My wife's friend is visiting: three of us on the couch

My head was buzzing like a beehive. The apartment was filled with the ringing deafness that comes after a noisy party, when the guests have left and you're left alone with mountains of dirty dishes. Ira, my wife, her best friend Lena, and I were sitting on the couch, completely stunned. We'd had a fair amount to drink. Lena is a perpetual motion machine, loud, with a hoarse laugh and a look that always seems to be looking for adventure. She and Ira have been friends for a long time, and I've gotten used to her: loud, bright, sometimes a little brazen. Ira was already nodding off, leaning her elbows on the pillow. "That's it, guys, I can't make it," Lena said, sprawled on the couch, her feet propped up on the coffee table. She was wearing a short black dress that had long since slipped up, revealing her thighs. "I'll sleep it off at your place, okay?" Ira, without opening her eyes, muttered blearily, "Sure, sleep here. Just move your feet, you'll crush the cookies." And, as if she'd passed out, she sank into sleep, sliding onto her side and burying her face in the back of the sofa. I reached for my last cigarette. "I'll go out to the balcony and get some fresh air." "And me," Lena's voice sounded unexpectedly close and quiet. I turned around. She was looking at me without blinking, her gaze drunk but piercing. "Leave it. Sit. I'm bored." I shrugged, sat down in the chair opposite her, and lit a cigarette. In the light of the floor lamp, her smudged mascara made her gaze even more languid, and her lips, having rubbed off the lipstick, seemed soft and moist. "You know," she began, not looking away, "I've always envied Ira. Not just you. All of this." She gestured around the room—the cozy chaos after the party, her sleeping wife, me. "The silence. Such... domestic vulgarity." "What are you talking about?" I swallowed, feeling an uneasy warmth spread through my body. Alcohol and fatigue were mixing, and boundaries were starting to blur. "That I'm tired of being the friend who only comes to visit," she slowly, very slowly ran her hand up her thigh, from her knee up, the hem of her dress creeping even higher. I couldn't take my eyes off her. "I want to be my own person here. At least for one night." My heart was already pounding. "Lena, you're drunk. And Ira's sleeping right here." "Ira's sleeping," she repeated, as if it weren't an argument but a condition of the game. "And you're not sleeping. And I'm not sleeping." She stood up. She walked unsteadily and unsteadily toward me. She squatted down right in front of my chair, placing her hands on my knees. She smelled of wine and perfume. "I want you to lick me like crazy," she said simply, without any coquetry, harshly and directly. Her eyes were dark abysses. "I'm so wet just thinking about it. I look at you two, and everything inside me is aching. Give me a blowjob." It wasn't a request. It was an order. And there was something so raw in it that all my inner barriers crumbled at once. Treason? Risk? My thoughts were jumbled, leaving only carnal interest and drunken courage. I nodded silently. She smirked, stood up, and, taking my hand, pulled me toward the sofa. To the sofa where my wife was sleeping a meter away. We lay down. I was on the edge, Lena in the middle, her back pressed against Ira's sleepy body. Lena threw her leg over my thigh, spreading them wide. Her black lace panties were a dark stain on her fair skin. She took my hand and slid it between her legs. The fabric was truly soaking wet, hot. "Alive," she hissed. "Take them down." My fingers trembled as I hooked the thin lace and pulled it down her legs. She didn't even lift her pelvis, she simply allowed it. And there she lay naked before me, and I, her best friend's husband, crawled between her legs like a dog. The first touch of my tongue made her shudder all over and she let out a quiet, strangled breath: "Yes..." The taste was tart, salty, with a bitter hint of alcohol. I forgot about everything. About everything except this wet, warm world that trembled beneath my lips. I moved my tongue in circles, up and down, finding her clitoris and focusing on it. She writhed, pressing her heel into my back, her hand tangled in my hair, sometimes pulling, sometimes releasing. "Deeper," she moaned, no longer hiding her voice. "Harder, yes, like this, oh God..." And then Ira stirred. At first, she simply rolled over. Then, a quiet, sleepy voice: "Guys... what's wrong..." I froze, my heart sinking. Lena didn't. She merely raised her head, looking across her naked body at the half-asleep Ira. "We're having fun here, Ir," Lena said hoarsely, still moving her hips. "He's a genius at cunnilingus. Join us, it's boring to be alone." I expected screams, tears, a scene. But Ira, drunk and sleep-deprived, merely propped herself up on her elbow. Her cloudy eyes looked at us, at my face between her friend's legs. And there was no anger in them. There was... curiosity. And then—the shadow of a smile. "Bastards," she said quietly, but there was no anger in her voice. There was weariness and a strange playfulness. "Right in front of me…" "Are you jealous?" Lena let go of my hair and reached out to Ira. "Come to us. He won't leave you out either." And, stunning me to the core, Ira stood up and bukvoeb.run settled down next to me. Not on the side where she'd been sleeping, but on the other side, facing Lena. They kissed. First gently, tentatively, and then deeply, passionately, with a moan. I watched my wife kiss her best friend, and the world completely turned upside down. "Go on," Ira told me, pulling away from Lena's lips. Her eyes were shining. "I want to see." It was permission. More than that, it was participation. I plunged into Lena again, while Ira kissed her neck, her chest, and took her nipple into her mouth. Lena howled, throwing her head back, one hand in Ira's hair, the other in mine again. "I want it," Lena gasped. "Give it to me, Ira. Give it to me for a minute." Ira nodded, her fingers unbuckling my belt and pulling down my pants and boxers. I was ready, rock hard. Lena rolled over, almost pushing Ira off, and crawled on top of me, not even letting me sit down. She was tight, scaldingly wet. She sat on my entire cock with one sharp, deep thrust and froze, her eyes rolling back in pleasure. "God, you have such a one..." she breathed out, looking at Ira. "I've always dreamed of it." Ira watched her friend ride me, and her hands reached out of their own accord. She unbuttoned her robe, and her breasts popped out. She began to tug at her nipples, never taking her eyes off our connection. Then everything became a blur. We moved like some kind of drunken, wild dance. Lena on top, me underneath, Ira next to me, kissing us both, touching us both. Then Lena climbed off, and Ira, without a word, climbed on top of me. It was both familiar and wildly new—seeing her face above me, and her friend's lustful face next to it. Lena positioned herself behind me, hugging Ira around the waist, kissing her shoulders and whispering something in her ear as I entered my wife. The smell of sex, sweat, and alcohol hung in the air. The sounds were obscene, loud, animalistic. Lena thrust her pussy into my face again, and I licked it while I fucked Ira. Then Lena demanded anal sex. Ira, already on edge, merely nodded, and Lena, spitting on her fingers, wet my cock and her anus before I entered her tight, clenching ass, while Ira caressed her clitoris. We came almost simultaneously. First Lena, with a long, broken moan, her whole body going limp on Ira. Then me, pulling out of her firm ass. And finally Ira, whom Lena brought to orgasm with her tongue while I lay there, exhausted, watching. The three of us lay on the sagging sofa, in complete chaos and disarray, naked, sticky, smelling of each other. No one said a word. Lena stood up first, staggering, and gathered her clothes. “I’m going to take a shower,” she muttered and left. I looked at Ira. She was looking at the ceiling. "Ira, I..." "Be quiet," she interrupted. Not angrily, but tiredly. "No need for words. Just… be quiet." She turned her back to me and pressed herself against me. I hugged her, feeling her heartbeat. We stayed up until morning, listening to the water running in the bathroom. And then—Lena quietly left, got dressed, and left, slamming the front door. Ira and I were drinking coffee this morning. No one mentioned anything about yesterday. But something had broken. Or perhaps, on the contrary, it had become ingrained, like a new, dark, and unknown mechanism, into our family life?!