Party Girl

When I reached the grim milestone of my 30th birthday, my wife and I decided to break the tradition of us spending birthdays together, just the two of us, and instead have a proper party.

With some planning, we managed to get most of our friends, a bit of music and a lot of alcohol into the house on the same Saturday night (which is not as easy as you think it's going to be when you're in your teens). As Cathy and I had got older, we had found more and more excuses to do less and less. Work stress and boring grown-up commitments had kept us both content to limit our horizons. But we were only 10 minutes in the evening when I decided that it had been worth it; the group of friends I had through my teens and early 20s might not have seen each other very often now, but as soon as we got them in a room together, the chemistry was still right there.

Each of my friends had chosen a different path in life but were each happy in their own way. The corporate accountants and computer scientists drinking beer with painters and sculptors and handymen and teachers. I have always been lucky to have a fantastic gang of girls mixed in with the boys. I had had the odd fling with one or two of them as is normal in a group of friends as they grow up together. Several of the girls were my firsts for things like dances, kisses or blow jobs. Despite this, my wife moved easily amongst the girls; she had been friends with them in her own right for years and knew that no one had any designs on her husband, decades after teenage hormones had dissipated.

I joined my wife in a conversation with three of the girls, Kim, Amy and Dinah as they swapped stories, caught up on each other's lives and told jokes. It was pretty clear that Dinah was drunker than the rest of the group. She had always been a bit of a wild child and had not settled down in quite the same way as the rest of us. She owned a business selling cannabis products (legally) and a side business selling actual cannabis (illegally). It had been her that had given me my first blow job all those years before. She had acted like it was no big deal and that was entirely in keeping with her style of carefree living.

"Hi, sweety." Cathy said as I joined them, kissing me on the cheek as I slipped an arm around her waist. "The girls were just telling me the story about you dressing up as Britney Spears for Amy's birthday when you were 18. Something about getting hit on by a teacher in the local pub?" I had a lifetime's worth of embarrassing anecdotes, known to the participants of the party, and it would've taken hours to share all of them. Amy had obviously launched into one of the better ones that involved me, in drag, fending off the advances of male teacher who hadn't recognised me outside the gents toilets. It was not my finest hour.

I shared a look with Dinah; I was pretty sure she was thinking the same thing as I was, something not known to anyone else in the room. That night, after I'd escaped the clutches of the mathematics teacher, Dinah and I had ended up back at her parents' house having clumsy, drunken sex. She had had a boyfriend at the time, and I have been unsuccessfully trying to date Kim so we had agreed we wouldn't talk about it with the others, but it was something we had hinted at to each other whenever we were being flirty.

I left the girls to their anecdotes and went and joined a group of boys over in the kitchen who were discussing 1990s film and TV, particularly whether Gillian Anderson is more attractive in series 1 of X-Files or 30 years later in The Fall. A consensus seems to be forming that Gillian Anderson had somehow defied the linear nature of time and was getting more attractive with every day that passed (not something that could be said for most of us). Dinah came over to join our group and slotted easily in the conversation. She was bisexual, or at least a little bit curious, and so had some interesting observations on Dana Scully's influence during her formative sexual years. Just as she had been for the boys. I looked over Dinah as she talked and was impressed by how she, herself, had aged. She was a bit older than when we'd fucked for hours after Amy's birthday but more than any of us, she had kept her youthful, carefree appearance.

While we were talking, Dinah proved she could still shock me as she set up, and then did, a small bump of coke, offering the same to everyone else in the group. Everyone said no. None of us were puritans but Dinah was the only one that had continued with anything like regular drug use. I didn't really judge her for it, but if you were the only person doing a particular drug, maybe you shouldn't be doing it at that party. As the conversation continued, Dinah moved closer and closer to my side, first resting her hand on my shoulder and then putting it around my waist. I could see Cathy across the room, who had missed none of Dinah's activities. She gave me a mock-serious look and wagged her finger at me. My wife had always intuited that Dinah retained a bit of a crush on me, but I knew she trusted me and her faith was well placed. That said, I never missed a chance to fuck with her...

While making eye contact with my wife, I reach down and rested my hand on Dinah's firm, round butt cheek. Cathy pulled a scandalised face, so I stuck out my tongue at her, which earned me a sexually charged scowl. Dinah, unaware that I was making eyes at my wife, did a shimmy and wiggled her bum under my touch. Although I was doing it to wind up my better half, I took a lot of pleasure from feeling the thin line of Dinah's G-string through the flimsy material of her dress. Dinah had always had a fantastic butt, and the chance to grab a sneaky feel was too good to miss. But once I had satiated myself, I decided I had taken that particular joke far enough so I let my hand drop back to my side. Dinah, however, kept her arm around my waist. Cathy rolled her eyes and went back to her conversation.

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Towards the end of the night, once everyone was more than a little drunk, I was in the kitchen refilling the ice bowl when I got cornered by Dinah. She was a short, curvy, exotic looking girl with olive skin that seemed tanned all year round, making her stand-out amongst the pale English Roses of our hometown. She stood close to me, well within my personal space, but I was enjoying the view and the scent of her shampoo and perfume so I didn't mind.

"You know, I'm not sure I've actually wished you a happy birthday yet." she said, with a slight breathy tone to her voice.

"It's not technically until tomorrow but I think I got the message anyway." I said. I wasn't really a big one for making a fuss of such occasions which was why we had not been holding such in parties previous years -- doing an event 'just for me' made my self-depreciating skin crawl.

"No, no, no." She said, wiggling her body in time with the words. "I need to say happy birthday to you." She insisted drunkenly.

"I think you just did, didn't you?"

"No, properly..." Dinah said as she lent in and up on to her tiptoes trying to reach me for a kiss. I deftly moved back at the exact same rate as she moved forward, keeping a safe distance between our lips even as she put her hands on my chest to try and hold me in position. Dinah was pretty, sexy, carefree and (from what I remembered) uninhibited in the sack; but I was in love with, and devoted to, Cathy in a way that had made doing the right thing in these situations an easy task.

I did little sidestep and easily slipped past the drunk girl, already feeling guilty for leading her on earlier.

"Come on Din,", I said. "you know we can't do that. We haven't done that in about a decade."

"I know," she panted, "but I miss it. I miss you..." I knew this was almost certainly the booze and drugs talking, but she had a very small point; we had been such fantastic friends in the past but these days there were always such demands on my time that relationships like this one had been put on the back-burner.

"I miss you too," I conceded "but I am married now, and have been quite a long time, so I can't be kissing girls in the kitchen. Even if they are old friends. And are as pretty as you." This cowardly act of flattery seemed to placate Dinah. We chatted good naturedly for a few more minutes before she let me get on with filling the ice bowl.

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The rest of the night was a great success and I was thrilled to spend it with my friends altogether in the same place for the first time in a long time. By the time the party ended, I didn't even feel that drunk as I had done more hosting than drinking but it had been fantastic to see them. One by one, they started to disappear, making excuses to leave saying they had to relieve the babysitter, or the work following day or do some middle-age pass time in the morning.

Everyone was heading back to their own homes, apart from Dinah who lived in Leeds and therefore had arranged to stay the night with us in our spare room. Before the party had started, Cathy had made up the bed, put clean towels on the side, and made sure that there was shampoo, conditioner and shower gel in the en-suite bathroom.

As the last guest, apart from Dinah, went out the front door, Cathy and I threw ourselves into tidying the house so that it wasn't a complete mess in the morning. Dinah excused herself and went upstairs to shower and get ready for bed. She was still definitely the drunkest person in the house. Cathy started washing up a huge pile of glasses and plates that had been used in the evening while I moved the furniture back into the correct rooms.

One of the chairs that we had used in the living room was actually from the guest room, sitting in front of the make-up mirror in the corner. I carried it upstairs carefully to avoid scraping the legs on the walls and then stopped outside the guest bedroom. I could hear the shower running, so figured it was probably safe to nip in, drop off the chair, and get out again without being spotted. Using my elbow, I turned the handle and pushed the door open. I was halfway across the room when I realised my mistake.

It wasn't the shower that was running, but the tap in the sink. And no sooner had I opened the door than it turned off and Dinah opened the door from the en suite and stepped into the guest bedroom. She had obviously been quick in the shower and stood there in a towel wrapped tight around her body (in that incredibly neat way the girls seem to manage instinctively) and she had another, smaller, towel wrapped around her damp hair.

Immediately several emotions ran through me and probably over my face, I was surprised by the doors opening, I was embarrassed to have imposed on a guest in this way and I was excited by being so close to a girl who was wearing only a towel. Dinah only had one look on her face, which was a smirk of self-satisfaction, presumably from catching me exactly where she wanted me. I mumbled my apologies, shoved the chair under the make-up table and then started to beat my retreat to the door, but Dinah intercepted me, again with their hands on my chest. She tried to kiss me but, while a single version of me would have loved to, the married version dodged, dipped, ducked, dived and dodged to keep myself from connecting with her lips.

When her initial approach failed, she panted as she had before and started to plead. "Come on, please just kiss me for a while, we won't do anything more than that?"

I resisted again. With the words that, unbeknownst to me at the time, we are about to save my marriage (and also open the door to an extraordinary event), I said "Look Dinah, I've told you once already, this is not happening. I love my wife, I am never going to do anything that hurts her. Even if it's with someone I care about."

I was facing the door and Dinah had her back to it. No sooner was I finished talking than I saw Cathy's head around the corner where she was stood in the corridor. She was holding a large glass of water, which must've been for her to give to Dinah to lessen the hangover in the morning. I suspected she had come up the stairs just behind me but had not been heard as I heaved the heavy chair in front of me. Her expression was a curious one. She was obviously furious, but she did not seem entirely unhappy or miserable, instead her fury made her face come alive, like when you watch a confident boxer in the ring.

Still unaware of our audience, Dinah tried again. "Please." She begged. "Please. I've been single for months, and my ex was such a bad match for me. And seeing you with Cathy tonight just makes me remember how good it was with you. I just want to feel that again. Let me do that thing that you like? I did that for you long before you ever even met Cathy? She can keep you, I promise, I just want to borrow you for 2 minutes."

I was about to answer, mindful now of our observer, when Cathy stormed into the room. "You fucking bitch!" She screamed, dropping the glass on the carpet. The sound of her voice and the impact made Dinah leap with fright. Her eyes grew huge in their sockets, but she didn't turn around, instead fixing me with a pleading stare. My wife, still closing the distance screamed again. "You fucking whore!"

I had been dragging Cathy along to jujitsu with me, twice a month this year, for the exercise and the self-defence benefits. It had felt like a 'good husband' thing to do. I regretted it the moment I saw Cathy loop a slim arm under Dinah's chin and around her neck. A swift kick to the back of her knee caused her to fall but her downward motion was arrested by the-python-tight choke that my wife had applied. "What the fuck?!" Dinah managed to exclaim before all of the oxygen was shut off from her brain. Cathy was still yelling. "You little bitch! You fuck up every relationship you are in, and now you think you can ruin mine!? You are fucking pathetic! I should snap your head off your neck right now!"

I didn't intervene at first. Cathy was justified in feeling angry and, had the roles been reversed, I would've been throwing punches like Connor McGregor. I was also confident I would be able to stop things getting out of hand. My wife was a level-headed person and I thought this was just her initial reaction. Dinah was already crying and trying to apologise but Cathy kept the pressure on her neck making her turn red in the face. She continued to berate Dinah, screaming at her for trying to steal her husband. A bit more pressure went onto Dinah's neck and the chokehold bit a little deeper, Dinah spluttered a croak in response. That was my cue to step in.

Holding my hands in front of me, palms down at waist-height, I used a soft but firm voice. "Okay darling, okay. I think you've made your point. We've all had a bit to drink. Why don't we just get Dinah a taxi and she can go and stay with Kim?" Dinah looked up at me from her knees with her eyes watering and tried to nod her agreement with my plan. Sadly, my wife was having none of it.

"No fucking way. She has been trying to get her hands on you for years and tried it several times tonight. If she wants you so bad, she can fucking have you!"

Panic mode.

Suddenly this had become about me and I was really, really regretting teasing Cathy by grabbing Dinah's arse earlier in the evening. I now thought I was going to be the one leaving in a taxi. I had, however misjudged the situation again. In an evening of misjudging the situation this was my widest of the mark.

"Yeah," Cathy spat. "If she's so fucking sure she wants you to fuck her, then I think you SHOULD fuck her." I did not know where she was going with this logic but my sense of panic was not going away. She didn't seem to be angry with me, Dinah was still the target, but my name was getting dragged into this. "Would you like that, you fucking whore? Do you want to fuck my husband? You've been trying hard enough. I think I'm going to give you what you wished for. But I promise you, you won't like it."

What the fuck?

I had no idea where she was she going with this. Cathy was squatting down behind Dinah who was on her knees, holding her head and neck in a vice-like grip. She looked up at me and said "Come on honey, get your dick out. Let's give her what she wants."

As an aside, Cathy and I had been on an increasingly dark journey of sexual exploration recently. The sex had become rougher with her wanting me to hurt her. I had tied her up, fucked her throat, and abused her pussy. And she had loved it (I was obviously a fan as well). We had also started watching porn together, a thing we had never done before. I had been in for a shock. If you ever click on 'porn for women' on an adult website, what you get are videos with better acting and more plot and less spit. When we explored Cathy's desires, however, that is not what she wanted to see. It turned out that what she loved was watching Manuel Ferrara dominate a girl until she was a cum-soaked mess. She wanted to see women made to degrade themselves for the pleasure of their man. Her favourite videos were old ones from Hell Fire Sex, a website that had a single, unique selling point; a man and a woman would work together to dominate another girl. She would be whipped, stripped and forced to please them both.

Talking through these videos with my wife it turned out, that what got her going was the power differential. She could imagine herself in the role of either woman and both situations turned her on. This was interesting to me because in bed, Cathy was becoming increasingly submissive, but in our real lives my wife was no wallflower and was a confident, assertive woman who had no problems telling people what she wanted. That was why it was such a revelation that she was happy to be gagged and fucked in bed. Hearing her talk about the desire to be the dominant woman in a threesome, I offered to see if she wanted to dominate me as a switch, but she was not interested at all. The thing that got her going about Hell Fire Sex was that it was almost a greater submission for Cathy to force a third party to submit to me, than to do it herself. We had these conversations at great length, partly because I enjoyed them so much because Cathy would often be sucking me off or stroking me with her hand as we did so.

With all of this as context, Cathy's insane demand that I get my cock out was slightly less bat-shit. Even so, this was not really a safe or moral thing to do, and my earlier thought that I would be able to stop things getting out of control had lasted about 10 seconds before it had been dumped on its head.

Looked down at Dinah, the towel that had wrapped her hair had slipped to the floor. Her damp hair cascaded around her shoulders and down her back. The towel around her body had come undone at the front in the struggle. Cathy was pressing it to Dinah's back, so it had not fallen off entirely, but I could see an uninterrupted view of Dinah's naked body. Below her bright red face and panicked eyes, her beautiful, round, firm breasts shook and jiggled as she tried to fight off my wife. Further down I saw the complete absence of pubic hair, something Dinah often joked about in her off-colour way. I couldn't believe I was even thinking about it, but it turns out I do a lot of my thinking with my dick, so with only a little more encouragement from Cathy, I unzipped my trousers and tugged my cock out of my flies.

Now, whenever Rocco Siffredi is in a similar situation, a perfect, diamond cutter of a hard-on appears as soon as he requires it. Sadly, this is one of the many things that Rocco and I do not share. But while it was not ready to bang nails in with yet, I was not exactly starting from zero, so my heavy cock hovered over Dinah's head. Cathy tightened her grip on Dinah's neck and pressed forward with her body, so her victim was forced closer to me.