Monday, April 22, 2013

Does It Count As Cheating If It's Still Your Wedding Night?

So, this is married life?  

A cock in my mouth, a cock in my cunt and a third one so close I can feel it dripping on my cheek.  Hell, I really could get used to this.  

If only my husband would quit his drunken snoring.

They said it would be the happiest day of my life.  Mark and I had been dating for nine months before he finally popped the question, in a damp motel room on a side road somewhere between Albuquerque and Colorado Springs.  We were both coming down from one of those vacations where everything is perfect, where the sex is as hot as the weather, nobody gets a dodgy tummy from the food, and the only harsh words that either of you utters are the ones that a spot of peyote-primed role playing transform into something that you really need to hear.

Of course I said yes;  any guy who could make me feel that good, for that long, was obviously a keeper.  We bought a ring the size of a small house brick the next morning, saw the Justice of the Peace the same day we got home, and we had the wedding invitations in the mail by the weekend.

Mrs Rebecca J Williams, welcome to the world.

Vacation vapors notwithstanding, I knew exactly what I was getting into.  Mark had a good job, and he made good money.  He was smart, my folks loved him, and he treated me like a Queen.  Except when he treated me like a whore, but that was just as important to me because that was when all the daily life bullshit went flying out the window, and we could just be ourselves with no care for the world.

We fucked like our lives depended on it, and when we weren’t in bed, we laughed, we played, we talked.  And we stayed true to one another.

Except once.

The wedding day dawned sunny despite a winter chill, and so what if it was a quick civil ceremony, devoid of any of the trappings my parents had hoped I’d demand?   It was our day, and they were happy for us.  No page boys, no choir, no four figure sum splashed on an unnecessarily white dress that I’d never wear again.  When I woke up that morning, squeezing myself out from beneath my fiance in the heart pounding aftermath of our final fuck as unmarried singles, I had just three things on my mind.  

One: get the ring on my finger.  Two: get his ass up to the honeymoon suite. And three: get his cock back inside me.  The rest, the blushing bridesmaids and the floral bouquets, the electric toasters and the K-cup percolators (why do people always give you toasters and percolators for wedding presents?), even the $1,000 a night bridal suite itself, they were simply the icing on the cake. 

But from the moment Mark started drinking, which was the moment we arrived at the wedding reception in the hotel ballroom, I knew that the only icing I’d be getting on my cake tonight would be whatever the baker had put on it.  By the time the best man got up to toast the happy couple, Mark was already so far gone that he didn’t even recognize his own brother and, by the time the party started breaking up, he wasn’t even conscious.  

I looked around the fast-emptying room helplessly.  My parents were long gone, and his family had slipped away as well.  Probably because they knew what would happen.  Jerry, Mark’s speech-giving brother, was still here, but he looked in the same shape as his sibling.  Finally, my increasingly desperate gaze settled on the handful of guys who were still standing, three old college friends of Mark’s who I’d never met before, but who certainly seemed familiar with his present predicament.  I caught a sympathetic grin from one of them, and walked over to where they stood in a knot by the now-empty dance floor.

“Hey, sorry to bother you but…”  I touched him on the arm.  Damn it, why can I never remember people’s names, even when I was only introduced to them that same morning?

He laughed, a broad smile creasing his not-bad-looking features.  “Hi Beccy.  So Mark’s out for the count already?”  His friends, I noticed, were laughing alongside him.

“Yeah, it looks like it.  I was wondering if you could help me get him up to our room.”

“No problem.”  He turned, put his beer down on a nearby table, and gestured for his two companions to follow.  Mark wasn’t the lightest guy in the world when he was upright and mobile.  In his present insensitive state, he was 250lbs of dead weight.

Into the elevator we staggered, with Mark’s arms draped across two sets of shoulders, while the third guy carried his legs.  I punched the button for the 24th floor and slumped against the wall, still clutching the flowers that someone thrust into my hand as we left.

“Not much of a wedding night for you, eh?” the guy with Mark’s legs laughed loudly.

“You can say that again.”  He was right, it wasn’t.  The lift stopped and I led the way down the brightly lit corridor to the waiting suite.  Through the window, the city spread out beneath us, a sea of lights that led down to the sea.  Roses rouged the furniture, and our wedding gifts had thoughtfully been piled on a table that could barely take the weight.  

I waited while my gallant aides arranged Mark in a heap in one of the armchairs, and I eyed the complimentary magnum of champagne.  “Anyone fancy a drink after all that lifting?” 

I poured the two glasses that sat on the table, hunted around in the minibar till I found a couple more, and then flopped myself down on the edge of the bed.  The broad kingsized bed in which I would begin my married days.  To my left, Mark began snoring, and all four of us laughed at the sound.

“Is he always like this when he gets drunk?” I asked.  It suddenly dawned on me that I’d never seen him more than tipsy, except once when I’d probably got even more hammered than him.

“Oh yeah,” nodded one.  Brad.  I remembered now, his name was Brad.  “In fact, you could have an earthquake and he wouldn’t wake up.  Do you remember that time…”  He turned to his friends, then his voice trailed off.  “Or maybe not.”

“No come on, tell me,” I prompted.  “If I don’t know his deepest secrets, then what sort of wife would I be?”

“Well, I’m not sure…”  Brad looked at his friends for support, but they shrugged.  “If you don’t tell her, she’s only going to imagine, and it’ll probably be even worse in her mind than it was in reality,” one said, then paused and looked at me carefully  “You’re not the jealous sort, are you, Beccy?”

Frank.  You’re Frank.  I smiled congratulations to my slowly-returning memory, and then shook my head.  “No.  What’s done is done, what’s past is past,” I said.  Besides, Heaven knows, there were enough things in my past that I could have torn myself up about but didn’t, things I’d done with guys I’d met.  Whose names I didn’t remember, if I ever even knew them to begin with.  More than sometimes.  I eyed my three new friends, and if there was a little voice in the back of my mind to remind me that those days were firmly behind me, the champagne had obviously muffled it.

Brad told his story.  A football game, a college party, a pretty blonde who latched onto Mark.  Yeah, he told me that one.  He passed out and left her sitting there, and when he came round, she was long gone.

Brad laughed. “So he brought this girl back to the dorm room, he was already drunk as a skunk when they got there and he had a couple more brews while they were just sitting around.  She was getting really pissed off with him, she wanted fucking and all he could do was get fucked up.  So she started coming onto Tommy over there…” he indicated the third friend, the cute blonde one… “and to cut a long story short….”  

To cut a long story short, Tommy ended up fucking her right there on Mark’s bed, while Mark lay dead to the world alongside them.

I laughed and felt a familiar pulse in my pussy, one that echoed the sudden lurch of daring that my heart had flipped. “Serves him right,” I said.  “I’d have done exactly the same thing.”

“Really?”  The storyteller looked at me curiously.  


I thought of telling a tale of my own, of the night I went clubbing with a girlfriend and her boyfriend, and spent a good forty minutes jerking him off with my stockinged feet beneath the table, without anyone ever noticing.   He came all over my toes, and I could still feel the squelching as I slipped my shoes on afterwards, and walked to the ladies to clean up a little.

Or the time I gave road head to half the college track team on the way to a sports meet.  I’d have got the other half too, I reckon, if the coach hadn’t asked why they all were at the back of the bus.  I eyed - what was this?  My third glass of champagne?  - and I giggled reprovingly in to the bubbles.  It’s your wedding night, remember?  Time to look into the future, not back at the past.  Then Mark gave an especially loud grunt and I felt a lurch of absolute mortification.

What the fuck had I done?

My entire life so far had been lived on my terms, running free and single with my circle of friends, clubbing at weekends, sleeping with strangers, enjoying myself while I was still young enough to do so.  And I’d given it all up for – what?  Yeah, Mark was a good fuck... no, scratch that.  He was a really good fuck, and a lot of other things as well.  But only when he was sober enough to stay awake, and I didn’t care that I’d never seen him this pissed before.  His buddies had.   Again I eyed my smiling companions, Brad, Frank and Tommy.  The old Beccy wouldn’t have kicked any one of them out of bed.  A little voice at the back of my mind was suddenly wondering whether the new one would?

I took a breath.  “I wonder if he’d notice tonight?”

Frank laughed.  “I told you, he could sleep through an earthquake.  Watch!”  He stood and walked over to where Mark lay unconscious, leaned down and shook him violently.  All Mark did was snore even louder.

Laughing, Tommy and Brad joined him and suddenly the three of them were pushing and pulling the chair back and forth, rocking it back on two legs and then letting it thud down onto the carpeted floor.  Mark slumbered on.  “See, you could do anything and he’d sleep right through it.”



I lay back on the bed.  Still prim in the dress I’d been married in, my brain filled with bubbles but not so much that they bothered me, I surveyed the scene.  Well, it wasn’t quite how I pictured tonight unfolding, but I wasn’t the one sawing logs in an armchair.  I shifted a little, reached out one arm and snagged Tommy’s belt; I pulled him towards me and noticed that he did not even pretend to resist.  Still with one hand, I began unfastening his pants.

“Okay, let’s see,” I murmured.  My heart was already pounding; it leaped loudly as my hand touched warm cock through the shield of Tommy’s flimsy cotton briefs.  I was going to do it.  And even better, he was going to let me.

The room was silent around me, three pairs of eyes fastened onto me as I sat up and pressed my face to what I could only describe as a fabulous bulge.  It stirred, like a bear stretching out in its cave, and I licked its hardening length, tasting hot man through the fabric, spicy, sharp and tongue-dancingly delightful.  They’ve always amazed me, the mechanics of a cock, how otter-coat softness can become tempered steel with no more than a touch, a word or a gesture,  how the flesh just unfolds, straightens and stretches, and as Tommy started to step out of the pants that I’d hoisted down to his knees, his briefs just as suddenly tented towards my face.

My teeth seized the waistband of his briefs, nipping skin and a few hairs as well, and I jerked them down as well as I could, stretching them wider as they snagged on his erection, then releasing them with a sharp twang against his thighs.  

He gasped and his cock sprang to attention before me, bobbing before my eyes, the head a firm mushroom on a stalk that didn’t quit.  My fist felt tiny as it circled his shaft, and angled him towards me as I leaned in and licked, my tongue tracing the length of the thickest of the veins till it tapped at his helmet and I drew him into my mouth.  Tommy groaned and, behind me, I’d heard the sound of his buddies stripping their own clothes off, as hands began wrestling with the buttons down the back of my dress.

Gently my shoulders were bared and a mouth pressed against my neck.  I shivered but did not relinquish my prize, but my free hand reached back to caress a smooth face.  My breasts were free now, firm fingers were pulling and thumbing at my nipples as I carried on sucking on Tommy’s prick, taking him as deep down inside as I possibly could, and then backing off slowly, relishing his flavor and feeling every pore of his flesh as he slipped back and forth across my stretched, sensitive lips.  

Rough hands pulled my legs open.  I swiveled my body a little, raised and bent one leg and yes!  A thick finger thrust itself into my pussy.  Damn, I was soaking wet already – it’s amazing what a good length of cock down my throat can do to me.  I pushed back against the intruder, forcing it deeper and wishing it thicker, and then I felt a tongue there, lapping at my lips as fresh fingers spread me wide, and a hungry mouth slurped and sucked at my pink.  God, I wanted this.

I broke my grip on Tommy, released him from my mouth with a satisfying plop.  

“Fuck me.  Somebody fuck me.  But not you…” I looked up at Tommy.  “I want you to stay here.”  

I threw back on the bed as Tommy stripped off the shirt and tie that he was still, absurdly, wearing, kicked away his fallen pants and briefs, and then brusquely straddled my chest, his knees pinning my arms to the mattress.  I resisted for a moment, then gave up.  He could have his moment of power if he wanted it.

His cock nestled between my breasts and he crushed the orbs together, sandwiching himself between them as he slowly fucked my cleavage.  I watched entranced as his hardness slipped back and forth, then raised my head and stretched out my tongue, licking his tip as it swept into reach.  A glob of pre-cum hung thick and I caught it, stretching it out between his prick and my lips; more was pooling in my cleavage, lubricating our flesh as we moved together.  Then, as he slipped his full length back into my mouth, I felt another length slam into my pussy, stretching me wide and penetrating me deep, two heavyweight balls slapping against my ass as a fat, heavy cock end drove towards my womb.  

My clit was on fire, but that was only the start of it.  My entire pussy was crying out in ecstasy, to be answered by the gurgles that escaped my crammed full throat.

Fuck me.  Spear me.  Impale me.  Do me.

Oh my God, this was paradise.  I’d had threesomes before, but I was younger and my partners were younger.  Too much indecision, too much laughter, and too many distractions as nervousness danced a tango with desire.  This was the real thing, this was serious business, and this was bigger.  Fuck a threesome, I wanted all four!  Straining, I pulled an arm out from beneath the knee that had imprisoned it, raised the hand that had done nothing but make tight fists in the bedclothes, and gripped a third cock, longer than Tommy’s, thicker than… thicker than whoever was pounding my pussy.  

I disengaged my mouth for a moment.  “Come here,” I whispered, and its owner knelt closer to me, the tip of his dick almost touching Tommy’s as they both hovered at my lips.  I knew without even trying that I’d never fit them both in my mouth.  But I was going to have a go anyway, my head swishing swiftly from side to side as I sucked on one and then the other, sometimes delivering a greedy quick gulp, other times offering long, loving caresses that started in the back of my throat and engulfed the entire length.

My cunt was screaming with joy.  I don’t know they taught at the college they’d all been to, but whoever was fucking me… Frank or Brad, Brad or Frank.  It didn’t matter… was just as good as Mark, with the added bonus of at least an extra inch.  One miniature orgasm after another burst like pulsars through my body, each one layering on top of the last and all building up to the big one that I knew would leave me screaming the hotel down, no matter how many cocks I had in my mouth.  

And talking of orgasms… Tommy had lasted as long as he could, but clearly not any more.  He cried out and his whole body twitched sharply, then roughly he thrust himself deep between my jaws as his cum poured out, thick and warm and gooey, straight down the back of my throat.  For a moment, I gagged, choking on the flood, then somehow collected my senses again.  I spluttered a little, I swallowed the lot, and I just kept on sucking as he softened on my tongue.  

Tommy pulled out and his pal slipped straight in, so thick that I felt like my jaw would tear, so long that, even as he banged against my throat, I was struggling to take more meat inside me.  I’d never felt a cock so huge, never tasted one so hot, and never ever felt somebody fuck my mouth so hard, banging into my face as frenetically as his friend was fucking my cunt.   

They slipped into the same rhythm, and that was amazing as well, the ultimate carnival ride, the waltzer and the twister and the teacups all in one, and I was spinning and twisting and flying, listening to the headboard as it crashed against the wall as the boys picked up their pace even harder, and even Mark’s snoring seemed to slip into gear, a ballet of sound and choreographed crashes to match the mad music of three bodies in concert.

And FUCK!!!!!!

You know what it feels like when you and your partner cum together?  That moment where your bodies and minds just melt together and every sensation that the other is experiencing comes pouring from their pores into yours, and you soar higher and faster than you’ve ever flown before?

Multiply that by a thousand and then add some more, because that’s what it feels like when you and two partners cum together, one of them thrusting as deep as he can up inside your pussy, scalding your cervix with all he can shoot; the other stuffing himself way down your throat, and then both of them crying and letting fly at the precise same moment.  And where the two floods met somewhere in the region of the bottom of my ribcage, that’s where my own orgasm was gathering pace, a crashing, splashing, sense-mashing explosion that filled my entire body with absolute, unbeatable and undiluted pleasure.  

I was shivering, the lights were shimmering and, for a moment, we three hung their motionless.  Neither of my lovers was in a hurry to pull out, and that was exactly how I wanted them to stay.  I wanted to suck them and suckle them and squeeze them with my flesh until there was nothing left to wring from their balls; to hold them inside me until the end of time.  And when they did finally, unwillingly, slip from my grasp, I raised myself and sucked on all three guys again, and everyone of them melted in my mouth, drained of even the ability to speak.

But not to act.  A mouth closed on mine, a thick tongue deep inside, sucking out the cum that was smeared thick on my gums.  Another was at my pussy, licking me clean, cleaning me out.   

The thought crossed my mind, absurd but irresistible.  It was as if, having borrowed the bride of their best college buddy, they were now determined to return her to him in the same condition they’d found her, kissed exquisitely pure of all trace of the night, the whore become Queen before she slipped off to sleep.  And I closed my eyes, relaxing to their magical ministrations as I felt another orgasm building deep down inside me.  And this time I did cry out, all the pleasure and joy that had filled me tonight flying free with a gasping, sobbing, ecstatic scream that sounded like no word I had ever uttered before, but which was filled with more meaning than any I’d ever heard.  I was in heaven and I wanted the whole world to know it.

Beside us, Mark snored inexorably on.

They dressed, I undressed, they left the room, I went to bed.  My mind was a jumble of sensations and thoughts; I had loved harder and orgasmed more dramatically than ever before in my life, and if I felt even the tiniest twinge of regret or embarrassment, even a hint of horror at how readily I had betrayed my husband of less than twelve hours, then the memory of that final orgasm pushed it away.  Besides, in the morning (assuming he’d actually sobered up by then, and wasn’t just a sackful of unshaven hangover), I’d more than make up for it.

Which, I’m thrilled to say, I did.  And only once since that wonderful wedding night have I ever had cause to wonder just how deeply asleep my husband had been, how oblivious to my opportunism he really was.   It was a couple of days later, still in the first bloom of marital bliss, as I sucked on his cock while our breakfast went cold, and I heard him tell me… I thought I heard him tell me…to suck it like the filthy slut I was.

I froze, and the low voice continued, a barely audible whisper that demanded I swallow his mess like I’d swallowed his friends’, and if he didn’t hear me choking on his burning white hot spunk, then maybe he’d invite a few of the guys over, Tommy and Brad and Frank, he said, and the whole darn lot of them would drown me with their cocks.

I raised my head and looked him in the eye. 

“I’d like that,” I told him.  “I’d like that a lot.”

1 comment:

H said...

WOW that was so hot, well writen, so erotic, so full of wet dripping lust, the fucking, sucking, cleaning and ending, just perfect.

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