We weren’t planning anything wild that night. It was just supposed to be a chill anniversary — dinner, wine, maybe some late-night messing around. But after the second bottle of wine, she curled up next to me on the couch and said, “I want to try something new this year.”
I laughed and asked, “Like what? A vacation?”
She looked at me, smiling, but there was something in her eyes. That look she gets when she’s nervous but turned on. Then she dropped it. “A threesome.”
I thought she was joking. I waited for her to laugh, but she didn’t. She just held my gaze and ran her hand along my thigh. “I’m serious.”
My brain scrambled to catch up. “Wait… are you sure?”
“I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” she said. “And I already talked to someone about it.”
My stomach flipped. “Someone?”
“Jane,” she said casually, like it was nothing. “We talked a few weeks ago. She’s into it. I’m into it. Now it’s just on you.”
Jane. Her close friend. The one who always wore tight tops and touched her a little too long during hugs. I’d definitely had thoughts about her, but I never imagined this.
I looked at my wife. She was biting her lip, watching me closely. I hesitated, still unsure if this was real, but when she straddled me right there on the couch and whispered, “Let’s make a memory we won’t forget,” I was all in.
Two nights later, Jane came over. She was nervous at first — you could see it in the way she played with her hair and laughed a little too loud. My wife handed her a drink, and the three of us sat close, pretending to watch a movie none of us were paying attention to. The tension was thick. Jane crossed and uncrossed her legs, her dress riding up just enough to tease. My wife leaned into her and whispered something. Jane laughed, but her cheeks turned red.
That’s when it shifted.
My wife reached over and tucked Jane’s hair behind her ear, then kissed her — soft and slow, just once. Jane didn’t pull away. In fact, she leaned in for more. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t awkward. It felt like something they’d both imagined before.
I just watched at first. Their hands touched more. My wife’s fingers slipped under Jane’s dress, stroking the inside of her thigh while they kept kissing. Jane let out a soft sound and glanced over at me, her cheeks flushed. She reached for my hand and placed it on her leg, guiding me in.
That was it.
I kissed Jane while my wife unbuttoned my shirt. Jane’s hands were shaky at first, but she slid them under my belt and pulled me out. She stroked me slow, almost careful, while my wife kissed down my chest. They took turns — kissing, touching, teasing. Jane went down on me first, slow and deep, her lips wrapping around my dck like she was figuring me out. My wife knelt beside her, playing with my balls, whispering, “You like how she sucks your dck?”
Then they kissed again, sharing the taste of me on their tongues.
We moved to the bedroom. It wasn’t some wild porn scene. It was slow, messy, real. Clothes came off piece by piece, hands exploring like we were all learning each other. I went down on my wife while Jane watched, touching herself slowly. Then Jane climbed onto me while my wife kissed her neck, guiding her hips, like they were doing it for each other as much as for me.
We switched. We twisted. We grabbed and moaned and kept going. It wasn’t perfect, but it was real — sweaty, hot, and loud. At one point, I was f*cking Jane from behind while my wife sat in front of her, kissing her deeply, her fingers between Jane’s legs while I thrusted into her.
It felt like it could go on forever.
And then we just… paused. All of us breathless, tangled up in each other, smiling, not saying much.
Jane looked at us both, her hair messy, her chest still rising fast. “So…” she said, still catching her breath, “What happens now?”
My wife glanced at me, a smirk playing on her lips.
“I guess we’ll find out.”
RedQuill