue flooding me with relief. She strokes me with her hands as Henri fucks her harder and faster from behind. Her kisses become wilder as her orgasm builds until she cries out and comes around Henri’s cock, her gaze locked on mine as shudders ripple through her body.
She breathes hard for a few moments, smiling and laughing with Henri and I as she relishes the glow of her release spread. Henri helps her pull off her dress, still inside her. She may have come, but there are two full cocks that still need to be satisfied. I move towards them now, eager to take my turn inside my wife, and Henri moves courteously aside as if I have cut in at a dance. I fall back onto the warm sheets and my wife straddles my erection, slowly sinking her dripping cunt over it.
She is wetter than I have ever felt her, even wetter than the other night, and she grips me, bearing down on my swollen, rock-hard shaft. She rides me as she stares into Henri’s eyes now, kissing him as she moves around me, her cries rising again as, to my surprise, another orgasm begins to build. I feel her climax, a flood of wetness around my cock. I can’t wait anymore, and I explode inside her, feeling the heat of my cum burst around me. I pull out and caress my wife’s hips as my hot seed tumbles out of her. Her lips are pressed against Henri’s as she feels the last quivers of her climax.
She unmounts and gives me a loving kiss before turning back to Henri. I can tell she is not finished yet, and neither is he. I return to my chair in the darkness and watch my wife as she lies on her side and Henri lies beside her. My wife’s thighs are glazed with cum as he slides easily inside her. I imagine what it must be like for him to ease his cock into my wife after another man has just filled her, how soft and hot and delicious it must feel, and my own cock begins to stir again.
I watch him fill her with pleasure, and for a moment, it seems like the shortest night of the year will last forever.
The End
Read all about the wonderful author: Trip Fleming
I fucking want more…my pussy is throbbing at the idea of having this threesome. I need to cum!