Abigail and I know that most of our married friends don't have the sort of open marriage that we enjoy. That does not, however, stop my horny wife from wanting to fuck all the husbands in our little social circle, and it certainly doesn't prevent them from wanting to fuck her. So we've worked out a very special arrangement which allows everyone to get exactly what they want in the most exhilarating way possible, without a single jealous wife ever finding out that their spouse is routinely banging mine.
Once a week, we host a dinner party for our married friends at our place. We invite anywhere from three to seven couples over for a big meal, followed by drinks and socializing for an hour or two. Being the gracious hosts that we are, we have just one openly stated rule for our invited diners—no one but me is allowed to go into the kitchen to assist Abigail in preparing the food. All of her female friends think this is because she's so considerate that she doesn't want any of them to feel like they have to work while they're guests in our home. In reality, it's a rule that only applies to the women in attendance. Because while they're all sitting in the living room, sipping ice tea and chatting it up, their husbands take turns finding excuses to slip out of the living room, sneak into the kitchen, and fuck my filthy little wife's eager, waiting snatch.
Abigail typically wears a sun dress or other loose-fitting short skirt for these gatherings, making it easy for her to hike up the fabric and give each rock-hard visitor to the kitchen easy access to the pink, panty-less pussy underneath. She also likes to keep the skirt short and the neckline relatively low when dressing for our dinner parties, because the more shapely leg and deep cleavage she flashes (without making it too obvious), the more aroused and ready her clandestine kitchen "helpers" are when they arrive to sample her hot hole. Our friends are all used to seeing her in clothing that accentuates her round, 36D tits and tight, hourglass shape for most occasions, so none of the women question if she hosts a shindig looking a little more exposed than they might consider occasion-appropriate. But that little extra inch of bare skin here and there can mean not only the difference between my wife getting to ride some or all of the big cocks at the party, but also the difference between one of those cocks blowing its load quickly or taking so long to climax that an impatient wife in the other room becomes suspicious.
Typically, we both greet our friends at the door as they arrive, Abigail making certain to make smoldering eye contact with each man as he walks in, so they all know exactly what's really on the menu for the evening. After getting everyone set up in the living room with drinks and hors d'oeuvres, my bubbly beloved and I head off to the kitchen. While she gets dinner on the stove, I kiss her hyper-sensitive neck and ears, and finger her twat from behind to get her good and primed for what's to come. By the time I leave the kitchen to return to the party, Abigail is usually so horny she can barely stand still, the sweet juices of her delicious womanhood already running in musky rivulets down the inside of her silky, tanned thighs.
Not long after I get back to the living room, one of the husbands will look at me and say he needs to use the restroom. I'm not quite sure how the guys decide among themselves who gets to go first, but there's never any confusion or awkward jockeying for position. My guess is they all know they've got such a good thing going, none of them wants to screw it up by getting greedy. Whatever the case, I'll nod my consent to the first man up and he'll hurry out of the living room, toward the staircase just off the front hall. Unbeknownst to his wife, however, this lucky lead-off man will abruptly turn down the corridor before reaching the steps, heading into the kitchen from the other side of the room. There, he is greeted by my cock-starved better half, who undoubtedly wastes no time wresting his engorged dick-meat from his fly and bending over to let him jam it into her to the hilt.
Regrettably, the intricacy of our arrangement and the inherent need for alacrity prohibits me from being there in the kitchen when Abigail gets her first highly anticipated shot of adulterous cock. I imagine that first urgent impaling is the hottest, because the hours spent getting ready for the party and the few minutes I take to double-knuckle finger-bang her before the real fun begins always have her beside herself with desire. In any case, I usually have enough time to excuse myself and make it back into the kitchen while the first tryst is still in progress. Without fail, I find my blushing betrothed sprawled across the counter or kitchen table and one of my neighbors behind her mercilessly pounding his fat shaft into her like he's trying to hammer her through a wall. Often, they're going at it so hard that she has an oven mitt or dish towel stuffed in her mouth to keep her from crying out in pleasure or spewing some vulgar urging which would be heard by the wives in the living room.
By that point, it's usually just a few seconds before the guy tenses up from head to toe, bites back a feral howl, and dumps the contents of his bloated balls deep in the clenching valleys of Abigail's grateful gash. Ever the thoughtful hostess, my girl always turns around quickly, squats down, and thoroughly cleans the freshly milked pecker from base to bulbous tip with her luscious lips and lapping tongue. Then, without a word, she tucks the happy joint away, zips up my friend's pants, and sends him on his way back down the hallway. It's not uncommon for us to hear the man's wife in the other room asking, "Are you okay, honey?" as he rejoins the others, since burying one's prick in my beloved's beautiful baby box tends to leave a man more than a little flush-faced and out of breath.
It goes on like this for a good, long while, one husband after another coming up with some bogus reason to leave the room ("I think I left my phone in the car.", "Didn't you say you just remodeled your den? Mind if I go take a look?" etc., etc., etc.) and slip off to hurriedly skewer Abigail with his raging erection. I pop into the kitchen from time to time, enjoying the spectacle of watching my wanton wife frantically drain one bulging ball sack after another with her bucking hips and slurping cooze cavern. Typically, I end up doing most of the actual cooking, as Abigail is far too busy being used and drilled like a shameless whore to focus on meal preparation. I don't mind, though. Few things give me more pleasure than seeing my dirty sex kitten rocked by one volcanic orgasm after another as she is savaged in rapid succession by a veritable parade of gigantic, purple-veined man-missiles.
Once a week, the couples drop in and Abigail gets fucked by Tom, Mike and DeWayne (none of whom ever miss a party), and occasionally by Rick, Anthony, Jerry, and/or Kyle, while their wives sit blissfully ignorant of the brazen infidelity happening right in the very next room. To date, we've not had a single wife wander into the kitchen and catch one of the philandering husbands buried balls deep in the hostess' love tunnel. Unless we get an inkling that one of the men isn't interested in partaking of the secret entree that night, the unspoken rule is that no matter what we're having for dinner, the table doesn't get set nor the food served until every one of our masculine guests has shot his semen into my wife's slit, and had his post-orgasmic pole polished clean by her wet, hungry mouth. Suffice it to say, there are an awful lot of very happy men sitting around our dining room table when the first appetizer is eventually served.
Dinner itself is my favorite part of these get-togethers. The wives all cheerily chat and gossip with Abigail as they eat, not one of them aware that their hostess is sitting there with her raw, ravaged cunt filled to overflowing with their husband's viscous nut milk. Often this secret, shared only by wife and I and the other men at the table, leads to moments of sublime hilarity. Like the time Kim from two doors down was complimenting Abigail on the delicious dessert she prepared and asked her husband, "Isn't Abigail's pie amazing, Mike?" It was all I could do to keep from bursting out laughing as Mike, without missing a beat, raised an eyebrow and agreed that my wife's pie was probably the most amazing he'd ever had in his life. Kim, oblivious to the barely suppressed snickers and knowing expressions all around her, looked right at Abigail and said, "We definitely have to come back for more pie soon!" Not surprisingly, Mike wholeheartedly agreed with this sentiment.
More often than not, these parties involve one more secret game, known only to Abigail and myself. After dinner is over, the guests return to the living room, while my wife and I clear the table. While the other couples all chatter away in front of the TV, Abigail refills the ladies' drinks in the kitchen. She pours each unwitting wife a fresh glass of whatever she's drinking, takes my hard cock from my fly, dips it in each of the glasses as deep as it will go without spilling anything, and then proceeds to suck all the tea and juice and water and sweet wine off my by-then aching prick. After a few minutes of furious fellatio which brings me to the very edge of orgasmic explosion, my slutty little sweetheart takes my prick and jacks it off as fast as she can, until I spray fountains of hot jizz from the hole at the top of my engorged glans. Abigail is very careful not to leave anyone out as she points my spurting dick at each of the ladies' glasses, making certain at least a couple milky globs of my testicular tequila fall into each icy cold beverage. Sometimes she'll take the precaution of mixing the drinks a little with a spoon before carrying them to the living room. Usually, though, she just walks right in and hands her girlfriends fresh libations spiked with generous, clearly visible doses of my thick, gooey sperm.
Abigail and I get a great kick out of sitting there shooting the breeze with our married friends as the wives unknowingly drink my cum and the husbands, unaware that I've sneaked my own ejaculate into their ladies' bellies, wallow in smug satisfaction at having pumped their own loads into my wife's luscious loins. No matter how many times we have one of these ribald dinner soirees, we finish up so randy from all the debauchery that Abigail and I tear each other's clothes off and fuck like wild dogs the within seconds after the last guests depart for the evening. I'm not sure how she can even walk straight the next morning, but no sooner has the sun risen on a new day than she starts excitedly discussing what she's planning on preparing for next week's big feast.
After our most recent dinner party, during which she was pounded into gleeful bliss by all seven of our married male buddies, she told me she was considering lubing her fist-tight sphincter up with a little olive oil during the next party and letting each man fuck her in her lovely little heart-shaped ass. After getting her assurance that she'd be able to sit comfortably at the table after having her backdoor stretched to its limits by six or seven giant cocks in rapid succession, I told her I'd love to see that happen, on one condition.
"It's time," I explained, "that we stop giving Kim free samples of my cum after dinner. I think it's time we see if she'll drink it straight from the tap!" With a sly smile, Abigail assured me that she could definitely make that happen.
But that's another story...
Once a week, we host a dinner party for our married friends at our place. We invite anywhere from three to seven couples over for a big meal, followed by drinks and socializing for an hour or two. Being the gracious hosts that we are, we have just one openly stated rule for our invited diners—no one but me is allowed to go into the kitchen to assist Abigail in preparing the food. All of her female friends think this is because she's so considerate that she doesn't want any of them to feel like they have to work while they're guests in our home. In reality, it's a rule that only applies to the women in attendance. Because while they're all sitting in the living room, sipping ice tea and chatting it up, their husbands take turns finding excuses to slip out of the living room, sneak into the kitchen, and fuck my filthy little wife's eager, waiting snatch.
Abigail typically wears a sun dress or other loose-fitting short skirt for these gatherings, making it easy for her to hike up the fabric and give each rock-hard visitor to the kitchen easy access to the pink, panty-less pussy underneath. She also likes to keep the skirt short and the neckline relatively low when dressing for our dinner parties, because the more shapely leg and deep cleavage she flashes (without making it too obvious), the more aroused and ready her clandestine kitchen "helpers" are when they arrive to sample her hot hole. Our friends are all used to seeing her in clothing that accentuates her round, 36D tits and tight, hourglass shape for most occasions, so none of the women question if she hosts a shindig looking a little more exposed than they might consider occasion-appropriate. But that little extra inch of bare skin here and there can mean not only the difference between my wife getting to ride some or all of the big cocks at the party, but also the difference between one of those cocks blowing its load quickly or taking so long to climax that an impatient wife in the other room becomes suspicious.
Typically, we both greet our friends at the door as they arrive, Abigail making certain to make smoldering eye contact with each man as he walks in, so they all know exactly what's really on the menu for the evening. After getting everyone set up in the living room with drinks and hors d'oeuvres, my bubbly beloved and I head off to the kitchen. While she gets dinner on the stove, I kiss her hyper-sensitive neck and ears, and finger her twat from behind to get her good and primed for what's to come. By the time I leave the kitchen to return to the party, Abigail is usually so horny she can barely stand still, the sweet juices of her delicious womanhood already running in musky rivulets down the inside of her silky, tanned thighs.
Not long after I get back to the living room, one of the husbands will look at me and say he needs to use the restroom. I'm not quite sure how the guys decide among themselves who gets to go first, but there's never any confusion or awkward jockeying for position. My guess is they all know they've got such a good thing going, none of them wants to screw it up by getting greedy. Whatever the case, I'll nod my consent to the first man up and he'll hurry out of the living room, toward the staircase just off the front hall. Unbeknownst to his wife, however, this lucky lead-off man will abruptly turn down the corridor before reaching the steps, heading into the kitchen from the other side of the room. There, he is greeted by my cock-starved better half, who undoubtedly wastes no time wresting his engorged dick-meat from his fly and bending over to let him jam it into her to the hilt.
Regrettably, the intricacy of our arrangement and the inherent need for alacrity prohibits me from being there in the kitchen when Abigail gets her first highly anticipated shot of adulterous cock. I imagine that first urgent impaling is the hottest, because the hours spent getting ready for the party and the few minutes I take to double-knuckle finger-bang her before the real fun begins always have her beside herself with desire. In any case, I usually have enough time to excuse myself and make it back into the kitchen while the first tryst is still in progress. Without fail, I find my blushing betrothed sprawled across the counter or kitchen table and one of my neighbors behind her mercilessly pounding his fat shaft into her like he's trying to hammer her through a wall. Often, they're going at it so hard that she has an oven mitt or dish towel stuffed in her mouth to keep her from crying out in pleasure or spewing some vulgar urging which would be heard by the wives in the living room.
By that point, it's usually just a few seconds before the guy tenses up from head to toe, bites back a feral howl, and dumps the contents of his bloated balls deep in the clenching valleys of Abigail's grateful gash. Ever the thoughtful hostess, my girl always turns around quickly, squats down, and thoroughly cleans the freshly milked pecker from base to bulbous tip with her luscious lips and lapping tongue. Then, without a word, she tucks the happy joint away, zips up my friend's pants, and sends him on his way back down the hallway. It's not uncommon for us to hear the man's wife in the other room asking, "Are you okay, honey?" as he rejoins the others, since burying one's prick in my beloved's beautiful baby box tends to leave a man more than a little flush-faced and out of breath.
It goes on like this for a good, long while, one husband after another coming up with some bogus reason to leave the room ("I think I left my phone in the car.", "Didn't you say you just remodeled your den? Mind if I go take a look?" etc., etc., etc.) and slip off to hurriedly skewer Abigail with his raging erection. I pop into the kitchen from time to time, enjoying the spectacle of watching my wanton wife frantically drain one bulging ball sack after another with her bucking hips and slurping cooze cavern. Typically, I end up doing most of the actual cooking, as Abigail is far too busy being used and drilled like a shameless whore to focus on meal preparation. I don't mind, though. Few things give me more pleasure than seeing my dirty sex kitten rocked by one volcanic orgasm after another as she is savaged in rapid succession by a veritable parade of gigantic, purple-veined man-missiles.
Once a week, the couples drop in and Abigail gets fucked by Tom, Mike and DeWayne (none of whom ever miss a party), and occasionally by Rick, Anthony, Jerry, and/or Kyle, while their wives sit blissfully ignorant of the brazen infidelity happening right in the very next room. To date, we've not had a single wife wander into the kitchen and catch one of the philandering husbands buried balls deep in the hostess' love tunnel. Unless we get an inkling that one of the men isn't interested in partaking of the secret entree that night, the unspoken rule is that no matter what we're having for dinner, the table doesn't get set nor the food served until every one of our masculine guests has shot his semen into my wife's slit, and had his post-orgasmic pole polished clean by her wet, hungry mouth. Suffice it to say, there are an awful lot of very happy men sitting around our dining room table when the first appetizer is eventually served.
Dinner itself is my favorite part of these get-togethers. The wives all cheerily chat and gossip with Abigail as they eat, not one of them aware that their hostess is sitting there with her raw, ravaged cunt filled to overflowing with their husband's viscous nut milk. Often this secret, shared only by wife and I and the other men at the table, leads to moments of sublime hilarity. Like the time Kim from two doors down was complimenting Abigail on the delicious dessert she prepared and asked her husband, "Isn't Abigail's pie amazing, Mike?" It was all I could do to keep from bursting out laughing as Mike, without missing a beat, raised an eyebrow and agreed that my wife's pie was probably the most amazing he'd ever had in his life. Kim, oblivious to the barely suppressed snickers and knowing expressions all around her, looked right at Abigail and said, "We definitely have to come back for more pie soon!" Not surprisingly, Mike wholeheartedly agreed with this sentiment.
More often than not, these parties involve one more secret game, known only to Abigail and myself. After dinner is over, the guests return to the living room, while my wife and I clear the table. While the other couples all chatter away in front of the TV, Abigail refills the ladies' drinks in the kitchen. She pours each unwitting wife a fresh glass of whatever she's drinking, takes my hard cock from my fly, dips it in each of the glasses as deep as it will go without spilling anything, and then proceeds to suck all the tea and juice and water and sweet wine off my by-then aching prick. After a few minutes of furious fellatio which brings me to the very edge of orgasmic explosion, my slutty little sweetheart takes my prick and jacks it off as fast as she can, until I spray fountains of hot jizz from the hole at the top of my engorged glans. Abigail is very careful not to leave anyone out as she points my spurting dick at each of the ladies' glasses, making certain at least a couple milky globs of my testicular tequila fall into each icy cold beverage. Sometimes she'll take the precaution of mixing the drinks a little with a spoon before carrying them to the living room. Usually, though, she just walks right in and hands her girlfriends fresh libations spiked with generous, clearly visible doses of my thick, gooey sperm.
Abigail and I get a great kick out of sitting there shooting the breeze with our married friends as the wives unknowingly drink my cum and the husbands, unaware that I've sneaked my own ejaculate into their ladies' bellies, wallow in smug satisfaction at having pumped their own loads into my wife's luscious loins. No matter how many times we have one of these ribald dinner soirees, we finish up so randy from all the debauchery that Abigail and I tear each other's clothes off and fuck like wild dogs the within seconds after the last guests depart for the evening. I'm not sure how she can even walk straight the next morning, but no sooner has the sun risen on a new day than she starts excitedly discussing what she's planning on preparing for next week's big feast.
After our most recent dinner party, during which she was pounded into gleeful bliss by all seven of our married male buddies, she told me she was considering lubing her fist-tight sphincter up with a little olive oil during the next party and letting each man fuck her in her lovely little heart-shaped ass. After getting her assurance that she'd be able to sit comfortably at the table after having her backdoor stretched to its limits by six or seven giant cocks in rapid succession, I told her I'd love to see that happen, on one condition.
"It's time," I explained, "that we stop giving Kim free samples of my cum after dinner. I think it's time we see if she'll drink it straight from the tap!" With a sly smile, Abigail assured me that she could definitely make that happen.
But that's another story...