The Crown

We said goodbye at the door, and the last of our guests tottered out to a nearby taxi. Loudly yelling their goodbyes, with the lack of decorum that only whiskey can provide. Which coincidentally, these two had provided, bringing the most expensive gift, a giant bottle of Crown Royal. Half gone now, but still.

I’d insisted they get a ride, even though our driveway and street was cluttered with cars. Too many drinks had been shared, and by one AM, those last two had been wasted. Old friends, Patrick and Sabrina. Well, as old friends as two twenty one year olds can have.

I shut the door, and turned to my wife. She held herself steady on the bar that separated the kitchen from the living room, she’d maybe had one or two more drinks than she was used to. “And, now it’s just us.”

“Oh, thank god. I thought I’d never get you to myself.” She walked over to me, hips swaying, only a little unsteady. “Happy anniversary, baby.”

I caught her as she practically fell into my arms, wrapping her up in a hug, nuzzling into her shoulder. “Happy anniversary,” I whispered, and left a kiss below her earlobe. I held her, enjoying the closeness, wanting nothing more than her arms around me, her breath on my neck.

She had other plans, one hand squeezing my butt while the other fumbled at my jeans. She giggled. “Can’t… can’t figure this out.” She settled for taking down my zipper, the belt beyond her skills in this state. She thrust her hand in the opening, with a half step back and another giggle.

I smiled. I needed her to be stationary and more stable, if she tried anything more than the ham fisted groping she was doing, she’d likely topple into something. I’d had my share of the bottle of Crown, but I still had my wits about me.

“Hey, there, drunky. You trying to molest me?” I laughed and picked her up, a forearm under her butt, a hand on the small of her back. Her hands clasped behind my neck.

“Successfully molested. Tryin to get laid.” Her grin was ear to ear.

“I think I can help with that,” I said, and walked us a step or two towards the couch. I had to side step to avoid our coffee table, askew from its usual position, covered in half full glasses, beer bottles, and varying amounts of other debris, not all of it strictly constrained to its borders.

It had been an extremely successful party. Lots of fun, all of our old high school friends showing up, one or two we hadn’t seen in close on three years. And the party itself was a triple celebration, my birthday, our anniversary, and a housewarming, as well. We’d just managed to close on the house last month, and a frantic few weeks of repairs to get the place liveable had followed, no time for fun. We’d only been able to afford it because it was so run down, but me and Dad had managed to fix the worst of it, while Mom and Sarah had painted and supervised the kitchen upgrades.

I put my always horny wife down on the couch, gently, and sank to my knees in front of her. She reached for me hard, grasping hands and sloppy kisses, insistent and urgent.

I agreed, I wanted her too, but I tried to slow her up, taking time to unlace her shoes, unbutton her top, and slide her jeans past her hips. We were both in a state. Maybe we had let our party games get just a bit out of hand. Maybe.

Maybe us seeing other couples making out had cranked up the volume on our own make out sessions. Maybe, my wife had an exhibitionist streak, too. Maybe, the alcohol had brought out the horny goblins in everybody tonight.

Nothing went too far, but things had gone further than they had at our high school gatherings, for sure. Some skin that doesn’t often get bared in company seeing the light. Some people kissing and groping under clothes. Pretty sure someone snuck off for a quickie in our bathroom. Regardless, Sara had been on simmer since Sabrina lost her top about halfway through. We found it in-between couch cushions.This couch’s cushions, to be precise. She’d still been wearing a fairly sturdy bra, but I caught Sara staring at the top of those creamy tits, straining against the beige fabric barely holding them down. I mean, I’d looked, but I’m a guy, I can be subtle about it. Sara had no such skills, making our good friend Sabrina blush and stutter. Sara had been clingy and gropey with me ever since, and I figured her dials were all maxed out at this point.

And despite my (so far successful) efforts to disrobe her here in the living room, that was as far as I intended to go. In here, at least. The couch was not conducive to the things I wanted to do to her, too limiting in positions, too rough a fabric for the hard thrusts I needed. We’d both had rug burn before, it’s not fun.

I wondered, though… if I’d done this to her while our friends were still here, slipped off her blouse to let her lacy bra free, pulled her jeans off, let those close enough smell how horny she was, see her damp panties… well, I wondered. Not if she’d have liked it, I knew better, just how much she would have liked it. Could she have cum, just from all those eyes on her? Probably not, but it might be worth a try.

One of these days, I might give it a shot. Like the time we’d taken a chance at an icy football game with a heavy blanket over us, her in my lap, and a thousand people around us. Like the time I’d taken her from behind while she peeked out of a closet at her job, eyes out for nosy coworkers. Like the time we’d been in the back seat of my car, and someone showed up to watch us, leaving a splatter of semen on our window. She’d cum four times that night. The first time when she knew she was being watched, despite me barely slipping inside of her. Twice more, on top of me, jiggling those tits for me and him both, leaning back to show him her pussy, sucking her fingers and toying her clit. The last time had been just before he painted the window, when he’d tried the door handle repeatedly, and found it locked. That time, she’d screamed like her soul was escaping, and curled up on me, shaking and twitching.

My initial dismay at these exhibitions had been completely chipped away. I realized, over time, that I didn’t own her, although she was mine. No harm was ever done, the worst had been people saw some things they didn’t usually see, and I got fucked like a soldier going to war as compensation. Her exhibitionist streak echoed well with my pride in her beauty, I was getting to the point where Iwanted her to show off.

In fact, I was usually in for a pelvis bruising session anytime I even reminded her of one of our ‘adventures.’ Which was why I talked to her, now. Working those jeans off, I asked her if she’d have let me do this in front of her friends. Where would she have stopped me? Could I have taken her, there on the couch, feet in the air, while the whole group of friends watched?

My only answers were moans, increasing in volume and urgency. When she glommed back onto my face and almost bowled me back into the coffee table, I figured she’d had enough. I had planned to get her fully nude, and carry her to our bed impaled on my cock as we walked down the hall. Seemed like a good idea. But rug burn was definitely in our future, if I didn’t hurry.

So I stood, caught her hands as they went back to my open zipper, and pulled her to her feet. I guided her, walking backwards to the hallway, as she pulled my shirt over my head, finagled the belt out of its loops, snatched open the button on my jeans. Her mouth hardly left mine, her gasps telling me I’d barely have to do anything to set her to quivering and mewling out her first orgasm of the night. I left my pants in a puddle, and pushed open the bedroom door with my ass, Sarah teasing out my penis through my boxers.

I heard Sarah gasp again, but this time her hands froze, her lips paused. Her eyes were focused behind me. I looked over my shoulder. We werenot alone.

Dimly illuminated by the bedroom lamp, there was a female figure. Dressed in a simple black dress, straight blonde hair framing a surprised look. April Jones, a leftover guest. She’d always been at the fringes of our group, but fringe or not, she’d been there since we were twelve. Shy, never saying much, but always there in the background.

We found out later, she’d been looking for another bathroom, had found the half bath in our room, and had simply… sat down. Overwhelmed by the party, her first alcoholic beverage, the rush of nostalgia from seeing all of her old friends at once. She’d sat on a corner of the bed, and was just thinking about rejoining us, not knowing the party was over. Music still played in the living room, our two voices had been interpreted as many.

I spoke first, saying,”April? What are you doing back here?”

Her mouth opened and closed, her wide eyes blinked. I followed her gaze, and found my hard cock in my wife’s slack hand.

Sara said the next thing, and it was the best thing she’d said since ‘I do.’

“April, sweetie. You have two choices. Leave now, and miss out on a hell of a show, or stick around and learn something.” She closed her hand around my dick, and gently pulled me to follow her as she walked to the bed. “Either way, I’m not waiting.” It wasn’t the first time I had followed Sarah’s lead, but it was the first time she literally led me by the cock. Metaphorically, it was old hat, of course.

She sat on the bed’s other corner, pulling my boxers off with a flourish and a wildly bobbing dick as a result. Her lips slid over the head and down my shaft as her hands went to the clasp on her back, her bra off and flying as she slid back up my cock. She rose up, not releasing me with her mouth, to scoop her panties around her butt, drop them to the floor as they passed her knees. Bare and mouth full of me, I saw her glance to the side. April was watching, rigid as stone, eyes wide and fixed on us.

Usually, I don’t participate in Sara’s little fetish. I mean… I’m there, I’m doing things. But the thought of anyone seeing my bare skin, my privates… Well, they’re called privates for a reason, you know. At the idea of my exposure my nerves jangled, all the alarms went off. That night, I found myself empathetic to Sara. Someone wanted to see me? Well, let them.