After the Party

Carson March
8 mins read
Published over 3 years ago

I left work early so I could hit the grocery store on the way home. The rest of the afternoon was spent cooking, cleaning and preparing for my guests because, in a moment of enthusiasm, I had suggested that I would host this year’s collective birthday party.

Among my little crew, there were five of us who, by chance, were all born in January. Over the years, the “January Party” had become a sort of tradition – an opportunity to celebrate, catch up, and (most importantly) eat a lot of good food and drink a cocktail. Or six.

As I chopped cheese and scooped olives into small bowls, I was feeling good, bouncing along to the music playing over the radio - as much work as an event like this can be, it can also be a lot of fun.

I carried on with my preparations until I heard the door open – my husband, arriving home from work.

“Hi babe, sorry. I just couldn’t get away any earlier,” he said as he came into the kitchen, pulling off his jacket.
“No worries. I think I’ve got it covered,” I responded.

He came up behind me, his hand sneaking around my side to snag a piece of the red pepper on my cutting board.

“Yes, I’m sure you do. And you look so cute, too,” he added, tugging at the apron tie at the small of my back.

I rolled my eyes at him over my shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah, keep the 1950s house-wifey fantasies to a minimum, dude,” I chuckled.
“Ok, you don’t look cute,’ he retorted. “You look fucking hot. And I’m going to spend the entire party thinking about all the dirty, filthy things I’m going to do to you as soon as everyone leaves.”

The words yielded an instant reaction: my face flushed, my heart rate kicked up a notch, a deep ache settled into my lower tummy, and a low hum fired up between my legs.

I curled my hips back towards him, pushing into his groin, and felt his erection press up against me.

“Careful,” he said. “Or I’ll do those filthy, dirty things to you right now, and you’ll be naked when the guests arrive.”
“Oh yeah?” I said, raising my eyebrows at him.
“Without any red peppers chopped,” he added, stealing another piece and popping it into his mouth.
“Good point,” I replied. “But we have a date. Later. When we’re alone.”

He grinned at me. “Do we have to be totally alone?”

I look over my shoulder at him, caught off guard. But when I saw the wicked glint in his eyes, I knew exactly what he meant.


A couple weeks ago, we’d attended his office Christmas party. I had enjoyed one too many glasses of wine, which is easy to do when you’re the odd woman out. Being “the spouse” at a Christmas party can be pretty a nerve-wracking event, hence all the wine.

Later on in the taxi, I’d been so uninhibited that I started whispering things about what we might do when we got home. A sudden flash of inspiration (or drunkenness) led me to suggest that it was too bad no one else was with us, that a “third party” might be fun.

Though the idea of a threesome with another man was something I routinely fantasized about on my own, I’d never mentioned it to him before. I guess I assumed it would hurt his feelings, implying that he wasn’t enough. 

He was more than enough. But still, I’d daydreamed more than once about one of his friends joining us for an evening.

As soon as the words left my mouth, I realized I shouldn’t have worried so much about offending him. He was excited. Very excited.

“Like who?” he said. “Someone we know?”

Emboldened by his enthusiasm and the lingering wine-induced bravado, I grinned. “Maybe Mitch?”  

Mitch was his university dorm-mate, and best friend. Everything that my husband was, Mitch was the opposite: blonde rather than dark-haired, stocky and muscular rather than long and lean, quiet and shy instead of the clown of the party. 

And Mitch had appeared in a starring role for most of my threesome fantasies.

“Really?” he said, eyebrows raised.
“Yeah. Sure. Would you… like that?”
“Yes. Maybe. I don’t know. That’s really… hot. Shit.”

When the taxi finally dropped us off at home, we almost didn’t make it inside – he was on me before the door closed. We fucked on the hallway carpet until utterly spent, we’d gone ahead to the shower together. My husband was passionate but this was “new relationship” level screwing – intense, fast, hard. And fantastic.

Clearly, the concept of a threesome got him going as much as it had secretly been turning me on for months.

Since that night, he had casually mentioned it a few times – teasing, gauging my reaction. I always just smiled, blushed, and shrugged.

But to be honest, the fact that he’d been so turned on by it, and obviously continued to think about it, had been fueling some serious “us-plus-Mitch” fantasies recently.

So I knew exactly what he meant: what if someone stayed behind afterwards, at the end of the party?


I turned back to my chopping, and felt him lean in behind me, his head next to mine.

“I want to,” he whispered at my ear. “I want to, with you. Watch him with you.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He stepped back and, at normal volume, said: “Ok, tell me what to do. Set the table? Find candles? What’s my job, ma’am?”

I chuckled, rattled off a list of to-dos, and off he went.


Less than an hour later, the first knock on the door came. Not long after that, everyone had arrived.

The next few hours were a blur. We barely squeezed our entire group in at the dining room table, and we ate elbow to elbow. When I brought out the cake, we made all the birthday girls stand as we howled our way through a boisterous rendition of “Happy Birthday.”

Everyone cheered and clapped as we attempted to blow out the candles as a group. It was a fun. All of my favourite people in one place.

Still, as the evening progressed, I couldn’t help but be ultra-aware of Mitch. I was sure it was my overactive imagination triggered by the conversation I’d had with my husband before the party but it seemed like he was being particularly attentive towards me. When we made eye contact, it lasted a little longer than it ought to, and more than once I caught his eyes scanning over my neck and breasts.

The attention – real or imagined – made me nervous, but also aroused. I couldn’t wait for everyone to go so my husband and I could go to bed.

But it wasn’t time for that yet. There was still hosting to be done. We crowded into the living room, sitting on couches or on the floor around the coffee table, and a round of Cards Against Humanity had us all roaring.

Midway through the game, I jumped up and announced I was going to make another round of margaritas. “Who needs one?”

Hands went up all around, and I quickly tallied.

“Ok, on it,” I said, and whirled out of the room.

In the kitchen, I rinsed the blender from the previous round and added fresh ingredients.

I jumped more than I should have when I heard Mitch’s voice right behind me.

“I didn’t put my hand up – too late to get one?”

I laughed. “No, I think I can manage one more.”

“Thanks,” he said.

He leaned back against the counter, his thick muscular shoulder less than a foot from me. I could smell him: not cologne, exactly, but a mix of soap and shaving cream.

“You smell really good,” I said. The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.
“Yeah? You must really like garlic breath,” he said.
I laughed again. “It’s not the worst smell in the world.”
“That’s good then, because I ate like four pieces of the garlic bread at dinner. I swear to god, it’s coming out of my pores now.”

I grinned at him, but as I made eye contact, I felt myself get a bit dizzy.

His eyes were pinned on mine – serious, dark, questioning. I stared back for long seconds, unable to look away.

A shout from the other room broke the tension: one of the birthday girls demanding to know where her margarita was. “Coming!” I shouted back, shaking my head and smiling.

“So,” Mitch said. “I heard you have some electrical stuff going on in the basement.”
“Oh yeah,” I replied. “We discovered some messy wiring when we took the wall down in the spare room.”
“I heard. If it’s not too late when we wrap up,” he raised his eyebrows, looking at me, “maybe I’ll stay behind and take a look?”

I swallowed. Stay behind? This was like a daydream-turned-reality.

“Sure, that would be great, if you wouldn’t mind taking a look. You’re the expert on that stuff.”
“For you guys? Anything.”
I handed him a pair of margarita glasses. “Carry these for me?”
“No problem.”

We returned to the living room. I noticed my husband watching me from the far side of the room. He was grinning.

I refused to make eye contact, because I knew – this offer to “stay behind” was not a coincidence.


In twos and threes, our guests departed, until it was just Mitch, my husband, two of the birthday girls, and myself left.

I was jumpy and anxious, uncertain of what was going to happen. Was I imagining the looks and grins? Had I over-interpreted Mitch’s comments about staying afterwards, just because of my husband’s teasing beforehand?

I was barely tracking the conversation, and I was both desperately wishing my girlfriends would leave and grateful for the delayed buffer they were providing.

Finally, my husband stood up from his spot on the carpet, stretched his arms, and said, “Mitch, bud, I hate to ask you so late at night but would you mind taking a peek at that circuit breaker in the basement?”

“No problem-o, amigo. Let’s check it out,” Mitch replied, standing and doing the same stretch.

I noticed his t-shirt rise up at the front of his tummy, briefly revealing his bare skin, and the smattering of dark hair on his abdomen above his belted jeans.

My stomach dropped, and I felt my mouth go dry. All I could think about was what I might find behind the jeans, given the opportunity.

As the men wandered downstairs, the chatter continued between the girls. I attempted to jump into the conversation here and there but the idea of Mitch and my husband down in the basement, potentially waiting for me, kept scattering my brain.

I wanted this. The thought came over me fast and with certainty: I wanted Mitch. I wanted my husband. At the same time. Tonight.

I could feel the wetness between my legs, my panties getting damp from it under my skirt.

I raised my arms and yawned.

“Oh man, I’m wiped,” I said dreamily.

It had the exact effect I’d hoped for. The gals looked at me, caught my yawn, and agreed: it was late, and probably time to call it a night.


“Thanks for coming,” I said, hugging them both in the front foyer.

Once they had disappeared down the path, I closed the door, locked the dead bolt, and pulled the chain into place.

I yelled down the basement stairs. “I’m going to start cleaning up.”

I heard a vague acknowledgement from below, but they did indeed seem to be discussing the problem with the electrical wiring. Mitch was grumbling about the shoddy work of the previous owners, who – from what I could hear – had taken several shortcuts in the work.

Maybe he really was just staying to help with the wiring? 

I shrugged and wandered into the kitchen, attempting to ignore the little jolt of disappointment I felt. “Probably for the best,” I told myself.

A threesome? With my husband and his best friend?

What had I been thinking?

I started to fill the sink with water. Eventually, I heard the guys come back up to main floor, and a moment later, the bathroom door in the hallway clicked shut.

My husband called to me from the other room. 

I wiped my hands on a tea towel and returned to the living room. He was sitting on the couch. Mitch must have been in the washroom. Getting ready to go, obviously. Another shot of disappointment. But I smiled at my husband all the same.

“Come here,” he said.

I walked toward him and sat next to him on the couch. He leaned over and kissed me.

“That was a great party,” he said.
“Thanks. Not too shabby, if I do say so myself. A lot to clean up though,” I said, eyeing the mess around the room.
“It can wait.” He leaned in again, kissing me harder this time. My hand came to his lap, and I could feel his cock hardening behind his pants.
“Fuck, I’ve been thinking about this all night,” he said, his mouth coming back to mine again, tongue pushing over my lips.
“Me too,” I said.

Just as his hand slid up my thigh under the edge of my skirt, I heard the bathroom lock click and the door swing open.

Mitch.

He grinned. “Don’t let me stop you,” he said.

For several long seconds, the three of us all paused, looking at each other – and then, Mitch moved towards the door.

“Well,” he started.

I scrounged up my courage. It’s now or never.

“Don’t go,” I said. “Not yet.”

He stopped, looked at me, his eyes going darker, eyelids lowering. “You sure?”

I was breathless, and felt incapable of another word. But I managed to get two out: “Yes. Very.”

He moved quickly to sit on the other side of me. His hand came down quickly on my other thigh, to get things started before I could spook and change my mind.

Both of my thighs were being caressed and stroked by a different man. It was exactly what I’d imagined so many times. I felt my pussy flooding, a genuine rush of wetness as my arousal went into overdrive.

As though he sensed it, Mitch’s hand moved slowly further up, to the edge of my panties. He pushed them aside, and stroked his fingertips over my pussy lips.

“Christ almighty,” he breathed out.

My husband leaned in again then, his mouth returning to mine. As I closed my eyes and felt his lips on me, I was acutely aware of every movement to the other side: Mitch was sliding off the couch, pushing the coffee table out of the way, and kneeling down in front of me. His hand pushed on one knee and, simultaneously, my husband’s hand grabbed at the other, pulling me wide open.

Mitch leaned forward, bringing his head between my thighs. His tongue flicked out hot and wet and slick against my pussy.

I moaned and bucked, my hips curling up. His arms linked around my upper thighs, and he pulled me towards him. My ass was hanging just over the edge of the couch.

The movement afforded him better access, and he took advantage of it. His whole mouth moved over my pussy. I squirmed and moaned as his tongue lapped at me, and I pushed myself towards him.

I felt the front of my dress being pushed down, along with the familiar feeling of my husband’s mouth closing over one of my nipples through my bra. His teeth pinched gently around my nipple and I yelped. He pulled the front of the bra down, bunching the fabric under my breasts, and exposed me to his mouth and hands.

As he licked and sucked at my tits, Mitch carried on down below. After a few more minutes, I felt his finger slide slowly inside me, his tongue continuing on my clit. It was too much, and I began to gasp, curse, beg.

“Fuck, fuck, please, fuck, oh god, fuck, please, please, PLEASE,” I moaned.

He complied, moving faster, harder, his mouth over my clit, a second finger joining the first, thicker and rougher inside me.

“I’m going to cum. I’m cumming, I’m cumming!” I breathed out in a hoarse whisper.

He gripped my thighs tighter, his arms still linked around them, as though to hold me in place until he’d had his fill. In seconds, I was cumming hard. A scream escaped me as my husband sucked harder on one breast, squeezing the other in a tight grip.

“Oh god, oh jeez, oh my god,” I said, the orgasm still shuddering its way through me.

Mitch straightened up, leaned forward over me, and kissed me hard. My husband had never done this: kissing me with the taste of my own pussy on his lips. Though I was still recovering from my orgasm, the only thing I could think of was MORE.

It’s like they could read my mind. Both unzipped their pants at the same time, yanking them off in a rush, and revealed their twin erections.

Just like everything else about them, here too they were different. Mitch’s cock was shorter, much thicker, and he was completely shaved. Up on his knees, he was just inches from my pussy. I squirmed involuntarily, desperate for him to be inside me.

He reached back at his discarded jeans, found a condom in the pocket, ripped open the packet, and rolled it on. 

Watching him was hypnotic, and I realized I wasn’t the only one who thought so – my husband’s attention was pinned on the scene, his eyes darting from my bare pussy to Mitch’s cock. Clearly I never needed to worry – his cock was hard as could be, and his breathing was fast and jagged.

“Fuck,” I heard him whisper beside me.

Mitch looked up at me, his hand slowly stroking over his sheathed cock, and inquired with his eyes: is this ok?

I nodded, and reached my hands towards him - one pulling at his shoulder, the other at his chest. His hard nipple tickled at the palm of my hand.

“Mitch…” I said – breathless, eyes half closed.

He leaned forward, the head of his cock pushing in between my pussy lips. My head fell back.

“Feels so good, oh god, that feels so good,” I moaned out.

His thickness was immediately obvious to me as he pushed in, stretching me a little wider than I was used to.

All three of us looked down at the point of entry. After a moment, my husband reached down, his fingertips connecting with my clit, and started a slow rhythmic circle as Mitch slid deeper and deeper into me.

My husband leaned into my ear, his voice hoarse and deep. “Fuck, baby. You look so fucking hot right now, oh my god,” he said.

His words brought me back to reality, and I reached over to take his hard cock in my hand. I stroked up and down with a loose grip as Mitch began a slow, steady stroking motion of his own, pulling in and out of my wet pussy.

“I want your cock in my mouth,” I said in a rush to my husband.

He didn’t hesitate – he popped up on his knees on the couch next to me. Leaning back with my hips at the edge of the couch, his kneeling position put him at the perfect height over me. His warm, hard length slipped over my lips, and my tongue flicked across the head of his cock.

Both of them were thrusting into me at almost identical speeds – Mitch fucking my pussy while my husband carried on in my mouth. The feeling of it was incredible but the idea was even better. It felt like my brain was going to explode before my pussy did. Like a mindgasm ready to roll over me before my body was allowed to build to any kind of physical climax.

Mitch grabbed my hips, gaining leverage. At the same time, my husband’s hand circled around the back of my head.

With my mouth full, I couldn’t do more than moan. But in my head, I heard a steady stream of unspoken curses.

I could tell by their movements that both were getting close, and I reached down with my hand to rub my fingertips over my clit. As Mitch began to pound harder, I felt myself tipping over the edge of a massive release.

The impact of my shuddering orgasm hit both of them the same way. In quick succession, Mitch grunted out that he was going to cum, and buried himself deep inside me; my husband, gasping, pulled out of my mouth, and stroked himself till he came on my bare chest.

Another first – he’d never done that before. Clearly, we were making new rules.

Watching him do it made me feel like I would cum again, and I was surprised at the re-doubling of my desire. 

I wanted them both. Again. Right now.

We were breathing hard, shivering. Mitch swayed as he slowly pulled out of me.

“Oh my god,” I said. “That was … “
“Yeah,” said my husband, surprise in his voice. “Holy shit.”

Mitch leaned back on his heels, and grinned at me. “That was great,” he said, and chuckled.

His laughter eased the moment, and I put my hands up to my face, somewhere between amused, happy, and a little bashful – legs wide open, pussy still aching. “Again?” I said, smiling.

“Yes, definitely,” Mitch replied. “In... Five minutes.”
“I think I need ten. At least,” said my husband.
“All right, if I have to wait,” I said, grinning. “So, how do you guys feel about… double penetration?”

My husband’s eyebrows shot up, and Mitch smiled. “Sounds like a good plan to me,” he said.

One at a time, both of them leaned forward. As they took turns kissing me, I was already counting down the seconds to round two.

More by Carson March:

The Business Meeting
The First Meeting

Holiday Romp
Meeting Annie
The Not-So-Stranger
Poker Night
Secret in the Woods
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