In our last post, published way back in mid-February, we talked about an “anti-Valentine’s Day party” thrown by some friends of ours.  We’d been invited to said party despite the fact that we assumed it was a singles-only event, and while I joked that we might be set upon by a crowd of bitter singles and mutilated beyond recognition, I can say for the record that we did attend the party and we are still alive.

Beyond that, we managed to have a pretty good time.  We were, despite my assumption to the contrary, the only couple in attendance.  The gathering consisted mainly of women, though there were a handful of single males as well.  Some people I knew, though some I did not.  Some of the attendees were members of my high school graduating class, others were people I knew from elsewhere – friends of friends and such – while others I was meeting for the first time.  No one looked down their noses at us for daring to breach their romantically-unattached inner sanctum.  Overall, we had a good time.

Especially Jill.  She tends to drink at home, though when we go out she is often the designated driver.  That night, however, we hadn’t discussed which of us was going to take one for the proverbial team and stay sober.  We hadn’t planned on being at the party very long; we’d only gotten the babysitter until 9:30 and figured even that was probably pushing it.  Over the course of a couple hours, one drink, or maybe two, for each of us, was probably reasonable.

I should also mention that we managed to enlist Jill’s sister to watch our daughter.  She’s unreliable as a sitter, often calling us home long before the agreed-upon end time.  Her general flakiness has proven frustrating on more than one occasion.  That we offered to let her babysit at our house rather than hers probably sweetened the deal, and while we told her we’d be home by 9:30, both Jill and I expected to start receiving texts shortly after we arrived at the bar.  Because there’s precedent for that.

As soon as we arrived, before I could get myself a drink even, I got pulled aside to catch up with a couple friends.  By the time I looked over at Jill she had a beer in hand and was engaged in raucous conversation with M and a couple of our mutual friends.  She wasn’t drunk yet, but I knew it wouldn’t take long.  As the evening continued on, I looked over and saw that my wife was having a blast.  I didn’t mind staying sober.

Eventually I made my way over to Jill.  By this point she was more or less drunk.  Jill gets affectionate when she drinks, and while the requisite flirting with M did occur, she also flirted with a number of the other women at the party including M’s conservative best friend, who had fortunately had a couple drinks herself, flirted right back, and laughed it off.

Jill whipped out her tits so many times that the bartender named a cocktail after them.
— Jack (and Jill) (@jackandjillcpl) February 16, 2013

Other things Jill did that night include pulling out her tits ostensibly whenever she got the urge, though in a fairly surreptitious fashion; and talking quite loudly about our having had a threesome with M.  No one seemed to hear – she didn’t mention it when engaged in conversation with anyone else – but that didn’t stop M from playing along.  If anyone overheard, she rationalized, they’d assume it was a joke.

By nine o’clock neither of us had heard from Jill’s sister, which was encouraging.  Still, we expected to start getting texts around 9:15, asking if we were going to be home on time.  We didn’t.  We didn’t even get a text at 9:30, or 9:35.  Around ten o’clock, after more than a half hour of avoidance on my part, I asked Jill if she’d heard from her sister.  She said she called her right around 9:30.  Our daughter was fast asleep, and her sister told us to stay out as late as we wanted.  That was unexpected.

We finally left around 11:45, stopping to pick up Taco Bell en route because my wife craves cheap pseudo-Mexican fast food when she’s been drinking.  M was close behind us; we had her hang back until we verified that our daughter was still asleep and dismissed the babysitter.  When that was done, we texted her the all clear.

Jill had already poured wine by the time M got upstairs.  I took a seat on the armchair while the two ladies got comfortable on the sofa and picked up where they’d left off at the bar.  I felt my arousal build as I watched them kiss, first tentatively, teasing.  Before long, though, their play intensified, hungry mouths biting gently as tongues darted between lips and hands found thighs and breasts.  As Jill nuzzled and sucked on her soft neck, M beckoned me to the couch with a cocked head and a raised eyebrow.

I wasted no time, squeezing in behind my wife and freeing her breasts.  As I kneaded them with my hands, Jill leaned back so our guest could have a taste.  It was only a moment before I moved around to join M, stopping only long enough to cast off Jill’s top.  We sucked her nipples heartily, noisily, eventually coming together on the same breast, then switching to the other.  Jill reclined on the sofa and caressed her thighs, her moans soft and steady.

It was then that I noticed that M was unbuckling Jill’s belt and opening her jeans.  Her hand sunk beneath the soft fabric of her panties, and the smile on M’s face when she discovered Jill’s wetness betrayed her elation.  As her fingers danced within, Jill hurried to open my own jeans and withdrew my cock.  As she swallowed it whole, M stripped her from the waist, leaving jeans and panties discarded and out of sight.  Now wearing just her bra – barely, I might add – Jill licked and sucked as M got to work, caressing her wantonly before replacing her fingers with her tongue.

As my wife drew me deeper into her mouth, M applied long, deft strokes to Jill’s wetness, making eye contact with me every few licks.  I tried to concentrate on Jill’s mouth and the erotic things she was doing with it, but as she neared climax it became evident that I was but an afterthought.  And rightfully so.  I slipped from her mouth and lowered my mouth onto her breast just as she began to convulse.  Her moans were loud and unrestrained.  She reached down and held M’s head in place as her hips bucked.  I imagined the tightness of Jill’s thighs against my face as I licked and sucked her nipple, and when her orgasm had subsided I lay against her chest, still rising and falling rapidly even as M came around to resume their makeout session.

When she could speak again, Jill expressed amusement at the fury and intensity of her orgasm, and suggested we move things into the bedroom.  On the way, she stopped in to check on our daughter, still fast asleep.  And that’s how we found her later, as we walked M to the door.  Given the number of near-misses and babysitter-related drama we’ve experienced on the quest for another threesome with M, we couldn’t have imagined that all we needed to do was let her fall asleep for the night.