My childhood best friend came to stay for a few days; he hadn’t seen me or my wife since our wedding. We made the most of his visit—drinking, fishing, and simply hanging out. The day before his departure, my wife joined us on the fishing trip. When we returned home, she changed out of her bathing suit top and jean shorts without closing the bedroom door. We were lounging on the couch, waiting to settle on dinner plans, when I realized from my friend’s vantage point he had a clear view into the bedroom. Through the doorway, he could see my wife completely nude. I wondered if he was looking—I figured there was no way he wouldn’t.
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Later that evening, I brought it up with my wife. Curiosity sparked between us, and she probed to learn exactly how much he had seen. We’d both harbored a secret thrill for exhibitionism and shared fantasies about sharing each other with others, though always imagined with strangers, not friends. After some conversation, we decided she’d give him a more deliberate show before his visit ended. I was exhilarated. That night, we made love with renewed excitement and began plotting the perfect moment.
By morning, I could hardly contain my eagerness. Over breakfast, I casually confronted my friend, pretending I’d caught him looking at my naked wife. He was surprised but denied it, though quickly admitted she was definitely worth the glance. From the kitchen, my wife chimed in, shy but clearly pleased. “It’s just a body,” she said. “Why can’t he look?” My friend laughed and agreed, rolling his eyes at me. I grinned, turning to her and saying, “You’re right. Come on.”
She hesitated, a playful flush coloring her face but her eyes glinting with anticipation. My friend protested gently, but she shrugged, “It’s just a body.” Still in her PJs, no bra or panties, she lifted her shirt, revealing her breasts—moderately sized, with pale skin and prominent brown areolas and nipples standing firm. My friend’s gaze locked as she slowly hooked her fingers around her shorts’ waistband, slipping them down. Her large, smooth, shaved pussy was fully exposed, pink and inviting, her lips parted as if waiting for attention.
She paused, letting him drink in the sight. Then, deliberately, she spread her outer lips with both hands, unveiling the glistening, soft folds inside, her clitoris peeking shyly from beneath its hood. There she stood—naked in the kitchen doorway, between her husband and his oldest friend, her pussy on full display.
My friend leaned closer, eyes wide with awe. “Damn,” he breathed. “Could I see it better? The light’s better in here…”
She nodded, a teasing smile twitching her lips. “Living room,” she said, “better lighting.”
We moved into the larger room flooded with morning sun. She positioned herself boldly in the center, then settled into an armchair, legs spread—one resting on the seat and the other dangling—offering her bare, glistening pussy without inhibition.
Then she grinned mischievously and used her fingers to mimic lips, making her pussy “talk.” “Well, hello there,” she said in a goofy voice, moving her lips in time with the words. “Nice to finally meet you!”
Her antics broke the tension. My friend laughed, and I joined in. She tried different voices—deep, gruff, then high and squeaky—and we laughed until tears formed.
“She’s got quite the personality,” he joked.
“A real character,” I added, still smiling.
When the laughter settled, her hands rested on her thighs, legs still open. We noticed a creamy wetness beginning to coat her inner lips, pooling at her entrance—her body visibly responding, aroused and inviting.
My friend and I exchanged glances, both noticeably stirred. She looked between us, cheeks flushed pink, voice huskier now and less playful. “Well,” she whispered, “I guess I’m not fooling anyone.”
“No,” I said, stepping closer. “You definitely aren’t.”
She reached to a nearby drawer and pulled out a large, realistic dildo—flesh-colored and veined with a suction base. Holding it up for us to see, she slid the tip into her mouth, sucking it slowly and deeply, eyes locked on ours as she wet it with deliberate, sensual slowness.
My friend groaned softly. “Jesus Christ.”
She positioned herself back in the chair’s edge, legs spread wide, teasing the dildo’s head against her slick folds. Slowly at first, then with increasing rhythm, she pushed it inside. Her pussy lips stretched elegantly as they accepted the toy, wetness allowing it to slide in with ease, and she moaned low and long, her head falling back.
I couldn’t resist any longer. I unzipped my shorts and freed my cock, hardened and dripping pre-cum. My friend followed suit, revealing a thick, slightly curved, circumcised cock.
We stood on either side of her as she fucked herself, the dildo making wet, squelching sounds. He murmured, “Look at her… taking it so well.”
She was radiant—breasts bouncing, nipples hard, abdomen flexing as she moved the dildo. Her eyes flicked between our stroking hands, mouth open, breath ragged.
“Come closer,” she panted. “I want to see.”
We stepped in, cocks near her face as she continued fucking herself, comparing our erections with curious glances, her hips never pausing.
My orgasm clenched, heat building. “I’m gonna cum,” I warned.
“On me,” she begged. “Cover my pussy, baby.”
At the foot of the chair, I angled myself toward her opened pussy, stroking fiercely. My friend stepped back, still furiously pleasuring himself. I watched her use the dildo, slicked with our combined wetness.
Then I came, pulsing ropes of cum across her clit and the dildo, coating her folds and fingers gripping the toy. I eased back, breath deep, cock twitching.
She didn’t slow; if anything, she intensified, using my seed as lubricant, the dildo penetrating deeper.
My friend edged closer, voice strained. “Can I… do that too?”
I glanced at my wife, who was lost in the moment, eyes glazed. She bit her lip, nodding. “Yes. Cover me. I’m so close.”
He took my place, cock aimed at her pussy as she furiously fucked the dildo, rubbing her clit hard, smearing our cum everywhere. Her orgasm built, her thighs tensing, toes curling, desperate moans rising.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she chanted, hips lifting.
She climaxed with a primal scream, body convulsing, yanking the dildo free. Pussy gaping, pulsing, still trembling, she watched as my friend erupted, his cum splattering and filling her open, twitching flower. He stroked some more, coating her folds and thighs.
As her orgasm faded, her pussy slowly closed but remained soft and open enough for us to watch our shared seed slip deeper inside, gravity pulling it down her walls. The scene was both obscene and intimate—the most erotic moment I’ve ever witnessed.
She collapsed back, trembling, chest heaving, pussy a gorgeous mess. My friend, exhausted, stepped back to dress.
I fetched a towel and returned to find her sprawled, legs still open. I handed it to her, and she slowly, sensually wiped herself clean. Each stroke was deliberate, shaping the reveal of her flushed pink, now tidy pussy.
She smiled lazily at us. “So,” she said huskily, “who’s making breakfast?”