A standing bet of wild sexual proportions has this adventurous couple ringing in the New Year in the most exciting — yet quiet — ways.

The sound of the zipper pulling down wouldn’t have been noticeable to most people, I’m sure. But I heard it. That telltale zzzz as the silver teeth unlocked and the slacks whispered open sounded as loud as a jet engine to me, but nobody else turned to look our way. With my hand tucked under the table, I reached into Steve’s pants and began to fist his hard-on. He was facing the woman on his right, and I was certain that not a person at the table would have guessed that my hand was on his naked dick. Steve didn’t move, he didn’t pause, he didn’t appear to forget what he was saying. My husband is a pro when it comes to playing this dirty game.

While taking a sip from my champagne flute, I imperceptibly started to give Steve a handjob. I gingerly moved my wrist back and forth, squeezing and releasing Steve’s cock in a rhythm of my own creation. My hand ever so slowly moved on his dick, and I could feel his already-hard member becoming harder still. This top-secret action was turning me on immensely, so much so that I had a difficult time doing the simplest movements — lifting a piece of bread to my mouth, nodding to the tuxedo-clad waiter that yes, I was finished with my salad. As Steve’s rod continued to grow in my fist, I could tell he was getting more aroused by the second.

But he didn’t let on. Not even the slightest.

What was Steve saying now? Oh, he was telling the matron on his other side about our recent trip to Italy. I heard him describing the olive groves, the aromas of meat cooking on an open fire, the lazy naps we’d indulged in every afternoon. My hand continued to pump his cock. He didn’t flinch. Yes, he’s that good.

I could feel a drop of pre-come slip from the tip of his cock, and I used this pearl of wetness to lube the ride I was giving his rod. When I started to move my hand faster, working so hard to keep every other part of myself still, Steve let loose an involuntary sigh. Ha! I thought. He quickly covered up the noise by coughing into his napkin, but I smiled to myself. I had gotten a rise out of him, and that pleased me to my core.

Every year, Steve and I have a standing bet. We accept one invitation to a party and we try to make each other come, in public, without anyone else knowing. So far this evening, Steve had gotten me in the makeshift cloakroom — a small chamber off the front hallway — and I’d managed to climax without a sound, muffled in among the furs and the velvet capes. That was no easy feat, because Steve had insisted on going down on me voraciously, shoving my cocktail dress to my hips and eating me out for all he was worth. I’d had to bite the insides of my cheeks to keep from crying out, and as it was I’d hummed under my breath when the pleasure had grown too much to handle. Miraculously, I’d reached my peak without alerting any other guests, and we’d returned to the party with none the wiser.

To get him back, I’d manhandled him behind the bar, while he’d mixed drinks for the different guests when the hired bartender had been off in search of more bourbon. Playing at being his cocktail wench, I’d gotten in front of him at every opportunity, pressing my sequined backside against his crotch, rubbing my asscheeks insolently into his groin. He had shaken two martinis before he’d needed release.

Steve had followed me to one of the multiple powder rooms in the mansion, bent me over the marble sink and lifted my dress from behind. “This ass is going to get you into trouble,” he’d said, and he’d turned on the faucet to hide the sound of his palm connecting with my rear cheeks. The spanking had been quick, but hot, and Steve had followed up by fucking my twitching pussy with fierce thrusts of his steel-like cock. The bathroom was made of mirrored walls. I’d watched myself come on the tip of his dick. Steve knows his way around my pussy like no other man ever has.

I was proud of myself for making not a squeak during the spanking. However, now that we’d sat for what looked like a multicourse extravaganza I was exacting my revenge. I let go of his dick and surreptitiously licked my palm to provide a bit more lubrication. Then back I went, nonchalantly resuming my discrete handjob.

“Would the lady care for another glass of champagne?” a waiter asked me. I smiled and nodded, squeezing Steve’s dick for emphasis. He coughed again — score another point for Juliette! — and I smiled. I was enjoying myself immensely. The only thing that could possibly have topped this encounter would have been if I could have figured out a way to climb under the table and blow him. But that would have been impossible. There were too many guests in the room, too many waiters walking around.

To my surprise, Steve suddenly extracted himself from my grip, begged the pardon of the lady he’d been chatting with, tucked his cock back into his pants, zipped, and left the table. That wasn’t playing by the rules. He was supposed to let me make him come without anyone being the wiser. I took my champagne and trailed after him. We’d only finished our first courses. Where had he gone?

I heard footsteps on the stairs, and I followed quickly. He was going upstairs. I hurried after him. On the top landing, Steve was waiting for me.

“What are you doing?” I asked in a harsh stage whisper. “I was going to make you come before you’d finished your salad.”

“I need to be inside you again,” Steve explained. I looked around — where did he want to go? Steve grabbed my hand and pulled me after him. “Nobody will notice,” he assured me. “There are too many guests to keep track of.”

He led me down the hall to the master bedroom. I was shocked. The mansion was owned by one of the partners in Steve’s company. What would happen if we got caught? I could imagine the hostess in her high-end beaded monstrosity of a dress, pointing a finger at us in a j’accuse type of gesture.

Steve didn’t even hesitate. He pulled me into the bedroom and shut the door behind us. “I’m going to fuck you on that bed,” he said. I looked over at the massive four-poster bed, and I realized that in spite of my worries of getting caught, I wanted him to do exactly what he’d said.

“Take off your panties.”

I slid them off and down, past my heels. I was wearing garters and stockings underneath, but there was no need for me to take those off. Steve picked me up and set me on the high bed. He started to kiss me, which was surprising. Usually, on betting nights, we forgo foreplay. Or rather — foreplay is the act in itself — the game is the turn-on. But now he was kissing my champagne-flavored lips, kissing down into the plunging cleavage of my sparkly dress, pushing up the hem to my waist and resuming his licking games on my juicy pussy.

“I want to suck you,” I begged, and he undid his slacks and pulled out his cock. We got into a sixty-nine on the mammoth bed, both of us still mostly clothed but obviously in an extremely indelicate position. If someone interrupted us, there would be no doubt as to what we were doing. Steve had his mouth sealed to my pussy. I was sucking him to the root. We couldn’t say we’d mistaken the room for the bathroom. We couldn’t pretend to have dropped a contact lens.

Steve held me firmly around the waist and began to bounce me up and down.

Only when we were both on the verge did we move again. This time, Steve took me missionary-style. I stared up at my handsome man, and I reveled in the way he’d managed to find an exciting new way to surprise me. We both had to work to be quiet as we came, Steve thrusting so deep and fast in me, and then running one hand along the seam of my body to touch my clit and make me come. I bit his shoulder to stifle my moans. He shuddered as he filled me but did not utter a word.

For a few moments, we lay there on the sumptuous masterpiece of a bed, sighing with the efforts of our erotic exertion. When we stood up, I did my best to smooth out any rumples we’d left on the comforter. Had our motions left a dent in the luxurious featherbed? I fluffed and shook the blanket, then rearranged the pillows in hopes of making the tableau look exactly as it had when we’d arrived. I did like the thought of the man and lady of the house sleeping in a bed we’d fucked in.

Somehow, we managed to adjust our clothing and slip back into the main dining room without anyone noticing our absence. Or if anyone had, nobody said a word. The main courses had been served, and I found that I was ravenous, digging into the salmon with a wicked appetite that could only be blamed on the energetic fucking we’d just done. Steve ate his steak with equal gusto, and we continued to fondle one another under the table as we worked our way through dessert and the after-dinner drinks.

There was a band set up in the main ballroom, and most of the partiers made their way in when the music started. Steve held me back, and I could tell by the familiar gleam in his gray eyes that he had an idea. But what could Steve possibly have up his sleeve? We’d already screwed on our hosts’ bed. What more could my man have planned?

He led me out to the gardens, and I thought, Aha! He wants to fuck me by the fruit trees. Or maybe bend me over a bush. I should have known better. Beyond the tiled patio and the small orchard was a beautifully laid out swimming pool and pool house. Steve and I had been lucky enough to score an invitation to a barbeque the previous summer. Steven must have memorized the layout, because he ushered me along the maze-like path until the pool was glistening in the moonlight before us.

“No way.”

“Way,” he said.

“Steve.”

“Juliette.” His voice echoed my tone of total disbelief. “Do you concede the bet?”

I walked toward the edge of the pool. “You’re not suggesting that we … ”

He was already undressing, revealing his cut torso and amazing abs.

“Seriously?” He was down to his black silk boxers. I looked back toward the mansion. The lights were on in all the rooms, and the melodious sounds of live music lifted out on the crisp night air. But aside from a few smokers on the distant patio, nobody else seemed to have ventured out of doors.

“Seriously,” Steve said, and he started naked down the stairs into the deep, aqua water. I was beside myself. What if someone caught us? How could we possibly explain the rudeness of our behavior? That was the smart me talking. But then Steve began to do a backstroke in the water, and I broke down and stripped. What was the worst thing that could happen? Embarrassment, I supposed. You only live once, anyway. Why not make the most of the possibilities that life offers? That’s what Steve always says.

I dipped my toe into the dreamy water, creating ripples on ripples. Steve swam silently to my side. I sat on the edge of the pool. The lip was still warm from the sunny day. Gently, I lowered myself into the water. The temperature was glorious. Of course, people this wealthy would keep their pool heated to a bathtub temp. I had thought maybe I’d keep my head out of the water, attempt to leave my hair dry, but Steve teased me by swimming between my legs, stroking my pussy with his fingertips as he fluttered beneath me. I was up for that challenge, and I did the same, realizing that I’d never be able to hide what had gone on now. My hair would be wet. My makeup would be washed away.

Those thoughts were pushed from my head as Steve lifted me in his arms. I felt weightless in the water, and the whole night world we were in had a truly magical quality. In our decade together, we’d never done anything this risky or this sexy. Steve pulled me with him to the shallow end and sat down on one of the tiled steps. Then he had me sit astride him, and I felt the blissful fullness as his cock entered me. We had to work to stay together. The water tried to lift me off him. But Steve held me firmly around the waist and began to bounce me up and down. For a few seconds, I forgot where we were. We might have been the only two people on earth. The last time we’d been here, the scent from the fruit trees had dazzled my senses. Now that we were in winter, there were no flowering trees. But the air was still fragrant — cool and clean, somehow, and alive with the wonders of the night.

Above our heads, the stars created a sparkling, jeweled canopy. At the main house, the music amped up in volume, and I realized fairly quickly that Steve was fucking me to the beat of the rhythm section.

When he wanted to get in deeper, he had me bend over the edge of the pool, so that my top-half was spread over the warm, tiled patio. Then he speared me from behind, and I forgot myself for one moment and cried out. Steve put his hand over my mouth. We both held totally still. Had someone heard us? Would anyone come to check out the source of the noise? I could imagine the way our hosts would look at us. Who were these hooligans fucking in their pool?

I brought one hand under my body to strum my clit

Thankfully, no sound of footsteps met our ears. We relaxed and resumed our lovemaking, As Steve powered in and out of me, he told me how he’d known since July that he would have me in this pool at New Year’s. He’d been daydreaming, fantasizing about this moment for six months. “I knew how I wanted to take you.”

“Really?” My voice was hushed, breathless.

“I wanted to fuck you in the pool, in their bed, everywhere.”

And we had. Or, at least, we were in the throes of doing just that.

When he was on the verge, Steve told me to come with him, and I brought one hand under my body to strum my clit. He pulled out at the last possible second and sprayed his semen all over my asscheeks. I groaned and pumped my fingers against my clit, climaxing so ferociously I felt like a bottle of champagne that had been shaken up and uncorked — erupting into the night.

Steve and I climbed out of the pool and looked at each other. We were dripping wet, but deeply satisfied.

“Now what?” I asked him.

“I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” he told me.

I was naked, marked with his semen, and shivering all over. That’s when Steve remembered the pool house. “This way,” he said, and we tiptoed into the pool house together, leaving the lights off in case anyone looked our way from the mansion.

Thank goodness for rich people! The pool house was decked out with stacks of Egyptian cotton towels, and we dried ourselves off in sumptuous luxury. There was even a hairdryer in the bathroom, but I didn’t want to alert anyone to our location. So I towel-dried my hair and restyled my short curly hairdo as best as I could.

Steve watched me with that look on his face.

“You’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking,” I said.

He shrugged. “Well, there are still a few minutes left until the stroke of twelve.”

That’s how I found myself bent over the rattan chaise longue in the center of the pool house, with Steve driving his fat cock inside me and telling me how gorgeous I looked swimming naked in the pool.

“Like a mermaid,” he said, “with your hair so shiny and wet, your body shimmering in the lights.”

“I’ve never done it in a pool before,” I confessed. How had we missed that activity from our sexually adventurous lifestyle? I don’t know, but this was a night of firsts for us.

I felt as if every nerve ending in my body had been switched to an “on” position. My heart was beating so fast, and my pussy seemed to be spasming in a mesmerizing rhythm. Steve slid his fingertips under my body, so that my clit was basically pressed against his middle finger and pointer. When he was about to come, he told me to come with him and he stroked my clitoris extra hard, taking me right over the edge. At that precise moment, we could hear the band playing “Auld Lang Syne.” So we rang in the New Year orgasmically as the rest of the party guests toasted one another and cheered for 2015.I’ve never been so aware of myself as I was at that moment. I was with the man I love. I had sexual endorphins pinging through my body. And I was living life so powerfully — so loud and proud — even if we were being quiet.

There was a moment when we simply stayed still, reveling in the sensations of pure bliss that ricocheted through us. Once we caught our breath, we found our clothing by the pool and dressed as quietly and efficiently as possible. Then we made our way back to the main house and mingled with the dwindling number of guests. Steve and I each had a glass of New Year’s champagne, and then we went to pay our respects to our gracious hosts.

“Did you have a pleasant time?” Steve’s boss asked as we said our good-byes. “Oh, yes,” I told him. “It was a spectacular evening.” To myself, I thought, That is, if spectacular means we came in your bathroom, your cloakroom, your pool, your bed, and your pool house … “You’ll have to come again,” his wife said to us, and Steve pulled me aside before I could giggle, saying, ”Of course, we’d love to come anytime at all!”

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