Fiftieth Birthday Party
By Peter Duncan
|(MMMF, Rom, Swing, nosex)|
For my wife's 50th birthday party I spared no expense, renting a suite at the Ritz-Carlton overlooking the Pacific Ocean, just south of Laguna Beach. It was a catered affair and the dress was formal. The event itself wasn't a surprise for her but was something I had promised her six months prior. She was expecting a fairly good number of our mutual friends, just a nice evening followed by an elegant weekend at the Ritz.
From the time we had met in college Kelly was very much a lady, a model of propriety. We met in the late 50's, a time when sexual permissiveness was virtually non-existent. Though a passionate participant in heavy petting she resisted my repeated assaults upon her virginity, insisting upon being unbroken until after we were married. I felt positive that had I pushed a little harder she would have relented. But, out of respect for her wishes, I never forced her resistance. What a reward I received when, on our honeymoon, she gave way and shared with me such incredible primal fervour. I never regretted my patience.
Throughout our marriage we experimented with every sexual position we could manage and tried things which many people of our generation would definitely consider kinky. On many a late night drive back home from dinner out, or a party at friend's BS(before seatbelts) I tried to concentrate on the road while the thrill of her mouth on my cock bringing me close to orgasm and adeptly backing off made me look like a candidate for a D.U.I.
She was always thrilled when an 18 wheeler pulled alongside, especially if there were a passenger in the cab to look down and goggle our frolic. She never cared about holding my orgasm back then and would pick up the pace when being watched, swallowing my urgent load as the car veered with my spasms. Many nights we would sit in a restaurant booth and coyly get each other off under the table. Once, while alone in the chapel of our church, doing a clean-up chore, she insisted that she ride me while sitting in the Pastor's chair. And, when VCR's became popular, we rented every straight sex porn video that we could find.
While living in Huntington, West Virginia during the two early years of our marriage we were constant friends with two couples from the same church. Once at a party, after much drinking, the two couples split from one another and started kissing the other's spouses. They had grown up in the same town and had gone to high school together. Asking us to join them, they said they had been swinging as couples since high school and encouraged us to join in. Kelly declined and, much to my disappointment distanced us from them often commenting on how disgusted she was with their behavior.
While the kids were growing up, more often than not, we had to sneak a fuck, feeling like naughty teenagers when we did. But we took weekends away and to our great enjoyment, as our sexual appetites matured, we got increasingly greater satisfaction from the pleasures of sex. It was her suggestion, when we would be away in a big city, that we search for the latest sex toys and lingerie.
After the kids went to college things opened up and, it seemed, so did Kelly's attitudes. Where we had previously rented only straight sex porno's she became interested in group sex and bisexual flicks. I asked her once if she might be interested in having sex with more than one man and she became irritated with the question and told me not to be "stupid."
We had two close friends who went through a divorce. The woman, Marta, who before the divorce had been of the same character as Kelly, went wild for sex after her husband left her. She told Kelly that she had been a "Good girl" all her life, was a model wife, which got her nowhere and was now going to "Fuck her brains out." Each time they had lunch together Kelly would come home besotted with lust and would work me out to exhaustion. To me it seemed like my brains were being fucked out.
It was three months before her 50th birthday when she told me that Marta had experienced "A few gang bangs." She was so worked up about the conversation that she attacked me 'til I could take no more. Lying next to her, exhausted, I asked again if she would like to have sex with more than one man. This time she smile and, with a dreamy look in here eyes, laid back with her hands behind her head and sighed.
I wanted to plan a party for this special birthday. Wanted to make it a surprise for her. Tongue in cheek I asked her, "What would you like to do for your 50th birthday Kelly?" I thought she was joking when she answered, "A gangbang would be fun," immediately bursting into laughter. She treated it as a joke but I didn't. The surprise I then planned would challenge her joke.
We walked into the Ritz-Carlton that night arm-in-arm. Kelly was wearing a long black gown, backless; she was wearing no bra (no panties either). The dress was low cut exposing elegant cleavage, as well as showing her nipples through the gauzy fabric. Her tight at the hips were smooth, with no hint of panty lines. At fifty she was remarkably well preserved. I wondered if she might have been thinking back to Huntington, West Virginia and those two couples we had been friends with. perhaps wishing that she had not been so hasty in condemning them. She had come of age today and tonight, at least, would be advertising her wares even, in her mind, if nothing would come of it. I could taste the excitement of her wetness that would moisten her groove when she discovered the surprise I had waiting in the suite.
She had already met two of the men at a fund raiser, Mike Petersen and Phillip Bosco. Her friend Marta had casually introduced us, confiding to Kelly that they were two of her "regulars," a fact that Kelly excitedly let me in on during the course of the evening. I found a way to get each of them aside that night, discretely getting their business cards. When I called them at their offices and told them what I had in mind, each was eager to participate. Phillip commented to me what a spectacular looking woman my wife was and that he was already getting worked up.
I took Marta into my confidence and as an icebreaker she put together a dinner party for three couples, she and Phillip, and Mike and another of her female "swinging" friends and Kelly and me. During the ride home from the dinner party Kelly eschewed the use of her seatbelt and gave me a wild blowjob deja vu our pre-seatbelt years. It was clear that the entendres during the evening, the looks between Marta and her female friend and the suave sexuality of the two men had set the hook in her mouth, which was working so vigorously on my cock. The surprise was shaping up nicely.
The piece de resistance however, was just serendipity. His name was Warren Thatcher. Kelly and Warren went steady in high school. He was captain of the football team and she was Homecoming Queen. He was crushed when Kelly threw him over for me, a nonentity in the world of royalty. Warren had become a successful lawyer in Chicago. He attended our wedding with his new wife at the time, told me what a lucky guy I was to have ended up with Kelly. Through high school friends Kelly knew that Warren was on his third marriage and was currently going through a divorce. But she hadn't talked with him since or wedding. It seemed too good to be true when two weeks before the birthday party I got a call at the office from Warren Thatcher.
He reminded me of our meeting at the wedding and gave a small litany of his and Kelly's relationship in high school. Kelly had mentioned him from time to time, and I had seen pictures of him and her in their high school yearbook. He still exhibited an old fashioned respect (and a long standing lust which I knew he had to have) for my wife and was calling to ask my permission to send a case of Dom Perignon for a party that "I know you'll be planning for her 50th birthday. Still can't believe we are both that old," he chuckled.
"Not only am I having a party," I said, "I will gladly accept the champagne and how would you like to come?"
He thought I was kidding him. But I insisted.told him that Kelly had come of age in more ways than one. I explained how her friend Marta had been seducing her into a desire for sex with multiple partners. He became nervously conversational. I could sense that he was licking his lips and would have taken bets that he was fondling his crotch as we talked.
The silence on the other end of the phone became deafening as I laid out what I planned for the evening, even offering him first dibs. His attempt at disapproval was well played (Good lawyer, I thought.) And I kept my laughter to myself when, after increasingly mild protests, he accepted the invitation to come west for the party adding, "Ya know Peter, I've dreamed of fucking Kelly forever."
The whole scenario couldn't have been more incredible.
"How many are coming to the party Peter?"
It was just the week prior. I'd been surprised that she hadn't asked the question before. We had gone over the guest list together and she approved all who I indicated would be coming. She seemed to be content to let me take care of all the details, usually insisting on handling these herself. Fifty, I thought, I guess she finally trusts that I'll do it right. She was pleased when I told her that everybody I asked was coming. Then I had to call each person that I named and tell them I had invited them to a "fake" party, that I was going to take her on a cruise for the weekend, but wanted it to be a surprise. All of the women thought it romantic of me and promised to go along if, by chance, Kelly should say anything to them about it. To her question I replied, "Everybody we asked is coming, remember?"
The door to the suite was open, like a hospitality suite. As we approached Kelly looked at me. The fact that so little noise was coming from a suite where so many people should be was obvious. As we drew closer she asked, "Are you sure the invitations were clear Peter?" As we walked into the room shock registered on her face. She looked at the three men dressed in tuxedos then looked at me with a whispered question, "Peter?"
Phillip and Mike were standing together, both nursing whiskeys. They smiled and said "Hi" to me and "Happy birthday" to Kelly. The third man stood at the bar, his back to us. Kelly still couldn't understand why the other people weren't there. She hadn't figured out yet that only men were present; this was supposed to be a party predominantly of couples. With a troubled look she asked a little louder, "Peter?"
The man at the bar was holding a towel over the neck of a champagne bottle that made a muffled "pop" when he twisted it. There were five champagne flutes lined up on the bar and he filled each one.
"Peter?" Kelly asked, this time in an anxious little girl voice.
The man at the bar turned around and said, "Your champagne, Kelly," handing her a glass and then me, then Phillip and Mike, finally picking up his own. She hadn't yet recognized him but the voice was registering.
"To the fifty wonderful years of your life," he said raising his glass. All of the men in the room joined in, echoing the toast and took a sip. But, not Kelly.
"Warren Thatcher?" she asked not believing her question. "Warren?"
Then to me, "Peter?"
Her eyes, like a serial camera click, click, clicked on Thatcher's face. She looked at me and then at Phillip and Mike . again at me. The muscles in her jaw rippled and flexed, color draining from her face. She whispered, "oh my God." Her face flushing red she almost yelled, "Oh, My GOD!"
I held my glass high and said, "To Kelly and her gang."
The three men echoed my toast and drank.
Kelly was too astonished to drink. She stood like a deer frozen by headlights, not realizing that her headlights (braless), through the silk fabric of her dress were becoming decidedly pronounced. I nodded to Warren and he walked over and wrapped her in a bear hug, lifting her off her feet. He looked over at me and I nodded again.
Putting her down, he lifted her chin and kissed her lips. Her eyes peered out of their corners at me. I nodded and she allowed the kiss, exhaled and opened her lips for his tongue. Phillip, Mike and I looked at each other and grinned as Warren's hands dropped to Kelly's well shaped bottom, pulling her tightly against him. She broke the kiss and looked at me as if for permission. "Peter?"
"Why don't you and Warren go into the other room", I said, indicating with my eyes the open door of one of the bedrooms, "and catch up on old times."
"Peter?" she asked again, this time in a whimper.
I nodded; go ahead and, hand in hand, she submissively followed Thatcher into the bedroom.
The door closed.
Philip and Mike looked at me and at each other and laughed. "I think you set us up for a hell of an evening Peter."
Phillip said,"One hellava an evening."
© Copyright 2007 Peter Duncan