12 comments/ 29231 views/ 1 favorites Defusing the Orgy By: XicotencatlSmith The doorbell rings and I answer, ready to be facetious to my lovely wife: Why do you need to ring the bell for an unlocked door that you have the key to?, something like that. But instead I find my wife propped up between our four friends, themselves none too steady. RJ and Belinda are our old neighbors, and the other couple Jeff and Jennifer were staying with us that weekend. I naturally let them all in and aided as best I could. It wasn't entirely unexpected; guest from out of town have to be entertained. My wife Jan has been running around all day with Jeff and Jennifer while I watched the kids. Wine tastings are fun, and they had been touring a few local wineries most of the afternoon. When they got home for dinner, a last minute trip to the comedy club was just a spur of the moment thing. Probably the straw in the margarita that broke the camel's back. RJ and Belinda get free tickets often and apparently had called Jan while she and our guests were on the way home. I stayed to watch the kids even though Jan practically begged me to go in her place, so that I could have some fun. (She also begged me for a few other things, which were fun for me and I will relate presently.) I don't really know Jennifer or Jeff, and at the time I believed Jeff had a stick up his ass. Not an unpleasant guy, just neither hot nor cold. But Jennifer is my wife's BFF from high school; they don't see each other except once every few years. We attended Jennifer's wedding to Jeff last spring (for both the second marriage). I felt they should have a good time together. Jan does a lot for me and for her family, her mother is nothing but a disaster these days, and I felt she deserved a day that was without responsibility from start to finish. At this moment, I'm thinking the finish line is pretty close. Jan, my wife, evidently has some problems with basic motor skills, and is only standing because RJ and Belinda had her at each arm. Embriagado, as my grandmother might say. Maybe muy barracha? My Spanish gets rustier with each passing year. "Karaoke! Karaoke in the basement!" Jan announces. Whenever she's tipsy, she always wants to either sing karaoke or go to a strip club. Strip karaoke would be 7th heaven. I also knew she was in a fairly horny mood before she left, because she had been so grateful about me insisting she go out that she'd taken me to our master bathroom for a quickie in front of the mirror. Now the entry hall to our house is narrow, and since RJ had my wife at the best angle he helps her thru to the living room. Belinda takes my arm. I wonder at this a little. "You need a hand to the basement?" I ask. She doesn't seem drunk enough to need a hand. "Oh, I'll go anywhere with you," Belinda coos. Okay, you're hammered too, I think with a smile. We reach the living room. Belinda immediately disengages my arm and starts helping Jan downstairs. They will be passed out before I can drag out the karaoke machine and hook it up. RJ ran back out to his SUV to lock it up, and the Montana couple also separated, Jeff to the deck to smoke and Jennifer to the bathroom just at hand. Down the stairs I see Belinda and Jan unsafely helping each other down the steps, Jan almost pressed against the wall. I suspect the only thing keeping them from both tumbling down is the coefficient of friction on that wall, but there isn't really anything I can do at this point except hope they don't fall too hard. The stairs are carpeted, and they are halfway down. Jeff has finished his smoke. "You guys get kicked out?" I ask. I wasn't expecting them home for another 45 minutes, and as drunk as the ladies appear it seems likely. But Jeff says no, they weren't. I find later this wasn't true; they were kicked out in spectacular and embarrassing fashion. Just like I thought Jeff had a stick up his ass; he apparently at that time believed me to be a right wing fundamentalist who clings to his God and his guns. I do have a few guns. His wife Jennifer comes out of the rest room, her jeans undone and about halfway down. Jeff scoots over and after a moment's assessment decides she needs to go to bed. She nods, bleary eyed and obviously about to fall. He takes her upstairs to the guest room they are staying in. The dog is worked up by the excitement and I let him out to bark at the moon and claim some territory. Jeff came back down and I got us each a beer. RJ has gone downstairs. I engage in the idle chit chat that one does with friends of friends, when my wife shrieked out my name in the same tone she does when a child is hurt or a spider needs to be killed. I bound down to the basement three steps at a time and no one was there in the media room -- she calls again in a more normal shout from the bathroom. It's a very small room, but when I opened the door I found Belinda against the wall, her pants down, panties nestled in them, and her thin blonde pubic hair exposed. Jan kneeling in front of her, alternating kissing the blonde patch of hair with tugging the jeans. RJ was watching, highly amused. "Come on in," he said. More on RJ and Belinda in a paragraph or two. Jan keeps tugging vigorously at Belinda's pants. I can hear stitches popping. And personally I find the idea of Jan with another woman as the hottest thing I can imagine, but right now I'm pissed off. We have company. The dog is outside and will need to be back in a second. The kids are upstairs, way upstairs and dead asleep, but they are in the house. And did I mention we have out of state company? "Hang on, what about Jeff? I can't just leave him upstairs; he could come down any second." "So?" My wife asks. She looks manic, and turns her attention back to Belinda. As an afterthought she mumbles "Just throw him into the mix if you're worried about it." We are not swingers; never have been. I suspect that RJ and Belinda are. We've been to their house many times, and a few times hot tubbing. Belinda and Jan have kissed on dares, but most of the time it's been normal middle aged or approaching middle aged(says Xico repeatedly to himself: I am not old yet) socializing. Drinking parties with song and dance. Jan and I did have threesome many years ago, and in the jealous aftermath she had I never really wanted to do that again. (See a Threesome Too Far, written shortly after that happened.) Anyway polyamorous activity in general just seems to a hazardous undertaking - like skydiving or free climbing a cliff-- sure it sounds fun, but is it so fun that I want to bother with possible consequences? And even if was inclined to whip out my cock and wade into this drunken mess, turning on the baby monitor first, I'm not going to throw Jeff "into the mix." I don't know him. Our first threesome was with a dear friend. RJ and Belinda are good friends. What are Jeff and Jennifer (when she wakes up) going to think of all this? So instead of whipping my cock out, I laugh at her a little. I scold her for scaring the crud out of me with her shriek, tell her I was going to leave them to it but I wasn't going to leave Jeff unattended. I go back up and plausibly lie to Jeff. Jan was puking, I tell him, and Belinda was holding her hair. "Belinda's pretty drunk herself," Jeff notes. "Yeah, more of a hindrance than a help. RJ's got them monitored. There's not really any room for more help anyway. Need another beer, or are you headed to bed?" We companionably share a few beers. RJ came back up. He doesn't say anything about what is happening downstairs, but reading between the lines I thought he was a little disappointed to find that either Jeff hadn't gone to bed or that Jennifer had passed out. Maybe this is all a plan and I'm the only one not in on it. I get my radar up to try and determine exactly what Jeff thought the plan was; if I was exposing myself by lying to him. He mentioned that Jennifer, Belinda, and Jan had been "talking loudly" at the club and so they had "left early" (I wasn't the only one telling white lies at this point). He said Jennifer was passed out. We finished two beers; RJ went back downstairs to "check on the girls." Jeff went to bed eventually. I double checked the kiddos, both sleeping tight. I come back down, I knock on the bathroom door and Jan told me to come in. Everyone was completely naked. Belinda sits comfortably on commode, RJ's cock in her mouth and my wife between her legs. Jan looks done. Her energy from before was gone, and she is sitting half slumped with her hand high on Belinda's thigh, rubbing it. She leans in for a few licks as Belinda moans. Jan motions me over and gave me a nice rub through my jeans. "I love you. You should taste her. We need towels." A little random perhaps, but as I mentioned earlier she was intoxicated. I retrieve some towels from the upstairs linen closet, locking the baby gate on the way down to impede Jeff from unexpectedly interrupting us (It's very hard to open if you don't know the trick) and head down yet again to see where this was going. Which is nowhere, fast. I find Jan has left the bathroom, which is closed again, and passed out on the floor of the basement media room. She is mostly wedged between the couch and the coffee table, using a couch cushion for a pillow, and completely naked. I touched her (I can't not touch her -- I love the feel of her skin under my hands), and she gave me a bleary look, her forehead furrowed. "Why am I naked?" She asks two or three times, each time slightly more accusatory. I told her she had been making out with Belinda and possibly RJ in the bathroom. I return with a bathrobe and made her put it on. I also bring her a real pillow, some water and aspirin. She thinks she is going to be sick, and I feel the best thing was to let her lie there until the nausea passes. I turn on the TV. True Romance is on, Clarence hasn't even killed Drexel yet. In the bathroom, what I speculate is some usually enthusiastic sex between RJ and Belinda cumulated in the sound of several crashes as if the curtain rod or the towel rack or the vanity (or all three) had been detached in some sort of gymnastic fucking. They come out and Belinda almost falls, her blouse back on but her pants only halfway on. She laid out perpendicular to my Jan. RJ and I got her a pillow and a blanket. RJ and I watch True Romance- he'd never seen it before. RJ apologizes for the crash- it wasn't sex but trying to help Belinda get dressed and she had fallen over, uninjured but still mostly pantless. Christian Slater was engaged in some Elvis lovin' badassery when Belinda stirs again. She takes her pants all the way off and RJ and I naturally watch this with interest. She pulls herself even closer to Jan and starts to stroke her hair and kiss her. I move the coffee table back to give them a little room. Belinda props herself up on one arm and was kissing Jan, trying to wake her up. It was an uphill battle. Jan would sometimes give a very hostile oyster eyed glare, other times she would moan erotically and respond. Belinda began fingering herself and then putting her fingers lightly over Jan's mouth. "Go down on me Jan. Make me come again." In response Jan gently sucked in the fingers. I am rock hard, imagining her soft lips around my fingers and other things. Jan slowly sits up, blinks a few times, (sorry for being anticlimactic here, but this is the way it happened) and then without ceremony goes upstairs. I follow her and get her tuck in near the master bathroom toilet. She is pretty sure she will be sick. She asks me to get her water and bring it to her. In the basement, fetching the water bottle, I find RJ and Belinda going at it on the floor. I'm not ordinarily one to casually walk past people having sex on the floor to get something out of the room, not since my college days at least, but that's what I do. Belinda comes to all fours and grabs me, another very nice stroke through my jeans, and asks me to make love to her. I'm going to paraphrase them in places, because Belinda and RJ are lovely people, and I found this entire thing very arousing, but they apparently have an unfortunate tendency to talk like porn stars or characters in certain kinds of Literotica stories. And there's nothing wrong with that, I'm not judging. I've done it myself. It just sets my teeth on edge a little when people talk or write like that, just like I'm sure these little asides ruin this story. To each his own, right? "Xico, make love to me," and she has what Joseph Heller would call the "simpering look of a woman in heat." "Oh, Belinda. I have to take care of Jan." RJ asks if I could bring them some lube. Jan is now solidly out on her side, breathing evenly. I place the water by her hand and go in search of Vaseline or astroglide. We have some astroglide and I take it back down. Now here it gets tricky. I did want to make love to Belinda. I had the impulse to do it, it wasn't a life goal or anything. She's attractive. But I didn't want to do anything without Jan in the room and sober enough to condone it. Jan already didn't remember what she'd been doing in the bathroom, and I could end up with a jealous girl sometime in the coming days. So I half assed it. I'm a little disappointed with my performance here. I could have just dropped off the lube and gone to bed; or I could have fully participated. To choose the middle road, as I'm about to describe, is fairly pathetic. So I kneel down and hand the lube to RJ, and Belinda pulls my shorts down and starts to go down on me. RJ tells me how much she likes having two men, how much it excites her to be such a bad girl. And as he says these things, she's comes repeatedly. Those wonderful orgasms some women have when they just gush. I've always loved girls like that; the abandon in the sexual act. Now RJ would have liked us to switch back and forth. Belinda is terrific at going down. The movement of the tongue, now down, now up, stopping sometimes to take it out of her mouth and lay her head my thigh and lick down the shaft, cradling the length along her cheek as she went further down until the tip was touching her hair. All the while the pleasure of it, for her, is practically glowing from her. I reach down and stroke her hair and sometimes her breasts, keeping myself very much in check. Jan and I tend to be very aggressive with each other, attacking like teenagers. That wasn't right for this moment. So we switch positions and Belinda spreads for me. I go down on her. She's petite and it feels like I could lift her with one arm as I move her limbs gently. RJ had been fingering her to orgasm, and so when going down on her didn't seem to be keeping her on that plateau I began to finger her as well. Her drenching orgasms had robbed her of lubrication. If you've been with a woman who comes like this you know what I'm talking about --they are still wet but not slick. I used the astroglide before doing more. Again and again she comes under my hands. I move my free hand over her belly and across her ass, gently over what Nick Baker would call her opulent tockhole. If she were Jan, I would have fingered her ass as well. Belinda is in her forties, and she works out constantly. I tell her how beautiful she is. She comes again. RJ is talking all this time about what a great cocksucker she is; the best woman he's ever had when it comes to blowjobs. And it feels great. But for me, things like that are awkward spoken out loud. I usually dislike porn dialogue, especially in stories or the real world. I understand it's convention, but I've never liked the metrics, like erotica is some sort of productivity report: False modesty "my dick is only 8.5 inches, I apologize that it's so small," her breasts were 36C, his chest was muscled, her hair was blonde brunette red, yada yada yada with all the heated overwrought analogies. All the opulent tockholes Just not always my thing. I'm back at her mouth, my hands politely at my side even though I'd rather be grabbing her hair like Jan loves. And while I just decried metrics, I am feeling huge. I look down and my head going in and out of her mouth seems simply wide and the shaft seems thick and rude. I imagine my wife here now, underneath me, licking my balls or rimming me as Belinda takes me deeper and deeper. The image is exquisite, and opening my eyes seeing Belinda's obvious pleasure is just wonderful. I don't come yet; despite being all but two beers sober - I did just have sex with Jan only three hours ago. RJ stops. "Where do you want to come? Her mouth or her pussy?" The man is nothing if not an excellent host. Belinda asks me again "Make love to me, Xico." I told you I was pathetic. I made my excuses. That if I was drunk, like everyone else, I would. But I don't have permission. I hint a little, trying to find out if Jan fucked RJ or not when I was upstairs, but either the answer is no or he doesn't want to tell me. I tell Belinda that I want to make love to her, but it will have to be some other night. I thank RJ for letting me be with his beautiful wife. My swollen testes and I leave them to it and go upstairs. Jan is obviously not going to be sick if she hasn't been by now. I bring her to bed and snuggle in. My hand brushes over her breasts several times, and I even venture down to rub over her pussy without separating the labia. She's dead to the world, and smiling I withdraw my hand from her mound and wrap my arm around her. We sleep. In the morning, there are no recriminations. No damage to her reputation with her friends. I feel like the bomb disposal technician who pulled the right wire.