A Dual Penetration Tale

I’d never felt more electric, my body humming with a restless heat that seemed to grow stronger every day. I’d started giving myself over to my husband’s friends with an ease that surprised even me, and the kicker? My husband, Ethan, didn’t just know — he loved it. He’d nudge me toward them with a sly grin, thrilled by the way I’d come alive under their hands, his quiet pride fueling my fire.

My boldness was hitting new heights. I’d slip into slinky outfits — short skirts, plunging tops — and strut through town, soaking up the way men’s eyes raked over me. Their low whistles and muttered compliments about my legs or the swell of my chest only made me arch my back more, hips swinging like a pendulum. Ethan egged it on, whispering how hot I looked, how much he loved watching me tease the world.

That hunger in me kept swelling, and soon I wasn’t just waiting for chances — I was making them. That’s how I met Ryan, a lean, tattooed mechanic who rolled into our lives when Ethan invited him over to fix up an old bike. He showed up with a couple of buddies, but they faded into the background the second I saw him — gritty, confident, with hands that looked like they could break or build anything. His friends were decent enough, rough around the edges and loud, but Ryan had this quiet intensity that hooked me.

It started at a backyard barbecue Ethan threw — nothing fancy, just beers, burgers, and a bonfire crackling under a wide summer sky. Ryan caught my eye the moment he walked in, and I could tell he felt it too — his gaze lingered, dark and deliberate, stripping me bare even through my tight denim shorts and cropped tank. We didn’t get much time to talk at first, too many people milling around, but as the night deepened and the crowd thinned, he ended up sprawled in a lawn chair near us, his buddies flanking him. Ethan knew them all from the garage, and they fit right in, laughing too loud and slugging back beers.

I felt their stares all night — three pairs of eyes tracking me like wolves, but Ryan’s hit different, heavy and unapologetic. I’d ditched my bra that evening, letting the thin cotton of my top cling to my breasts, nipples pebbling under the cool air and their attention. They’d mutter to each other, smirking over the fire’s roar, and I’d pretend not to notice, bending a little too far to grab a drink, giving them a show.

Ethan ran inside for more ice, and Ryan didn’t waste a second. “You’re something else, Sarah,” he said, voice rough like gravel. “Prettiest thing here — Ethan’s got no idea how lucky he is to have you. And that body? Fuck, you’re killing me.” I smirked, tossing my hair, and purred a coy, “Thanks, glad you think so.” The real spark came later — stumbling across the uneven yard in my wedge sandals, one heel catching in the dirt. Ryan was there fast, steadying me, and I looped my arms around his neck, pressing close. His body was hard, warm, radiating a raw strength that made my breath hitch. I wanted him right then, and I knew he sensed it, but he just guided me back to my chair, leaving me buzzing.

The night stretched on, beers piling up — Ethan, Ryan, and the other two knocking them back while I sipped a vodka soda, the alcohol loosening me up, making me reckless. Ryan wasn’t moving fast enough, so I took the reins — caught his eye across the fire and gave him a slow, filthy smile, tipping my head toward the shadows beyond the yard. He’d been watching me nonstop, so he got up, casual as hell, and asked if I wanted to “stretch my legs.” Ethan, half-drunk and grinning, waved me off. “Go wander, babe, have fun.” I didn’t need telling twice — I followed Ryan past the glow of the bonfire, out where the trees swallowed the light.

Under the moon’s faint wash, I found him waiting near the edge of the woods, leaning against an oak. The second I got close, he yanked me in, mouth crashing into mine — hot, urgent, tasting of beer and smoke. His hands slid down, cupping my ass through my shorts, squeezing hard as he rasped, “This ass, Sarah — been thinking about it all night.” He tugged at the hem, shoving the denim up to graze my bare skin, fingers brushing the lacy edge of my thong. I moaned soft, already soaked, and he grinned against my lips, sliding a hand around to dip beneath the fabric, finding me wet and ready. Two thick fingers pushed inside, slow at first, then curling deep, making my knees buckle as I gasped into his shoulder.

I dragged him deeper into the trees, where the shadows hid us completely. He didn’t wait — spun me around, yanked my shorts and thong down in one rough pull, and dropped to his knees. His breath hit my thighs, then his tongue — hot and relentless — licked a slow stripe up my slit, parting me open. He gripped my hips, pulling me back onto his face, and I bit my lip to keep quiet, the wet sounds of him lapping at me mixing with the distant hum of the party. His tongue flicked my clit, then plunged inside, fucking me with it as his hands kneaded my cheeks, spreading me wider. My legs shook, pleasure coiling tight, and I came hard, grinding against his mouth, slickness dripping down his chin.