A close friend stayed the night.

We decided to celebrate New Year's at our place—it's been a while since we've had a group over, always feeling either short on time or short on inclination. My wife, Lena, got the idea back in November: she planned the menu, created the contests, and sent out the invitations. Lena is a stately woman, a natural blonde with a short haircut that reveals a graceful neck, C-cup breasts, and the pleasant curves of her hips, which she was a little self-conscious about, but which I adored. There were about ten guests. The table was groaning under the weight of salads and hot dishes, champagne flowed freely, and the chimes of the clock struck, making the neighbors' ears pop. Around three in the morning, the crowd began to slowly disperse—some called taxis, others walked, fortunately living nearby. Only Marina remained, a close friend of Lena's, whom she'd known since infancy. Marina was the complete opposite of my wife—tall, with a bob cut, flaming brown hair, green eyes, and small, neat breasts that barely needed a bra. She'd recently broken up with her boyfriend, and she'd been staring at me a little too long all evening. “Stay with us,” Lena suggested, “where are you going at this hour of the night on the ice?” Marina hesitated for a few minutes out of politeness, but quickly agreed. We have a two-room apartment, but only one bedroom, and the living room is now completely topsy-turvy—tables, dishes, confetti on the floor. We decided to share the bed in the bedroom. We laid out a wide sheet, Lena, as hostess, lay in the middle, me at the end by the wall, Marina by the door. We went to bed with the fairy lights on in the window, casting bluish and red reflections on the walls. Lena, tired from cooking and all the chores, passed out almost immediately. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, listening to her quiet snores. Marina, it seemed, wasn't asleep either—I heard her carefully shifting her position. Then I felt her foot lightly touch my shin. I froze. Her foot froze too, but didn't move away. A minute later, it moved again, more confidently this time, running up my calf and rising just above my knee. In the dim light, I turned my head and met her eyes. Marina looked straight at me, without a hint of embarrassment, and lightly bit her lower lip. By this point I was already in full combat readiness, and even began to breathe more frequently. Marina rolled closer, careful not to disturb the sleeping Lena, and I could feel the warmth of her breath on my shoulder. She slowly ran her hand down my chest, moving lower, her fingers slipping under the waistband of my sweatpants. I bit my lip, trying not to make a sound. Marina leaned toward my ear and whispered barely audibly: — I've wanted you since you opened the door in that stupid Santa hat. Without waiting for an answer, she disappeared under the covers, and a moment later I felt my cock plunge into the hot, incredibly wet space of her mouth. She worked slowly, with a kind of calculated expertise—sometimes taking the cock deep into her throat, sometimes returning and tracing the frenulum with her tongue. My vision was swimming, I clutched the sheets with one hand, and instinctively touched the back of Lena's head with the other. My wife stirred, but didn't wake up. I was already on the edge when Marina slipped out from under the blanket and, without a word, straddled me. Wet and tight, she sank down to my full length in one motion, and we both froze, trying not to make a sound. She began to move slowly, almost painfully, impaling herself all the way to the base and rotating her hips. Her head tilted back, the garland casting blue shadows across her collarbones and small breasts with their sharp nipples. And then, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Lena's breathing had changed. It was no longer deep and measured—it had become rapid and shallow. She wasn't asleep. But she didn't move, pretending to still be in the realm of Morpheus. For some reason, this realization only made me more excited. Marina, oblivious, continued her ride, her movements becoming increasingly jerky. She was already struggling to contain her moans, whining low and gutturally through clenched teeth. I felt the first waves of orgasm begin to course through her—her muscles clenching and unclenching around my cock, milking me mercilessly. And at that very moment Lena sat up abruptly in bed. Marina froze, her mouth open, and I braced myself for the worst. But Lena, without a word, grabbed Marina's chin and pulled her toward her. Their lips met in a long, drawn-out kiss. Marina was taken aback at first, but quickly responded, and suddenly my wife, her fingers tangled in her short hair, was kissing her friend in a way she hadn't kissed me in years. What happened next I remember in snatches, as if in a feverish dream. Lena pulled off her T-shirt, and Marina immediately latched her mouth onto her breasts, caressing each nipple in turn, lightly nibbling on them with her teeth. My wife rolled her eyes and let out her first loud moan of the night. Lena slipped her hand between Marina's legs, where I was still, but quickly pushed me out, replacing my fingers with hers. Marina cried out and thrust her hips forward. Left idle, I moved behind my wife, pressed myself against her buttocks, and began bukvoeb.run kissing her neck and shoulders, simultaneously guiding my cock into her already-ready, dripping womb. Lena gasped and arched her back, continuing to caress her friend. Now we moved as one - I entered my wife with measured, deep thrusts, she used her fingers and mouth to drive Marina to frenzy, who could no longer restrain herself and moaned loudly throughout the apartment, fortunately the neighbors upstairs were still partying and nothing could be heard over their music. Marina was the first to break—her body arched, a guttural cry escaped her lips, and she collapsed onto the pillow, breathing heavily. Her orgasm set off a chain reaction: Lena, feeling her friend's fingers flood with hot wetness, began to tremble and come, squeezing me so tightly that I nearly howled. And right after her, after just a couple of thrusts, I too came—deep down, long and devastating, burying my face in the back of my wife's head. The three of us lay across the bed, our legs and arms entangled, unable to move. The fairy lights continued to flash blue and red. It smelled of sex and tangerines. “What a present under the tree,” Lena whispered, and all three of us laughed. We fell asleep only in the early morning, when the sky was already starting to get gray. We woke up around lunchtime on January 1st, with a terrible hangover and a vague feeling it had all been a dream. But when Marina, standing in the kitchen wearing nothing but Lena's T-shirt and making us coffee, glanced over her shoulder and smiled, my wife and I realized the holidays were just beginning. And it was the best January 1st of my life.