Lori Snores

Lori snores. It hardly defines my wife as a person. It neither limits my affection for her nor makes her less of a loving, warm person. It’s not the loud, sawing racket that one would attribute to a man’s snore. It’s more a demure, rhythmic breathing that I’ve grown accustomed to as being a part of my home life.

Except that lately I lay in bed at night hard as a rock when she drops off to sleep. Gail is a friend that works as a schoolteacher in Mississippi. She comes and visits us on weekends when she wants to stay in the big city. Gail and Lori were roommates in college and have remained friends and lovers ever since.

I’ve always enjoyed when my wife brought her female lovers home because we have the understanding that at the very least I get to watch. Participation is completely dependent on the woman’s attitude to men in general and me in particular. For the first ten years I knew her, Gail wasn’t much interested in my participation.

Which was a real shame, because I was very much interested in participating with her. She has a slender build and short, blonde hair. Gail is very feminine and is one of those Southern gals that seem to glide when they walk. She’s smart and funny and we’ve always had a relaxed, cordial acquaintance when vertical.

When they’re together, Lori takes charge. None of us are into domination or anything, but Lori’s relationship with Gail is more about Lori’s needs than visa versa. I’ve never really understood that part of it because otherwise my wife is very giving.

For instance, very soon after Gail arrives at our house for the weekend Lori will have her sprawled on our bed with Gail’s head propped up with pillows and my wife astride her. Gail will be performing cunnilingus as though she were dying of thirst and drinking from the well of life. It’s like a ritual re-enactment of something for the two of them. Lori doesn’t even wear panties when she knows Gail is coming over. It’s a fast, hot tongue-fuck that gets them both off quickly.

They go at it like two cats, unable to control themselves, unable to even wait to undress. Lori hikes up her dress and straddles Gail’s pretty face. She splays her labia out with one hand as she steadies herself against our headboard with the other, lowering her pussy onto her girlfriend’s eager, pink tongue. The sigh that emanates from both of them when contact is made comes the closest to enflaming my jealousy as anything can.

But then comes my reward. Gail, prim and priss, Southern miss hiking up her skirt with both hands and lustily frigging her cotton-covered snatch like the most perverse of all whores. God, I love to see a woman masturbating. Especially when she’s eating out my wife.

For one year, all I could do is gape at their ritual greeting. For several more, I stayed on the side and wanked at the visage of Gail’s underwear - white cottons and demure pastels. After three years, when Gail had become accustomed to me, I was able to crawl up between her legs and stare intently as her delicate fingers danced over the ever-moistening fabric. Another six months to lightly stroke her thighs. And another six to worm a finger betwixt panty and puss.

Finally on that occasion, I experienced what Gail’s orgasm are like from the inside-out.

Feeling her climax on my outstretched index finger was … indescribable! I had tasted Gail’s flavor many times from my own wife’s lips, but savoring it from my own hand was intoxicating.

After the ritual, which usually included several climaxes for Lori and one intense, gut-stirring cum from Gail, the two girls would relax in each others arms and catch up on their lives. Weekend plans were discussed. Schemes were hatched.

From the beginning, Gail slept in our bed, though at first she was so uncomfortable with the arrangement that she slept as far from me as she could afford to do so and still be in the same piece of furniture. Over time, as she became acclimate to my presence, we became quite adept at fucking Lori together without really interacting with each other.

It was five years before Gail quit flinching away when my hand brushed her soft, alabaster skin. Another year or so before she would accept a direct caress.

So it was surprising when, five years ago, Lori passed out between us from being double-teamed, I could still see the heat and the need in Gail’s eyes from the flickering candlelight near our bedside. And even more remarkable when her thighs parted and my fingers plunged into her molten softness.

Lori’s soft breathing punctuated my exploration of Gail’s liquid loveliness. Gail’s whimpering quickened as my wife began a quiet snore. I felt her tense and shudder quietly in orgasm, then our guest pushed my hand away and gave me a shy smile.

So it went, my twenty-year romance of my wife’s lover.

Until last Saturday night.

Lori lay exhausted on the other side of the bed. Gail, her glorious buttocks pressed back against my thrusting fingers, climaxed, spilling her wine in my palm. As I was distracted by the taste and the smell of her orgasm that remained on my hand, Gail, in typically unspoken eloquence, gracefully grasped my penis and unerringly impaled herself on it as we lay, spooned on our sides together.

For twenty years I had yearned for her. For twenty years, since I first saw her rubbing her clitoris through white cotton panties. I had wanted her. Finally, after all that time, I was thrusting gently into Gail’s loveliness.

It was glorious. It was like a dream I had been having for twenty years. Our hips kept time to Lori’s inhalation and exhalation. As she breathed in, Gail and I came together, her wetness splashing like the sea upon my shore. As Lori breathed out, Gail receded, sliding along my hypersensitive shaft with a silkiness that brought the awe of worship to the word “friction”.

It lasted forever. It was over far too quickly. By timing our copulation to Lori’s breathing, neither of us built to that quick, hard-thrusting orgasm that I’ve always enjoyed since I was a lad. Even so … even with the gentleness … a crescendo was reached … a peak was climbed.

I felt it first when Gail shifted and reached between her thighs. Her insides gripped me and I felt her ripple. Her need coaxed my own orgasm from me in clenching spurts. With a whimper from her and a shudder from me, we both came together as my wife slept on obliviously next to us.

* * * * *

I woke at mid-morning to the sound of a car pulling out of the driveway outside our bedroom window. Within moments, Lori bounded onto our bed, straddling my prone body.

“Finally got a little, did ya?” she chortled. “Damn, you’re gonna be hard to live with!” she snickered, giving me a kiss on the nose before scampering off to get dressed.

** * * *

Gail is coming in tomorrow. Every time I’ve heard Lori snore this week, I get hard.