by Ozymandias Rocks
(01/14/09)

They have been friends a long time, friends from college. Two married, two not yet, they continue to travel together, skiing, rafting, golfing, dining. Or just playing cards. Drinking. Hugging.

Then poker. And raising the stakes, adding some excitement. A little strip poker involving many layers of clothing. Stepping back for awhile. Then strip poker without the excessive layers. They look at each other and wonder, "Why not?"

Dinner finished, wine consumed, blankets spread over the carpet, pillows on the blankets. They undress quietly and totally, except for the wife, who says in barely a whisper, "I'd like to leave my underpants on." They sit quietly, cross-legged on the blanket, the two men across from each other, the women across from each other. The husband stands after a bit and gets many candles, hands them to the three who are seated. They light the candles. The husband turns off the lamps and rejoins them on the floor, the light from the candles flickering. They hold hands and close their eyes.

"You first," the husband says to his wife. "Keep your eyes closed and relax," he says.

She shudders. "No, please. Someone else."

A pause, the four of them looking at each other. Finally the friend says, "I certainly wouldn't object to a back rub."

The wife says, "Thank you."

The blonde says, "Put your head in my lap." The man complies, face down, she with her naked legs stretched out on either side of him, massaging his neck. The husband saying nothing, just sitting cross-legged across from his wife; the friend between them, eyes closed, waiting.

The husband looks into his wife's eyes, loving her very much, knowing this is difficult for her, unnatural, knowing she is doing it for him. He covers her hand with his, leans over his naked friend and kisses her gently on the lips, their tongues briefly touching. He leans back.

Still looking into her eyes, he guides his wife's hand down his friend's back to his buttocks, to his thighs. He takes his hand away after a pause. She takes her eyes from her husband, watches as her hand starts massaging the inside of her friend's thigh, watches in wonder as her hand slowly moves up of its own accord between the thighs, feeling the cool pressure of testicles on the back of her fingers. Looking back at her husband, who smiles.

The blonde removing her fingers from the neck, beckoning the husband closer, the husband complying, the wife observing as she continues to massage those thighs. The husband brings his lips to those of the blonde as the blonde brings her hands to the back of the husband's head, probing with her tongue. He tastes the dinner wine in her mouth, then backs off to again look into his wife's eyes.

But the wife is looking at her blonde friend, her full lips, the candlelight flickering across her breasts, dancing across her nipples. Her husband has just kissed a woman more beautiful than she, and she wonders what it would be like to kiss a woman.

The wife looks back into her husband's eyes. The massage continues, all hands on the prone friend, even the husband's, though it feels strange to him; he keeps thinking where he'd rather have his hands.

"Roll over, sweet," says the blonde. He pushes himself up to his knees, turns around, lies back down with his head centered in her lap.

The wife looks at their friend's penis. All these years. Maybe she has wondered. She sees the shaft has a curve to it. It is hard, and maybe a little shorter than her husband's. She slides one hand down over it, then draws her fingers slowly up from sac to tip, amazing herself. She looks back at her husband, leaving her hand still holding it.

The husband watches her hand as it slowly begins to stroke his friend. He is uneasy. He shakes his head, very slightly, as she looks back at him, hoping only she notices. He swallows. The lump remains in his throat. He knows he is ridiculous, but knowing that doesn't change how he feels. He reaches to touch his wife's breasts. They aren't very big, but he has always thought them wonderful. He still does.

She sees the hand, feels it familiar on her breasts. She knows he is comparing them to her friend's. Knows he is comparing long blonde hair to her mousy brown pixie cut. Knows he suggested this whole thing because he wanted something new, something more. He can't be faulted. She wonders if her friend would mind kissing her though, just one time before taking her husband. She hesitates. She looks into her husband's eyes. He looks sad somehow. Maybe impatient. She looks back at the blonde, her friend. The blonde smiles. The blonde says quietly, "I would like you to kiss me now."

The wife closes her eyes, perhaps to catch a tear. She slides her hand away from the penis, touches her husband's cheek, swings her leg over the prone naked body on the floor so she is facing her friend.

The husband watches his wife lean forward. Shadow and light intermix across the two women's flesh. This is much better to watch than when she was stroking his friend.

The friend is still on his back. The wife's hand has abandoned his penis, but she is sitting lightly on his upper chest, her weight supported by her knees. Her sex is nearly close enough for him to touch it with his tongue, but he waits, and as he waits the blonde and the wife lean toward each other and he is watching from below as their lips meet, and linger, in the shadow-and-light of the candles.

And then he hears his lover say, "No." And hears her say, "Give me your feet." And feels a lot more weight on his chest till she says, "Lie back now."

And the wife takes his lover's hands and slowly lets herself lie back on his body, her head coming to rest beside his penis. And he wonders if the wife will turn her head, will take him in her mouth. But she simply lies there, still, while his lover leans over, her breasts in his face, her tongue now licking the mound covered by wet silk. He sucks on the nipples he has sucked on so many times. He brings his hands to the back of his lover's head, but finds the wife's hands already there, so slides them up to the wife's smaller breasts, cupping them, feeling the erect nipples, letting his hands rest there.

The husband watches as the blonde lowers his wife onto his friend's torso, watches as she bends over, first licking his wife's panties, then bringing her fingers up, sliding the front of the panties down enough that she can explore with her tongue that place he loves.

He sees his friend reach up to fondle his wife's breasts. He hears soft moaning from his wife. He sees his friend's penis jutting up beside his wife's head, hard, glistening, curved. Why curved? He wants to kiss his wife, to reassure her, but not with that penis there. The blonde is licking his wife. The friend is fondling his wife. The wife is moaning, and moaning.

And he is watching. Not knowing what to do. What about me?

The wife realizes she has been lost in her own sensations, selfish, and that her husband wants to lie with her friend. "Help me up," she says, reaching her hands out, watching as the blonde pulls her face back, readjusting the panties, extending her arms, pulling the wife back to a sitting position.

The wife looks at her husband, just sitting there. Abandoned. She reaches for the blonde's chin, bringing her close, leaving her husband's eyes once she feels the breath from the blonde's parted lips, lingering, sighing, then sliding down next to the friend, her head on his chest, again looking into the eyes of her husband. The husband turns to the blonde, then back to his wife, and slides down next to their friend as well. The blonde strokes the wife's hair, parting her legs further, the wife still looking into the eyes of her husband as she strokes the friend's penis again gently, then brings her fingers to her husband's mouth.

He sucks them, and she returns her fingers to just below the tip of the friend's penis, circling, the husband watching, the husband thinking, It really seems smaller than mine. He reaches down and runs his fingers up and down the length of it, curious. Then he simply looks again at his wife again stroking his friend.

His wife watches him sit up. She continues sliding her fingers around the shaft of the penis, her head still resting on the barrel chest. She watches as her husband strokes the blonde's thigh. Watches as his fingertips disappear beneath the fine pale curly hair between her legs. She feels the throbbing under her fingers but is caught off guard when sudden warm substance catches her in the face and hair.

"God, I'm sorry," the friend says, once his breathing returns to normal.

The blonde giggles. "That was quick."

The husband looks at the wife, at her face, her hair, then looks away. The wife wipes her face, wipes her hand on the friend's chest, looks at the blonde who is now shaking her head, then looks again at her husband who will not look at her.

She sits up. "Come on, we need to get cleaned up," she says, grabbing the friend's hand.

As she rises and he follows, the blonde looks at the two of them. She says, "Take your time."

The wife looks back at the husband looking at the blonde.

The husband and the blonde watch the pair fade into the darkness of the hallway, then enter the bathroom. A light comes on. The door remains partially open.

"Why did you tell them to take their time?"

"Hey, this was all your idea. Now either kiss me, or rub my back. And why is your dick all shriveled up when you keep eyeballing my tits?" She is smiling gently at him.

He looks down, blushing red in the flickering light. He looks up at her. "Lie on your stomach."

She stretches out, arms behind her head, watching as he kneels over her, working his fingers into her neck, her shoulders, down her spine.

"What do you think they're doing in there?" he says.

"Don't worry about it. He won't be able to get it up again for a week."

They walk into the bathroom and turn on the light. He reaches for the door to pull it closed, but she grabs his arm, pulls him around to face her.

"Shit, I am really really sorry," he says. "Would you like to get in first?"

"We're both going in. You're washing my hair." She steps out of her panties while he adjusts the shower.

They step in, he with his face in the shower, she grabbing a bar of soap, pressing up behind him, reaching around and soaping his chest, thinking about how much more substantial his frame is, how solid, bringing the soap down between his legs, feeling him grow, feeling herself powerful.

He turns around to face her. "You're going to ruin my reputation."

"If you recall, I was opposed to this whole thing."

"Hand me the shampoo."

They hear the quiet voices. Then they hear the shower.

"Do you think they're in the shower together?"

She smiles again. "They left the door open. You can go check, or you can shut up and enjoy the moment."

"Yeah, but..."

"Shut...Up..."

He shuts up and watches as if from outside himself as his hands stop kneading her shoulders and move down her back to her buttocks, to her thighs. He notices the fine pale hair covering her body. He notices that as he moves his fingers to the inside of her thighs, massaging the muscles, her legs begin to spread.

He pours shampoo into her hair and works it in as she stands facing him, eyes closed. He has always enjoyed the look of smaller breasts. He notices several long dark hairs around the nipples. Interesting. He pulls her close, feeling her breasts against his chest, enjoying the feel of her breasts, of his face in the bubbles in her hair, of continuing to be turned on, of knowing she can feel him, of her not pulling away.

She rolls over. The sound of the shower continues in the background, candles flicker with their bodies' movement, cast rippling shadows over her body. He looks at her breasts. Not one dark ridiculous hair around the nipples. Perfect, he thinks, just beautiful. "You are beautiful..." he says, then looks down the hallway at the still open door, looks back into blue eyes. His hands reach for her breasts. Blue eyes look back into brown.

"You are pathetic. Jesus." She sits up, arms folded across her breasts.

"What? What did I do?"

"You looked down the hallway. You started this, but you looked down the hallway." They sit. They wait.

She leans back to let the water rinse the shampoo from her hair, running her fingers through her dark thick strands, but does not pull the lower part of her body back from him. She likes the feel of him hard, likes the feel of his hands holding the cheeks of her ass. Bubbles gone, she leans into him, lifts her head, finds his mouth and his tongue. She reaches down between their legs, spreading her own, holding him, tongues wrapped around each other as the water courses over their bodies, guiding him in. Why did I think he was small before?

"How big is your hot water tank? They've been in there a really long time."

She stands on tiptoe, backs away, closes the gap to kiss him, then drops to her knees. She kisses the end of his penis, then licks the upper part of the shaft before pulling him slowly to the back of her throat, her tongue moving constantly; his hands are on the back of her head but not forcing her to take more than she can manage. Back and forth. Back and forth. Warm water, warm tongue roaming, mouth sucking. Penis throbbing, and throbbing, and "Oh God!" and the throbbing becomes a twitch, and another, and another, and he feels his legs about to give out. He lifts her up slowly and their lips, and tongues, meet again. He tastes himself as he is kissing her. "My turn now, as he drops his mouth to her breasts, drops to his knees.

"Rain check. The water's cooling off."

He licks her once slowly, then stands up. Turns off the water. Kisses her again. Grabs a towel and draws it over her body.

The shower is off and the bathroom light clicks off. They watch as the wife and the friend walk toward them. She has a towel wrapped around her head. Otherwise she is as naked as the rest of them, the panties gone.

She was wearing them before. He wonders where they are. "You were gone a long time," the husband says.

"Thought you might like some privacy. But we left the door open in case you wanted to join us. But you didn't. Who's next?"

"Next?"

"Yeah, the next martyr? I'll volunteer if you two are worn out, but I think I'll dim the lights first." She walks around the room, blowing out every candle. There is not a moonbeam nor a flicker anywhere. Their living room has become a cave beneath a mountain.

She sprawls on her back. "I really hated your idea. But you know? This room is dark, and alive. And I am here. Kiss me."

Silence and darkness. Then, after awhile, soft noises.

Then the smell of sulfur as the husband strikes a match. In the dim light he sees the blonde kissing his wife, being kissed by his wife, sees the blonde's hand caressing a nipple. He sees his friend lying between his wife's legs, his tongue between his thumbs which are exposing her clitoris. He sees the wife lean toward him on one elbow and blow out the match.

He sits in the dark, listening to the soft steady moaning. His hands find his own newly erect penis, and he begins to rock, back and forth in the dark, back and forth, out of matches.

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