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Breakfast for Three
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The morning pressed in slowly, like honey sliding down glass. Light crept across the hotel suite, wrapping golden ribbons around limbs tangled in white sheets. The windows were fogged with the last of the night’s heat, and the room still pulsed faintly with the memory of it all.
My wife was the first to wake. Her lashes fluttered against her cheek as she stirred, her body stretching languidly between warmth on either side. A satisfied ache tingled in her hips, a hum still echoing low in her belly. She smiled slowly, wicked and secret.
To her left was me, one arm thrown over her waist, as if to say "mine" even now. To her right was the stranger who had found us taking spicy pictures at the hotel jacuzzi when we thought we were alone. Luca. His name rolled in her memory like dark wine.
He had been very polite in the jacuzzi, but also bold and confident, with an easy laugh. There had been something in his eyes when she'd reached for him. An invitation. She couldn't resist, and I couldn't deny that lucky encounter, so we brought him up to our hotel room. Last night had been fire: no script, no lines, only mouths and hands sliding over one another in low light. And now, morning, still warm, still humming.
She turned slightly, her bare leg slipping across Luca's. He stirred and murmured something, half-lost to sleep. His hand found her thigh, fingers curling there instinctively, like they remembered exactly where they'd been. A breath passed between them: hers caught, his deepened.
My hand, possessive even in sleep, slid up and cupped her breast with unconscious affection. She gasped softly, but sharply enough that Luca opened one eye, then the other, his gaze meeting hers with slow-burning mischief.
"Already awake?" he asked, his voice rough velvet.
She didn't answer with words. Instead, she reached behind her, took my wrist and guided my touch lower, while turning her hips into Luca's hand, inviting him back into the storm they thought they'd escaped just hours ago.
I stirred then, grinning against her shoulder without opening my eyes.
"Didn't think you'd wait long."
"I didn't," my wife murmured, her voice like silk stretched over fire. "I want more. From you both."
She let out a low, sensual moan, and I noticed that Luca, without hesitation, was claiming her again, even after the entire night she had spent sometimes in his arms, other times in mine, naughty enough to take us both together as we pleased her.
"Aaaahhhh… I can already feel every inch of his cock inside me. I can feel his balls touching my pussy. And it feels so good. Will you let him fuck me again, use me as a slut, the way I was for you both all night?" she murmured, her words dripping with decadent heat.
I was set ablaze when she gave me a look dripping with provocation, her voice a hushed plea.
"Please… say yes. Tell him to take your wife harder again."
I hesitated, just for a breath, the weight of the moment pressing in on me. But instinct overruled thought, the memory of the night before burning too vividly to resist. My voice came low and certain, laced with anticipation, as I surrendered to it.
"Yes, Luca. You heard her. Give her what she deserves. Fuck her once more."
Obeying my words, Luca moved to her without hesitation, drawing her into his arms. His hands claimed her, lingering over her naked curves before his mouth found hers in a deep, unhurried kiss. Then his body began to move with a deliberate rhythm, each motion filled with intent.
From where I was, every shiver that passed through her and every flicker of surrender on her face sent a surge of heat through me. I was utterly consumed, aroused beyond reason, watching my wife abandon herself completely to his touch, being fucked like the true slut she was inside these walls.
When he left her mouth, she turned her head toward me, eyes half-lidded and glimmering with heat, her voice a sultry purr that curled through the air.
"Come here, sugar… I want you in my mouth while he fucks me."
The heat of her mouth was almost overwhelming, a velvet pull that made restraint nearly impossible, and I also had to deal with the vision of Luca's rhythm against her, relentless, coaxing shivers through her body until she broke, her pleasure spilling into breathless sounds. Between gasps and trembling moans, she tried to shape the words, her voice ragged with urgency.
"Please… ahh… I want you both to finish in my mouth. Give me my breakfast milk, you bulls."
Like an obedient servant to her desire, Luca withdrew from her and moved to my side, offering himself to her mouth. She welcomed us eagerly, taking as much of us as she could, her lips and tongue alternating between us, savoring one, then the other, as though choosing was a pleasure all its own.
I was the first to give in, the tension snapping as I spilled the last of myself into her waiting mouth. She moaned around me, the sound vibrating with pleasure, and the sight alone was enough to push Luca over the edge. Moments later, his release marked her in warm streaks across her face, her smile one of utter, unrestrained satisfaction.
With her lips and lashes still marked by us, she let out a breathless laugh, her eyes shining in the afterglow. Then, in a voice tinged with playful ecstasy, she declared:
"Thank you, dear! That was the best morning coffee a woman could have, the richest and sweetest milk ever from two bulls!"
We laughed, slow and satisfied, the kind of laughter that comes when nothing needs to be said, when the world outside the fogged windows can wait. Inside, the morning stretched on, lazy and golden, wrapping the three of us in its heat just a little longer.
An SDC member submitted this story to our "After the Party" Writing Contest. Join SDC today to meet the swingers behind the stories!
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