[ENGLISH] The Halloween party

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The cock went in with one hard, deep thrust. No warning.

Claire gasped and flattened her hands on the wall. He’d caught her from behind while she was digging through the coats for his phone. One hand shoved the skirt of her costume up to her waist. The other yanked her panties and fishnets down in one pull. Before she could turn around, he already had her spread open and pinned.

“Jesus, babe,” she whispered, voice thick from the drinks. “What’s gotten into you tonight? What did you take?”

He didn’t answer. He just pushed in deeper. Claire felt herself open around that thick, hot cock, the stretch reaching deep into her belly. She was still a little dry, but the booze and the surprise had her body loose and receptive. She put her forehead on the wall and opened her legs a little more.

“This is why you sent me up for your phone, isn’t it?” she said, laughing under her breath. “God. Best idea you’ve had all year.”

He made a quiet *shh* behind the plague-doctor mask and started moving.

Slow, deep strokes. Every time he pushed in, he buried himself to the base in a single stroke, until she felt his balls slap her ass. On the way out he almost slipped free before driving back in on that same heavy rhythm. The body behind her felt broader than usual. Heavier. The long curved beak of the mask brushed her neck and her shoulder whenever he leaned in. The black coat scraped across her bare back in time with the motion of his hips. Claire was a cat: a tight black bodysuit that clung to her soft stomach and her heavy chest, a tiny ruffled skirt, fishnets. He’d only pulled it down as far as he needed. Her tits had nearly spilled out and bounced heavily with every thrust, perfectly in time with his hips.

Downstairs the party kept going: laughing, muffled music, plastic cups. Nobody was coming up.

Claire shut her eyes and let him. It had been months since Mark had fucked her like he meant it. The kids. Being tired all the time. Nights they only made it to bed to sleep. She’d forgotten what it felt like to be taken like this, without being asked. The alcohol burned off whatever shame she had left. She pushed her ass back, looking for more, and moaned low when he grabbed her hips harder and sped up.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “Fuck. Like that.”

He answered with a deeper thrust and a sound he kept behind the mask. Claire smiled against the wall, drunk, turned on, honestly shocked that her husband still had this in him. 

He didn’t rush. One hand left her hip, came around front, and grabbed a breast hard, flattening it in his palm. His fingers found her nipple through the bodysuit and pinched until it went tight. Claire let out a sharper sound and arched. The other hand slid down her soft stomach, pressed there with casual possession, and kept going until it found her clit. He started rubbing slow circles while he fucked her, deep and steady.

Every time he bottomed out, the fingers on her clit pressed a little harder. She bit her lip. The bodysuit was twisted. Her breathing had gone uneven. She was so far into the rhythm it took her a few seconds to notice something was off.

This was not how Mark touched her. Mark got sloppy when he drank. Faster. This guy was too sure. Too precise. As if he’d been playing this exact scene in his head for a long time.

Claire opened her eyes in the dark. Her breath caught.

She remembered walking in: Mark in the plague-doctor getup, that long curved beak, and Gabe as Beetlejuice, stripes and all. They’d given each other shit about the costumes. And later, somewhere in the night, both of them had vanished.

A different kind of heat moved up through her chest.

She didn’t say anything. She didn’t turn around.

She just pushed her ass a little farther back, looking for still more, and let the other man’s hand keep working her clit while the cock opened her again and again. The wet sound between her legs got louder. Dirtier. Claire shut her eyes. She already knew whose cock it was.

“Wait—” she whispered, her voice ragged from the drinks and his thrusting.

Gabe stopped cold, still inside her. The plague-doctor mask looked down at her and didn’t move. Claire pulled in a breath, forehead on the wall, her ass still pressed against his hips. She could feel that thick, hot cock throbbing halfway in.

She pulled off him slowly. The cock left her with a thick, wet sound. Claire turned, peeled the bodysuit the rest of the way down to her waist so her tits were all the way out, and dropped to her knees. The hardwood bit into them. Her hands were clumsy from the booze. She found the buckle on Gabe’s pants, popped it, and yanked. The pants hit his ankles. She hooked his underwear and pulled that down too, and for the first time she had Gabe’s cock three inches from her mouth.

It was thick and rigid, shining with her, the head dark and swollen. It didn’t look anything like Mark’s. Claire wrapped both hands around it and brought it to her lips. First just the head: tight lips, a slow hot tongue underneath, tasting herself mixed with him. Then she went farther, inch by inch, feeling it fill her mouth until it almost hit her throat.

Gabe made a sound behind the mask and put a hand on her head. Claire began in earnest: steady rhythm, a lot of spit, left hand working what wouldn’t fit, right hand on his balls. Whenever she went to the base, a wet, dirty sound caught in her throat. As she came back up, a string of spit joined her mouth to his cock.

While she sucked him, the memories showed up uninvited.

College. The three of them, always together. Those long nights at The Basement, two blocks off campus, shitty beer, decent jukebox. The way Gabe had looked at her when he thought nobody noticed. The way she had looked at him too, then felt like crap about it because she was already starting something with Mark. All those conversations about everything except what was actually happening between the three of them. The day she said yes to Mark, and the trio just… ended. Nobody said it out loud.

Almost twenty years.

Claire sped up. She started sucking deeper, sloppier, taking almost all of it until the head brushed her throat. Going down drew that wet, choked sound from her throat. Coming back up sent a thick string of spit from her chin onto her tits. Gabe tightened both hands in her hair and started moving his hips in short, controlled thrusts.

While he used her mouth, Claire dropped a hand between her own legs. She was soaked, lips swollen… and there was hair. She wasn’t fully shaved. She liked to go completely smooth, but only when she knew she was going to sleep with Mark. She hadn’t planned on that tonight. At these parties he usually drank too much and then couldn’t stay hard, so she’d stopped bothering. Now, fingers inside herself and Gabe’s cock filling her mouth, she felt that detail with a weird mix of embarrassment and heat. She didn’t stop. She slid two fingers in easy and started touching herself in time with the rhythm of his thrusts, eyes shut, locked on both things at once.

Gabe kept going a few seconds more, deeper. Claire tried to take all of it. The head went too far back and she gagged hard. She pulled off, coughing, spit hanging off her chin.

“Sorry,” he said, quiet, without thinking.

The word came out naturally. Claire went still for a second. Then she pretended she hadn’t heard his voice.

“It’s fine, babe,” she whispered, still hoarse. “Just… ease up.”

Gabe caught her under the arms and lifted her off the floor like it was nothing. He lowered her onto her back on the bed full of coats. Claire laughed under her breath as she landed in the pile.

“Dream come true,” she said, still drunk. “Getting fucked on a pile of North Face.”

He didn’t answer. He knelt between her legs and finished taking off the skirt, the heels, the fishnets. Then he pulled the bodysuit off her arms. Claire was completely naked, heavy breasts spilling to either side, soft stomach, cunt shining. She propped herself on her elbows, opened her legs with no shame at all, and looked up at him.

“So what now?”

Gabe moved in. He took off the wide-brimmed hat and set it over her face, pushing her back into the coats. She couldn’t see. Just a sliver of light. She heard the mask come off and, a second later, felt his hot tongue on a breast.

Gabe licked the nipple slowly, took it into his mouth, sucked it gently, then moved to the other. He went down the center of her chest, over her stomach, leaving a wet trail to her navel. When his tongue got close to the hair on her pubic bone, Claire tensed and grabbed his head with both hands.

“Not today, babe. I didn’t get ready.”

Gabe took her wrists and pinned them out to the sides, into the coats. Then he put his face down and opened her with his tongue.

He started slow. Bottom to top, spreading her swollen lips, taking the wetness in long, deliberate strokes. A few full passes, from her entrance up to her clit, before he settled there. Slow, precise circles. Sometimes the flat of his tongue. Sometimes a soft suck.

Claire tried to protest again. Her voice broke into a shaky moan. Her hips moved on their own. She stopped fighting. Her resistance dissolved, and Gabe released her wrists.

With his hands free he opened her legs wider and pushed two fingers into her at once, curling them up. He rubbed in firm, steady strokes and didn’t take his tongue off her clit. The wet sound of his fingers mixed with her moans, which were getting louder, more open.

While his tongue worked her and his fingers worked inside her, Claire remembered the first time Mark — still just her boyfriend then — had gone down on her. Bathroom of a campus bar, almost twenty years ago. She had been shaved completely smooth, the way she always was back then, before the kids, when they could end up having sex anywhere, any hour. He’d pushed her skirt up, pulled her panties to her ankles, and knelt between her legs with this clumsy, excited urgency. It hadn’t lasted long. She’d come fast, biting her hand so she wouldn’t make noise, and when they came out of the bathroom Gabe was standing in the hall waiting for them.

He’d laughed at her face — still flushed, eyes bright — and looked at her with an envy so obvious Claire had felt it even then. Now, with Gabe’s head between her legs and his fingers moving inside her, the difference was brutal. No clumsiness. No rush. And this time he wasn’t waiting in the hall.

Through the sliver in the hat she could see his head between her thighs. Dark hair. The constant movement of his mouth. The way he pressed into her. His fingers never left that spot while his tongue put more pressure on her clit.

The contrast with Mark was obvious. When Mark went down on her it was almost mechanical. A box to check so she could come. He went after her orgasm; his own came second. This wasn’t that. Gabe was genuinely into it. Claire could feel it in every pass of his tongue, in the way he buried himself against her, in how he was breathing. He had been carrying this fantasy for years, and it made him greedy, all in, pursuing her pleasure and his own at once.

The orgasm started low. First a dense heat in her belly, then a current down her thighs that made her legs shake. The sounds kept getting higher, more broken. She clenched her teeth and still couldn’t hold them.

When she felt there was no going back, she grabbed his head with both hands and pulled it hard against her, arching. She came with a dull cry, smothered, like something that had been shut for twenty years finally gave. Her body shook in hard waves. Her thighs trembled beyond her control. Her cunt clenched his fingers in strong, rhythmic pulses while he kept licking, making her feel every one of them.

When she could breathe again, the memories lined up.

The conversation a couple hours earlier, in the kitchen, people everywhere, drinks in hand. Mark and Gabe talking low, laughing at something. The way Mark had touched Gabe’s arm and said, “Tonight, if it lines up…” How Gabe had looked over at her for a second and then nodded, like it was already decided. Other comments from the last few weeks that now made sense. Looks. Jokes. Plans she hadn’t wanted to see.

When the orgasm finally released her, Gabe sat up. He put the mask back on. He got over her, took the hat off her face, and looked at her from very close, through the dark eyeholes. Claire knew that look. It was the same one he’d given her almost twenty years ago coming out of that bar bathroom, when her face was still wrecked from coming. Only now he wasn’t watching from the hallway. Now he was on top of her.

He still didn’t put it in.

Gabe took his cock at the base and laid it against her, still open, still too sensitive. He started rubbing the thick, hot head against her clit, slowly, up and down, watching every shake he pulled out of her. Claire twisted under him. Every time the tip brushed that swollen spot, a short sound escaped. Gabe didn’t look away. He watched her stomach jump, the skin on her thighs prickle, her mouth open with almost no sound. He took his time with all of it.

When he had her shaking, he set the tip at her entrance and pushed. He went in slow, but all the way. Claire let out a long sound, almost a whimper. She was too sensitive. Gabe held still a second, buried, then started to move.

At first the rhythm was controlled but deep. Claire locked her legs around him and dug her nails into his back. She watched his eyes through the holes in the mask. Every thrust knocked the air out of her.

While he was inside her, another memory showed up.

New Year’s Eve, five years ago. The first baby had just been born. Gabe was the godfather. They couldn’t go out, so he came over with his girlfriend at the time. The night stretched on cheap champagne and whatever else they could find. They ended up playing Never Have I Ever. Mark, already a little drunk, grinned and said, “Never have I ever wanted a friend’s wife.” Gabe lifted his glass and drank. Mark laughed. Claire, brand-new mom, body still unfamiliar, confidence at rock bottom, didn’t think it was about her. She thought it was just guys being guys. Now, with Gabe’s cock moving inside her, that raised glass came back sharp. She had missed something obvious that night. Now she knew exactly what.

Gabe sped up. The sound of their bodies got louder, faster. Claire pushed her hips up, tightened her legs around his waist, and grabbed the headboard with both hands. Her second orgasm came fast. She came with a smothered moan, body tight, cunt milking his cock in hard contractions while he kept thrusting.

When that eased, Gabe stopped. He pulled out, caught her hips, and turned her onto all fours on the coats. Claire was still shaking. She laid her face on a thick fur coat, the pile against her cheek, and dropped her head, trying to get her breath. Her knees sank into the piled jackets. Somebody else’s perfume filled her nose.

That was when she looked up and saw him.

The closet door was cracked. Inside, half hidden in the hanging clothes, was Mark. Undershirt and boxers. Cock out and hard. Watching her in silence with a look Claire had never seen on him.

Gabe gripped her hips and started thrusting hard. Claire didn’t moan the way she had before. She barely made a sound. There was only the wet noise of him going in and out and her skin dragging on the fur. He noticed. Instead of backing off, he went deeper, faster, like her silence was a dare. Every thrust shook her whole body. Her breasts hung and swung hard. Her cheek pressed into the pile.

Claire kept looking at the closet. Mark hadn’t moved. He just watched her, hand wrapped around himself, not blinking. The shock lasted a few more seconds. Then, slowly, she looked away from him and put her forehead down into the fur.

“Pull my hair,” she said, low but clear.

Gabe did it immediately. He twisted his fingers in her hair, yanked back hard, and forced her neck to arch. Claire let out a long moan, the first real one since he’d put her on all fours. He took it for surrender and went even harder.

Short, heavy strokes. Pulling her hair every time he buried himself.

While he was in her like that, the last piece landed.

The mall, a couple years ago. She’d run into one of Gabe’s exes. Claire had walked up smiling, almost ready to hug her — they’d gotten along. The other woman gave her this cold little hello and walked off. At the time Claire had assumed she was having a bad day. Now, with Gabe’s cock hitting bottom and his hand in her hair, everything clicked into place: the Never Have I Ever night, the way he’d drunk, the look twenty years ago outside the bathroom, that woman’s face. Gabe had been in love with her. For years.

Claire didn’t say anything else. She pushed her hips back, seeking the impact of each thrust, and turned her head toward the closet again. This time on purpose. Mark was still there, his hand moving faster. She held his eyes while she let Gabe fuck her, and the plan didn’t belong to Mark anymore. Another orgasm was starting to build, dense, inevitable, and this time she wanted it to hurt him.

Claire cried out toward the closet, a long broken sound she didn’t try to swallow. Her whole body went tight. Her cunt closed around Gabe’s cock in hard pulses. Then she collapsed forward, wrecked, face in the fur, arms loose.

Gabe didn’t stop. He grabbed her hips, hauled her ass up with a coat under her stomach, and kept going hard while her breasts dragged over the fur.

She shook under him, still caught in its aftershocks.

She felt the rhythm change. Shorter. More urgent. Yanking her hair back every time he bottomed out. He was close. Claire turned her face a little toward the closet and said it clearly, no shout: “Come inside me. I’m ovulating.”

The memory hit in the same second.

Their bed, months ago. She on top of him, still out of breath. She’d told him, almost in his ear, that she was off the pill again. That she wanted a third. The look on Mark’s face had—

From the closet, he heard the line. His hand sped up and he came in silence, body going tight among the hanging clothes.

Gabe heard it too. He made a low sound and drove to the hilt. He came inside Claire in long, hot pulses, pulling her hair, holding her still. He stayed buried a few more seconds before he pulled out.

The silence afterward felt heavy.

Claire moved first. She sat up, still shaking, and dug through the coats. She found Gabe’s underwear. She wiped between her thighs with it, slowly, looking at neither of them. Then she put it in his hand.

“Your turn to clean this up,” she said, voice still hoarse but steady. “I’m going downstairs first. You wait a few minutes.”

She stood, picked her costume up off the floor, and put it on without rushing. In the doorway she stopped a second, not quite turning around.

“I’m gonna go find Gabe,” she added. “He’s probably wondering where we went.”

She walked out and shut the door quietly.

Behind her the two men stayed silent. One still in the closet. The other standing in the coats, dirty underwear in his hand, mask still on.