My wife was a bit nervous and asked me about the sex that was expected of her. Valid questions like how many times each guy is allowed to fuck her. And how many times does she have to suck on each guys cock. I told her to use her imagination and go with her instincts. Then I added, it’s a bachelor party and you’re their entertainment for the evening. Plan on multiple times with most guys that have the stamina to do just that, many times over and then some I would think. She replied “I guess so, I never met a black guy that fucked me only once, mostly three or four times" I said to her, “Well ... Continue»
"Was it worth waiting for?"
I turned and mimed applause. She was an image of cool
elegance, slender in a snug-fitting black slip dress.
No stockings -- with her olive skin, she didn't need
As I helped her into her coat, I realized that the
dress was *all* she was wearing; the dress was thin
enough that I would have noticed a bra strap or panty
I swallowed. "Are you *sure* you want to go the party?
I could call Rob and give him our regrets, and we could
settle down here..."
She cut me off with a laugh. "Down boy! Public party
first, private party later." She danced lightly out of
range of my mock grab, and laughed again.
= = =
I offered her my arm as walked towards the house.
Though we were early, the closer parking was already
taken. Laughter drifted around from the terrace in the
"Remember, don't let me drink too much." Her expression
was half serious.
Shelly has almost no capacity for drinking -- even a
glass of wine turns her giddy; it also tends to make
her very, very, horny. More than two, though, and she
gets sl**py, almost comatose.
I laughed at her, "One or two, no more. I have plans
for you, my dear." She made a face back at me as I put
on my best leer.
I *would* keep an eye on her, not that she usually
needs it; she'd learned the hard way how little
tolerance her body has for drinking.
= = =
A young man, one of the college boys Rob had hired to
help with the party, let us in. After a brief detour
upstairs to leave the coats in one of the spare
bedrooms, we threaded our way through the mob in the
living room to join the even larger mob on the terrace.
There must have been over 50 people there already.
Rob waved us a welcome without interrupting his con-
versation; we waved back, and moved on. Most of the
guests were people I didn't recognize.
"Do you want to dance?"
Shelly shook her head. "Maybe later. I'd like to cir-
culate a bit and meet people, first."
Wine glasses in hand, we did just that. Before long,
a female friend claimed her, and I wandered over to
join the group listening to the band. Looking back,
I could see the two women now had several men in
Somehow, I found myself roped into a heated political
discussion, the kind that usually ends with some
variation of "I guess they're *all* crooks!" I didn't
get to hear the end of this one, though -- just as it
started to reach the loud stage, Shelly reappeared and
pulled me out onto the dance floor.
Though she was enjoying herself, she wasn't dancing
with her usual careful restraint. I took in her
flushed expression and raw, almost predatory, dancing
style with a frown.
"Shelly, just how much wine did you drink?"
She giggled at my worried expression. "I know, I know,
I've had all the wine I need. Don't worry, dear -- I
only had two glasses, and I'm switching to punch after
this. You'd better switch, too -- you're going to need
all your strength later."
Though she tried her best, Shelly's face isn't really
built for dirty leers. Though I was delighted by the
sentiment, it took all my willpower not to laugh at
Instead, I steered her towards the buffet. She wasn't
hungry, but did accept a tall glass of the milky-
looking orange punch. She sipped, then took a much
"This is good!"
I *did* laugh at the pleased surprise in her voice,
and got a glass for myself. I had to agree with her --
it *was* good: creamy, mildly orange flavored, and
slightly fizzy. I sipped mine slowly, then laughed
again when I saw that she had finished her first glass
and was asking for a refill.
"Ready to go home, Shelly?"
"Let me sit down and listen to the music for a while.
And you can help yourself to some of the food that I
see you drooling over." She laughed back at me as my
stomach gave a rumble.
I walked her to the nearest seat before returning to
the buffet. She gave me her empty glass to take back.
"What was in that punch? My wife really likes it."
The bartender gave a shrug. "Nothing hard to find -- a
quart of orange sherbet, a big bottle of ginger ale,
two bottles of cheap sparkling wine."
I suddenly lost all interest in the buffet. Even at
that dilution, Shelly had just finished the equivalent
of at least three more normal-sized glasses of wine. If
I didn't get her home soon I'd have to carry her.
Even in the short time I'd been gone, it had started to
affect her. She swayed visibly when she stood, and
clung to my arm desperately as I led her back towards
"I need to lie down for a while. I'm sorry, honey. I
didn't mean to make such an idiot of myself." Her voice
was muted and more than a little slurred.
"Shh, sweetheart. Not your fault. Can you stay awake
long enough for me to get you home?"
"I'll try." Her voice sounded doubtful.
Rob must have a sixth sense - he met us before we'd
covered half the distance to the house and took her
"Your punch - she didn't know it was spiked. I need to
get her somewhere to lie down."
He looked thoughtful. "If we can get her up the stairs,
the spare bedroom next to the coatroom is empty. If she
doesn't feel better later, you can spend the night
Despite our worries, Shelly stayed awake long enough to
make it to the bedroom. With a final, worried look,
Rob headed back down.
"Will you be all right, honey?"
She managed a sl**py smile. "I'll be fine after a
nap, sweetheart. Give me an hour or two and I'll feel
better. Just turn out the lights and let me sl**p till
then." She kicked off her shoes and scooted onto the
When I checked on her ten minutes later, she was sound
asl**p, she didn't even stir when I tugged her dress
down to a more decent level; it had risen enough to
confirm my guess about her lack of underwear. I gave
her a gentle kiss and headed downstairs to enjoy the
festivities. We obviously weren't going anywhere for
= = =
Though I tried, I was too distracted to really enjoy
the party. Rather than just wander aimlessly, I took
over the indoor bar; it had the benefit of keeping me
too busy to brood. Over the next couple of hours, the
crowd shifted gradually outside, till only a small,
all-male group was left, dividing their attention be-
tween the bar and the television in the far corner.
As the demand on the bar slowed, I had time to notice
a minor oddity; guys would head upstairs, be gone for
a while, then return to the main group. I shrugged;
probably just looking for an open bathroom I thought.
Seemed kind of a long way to go, though.
Finally, one of the college boys relieved me. I headed
up to check on Shelly. At the foot of the stairs, the
doorman flagged me down. I paused.
"How's your wife?"
"I was just heading up to check on her."
"If she's feeling better, you might want to get her
home. Some of these boys are getting a little raunchy.
I heard someone say there's a woman pulling a train in
one of the spare bedrooms. If you stay, you'll have to
listen to them boasting all night long. Or Rob trying
to calm them down."
That explained the back and forth traffic I'd been
seeing. But he was right; she'd be better off at home.
I started up the stairs.
At the top of the stairs, I shook my head wryly; some-
where, a woman was moaning. I passed the coatroom and
turned the corner.
I noticed that Shelly's light was on, and the door was
ajar. But I was in the doorway before I realized that
the moans were coming from her room.
After an endless moment of shocked paralysis, I rushed
forward. I hadn't the time - or the mental clarity --
to form a coherent plan; I was operating on the level
of reflex. And it was pure reflex that bludgeoned me
to a horrified halt in the doorway.
From the door, I could only see the back of the man who
had mounted her, his pants puddled around his ankles.
What held me frozen, though, was the sight of Shelly's
bare feet hooked into her favorite position behind his
knees, urging him in. Her face was contorted in her
familiar, just-before-orgasm rictus; moments later her
heels locked in place and her moans changed to the
choked whimper that signals her release. Before she had
completely finished, a much deeper groan signaled his.
Almost immediately, he was on his feet and pulling his
pants up. He showed no surprise when he turned and saw
me in the doorway; probably, he took me for the next in
line. With a friendly nod, he brushed past me and out
before I could get my frozen muscles to respond.
Shelly lay naked on the bed, her dress a wadded-up ball
beside the pillow. Her face had relaxed again; eyes
closed, she seemed at least half asl**p. Her chest
still had a faint, post-orgasmic flush to it and her
dark nipples were erect. I gave a shuddering gasp and
stepped forward, closing the door behind me.
Not too surprisingly, the whole room reeked of sex. As
I walked closer, I could see a white stream of semen
running from the swollen lips of her vagina. Even
now, she didn't seem to be aware of me.
When I shook her, her eyes remained closed, though she
did mumble something that might have been my name.
I began to tremble with rage as I stood beside the bed.
I could see it all, playing like a movie inside my
head: The first man stumbling in to find Shelly asl**p,
her dress above her hips once more.
His embarrassment changing to arousal.
Knowing Shelly, she was probably already wet -- and her
normal sl**ping response is to spread her legs in
If she's already aroused, Shelly can respond, even
orgasm, without fully waking. I'm sure she gave him a
And since she was so eager, he probably couldn't resist
bragging to a friend or two. Of course, they had to
check it out. And brag in turn.
I tried to remember how many men I'd seen make the
trip up the stairs. Five? More? I couldn't be sure;
some had gone up more than once. At a minimum, her body
had been taken - ****d - by half a dozen men.
I stared down at her nude body. Even now, she was so
lovely that it hurt. Her legs were flexed and slightly
spread, framing her ravished pussy. Though her inner
lips were still swollen and slightly agape, the pink of
her core was hidden by the white stream that oozed down
to form an obscene pool beneath her.
My fists and my jaw were so tightly clenched they were
painful. I tried to think of what to do. Tell Rob. Call
the police. Try to avoid attacking the men responsible.
Thank God she was on the pill. Take her to the doctor.
I thought some more. Could we prove ****? I had only
seen one of them with her. And he could claim; truth-
fully - that she had enjoyed it. Would the police even
bother to file charges? Was Shelly willing to deal
with the smear campaign their lawyers would hand out?
I reluctantly decided that she'd be happier if I kept
quiet. She could deal with this - to her, it would be
no more than a half-recalled erotic dream; notoriety
and a trial we might not win would be the problem.
("Deal with it? She had *enjoyed* it!") a nasty corner
of my mind whispered. One of her hands had slipped
down and was sl**pily caressing her slit. With feeling
of self-loathing, I realized that I was erect and
throbbing. I wrapped my beautiful young wife up with
the bedspread and carried her down stairs to our car...
The party was over as far as we were concerned.