Three’s a Party

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Okolla’s account of events …

When Kioko asked me to come over to his house, I did not expect that I would end up in bed with his wife. But after he sat me down in his study and explained what his intentions were and the role I was to play, I could not refuse. Don’t get me wrong. Wanja is not the kind of woman to throw herself around, she wasn’t the loose woman one would associate with this kind of scenario. No, she was the kind of woman I wanted to take home to meet my mom, the kind I wanted barefoot and pregnant with my child. She was sexy but not trashy, beautiful not pretty, smart and ambitious, wholesome with just a dash of naughty sprinkled in.

Now that the deed was done, I held her in my arms and soothed her. Watched her as she lay with her head rested on my arm, her leg draped over mine, ran my hand over her smooth round ramp. She sighed then and looking into my eyes, stretched up and placed a gentle kiss on my lips then stood up and led me to take a shower with her. We took our time under the shower spray, soaping, caressing and rinsing, barely speaking and arousing each other yet again. She took my semi-firm length into the palm of her hand and stroked me and like a teenage boy I was ready to explore her depths once again. Her legs wrapped around my waist when I lifted her by her thighs, my rod finding its way into her as easily as if I’d done this with her countless times before. I thrust then pushed her against the wall using it for the support and stability I needed while I sucked on the neck I had admired from afar many a time, not caring whether or not I left any marks on her. Her cunt flooded with her slippery thick wetness as it clenched and unclenched with my push and pull. Her groans, louder in the small bathroom space echoed louder and heightened our arousal. With one arm around my neck, she used her fingers on her clit while I continued thrusting into her over and over again. I wasn’t gentle, I was too hungry to be gentle.

Later, I left Wanja dressing and went downstairs, slightly nervous and wondering whether we had taken too long or if I had enjoyed myself too much. I hadn’t wanted to stop but now that I was back to my senses, felt that the situation was still delicate. I found Kioko starting the grill out on the patio and hoped we hadn’t been so loud that we sent him outside and away from our passion.

He turned around when I slid open the door “How is she?”

“She seems okay and will be down in a few. Are you still fine with all this? I wondered if he was having a change of heart. After all, imagining and doing something are two different things.

He turned back to adjust the rib racks on the grill, the look on his face a bit pensive. “I have thought about this for a long time Okolla. I am confident with this decision but I hope I have not misunderstood her desires.”

Just then Wanja walked onto the patio. She wore a short colorful sun dress that accentuated her slender waist and flared out over her hips. Her hair was once again in its tip top un-mused afro shape but she appeared to be as nervous as I had been walking out here to look for her husband but with a shy yet sensual smile she walked up to him and raising on her tip toes, held his head in her hands and slowly kissed him. He wrapped his arms around her tiny waist and for a long minute they held onto each other. The look of relief when he finally opened his eyes and looked at me over her shoulder spoke volumes and the wide smiles on their faces told of their relief. After a few words to both of us she went into the kitchen and busied herself preparing ankara escort a salad while I set out the drinks and plates for our impromptu barbeque.

As the evening wore on and the drinks relaxed us, I felt myself getting aroused once again. She mercilessly flirted with both of us through the evening. I’d watch her sit on Kioko’s lap, whisper in his ear with her eyes squarely on mine, barely kiss him then move on to me and do something similar leaving us hard and wanting for many moments before coming back for a tiny dose of the same.

When Kioko left the room momentarily to fetch another bottle of wine, she straddled my thighs and ground herself onto my hard, clothed cock then took my hand and placed it between her legs surprising me with bare skin under her sun dress. At that moment I wanted nothing more than to tip her onto her back and have her right on the carpet but instead, I dipped my finger into her then used the slick wetness to rub her clit slowly as she alternated between kissing me and burying her head in the crock of my neck. As I continued to firmly rub on her clit Kioko walked into the room and stood by the door watching his wife humping her hips on my fingers. I knew he hadn’t cum all day – while I was there anyway, and evidence of that was the large bulge and the wet spot on his shorts. He firmly grasped himself over his shorts while she, oblivious or uncaring of his presence mewled in my ear and tagged at her dress releasing one succulent dark tightly nubbed breast from the confines of that pretty sun dress. I latched on and lathed the nipple with my tongue then sucked deeply. She came then. Loudly and without inhibition. Her husband behind her unbuckled his belt and before she even came down from her high, lifted her from my lap and sheathed himself in her warmth, her legs tightly wrapped around him, hips hunching; he started off with her up the stairs giving me a terse “We’ll see you tomorrow, lock the door when you leave.”

When a man tells you to vacate his house, you do so without question. So I left. Hard, shorts wet with her juices and her scent heavy on my fingers.

I did not see her again until Kioko shipped out a few days later. I’d met with him several times and we had several of those conversations I am certain I will never have with another man. I promised to handle the few repairs that the house needed, take care of his wife, fulfill whatever needs may arise while he was away, keep him updated on the state of affairs at home and in the course of all this, be as open as I could with both of them. I was free to move into their place as I was still renting but felt that it would be too much not to raise a few eyebrows in the neighborhood.

I held her hand as we watched him walk away after waving one last time. It had been a tearful goodbye and I was sure I would never be able to elicit such emotion from her but that wasn’t my goal, I was merely the support cast on this show. I drove her home and dropped her off letting her know that I’d be coming over the weekend to do some yard work. I didn’t want to seem too eager or ill-mannered for rushing her so soon. The few days I’d spent away from her had given me some perspective. She would be mine for 12 months so I planned to take my time with her.

Wanja’s account of events …

I got home to the sound of our trusty lawn mower in the back yard. Okolla was pushing it. A sheen of sweat covered his dark skin glistening in the late afternoon sunlight. I watched him from the kitchen window walking the mower back and forth, pausing every now and then to wipe the sweat escort ankara from his brow. I had seen him shirtless many times at the beach and even in this very yard while playing soccer with my husband but not quite the same way. I had now experienced that body as a woman experiences a man, I’d watched that back in the mirror working to give me pleasure, grasped those muscled arms. No, this was not the same man of days long gone. Thanks to my husband, this was a fantasy come true.

I poured two glasses of lemonade and walked out to the patio just as he was storing the mower into the shed. He strode towards me with the usual bright smile on his face and took the glass from my outstretched arm, his fingers grazing mine slightly. The slight touch sent warmth coursing through my arm, tightened my nipples and started a throb between my legs. I wondered whether he noticed the effect he now had on me. He gulped down the lemonade, Adam ‘s apple bobbing, sweat glistening on his dark skin, eyes piercing into mine from behind his glasses. I don’t think he missed anything with those eyes. He was at once enticing and intimidating. This was the first time he had come over since Kioko left and I wasn’t quite sure what to expect.

“I’m preparing a light dinner, would you like to join me?” I hoped he did not hear the slight tremble in my voice, “It’s chicken salad.”

The answer was yes, he would stay for dinner and share a bottle of wine. That called for a quick shower and a change of clothes – my husband’s clothes, so he would be comfortable. I hoped I wasn’t too presumptuous showing him to the master bathroom instead of one of the others in the house but I figured it would be OK since he had used it before. His proximity, the heat off his skin and the sweaty scent from his body after working outside was almost overwhelming as I went through the closets finding him one of my husband’s shorts and a t-shirt. But he stood there, calm, watching me, perhaps aware that I was leaking like a faucet between my legs, remembering what we had done in this very room. I handed him the clothes and made a quick escape back into the kitchen to deal with dinner.

“Ahh … Feel so much better after that shower.” He said as he walked back into the kitchen, “would you like help with anything?”

“I’m almost done but you can do one thing” I handed him the bottle of wine, “uncork this for us.” I was relieved that the earlier tremor in my voice was now gone.

We settled down to eat and with the previous tension seemingly eased, the conversation was as effortless as it usually was when my husband was present. The sound of his laughter filled the room, and the story-telling went on long after we finished our meal. He had always been easy to talk to and I found myself hanging onto every word, observing every expression, marveling at the way he became animated by the subjects he was passionate about. I also noticed him watching me. His gaze on my lips when I talked or took a sip of wine, on the swing of my hips as I moved around the kitchen when we cleaned up, my knotted nipples through the light fabric of my dress. I only hoped he couldn’t smell the wetness pooling down under making my panties a sticky mess. I excused myself to use the guest bathroom and took them off when I saw how wet they were. I was even surprised the wetness hadn’t leaked through to my dress.

When I got back to the living room he was fiddling with the music and soon the room was filled with one of the new Nigerian songs he and my husband liked dancing to. I wasn’t much of a dancer and preferred to sit ankara escort bayan and watch them try the many moves that accompanied the songs, but here he was gesturing for me to join him, taking my hand when I wouldn’t and twirling me around the room, laughing at my miss-steps. I was glad when the music slowed down because then I could at least catch my breath and remember my steps. Only, with the slower music he drew me closer, his hands low on my waist moving me with him to the music.

“Is this better then?” He asked laughing.

“Yes, it is, you know I love zouk.” Dancing with him had always been easy. He was good at it.

“Of course, I know that and many other things about you Wanja.” He tipped my chin up with his finger and with his other hand skimmed my hip over my dress.

“I know you are not wearing anything under this dress,” he arched an eyebrow, “why is that?”

I protested. Claimed to be wearing sheer panties. Ones he couldn’t feel through the dress. “Really?” It was a dare but for some reason I felt committed to my initial response.

“Really! Why would I walk around without panties?” I could feel my heart racing as I said it.

“Hmm … I doubt it. I think I should check just so I’m sure.” With that I felt my already short dress get shorter as he slowly bunched it around my waist while his gaze held mine. Even then I could feel the wetness continue to pool between my lips sure that it would drip down my leg as we had this battle of wits.

We’d long stopped dancing and were lightly swaying to the slow music as my dress went higher and higher. Until the hem stopped at the edge of my bottom. “So, panties or no panties?” He queried, eyes on mine.

“Panties.” My voice cracked.

“OK, I guess I have to see this for myself.” He lowered himself then, eyes still on mine until he was on his knees before me. Then he turned his gaze to the panty-less, throbbing junction between my legs. I’m sure he could see how wet I was. Smell it even. I was almost embarrassed. The man hadn’t even kissed me since he’d arrived and here I was turned on and panty-less.

He drew himself toward me. Drew a deep breath. Then with his tongue, delved into the folds and licked the wetness that had been collecting there all evening.

“No panties.” He looked at me then. “Very tasty, but no panties that I can see.” He then dove back in. Tongue stroking between the folds, finding my clit and slowly lapping at it. Slowly driving me up the wall. Knees buckling despite his arms holding me up. He licked still. As I moaned and wound my hips. As I ground myself into his face. He licked and sucked and kept on and on until the tremors took over and my hands gripped on his shoulders for dear life. Until I screamed his name. Then when I couldn’t stand the pleasure he let me crumble against him and we lay there on the rug, me flushed and panting, reaching for the buttons on his shorts and him, kissing me, giving me small tastes of myself on his lips and keeping my hands from the very thing I wanted so much right then.

“Shhhh … this is for you” the hoarseness of his voice had me believing otherwise. He rolled us on our sides, his clothed thigh snugly against my unclothed center. I ground myself on him. I wanted him. I wanted him to fill me but he held me back. Held me against him as the slow music played on till we dozed off.

I woke up later to find his eyes on me. “So, where are those panties?”

“In the guest bathroom.” I managed to whisper. He stood up and pulled me up to him. Kissed me and then walked to the bathroom and got the wispy yellow piece of clothing I’d abandoned in the bathroom earlier.

“Still wet. I’m going to keep these.” He crumpled my panties into his pocket as he walked by me and out the door. “Goodnight Wanja, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

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