Max surprises his wife with an impromptu tryst with their favorite lover, and he can’t wait to watch them in action.

Max and I generally spend Saturday doing chores. Buy this. Fix that. Shop for this. Put away that. Between our two busy careers, we can’t avoid the dreaded weekend to-do list. Sure, I always indulge in fantasies about lolling around, taking things easy, drinking whipped-cream-topped concoctions and nibbling chocolate-covered cherries. But duty calls. Luckily for me, Max always makes things as exciting as they can be. Spending time with my husband, even when we’re at the drugstore or buying groceries, is still enjoyable. He always finds the time to pull me into a corner for a kiss or fondle me by the tower of fruit. I look forward to Saturdays to see what he’ll get up to. By the time we make it home, we’re usually in quite a state.

So when Max said we had to add a lube job to our already lengthy weekend list, I was bummed. One more chore. Another item to suck the day away. And I was already hot and bothered by the petting in the car and the canoodling at the hardware store. I told myself that my libido would have to wait.

I didn’t realize how wrong I was, or that sucking would definitely be involved, but in a far more pleasurable way.

This was our last chore. We’d finished everything else on the list. When we pulled into a residential neighborhood, I was surprised. “Isn’t the oil change place downtown?” I asked.

“Quick stop first,” Max assured me.

I was curious, but I didn’t argue. When we parked in front of a small, well cared for house, I shot him a curious look. What sort of stop? I wondered. Then I changed that query to: What type of lube job?

Max led me up the front path to the door. He knocked, and when the man inside opened up the door, I almost fell over. There stood James, Max’s roommate from college. James wasn’t simply Max’s best friend, best man, best everything. He had been the first guy I’d fucked in front of Max. He was my best lay.

James had been gone for nearly a decade. A travel photographer and journalist, he’d sent us occasional postcards from far away places as well as snapshots of himself as he matured. Yet seeing him right there, so close I could stroke my fingers along his cheek, was something else.

Was this real?

“I tilted forward and captured his bobbing dick between my lips.”

I stared at the handsome man in the doorway. He was wearing a red button-up shirt and indigo blue jeans. When I’d last seen him, ten years earlier, he’d been clean-shaven. Now, he sported a goatee the same deep brown as his short hair.

I couldn’t find my voice at first. James cracked me a smile and gave Max a hug. A manly hug. Not at all what I was interested in. “How are you doing, Daisy?” he asked.

I tried to make my mouth work. “You look… ” Too many adjectives chased my thoughts. He looked edible. That’s how he looked. Ten years hadn’t messed with him at all. He was still brawny, brunet, and beautiful. I found myself surprisingly shy. Max urged me forward, James took a step backward, and then I found my words. Or, at least, I figured out how to make my mouth work.

“I missed you,” I said as I dropped to my knees and put my hands on James’s strong thighs. He looked down at me, and I caught the wry smile on his sculpted lips. I wondered if he was remembering times like this from long ago. Situations in which I was on my knees and he was feeding me his cock inch by studly inch while Max watched.

There was no need for any more words right then. We communicated with our bodies. Max shut the door behind us, then leaned against the wall and sighed. James unfastened his jeans and lowered them. I tilted forward and captured his bobbing dick between my lips. He tasted like he’d always tasted. The scent of his skin, the flavor, was exactly as I remembered. Like the end of summer — that warm baked scent that sometimes tricks you in the middle of the winter. An unexpected whiff and you’re back — on a beach or on a boat — your mind making a left turn when it should go right.

Right now, I was doing exactly what I was supposed to do, sucking Max’s best friend off in the late-morning light that was streaming through the diamond-shaped panes at the top of his door. I used my hands to cradle his balls, and I licked my tongue up and down his shaft before popping the head of his luscious dick between my lips once more.

The next happy sigh was from James. Not Max. I didn’t turn my head, but I knew my husband was watching intently. Seeing me fuck another man is his four-alarm fire. Seeing me fuck James takes him one level higher. Because James was the first one who realized what Max was into. The first person to not only put the concept into words, but into actions. Max had told me all about this when we first got serious. He’d told me the story of when they were roommates at the university, how they’d ended up in a loose relationship with the same woman. Nobody’s heart was on the line. There was no way anyone would be hurt. But one day, Max came home to find James in bed with their mutual girlfriend, and instead of leaving, he stood there, watching.

That was all it took. A key that unlocked the most private aspect of their friendship. When Max and I decided to take our relationship to the next level, this was the one thing my man worried about. How would I feel about James? Not only as a friend of his, but as a potential bedmate. He needn’t have worried. We’re all miraculously wired the same way.

“I missed you, too,” James said after several minutes had passed, and I didn’t know which one of us he was addressing — and I didn’t care. “Missed you both,” he added, and I smiled around his cock, felt the saliva dripping as I tried to swallow a laugh.

I could have blown him for hours, could have taken my time licking up one side of his cock and down the other. My own body had already begun to respond. I could feel how wet I was growing inside my panties. Would I be able to get off when James did? If I sucked him to fruition, would that bring me to my own fierce orgasm? That had happened before. Bestowing pleasure on James while knowing how hard my husband was becoming had managed to flip my switch on more than one occasion.

But that wasn’t what was going to happen today.

Max lifted me then, clearly wanting to see more, wanting us to move faster. Go faster. He said, “Bedroom,” and James said, “Yes.” I pulled my clothes off as I walked down the hall, first my gray hoodie, then my T-shirt, bra, shoes and jeans, instinctively finding the master bedroom at the end. It was neat, clean, not lived in much. Had James just moved in? The bed was bathed in white — comforter, pillows, sheets. There was a dresser in the corner, a chair by the closet, one lone lamp, white blinds. There was nothing on the walls. None of James’ art. None of his pictures. Those would come, I guessed.

I’d come first, I also guessed.

On the bed, naked, I had a flash. The three of us that first time, so long ago. Max had short hair then, a buzz cut, so different from his lanky surfer locks now. James had been the adventurous one, with streaks of purple in his mane of black hair. We were older now, but were we wiser? When James pushed me back on the bed and started kissing my neck, I thought, maybe not wiser, but definitely more experienced. He seemed deeply in tune to what my body desired, what my mind required. He kissed me sweetly at first, almost too softly, so that my hips raised off the bed, my back arched. Then he showed me that he knew exactly what he was doing by pinning my wrists to the mattress with his big hands and letting me feel precisely how hard he was, how hard I’d made him. He was still in his clothes, but I was entirely stripped.

“She’s so beautiful, isn’t she?” he commented to my husband.

Max didn’t seem able to find his voice for a moment. I know he thinks I’m beautiful. He tells me often enough. But what would he say to his recently returned best friend? What would he say to James?

“Never more beautiful than when she’s coming on your cock,” Max said, taking my breath away, making James laugh long and low.

“I’d have to agree with that,” James said. “Nobody lights up the way Daisy does.” He stroked my hair, kissed my lips, lingered as if enjoying his own flavor on my tongue. “Have there been others while I was gone?”

I had wondered whether this would come up. We had never promised exclusivity, and even if we had, ten years is a long time to wait. But none of our other lovers had come close to being to us what James was — what he is. Still, I didn’t know how to explain all that.

Max was honest. “Yes,” he said. “Here and there. When the desires grew too strong. When we couldn’t hold off anymore, we had to go find someone, some nameless man who was interested in playing our way. We had to get the excitement out of our system.”

“I can imagine,” James said. “Daisy needs a lot, doesn’t she? And you like to watch her take her pleasure.”

Max and I met eyes then, and he nodded.

But none had been like this. Not one of them had been James.

“Come here,” he said, motioning to Max. “You hold her hands.”

That was our James — a man who had no problem fucking his best friend’s wife, but a generous man, a gentleman. If he was going to reach his peak, so was Max. My husband joined us on the bed. I felt his hands replace James’s. I looked up into Max’s blue eyes. I was pinned to the mattress, close to the two most important men in my life. My body felt ignited from the inside out, as if any moment I might burst into flames.

My nipples were hard and erect. My breathing was coming in short, fast bursts. “Fuck me,” I wanted to beg, wanted to scream, but not yet. Not yet.

“The click of the camera became a rhythm in my mind. We fucked to that beat.”

“Tell me,” James whispered as he moved his way down my body until he was poised over my aching split. “Tell me about the men.”

I looked at him. He had never been more appealing then right at that moment, as he used his fingers to rub my clit, as he nipped lightly on my inner thighs. Nothing that had come before made sense right then. None of our other lovers mattered in the slightest.

“I can’t… ” I stammered as he made a ring with his lips around my clit and sucked. “I can’t remember.”

“Try.”

I floundered. He was pulling me apart, opening me up, licking and sucking so forcefully that I felt the slippery sex juices spilling from me. My mind was in a haze, red-filled, lust-laden. I searched for words, for memories, but found none. I could only think of James… of what he was doing to me, of how close my climax was. If he kept touching me like that, first a soft silky lick, then a firm suck, I would come. It would be the first time I’d come with James for so long, but only a short time since I’d last fantasized about him. He lived and breathed in my X-rated dreams. And always, always, Max was there, watching, drinking us in with his wide, ravenous eyes.

But James wanted more. “I’ve thought about you so often,” he said. “I’ve imagined the way you two have continued to play. Tell me a story. Let me know if any of my fantasies lives up to the truth.”

Max squeezed my hands. Then he prompted me, saying, “The one we met at the club… ” I shut my eyes. I thought of that night, one of my favorites to date that didn’t involve James. I’d been wearing a bright red dress; Max had matched his tie to my formfitting sheath. Our third had been dressed in a suit. He was in from the East Coast for two nights only. We met him at a club and spent both nights together, fucking every which way in his hotel suite. We’d watched the sun come up together. The three of us, naked, had let those rays of sunlight warm our sticky skin.

But he hadn’t been James. Hadn’t possessed the power, the connection that my husband’s buddy and I shared. That the trio of us shared together. If you plugged us in, we could light up the night.

There was a sweetness to the fact that Max had my hands in his. This was what I loved best about fucking James — or being fucked by him. He was different from the other men. He was special. Because he always brought Max into the mix. Whether he had my husband film us, or he provided a set of binoculars so Max could watch us in a hotel room across the way. James was always thinking, always planning. Once he and I had made a dirty movie, and we’d left the film for Max to find when he came home from work. What he didn’t know was that we were recreating the film for him upstairs, so at some point, my moans were louder than those of my cinematic self on the screen. Max muted the TV, heard me cry out, and came to find us. To join us. With James as our third, things were always one step away from what they seemed.

Except for now, because now everything was normal — wasn’t it? As normal as three people in bed together can be. I was naked. My boys were clothed. I was being held to the mattress by the love of my life while the lust of my life licked his way to my split. And then suddenly things shifted. I should have guessed, or at least presupposed. When James was in charge, I could never bank on a run-of-the-mill tryst.

He said, “Max, will you get my camera?”

I saw him motion toward the bag by the side of the bed. Wife-watching was about to take on a whole new meaning. Max hefted James’s expensive camera. James explained how the device worked — and after that brief lesson, Max didn’t need to be told a thing.

“I came, crying out James’s name and then Max’s.”

What had begun as a fuck that wouldn’t need to be immortalized to be remembered was now going to be one that we could relive frame by frame any time we desired. James resumed his games of kissing and licking my pussy. Max took the first picture. James flipped me over so that he could eat me from behind. Max took another picture. At first, I felt a little self-conscious, the way anyone would to be photographed in the nude. But soon I forgot what Max was doing and gave myself over to the pleasure.

While James paused to strip off his clothes, Max focused the lens on me. I knew he’d get James behind me — James taking off his T-shirt and his jeans. Every second of our union felt so deeply personal. I wanted to know what color his boxers were. I wanted to catch sight of the tattoo I knew rode low on his left hip. I’d been there when he’d gotten inked. I’d been the first woman to trace my fingers over the design when the tattoo had healed.

Once undressed, James took up his position on the mattress. He held my hips and let me feel the head of his cock between my juicy lips. Yes, I’d had my initial welcome-home sip from his cock in the hall, but this was different. My body hummed. I sighed and writhed, pushing myself back on his rigid dick.

Max moved around the room, getting close to us and then backing away. The click of the camera became a rhythm in my mind. We fucked to that beat. James plundered me, and there was ten years in every thrust, ten years of times we’d missed out, on fantasies that had escaped us.

“Tell me about another one of your men,” he said, his voice raw and harsh.

“No,” I told him. “I’ll tell you about my favorite.”

“Your favorite?” Did I catch a hint of worry in his tone?

He needn’t have been.

James brought one hand under my body, and he started to stroke my clit in synch to the way he was fucking me. I could feel the pleasure building swiftly within me. I turned my head and caught sight of us, the three of us — the four of us if you counted the intruding lens of the camera — in the reflection of the window.

“You,” I said. “You, and Max, and me. This has always been my favorite.”

James rubbed my pussy harder, tugging on my swollen lips, flicking his thumb against my clit. His cock stroked in and out, faster and faster, managing to hit all the places inside me, the perfect places.

No fantasies — no realities — had ever managed to come close to this.

I came as Max clicked the camera. I came, crying out James’s name and then Max’s as my husband immortalized our fuck for all time. “Oh, James! Oh, Max! Oh, fuck!”

My most unforgettable lay?

I can flip through those pictures and relive it every single day.

But even better than that? I can call up James and invite him over. To see if we can manage to top the untoppable.

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