These meetings of classmates have always seemed to me a boring commitment. But Lera adored them. Every year, on the first Saturday in October, she dressed up especially carefully, did her hair, bought a new dress, and flew away to her past world, where I did not exist. Where he existed.
His name was Andrey. I’ve known about him since the beginning of our relationship. Tall, athletic, with an arrogant squint and the fingers of a pianist—at least that’s how Lera described him in rare moments of frankness. They dated for three years, almost the entire university. We parted badly. She said she was sick and forgot. But when it came to the reunion, her eyes lit up with a special sparkle, which I only saw before sex.
This year, everything turned out differently. I usually stayed at home, and she left alone, returning in the early morning, smelling of someone else’s alcohol and a little distant. But this time, the restaurant where the classmates gathered was twenty minutes from our house, and she suggested:
— Let’s go together. I want you to be there.
I didn’t agree right away. There was something in her voice, either alarm or anticipation. And I understood: He’ll definitely be there. My silent rival from the past, whose ghost has been lying in bed between us all these years.
The restaurant was noisy, stuffy, and filled with people who saw each other once a year and were now trying to make up for lost time in one evening. Lera was holding my arm, but I could feel her fingers twitching and relaxing—nervously, impulsively.
I recognized Andrey immediately, although I had never seen him before. He was standing at the bar with a glass of whiskey and looking at my wife. Not even at her, but through her, as if reading every fiber of her memory. Tall, really tall. Short brush of dark hair, slight unshaven. The fingers wrapped around the glass—yes, she wasn’t lying, they were beautiful.
“Lerka,” he said, stretching the vowels, and there was so much intimate knowledge in that “Lerka” that it took my breath away.
She let go of my hand and took a step towards him. She kissed him on the cheek. Too close to the corner of the lips. I saw her nostrils quiver as she inhaled his scent. The smell she remembered for ten years.
“Meet my husband,— she said, turning to me, and I read in her eyes the same expression I had seen before she first suggested a threesome. Gamble. Fear. And wet, throbbing lust.
We sat down at the same table. Lera is between us. Andrey told me something about his business, about the divorce, about how he missed the university days. I hardly listened. I watched as his palm, lying on the tablecloth, kept getting dangerously close to her fingers. How she straightens her hair more often than usual. The way her chest heaves under the fabric of her dress more often than it needs to for calm breathing.
At one point, she put her hand on my hip and squeezed. Hard, to the point of mild pain.
“I want him,— she whispered, leaning into my ear. “Right now.” I can’t sit here anymore and pretend that I’m a decent woman.
Under the table, her hand moved from my hip to my fly. My cock was already hard. She felt it and laughed softly, hoarsely.
“Let’s go home,” she said, louder, to Andrey. — The three of us.
He raised an eyebrow. He looked at me appraisingly, without hostility. I nodded. And we left, leaving the unfinished champagne on the table.
In the car, Lera got in the back with Andrey. I drove, trying not to be distracted by the sounds from the back seat. And there was already a lot of fuss. Stifled moans, wet sounds of kisses, rustle of clothes. At the traffic light, I turned around and saw my wife’s dress pulled up to her waist, and her hand was on her ex-lover’s fly, stroking a distinct bump.
“Watch the road,” she whispered, catching my eye in the mirror. — You’ll have time to watch more.
We didn’t even get to the bedroom at home. Right in the hallway, on the fluffy carpet that Lera had been choosing for a month, she knelt down in front of Andrey and unbuttoned his trousers. His cock, bigger than mine, with a wide purple head, slipped out, and she took it into her mouth so greedily, as if she had been dreaming about this moment for the last ten years.
I was leaning against the wall, unbuckling my belt. There was a wild mixture of jealousy and excitement in my head, and this mixture was hotter than any alcohol. I saw my wife, my Lera, choking on someone else’s cock, as saliva trickled down her chin, as she rolled her eyes with pleasure, and I realized: this is it. The very thing I didn’t dare ask out loud. Her past, bursting into our bedroom and filling it to the brim.
—Come here,— she called, pausing for a second, and I came over. She took a deep breath and took my cock in her hand, comparing, feeling both trunks, as if she couldn’t choose.
“I want you both to be inside me,” she said simply, and this phrase, uttered in a matter—of—fact tone, made my eyes go dark for a second.
We moved into the bedroom. I lay on my back, and Lera straddled me, guiding my cock into her wet, already prepared vagina. She sank to the end and froze, getting used to the fullness. I could feel her from the inside, hot, slippery, contracting in tiny pulsations. And then she sexrasskaz.com She leaned forward, resting her hands on my chest, and said over her shoulder:
— Andrey, put it in my ass.
He didn’t make me ask twice. I saw how he adjusted himself, how his palm spread her buttocks, exposing a narrow dark hole. I saw how the head rested against her, pushing through, and how Lera bit her lip until it turned white. Then there’s a short scream, and he’s inside. Both are inside. My wife.
We started moving, and the rhythm was ragged and uncoordinated, but it was this randomness that drove us crazy. I could feel Andrey’s penis through the thin wall of flesh—it was hard, hot, and foreign. Lera moaned out loud, no longer holding back, and her pussy squished so loudly that this sound covered all the others. The air came out of her with an indecent whistle with each sharp thrust, and she came — first once, shuddering all over her body and arching her back, then the second, almost immediately, going limp on my chest and whispering some kind of incoherent prayer.
Andrey got out of it first and, breathing heavily, leaned on my shoulder to keep from falling. His cock, shiny and wet, slid down my thigh, leaving a wet trail. I came after, feeling the cum fill my wife, mixing with her own secretions, and at that moment Lera did something that I will remember forever. She turned her head and kissed Andrey. Gradually. Deep. With the tongue. Right in front of my eyes, still impaled on my falling cock.
I didn’t look away. I watched their lips connect, and something between pain and ecstasy burned in my chest.
Then the three of us lay for a long time on the crumpled sheets. Lera is between us, with a blissful smile, drunk not from alcohol, but from the feeling of her own whore, finally fully realized. Andrey was smoking through the slightly open window, flicking the ashes into an empty cup. And I just kept silent and stroked my wife’s sweaty belly.
He left in the morning. We exchanged numbers, although I wasn’t sure if I would call. Lera walked him to the door, still naked, and I could hear them whispering in the hallway. She came back to bed, smelling of someone else’s body, and snuggled up to me.
“Are you jealous?” “What is it?” she asked, although it was obvious from her eyes.
- yes. She smiled and kissed my shoulder. “Then you’ll want to do it again.”
I didn’t answer. But his cock was already getting hard again, pressing against her thigh, and that was more eloquent than any words. I knew that for the next few days I would fuck her with special ferocity, knocking out the remnants of someone else’s touch. And I knew that the next time she said, “maybe we’ll do it again,” I wouldn’t be able to say no.