Riding the Waves

Copyright © 2000 by Jonathan Faust. All Rights Reserved.

Comments? E-mail me and my gorgeous wife.

* * * * *

Click . . . and the door to our dreams had opened.

We’ve just had our dinner and wine, and now we’re finally here. The hotel suite smells fresh and clean, like raspberries and starched linen, and the faint odor of chlorine from the enormous hot-tub that sits like a sentinel or tank to the left of the room is quite strong. The place is immaculate, cozy, warm, potentially erotic, and everywhere I see ghosts and images of my wife’s future pleasure---at the bed, in the pool, on the floor, in the chair---I see it all, fantasizing almost immediately as we enter the palace of pleasures for this night in heaven.

Our friend, Adam, enters last and regards the room much like a schoolchild on his first day of kindergarten, not knowing whether to walk forward, sit down, say something or just stand on the threshold and wait for permission to enter. My wife, Christine, is much more daring and enters with bold determination, going straight for the kitchenette and opening the bottle of champagne already chilled in the bucket on the counter. Nice touch by the staff, nice indeed, because each of us are looking for a distraction, and we’re nervous. No one wants to be the first to insinuate or suggest anything forward or sexual, so we move like molasses and take in the entire visual of the room, joking, teasing, talking---all of this to make the tension and anticipation bearable.

I am consumed by her, wanting to take Christine at this very moment---her tight yellow flowered sun-dress hugs her salacious hips and breasts, and her ivory skin, smooth and fragrant from the scented lotion, has just a visible sheen on her thighs that stretch and reach from the bottom of her hem and extend to her sandaled feet. The two are giggling, talking nonsense, and I continue to trace my wife’s body with a trance-like gaze. She is 5’ 10" and has a short bobbed haircut that bounces and jiggles with her every move. Her calves are so strong and supple; her thighs seem to call my lips into action; I can taste and feel what its like to nibble on them, to tenderly nibble of her flesh and tease that precious fold of skin just below her ass cheek---I feel and see all of this as we casually relax in our room of fantasy, without the slightest inclination or hint that, perhaps, they are thinking and dreaming of the same wonderful thing—that my friend, Adam, will fuck my wife tonight.

Adam sits on the chair, taking the glass of wine from Christine, and drinks it nearly too fast—so fast that we all laugh, breaking the nervous tension that hangs like a cloud over this room. A million things seem to be racing through our minds, I imagine---sexual positions, fucking Christine over here, then over there, and there, and over there, too---and we drink our drinks in silence not knowing what to say or do.

I can’t wait any longer, so I finally say, "I don’t know about you two, but I am dying to try this whirlpool out." There, it’s done. A beginning. Has to start somewhere and I really don’t particularly care if they wait awhile to get in. The thing is, I really do want to be in the water right now—hot, scalding water with wonderful bubbles, relaxing as hell, the drunk-like feeling you get, that wonderful clouding of the brain that comes from the steamy water. So I fill up the hot-tub, the echoes of crashing water gives me goose-bumps, and I feel slightly dizzy. I think about what will happen in the next few hours as I stare at the water and the swirling foam: How far will it go, and where will it lead, and will I get lost in the moment and suggest things that I shouldn’t, and will she forget about me and lose herself in his touch, in his kisses, in his organs, and isn’t that the whole point and, and, and . . .?

Christine is up, now, and is going into the bathroom, and she stops and kisses me and there is that look in her eyes that I need, that I’ve always needed from all of this perhaps---as if she knows what I am thinking, knows me better than myself. She’s telling me it will be just what we wanted and nothing more, everything will be about us and only us in a sick, twisted way, and mostly she tells me in that long, full kiss that she loves me and always will.

While she shuts the door, Adam is up and sits by my side on the whirlpool ledge, running his fingers through the water, probably doing the same mental exercises that nearly made me momentarily lose my mind a minute ago. He doesn’t say anything, because, if he does, it will come out all wrong. He’s waiting, waiting for me to initiate the whole thing, not wanting to presume or ruin any possible moment with my wife. I wanna make a joke or bring up something completely unrelated with my best friend, but I can’t. And just when I think one of us is going to say something, Christine opens the door, and both of us look up and see her standing in the doorway in a red swimming suit, her enormous breasts nearly falling out of the smooth, tight bikini top

I slip into the tub, while Adam goes over to the kitchenette again and starts to pour wine into our three glasses. Christine quickly slips into the whirlpool. Not ready, yet, for us to take her entire body into picture, into focus, still self-conscious. Not long. Not long from now.

I am sitting across from my wife in the hot-tub and I am dying to rush to her and take her, embrace her, make love to her right there, but I do my best to relax, closing my eyes, wanting her to read my thoughts and come over to me.

It has to be you that touches me. I so need it, even after all of this, I need you to touch me and reassure me, love me. Let him stay out there for a while, just let me have her like this

—I feel her toes on my ankles and I open my eyes and she is looking at me, her beautiful eyelashes are damp and the look and smile that says,

I love you

, but oh yes,

I fucking want

you,

is there just as much, all there, all consuming. I grab her foot with my fingers and kneed her toes and the bottom of her feet and pull Christine towards me. She glides across the bubbling water, her tits floating like cantaloupes bobbing in a barrel, and she kisses me with delicious intensity. Quickly, only too quickly, she stops. Her hand finds my hard organ under the waves and she teases me with one stroke, then stops again and slides away from me.

Not yet, not yet

, I know she is thinking.

I can barely breathe and Adam is already taking his shirt off, and now his shorts, and now he’s following my lead, entering the tub in his underwear. We form a triangle, none of us wishing to force anything, push anyone into anything just yet. Another period of relaxing and drinking, closing our eyes, and now I am wondering if they’ve already

begun

underneath the water.

Is she touching him right this very moment, or is he touching her

?

Just caresses on the hands and fingers or are they fondling legs, thighs, genitals already

? I feel as though I’m going mad, and I want to blurt out, "Take my wife. Do it now, for the love of God!" but I don’t have the balls to.

Christine slides towards me again. She turns around and my hands start to slide and glide along her back and shoulders, rubbing and kneading her muscles in the steamy tub, knowing that she can feel my rock-hard rod poking the small of her back.

Contradictions are flooding my brain now: confusing contradictions between the cock and the mind, the libido and the heart. Afraid if she slides over to his side of the tub I’ll die, yet hard as a rock to see her do it; frightened to the point of paralysis, excited to the point of orgasm. And while I’m thinking of all of this, I notice her toes popping up every once and a while near his chest and I know that she’s teasing him with her feet under the water, and that he’s rubbing her calves and toes at this very moment.

I kiss the back of her shoulder, then suck the smooth, delicious skin at the nape of her neck, while I start to run my right hand down into the water and between my wife’s legs. She is so open to me and to everything right now—I can tell, because she relents easily and almost invites my fingers and hands to probe and penetrate. I am forcing her legs apart and pushing her hips up and near the top of the water. Adam becomes more daring with his caresses as he watches my actions, even sucking her toes and nibbling her calves, moving closer to her in the water, sliding his mouth and tongue to the pit of her knee and thighs. I cannot kiss anything new on her neck or face or shoulders---I have spent what seems like a lifetime on these two tender spots and I’m spent and hungry for more of my wife’s anatomy. I feel as though I’m going insane, pulling her straps down and over her shoulders as slowly as possible, squeezing her breasts and fingering her nipples. Christine is sighing very softly as I whisper into her ear, telling her what she’s doing to us right now, and what we want to do to her forever and ever.

I am hard and brave now, and I unclip her bikini top, releasing those two beautiful orbs of flesh, and the tension that has been bottled up for weeks on end seeps out as Christine’s naked chest is finally revealed to my best friend. Her nipples are large and pink and so erect, and I cup them with my flexing fingers. I find that my hands are no longer moving slowly, but faster and rougher, and Adam’s kisses are no longer restrained; instead, they are passionate and needing, craving and desiring, and all that pours forth from our bodies as we close in toward our pleasure principle is unbridled lust. I am kissing every inch of her neck, squeezing her breasts, and she is arching her back . . . she closes her eyes in sheer and utter bliss as Adam pulls off her bikini bottom, forcefully now . . . he is deliberate, heated, and he seems to be starving to eat my wife out in the next few seconds.

Christine begins to pant and hyperventilate and becomes caught up in the moment, spreading her thighs . . . and next I hear the wonderful erotic slap of her wet suit against the back wall, a sound that is followed by the sucking, lapping sounds of Adam’s mouth on her shaved pussy. He gives my wife oral sex with a ravenous lunge, his lips diving between her legs, probing, licking and sucking on her clit with reckless abandonment. It’s as if he’s done this to her a million times before, so completely adept and hungry for her love slit, and I know now that I could watch him do this to her for hours and hours. All three of us are lost in the water and the heat and the steam and the tactile eroticism, and I nearly cum watching him ravish her pussy, the moans of desire escaping from her lips with each stroke of his tongue. I am whispering in her ear how much I love to see her pleased, how much I want him to do this to her, how much I want her to cum again and again and again . . .

Oh, the oral sex that he gives her, and gives her, again, in the whirlpool lasts for what seems like seconds, minutes, probably a half-hour, and I know that I must, I must touch my wife now; I cannot contain myself much longer to this passive pleasure of her, my love, my life; I cannot simply sit idly any longer whispering and feeling without pleasing her directly. I yearn to be another face and tongue between her lips and I very abruptly push her forward towards her other lover.

She slips into the water and before I can do anything, the two of them have already adapted, his face and hands still exploring and enclosing around her slick, wet flesh. Christine has responded, too, sliding her hands down into the waves, removing his shorts, and the motion that I see can only be my wife stroking his cock—yes, yes, now I can actually see the tip of his rod coming out of the water. Adam is beside himself, grabbing her tenderly and kissing her openly and intensely . . . I freeze, caught in the moment, watching my wife and another man in the moment of heated anticipated foreplay in this orgasmic whirlpool.

My stomach is turning with anticipation, but my hard-on and the sexual impulses of my brain and body urge me on. And that’s when I see his hands around her back, and now down into the water, each of the two lovers embracing the other ever so tightly; his hands squeeze her ass and hips, while she kisses and licks his neck and nipples, both of them rolling and weaving in the waves of the water. I am paralyzed with complete absorption and fascination; my cock is ready to erupt. And now I see her rising slightly out of the water, then back down, as if he is lifting her entire body up and out of the water with tremendous intensity and strength . . . and she is giving herself to his embrace and dancing in perfect rhythm with his heated body . . . and now she is making a noise something like a moan or a part of a scream . . . and now—right this very second— I think his cock is coaxing its way into my wife of six glorious years.

I think---no, I know now that they are either rubbing cock against clit or are actually fucking, and I instinctually slide forward towards Christine and her lover. I have to be near the sex that is happening below the cloak of the dark and bubbling waves. I touch her shoulder and kiss the back of her neck again, and Christine turns around, not able to breathe, and not willing to stop or move, either. She pulls my face to hers, kissing me, and, in between violent breaths and kisses, stammers, "...O...God...I’m...fucking...him..."

She is swallowing my tongue with her vicious kisses, while riding up and down in the waves. "Fuck...me...fuck me..." is all that escapes her lips, again and again, as she tries desperately to include me, somehow, in her cock-ride. She can now barely find my mouth in kisses that pass by quick and fast . . . I slowly wade further away and off to the side so that I can see my wife’s tits smacking against Adam’s chest, her back arched so far that the bangs from her hair actually touch the water, while she rides a cock that is not mine.

God, this is the most incredible thing I have ever seen or felt and I am no where near being involved in what is probably the greatest sex of my wife’s life

. I can see in her body language the heat and the contradiction, too, as if she’s thinking:

Stop . . . don’t stop . . . it feels so good . . . I want him to fuck me . . . but I know that we shouldn’t . . . but I don’t care, and now that it’s inside me, Oh God, just a couple of pumps, just a few more . . .

Adam is moaning loudly, too, and I want to stop them—I wanna postpone this historic event and make it last forever. And that’s when I pull her off of him, pull her towards me with decisive strength and, without pause or resilience, stealthily drive my hard organ into my wife’s cunt, taking Christine from behind harder and faster than I’ve ever touched my wife before or since. I am fucking my wife like an animal and I am loving it. I am pumping and pounding into her, possibly bruising the perfect, luscious skin of her hips as I squeeze harder and harder with wicked intent. And I know that right now she doesn’t care, and that she is starting to cum, as the water splashes wildly all around the edges of the hot-tub, spilling onto the tiles below. Christine is stroking his cock, as I ram my shaft in and out of my wife’s pussy . . . now she’s taking his rod into her mouth . . . and I don’t care . . . and I can barely see or comprehend or understand anything any longer. I can only feel my penis ready to explode, explode and erupt inside of her love-box . . . and I have never been so turned on in my entire life.

. . . and then an extraordinary thing happens—I stop. I cannot---no, I

will not

orgasm yet, because, then, it is all over.

I stop so suddenly that the two of them actually freeze---as if caught in a thieving act or as if they were two deer frozen solid in the hi-beam headlight of a semi truck . . .

The moment’s fire and intensity is suddenly broken; both of them breathe heavily, trying to catch their breath, pausing to see what it is I’ll do. Christine holds his organ in her hand, gently stroking Adam, who sighs and casts a look that is something very near frustration. I tell them that I just needed a little breather, a little collecting of the thoughts, a little "pause-for-the- cause." I don’t seem or appear to seem angry and I think that they believe me. But, Christine is sexed-up, rocking her hips, her ass and pussy brushing up against me with slow deliberation, and she seems like a child who is slowly reaching into the cookie jar, waiting to be reprimanded. She’s stroking Adam, and I know that if I hadn’t stopped, he would’ve lost his load, and her threesome journey would be concluded.

I said, "I have to get something. You two—and I mean it, now—settle down just for a few seconds." I said it with a smile, and by the time I had gotten the condoms out of the bag near the bed, my wife was stroking him faster and giving him a nice and slow blowjob! I stop for a few seconds because I think Adam is going to cum on the spot . . . I am mesmerized by her skillful determination, as she gives my best friend head: each powerful stroke milking his shaft, and her mouth that just barely gives him the sensation of a sucked cock, teasing, nibbling . . .then she’s rubbing his tight balls, taking the tip of his rod into her luscious mouth, licking the spidery threads of gism that have prepared his chamber for full eruption. And when his eyes go to the back of his head, Christine turns her head towards me, kisses me again with those hot, wet lips, and that look in her eyes that says she will be ravaged again and again by the two of us. She thrusts her chest forward, pinching her own nipples, taking my tongue deep, deep into her mouth as Adam’s engorged cock releases itself in loaded spurts all over her tits and stomach.

And I know that this is only the beginning . . .

[Chapter 2 awaits you . . . if you so desire.]