To be a rock star — or to even want to be a rock star — you have to have an exhibitionistic streak. Let me make it clear right off that I am not a rock star. Once I was in a band, but we never signed with a label, never put out an album. We were purely a local club band, playing garage-level rock.

But we were pretty good, and I got some great sex out of it.

One night stood out in particular. It was after a set at a club, and we’d all tumbled back to somebody’s house for a party. I went upstairs with a feisty woman with a pink mohawk and a studded dog collar. She’d seen us play and really wanted to show me how much she’d liked our music.

The bed in the room was so covered with coats that we stripped and hit the carpeted floor. She was a hot thing, wriggling and writhing like she still had the music pumping in her veins.

Suddenly a toilet flushed and a door opened, and there in the dim light was a nude woman, all goth pale and tattoos. She gazed at me and the mohawked girl, who had my cock buried in her pussy. My partner and I both froze. But the woman under me reacted first — in a very surprising way. She grinned at our naked observer. Then she cupped her right tit in her hand, lowered her head and flicked her tongue over her own erect nipple.

The sight astounded me and turned me on like nothing I’d ever imagined. It wasn’t just what she was doing to her own tit. It was that she was doing it as a performance for this other girl. I still didn’t know why she’d stepped out of the bathroom naked, but she was lovely.

My cock was still rock-hard and still slotted deep into my dog-collared woman. She flexed her hips to indicate I should keep fucking her. I stroked into her, looking sidewise at our watcher. Her cool gaze moved slowly over both of us, and I felt electrical pinpricks down my bare back at the touch of her eyes.

I felt exposed, even a little vulnerable. But there was something terribly exciting about the moment. I resumed my rhythm, driving in and out of the woman’s slick hole. The tattooed goth girl sat cross-legged nearby but out of reach, and as the two of us screwed, she put a hand between her ivory thighs and fingered her cleft.

The mohawked woman split her attention between us, bucking her hips up at me to take me deeper, flashing her tongue and making lewd gestures at the other woman. I thought a threeway might be in the cards, but it wasn’t. Strangely I wasn’t disappointed. When I came, a fierce joy swept over me. I seemed to jet my jizz forever, while beneath me my lover thrashed through her orgasmic throes. Even the stoic, spectral goth girl — whose eyes had never left us — appeared to frig herself to climax.

This was how I told the story to Marci, who I’d fallen in love with after my music days were done. We were having the what’s-the-craziest-sex-you-ever-had? conversation as a prelude to getting truly serious about one another. Marci’s wonderful — beautiful, smart, witty, kind. But back then she’d let me know she’d wanted to know me through and through before she completely gave her heart away.

Luckily for me, she did give it away, and we got married. I had never been so happy with another person in my life. She satisfied me on every level, and we always had each other’s back. It was a good marriage, and the sex was friggin’ awesome.

“Do you ever miss performing?” Marci asked me one afternoon as we sat together on our enclosed back deck with iced teas.

I chuckled. We had a nice place and steady incomes. Our occupations weren’t glamorous, but I felt pretty lucky.

“Well,” I said, “I was never going to see my name lit up on a marquee, was I?”

Marci reached over, squeezed my hand and clarified, “I meant that night with your groupie. Wouldn’t you say you performed for that other woman?”

I was briefly surprised she remembered that story. Then I thought about it and wasn’t so surprised. It was a pretty memorable tale. Answering honestly, I said, “That was something of a high point, though let me make it clear that I have never been with a woman more exciting than you.”

That wasn’t bullshit. Marci was versatile, imaginative and tender — the whole package.

She sipped her tea before carefully asking, “Would you ever want to do something like that again?”

I knew it wasn’t a trick question because we didn’t ask each other trick questions. I replied, “Are you interested, babe?”

“Yes. Very. And I know someone who would probably also like it. Her name’s Abby. I know her from work.”

Marci had mentioned her before. A pretty woman, she’d said. Evidently my wife knew her well enough to figure Abby might very well want to watch Marci and me fuck. My cock stirred at the possibility. I told Marci we should do it, and she grinned and grabbed her phone.

The scenario was so easy to set up that I knew Marci had been right to think Abby liked to watch. I had to wonder what else she might like. She came over to join us that very evening.

Abby was indeed pretty and was already obviously in a state of excitement. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed. We talked for a bit, but the evening’s event loomed over every word, and soon we went to the bedroom.

Marci and I had a rhythm, a shorthand. We knew one another so intimately that we almost inhabited the same skin. But that night for those first few moments, we were like strangers. That turned out to be quite stimulating.

Standing by the waiting expanse of our familiar bed, still clothed, we circled each other. Our gazes locked, and wordless energy zipped between us. Before we’d even touched, there was palpable excitement in the air.

Finally, she slid into my arms, and I was in her embrace. Our mouths met, and we were kissing with a sudden, violent ravenousness. Her tongue danced against mine, and our bodies pressed together. My cock was swelling rapidly, and her nipples became hard nubs beneath her shirt.

We each tore at the other’s clothing. I wanted Marci naked. I wanted to feel and caress and squeeze and taste her. Yes, she was my wife, and we’d fucked countless times before, but that night there was an electrical newness to her. She plainly felt the same way about me.

Naked, we hopped onto the bed together. I groped her heaving tits, and she grabbed my ass. I rubbed my hard cock against her belly, and our lips stayed pasted together, our tongues tangling.

And all the while there was another presence in the room. It took several minutes for Abby’s reality to sink in fully for me. I caught glimpses of her, standing back by the bedroom wall. But even then she was almost ghostly, not really there.

As Marci and I got serious, however, Abby became much more real. I rolled about, sucking Marci’s nipples and fingering her streaming snatch. While I worked, I noticed Abby undressing. I saw her bare skin glowing. I also saw her fondle her breast, then slip a hand between her legs and stroke her pussy.

Marci was pumping my cock in her fist. She was a blazing, buzzing body beneath me. She was giving off heat and moaning with desire. I had to fuck her.

When I climbed onto her and brought my cockhead to her slick entrance, she bucked her hips, lifted her ass off the bed and took every driving inch of me. I was buried deep in her pussy, feeling the sweet clench of her around me.

I stroked into her. She rocked under me, her movements both familiar and fresh. It was Abby who had changed the game. She watched us and played with herself, and that reset the whole molecular bedrock of the room. We were performing for her!

This was better — far better — than that time with the goth and the mohawked woman. Already that cherished memory had been superseded. After all, I loved Marci, and that made the experience exponentially sweeter. Even Abby wasn’t a nameless element. She had a face, a personality.

Marci was suddenly thrashing beneath me. Her movements caught me up, and as she rocketed into her orgasmic convulsions, I helplessly followed her. My pleasure crested, and I let loose a huge load of jizz. Every jet wrenched a burst of joy from me.

Afterward, we lay together panting. I pried myself off Marci. I soon realized the mattress had shifted under us. I raised my eyelids halfway and saw Abby — naked lovely Abby — was climbing onto the bed.

She wore a hungry look. Marci was closer to her, and my wife lifted her head, grinning. She pulled Abby down onto her, and their mouths came together. They kissed with tongues flashing. Abby kneaded Marci’s breast in her hand, and my come-slick cock stirred anew.

Abby nibbled on Marci’s still erect nipples. Then she moved further downward, planting kisses on her abdomen. Marci spread her legs, and Abby slipped between them. Without hesitation, she put her mouth on my wife’s glistening pussy.

She ate her busily, and Marci’s hips rolled. I was transfixed. When Abby raised her head, my spunk — and my wife’s honey — glistened on her chin. Then she looked right at me and showed me her tongue, which was slick with our combined fluids.

Would she let me touch her? Haltingly, I reached toward her. She took my hand and put it on her perky tit. Marci was feeling her other. The audience and performers were now one.

Marci went down on Abby, while I fondled our guest’s tits and kissed her deeply. I tasted my own salty sting on her lips and didn’t mind it at all. Marci’s tongue brought her to a writhing climax. By then, I was achingly erect and really wanted to fuck her.

Abby lay on her back. I mounted her and slotted my cock into her pussy. She was slick and beautiful, and bliss rang through me. Marci watched for a moment, her eyes alight. Then she swung a leg over Abby’s head and straddled her face. She rode Abby’s tongue, while I fucked her friend’s pussy.

I struggled to hold back my climax, but when both women started to quake, I relaxed and let my second load go. It was a fabulous finale.