Oscar and Irene Pt. 10

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Alexis Love

My head was spinning as I walked up the long garden back to the wedding reception. I felt dizzy, faint almost, but I knew I had to get the fuck out of there, before my jealousy got the best of me. I rejoined the wedding reception, and ordered myself a double vodka on the rocks.

Once I sat down and started to sip my cocktail, I felt better, and I started to scan the room to see if I knew any of the other attendees. As my eyes drifted across the dance floor, I saw Matt. At well over six feet tall, he has a tendency to stand out in a crowd, and today was no exception, his powerful physique attracting the attention of numerous woman as he gyrated on the dance floor. Predictably, Matt was an excellent dancer, possessing a strong sense of rhythm, and some very fancy footwork. I began to wonder if there was anything that he didn’t excel at, this thought causing my jealousy to rise immediately to the surface.

Matt had only just returned from the Summer House within the last few minutes, but already he had found a new admirer. Weddings have a habit of bringing out the best in people, making them optimistic about their own future wedded bliss. At the same time, with the alcohol flowing freely, and everyone dressed in their nicest clothes, they provide an almost perfect environment for sex with random people. As Matt showcased his smooth dance moves, a young Asian woman, dressed exquisitely and probably in her mid-twenties, moved in for the kill.

It was obvious from the way that he handled her not too subtle advances, that Matt was used to being hit on. They danced seductively for a while, grinding against each other to the beat of several eighties songs, before the DJ slowed things down. It was not lost on me that Matt had attended the wedding alone, and had the right to dance with, and indeed hook up with, anyone that he wanted to. However, thirty minutes ago, he was ass-fucking Daphne, while my wife put her heart and soul into giving him a loving rim-job. Surely, out of respect for the two best friends, he should have backed off a little.

As the intro beats to Marvin Gaye’s Sexual Healing came over the loudspeakers, Matt pulled his young Asian friend closer, and she rested her head against his muscular chest. They danced to three slow songs before the DJ picked up the pace again, a period of time no longer than ten minutes, but apparently long enough for Matt to find his next conquest.

Matt was whispering in the young girl’s ear and she was lapping it up, smiling and giggling at his comments, before looking up at him and kissing him tenderly on the cheek. Emboldened by her show of affection, Matt moved his hand from her lower back, where it had rested respectfully, and she allowed him to roam freely across her silk-clad ass.

A few seconds later they touched lips on the dance floor, a tender open-mouthed kiss, that was very gentle in nature. Matt stepped forward into his young partner, extended his knee slightly, and their bodies intertwined as they started to dry-hump. There were other couples making out on the dance floor, so Matt and his new girlfriend never drew too much attention, but I would venture to guess that most of the other amorous couples were either married, engaged, or at least had attended maltepe escort the reception together.

To say Matt had game, was a massive understatement, and as the music reverted to the faster pace of dance tunes, Matt extended his hand to the young girl, and escorted her off the dance floor. As they disappeared into the crowd, I noticed her wave her left hand right in front of his face, presumably to demonstrate her lack of a wedding ring.

Even though I felt like Matt had shown total disrespect towards Irene and Daphne, my main concern was ensuring that they didn’t see him leave with the young Asian. For this reason, I went in search of my wife and her best friend. Luckily, I found the two of them walking up the garden towards the wedding venue. They were both dressed very nicely, and at first glance, you would never know that they had both had the crap fucked out of them by Matt.

After seventeen years with this woman, I could tell instantly that she was in a high state of arousal. Her face was still flushed, the redness extending down from her cheeks to the base of her neck. Even though she was wearing a bra, her nipples were visible in the front of her dress, erect as they were from Matt’s stimulation. I had witnessed her reach orgasm multiple times, but it seemed like she wanted more, as Matt had apparently evoked some physical response from my wife that I had never seen before.

I greeted Irene warmly, reflexively kissing her on the lips, before remembering that she had just eaten Matt’s ass. She had no clue what I had witnessed, and we walked hand in hand to the bar. I ordered my wife a white wine, and she excused herself to use the restroom. I never saw her emerge from the restroom, although I saw her briefly at the bar, ordering a Coke. I lost sight of her shortly after that, and it was Daphne that appeared in my periphery vision.

Daphne had apparently enjoyed a few drinks before she approached me, and she asked me if I had a few minutes to chat. I had been dreading having this conversation, ever since Daphne and Irene had started to accompany Matt on his trips. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to know the details of their sexual encounters, I just didn’t want to hear it from my wife’s best friend. We were too close, had too much history over the years, and it felt weird to have a personal conversation with her, without her husband being around.

“Follow me,” she said as she turned her back on me, and headed for the door.

Her take-charge attitude didn’t invite questions, and I followed her without saying anything. We walked down a long hallway, up a flight of stairs, and entered a bedroom about halfway down the landing. Daphne seemed to know her way around this place, and after we walked through the large suite, she opened a door and we emerged onto a balcony. Daphne motioned for me to go ahead, and I walked towards the balcony railings, before I realized that we were overlooking the Summer House, in the distance at the end of the long garden.

“Do you know where Irene is, Oscar?” she asked with a knowing smile.

“No, Daphne,” I stammered nervously, “I have no idea. The last time I saw her she was ordering a Coke at the bar.”

“That was actually mamak escort a Jack Daniels and Coke,” Daphne corrected me, “and it was for Matt.”

I flashed Daphne a confused look. Why was my wife fetching her boss a cocktail, and where were the two of them, right now?

“In the Summer House,” Daphne answered, as if she was reading my mind. “Your wife and her boss are back in the Summer House. He just can’t get enough of her.”

I placed my hands on the balcony railings, and shuffled uncomfortably, hoping that Daphne didn’t notice my hardening cock, as it stiffened and came to life inside my suit pants, at the mere mention of Matt and Irene together.

Daphne moved right behind me, and put her head on my shoulder, so that her lips were right by my ear.

“Would you like to go and watch them fuck, again?” she asked quietly.

“Excuse me, Daphne?” I stammered, my face reddening at the horrible possibility that she had seen me observing them from the windows of the Summer House.

“I heard some rustling sounds outside the bedroom window after Matt left to take a shower,” she informed me. “A few moments later, I saw you walking away from the Summer House, and put two and two together. How much did you see?”

I didn’t know what to say. As humiliating as it was for my wife to be at her boss’ beck and call sexually, it was much worse if Daphne knew I had watched their lewd encounter. I was unable to formulate a response, but as I recalled what I had observed, my cock throbbed in my underwear.

I jumped when I felt Daphne’s hand enter the right pocket of my pants, and my breathing quickened immediately. Daphne extended her manicured fingers, wriggled her hand around in my pocket, until she found the tip of my cock, and gave it a playful squeeze. She must have felt it dancing in my underwear as she taunted me about my wife’s ongoing affair.

“Did you see how easily Matt made your wife come?” she continued. “She is like a bitch in heat, whenever she is around him. Did you know that she has faked nearly all of her orgasms with you?”

“Daphne, please,” I began, trying to appeal to her good nature. “I don’t want to hear this.”

“No man would,” she said agreeably. “It is very disturbing for any man to know that he is unable to satisfy his wife. Irene said your problem is premature ejaculation,” she taunted me. “Is that true, Oscar? Are you an easy come?”

I dropped my head in embarrassment, both at the revelation that I was a premature ejaculator, and at the certainty that Daphne was about to discover the pre-cum pooling in my underwear. Daphne, apparently enjoying my discomfort, pressed on with her revelations.

“You owe her this,” she said, as she sought to justify my wife’s infidelity. “Irene never had the opportunity to date other men before she married you. She has been wondering what was missing in the bedroom, ever since your wedding night. You should be grateful that Matt just wants to fuck her. If he had any serious intentions for Irene, she would be gone, in a heartbeat.”

“Daphne,” I whispered, as she continued to rub her dainty fingertips against my cock-head. “Please.”

“This is all your doing,” she taunted me. “Maybe if you had tried harder ankara ofise gelen escort in the bedroom, your wife wouldn’t have promised her anal cherry to another man.”

I knew what Daphne was saying was true, as I had heard the revelation from my hiding place outside the window. Matt was going to enjoy my wife’s forbidden orifice, and in another kick in the nuts, had chosen our wedding anniversary as the special date. I only prayed he never followed through on his threat to make me watch.

“Would you like to go back and watch them fuck?” she taunted, applying a little more pressure to the head of my cock, through my suit pants. “Maybe you can see what Irene looks like when she experiences an actual orgasm,” she said cruelly. “See if it is any different than when she fakes it?”

“Daphne,” I whispered hoarsely, through my ragged breath. “Please.”

As my wife’s best friend moved closer to me and forced me against the railings, I closed my eyes. The image of my wife licking Matt’s clean-shaved asshole appeared, indelibly burned into my brain, as one of the defining depictions of his domination of her. I could feel Daphne’s lips against my earlobe, her warm breath on my neck, her impeccably manicured fingernails grazing against my cock-head, occasionally brushing my frenulum as she teased my erection through the pocket of my pants.

“Are you a quick come, Oscar?” she whispered seductively. “How disappointing that must have been for your wife. She deserves so much more.”

The instant after I exploded in my pants, I regretted it. I had known Daphne since the three of us were in our twenties, and while I had always been staunchly committed to Irene, I would be lying if I didn’t admit that I had given thought to a sexual encounter with her best friend. A few times when we had been out drinking, Irene and Daphne’s husband, Alfred, had crashed out early, and I had contemplated what would happen had I put the moves on Daphne. I had enjoyed a couple of erotic dreams about her too, one in which she had knelt before me and sucked me off.

Another time, when the four of us were vacationing in Morocco, Irene and Alfred both got food poisoning and were laid out for a few days. We had prepaid for several excursions, and the pragmatic side of Daphne and I surfaced. Not wishing to forfeit our deposits, we decided to enjoy our vacation together, as our spouses recovered from their stomach upsets.

We ended up watching the sunset together after a camel ride across the Merzouga Dunes, and I felt like Daphne was inviting me to kiss her, as we enjoyed one of the most romantic settings on the planet. I never acted on that impulse, but suffice to say, the prospect of some kind of sexual interaction with Daphne had been at the back of my mind for fifteen years.

Now, as it finally happened, it was about as far from romantic as it could have possibly been. Daphne’s words, “she deserves so much more,” were ringing in my ears, and the Summer House in which Matt was violating my wife, was in clear view from our balcony vantage point. It had been about two weeks since my last release, and demonstrating my complete lack of control, I blew my load in my pants and slumped forwards, as my knees buckled.

“Pussy,” Daphne said derisively, as she abruptly withdrew her hand from my pocket, before any of my ejaculate soaked through my pants onto it.

“You are a fucking cuckold, Oscar. I can’t wait to tell Matt and Irene that you came in your pants thinking about the two of them fucking.”

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