We excitedly invited my husband's long-time friend, L, into our open marriage, thinking it would be a breeze just letting an old friendship evolve into something fun and carefree. L and my husband go way back, having been friends since childhood, with nothing romantic between them, just innocent games of “seven minutes in heaven.” That's it! My husband and I generally like to mix things up. If we see a girl on a date night who sparks our interest, we'll invite her over for the night. So, I thought, “Why not your friend L? It’ll be enjoyable; it won’t be awkward.”
The atmosphere was electric as L and I settled next to each other, perfectly aligned in a playful 69 position. Our bodies intertwined like the moon meeting the tide, skin warm and slick with the gentle build-up of anticipation. My head rested just above her hips while her face hovered near mine, our lips and breaths mingling as we playfully explored each other.
Meanwhile, my husband moved with a determined intensity, his hands gliding over my bare curves, skillfully guiding me closer to the warmth of L's mouth. Then, his kiss found me—pressing deeply in my throat while his tongue danced at the entrance of my desire.
At the same time, L responded with warm, inviting lips, wrapping around him and teasing him delightfully. Her hands tangled in his hair at the nape of his neck, urging him deeper, as my fingers explored her waist, tracing her smooth contours like silk.
My breath hitched as his tongue moved within me, a mix of softness and urgency. I returned the pleasure, tasting sweat and longing as I explored the arch of L's spine. The delightful pressure from my husband traded between us—one moment lingering on me, coaxing soft sighs, then turning his attention to L with a passionate devotion.
Our bodies, glistening with heat, moved together seamlessly. L’s gentle moans whispered in my ear while my own connected with the soft gasps echoing between us. My hips responded to her teasing flicks, and I pressed my fingers into my husband's back, feeling the strength beneath my touch.
He navigated his way between us, growling softly against L’s skin before slipping back between my thighs, contrasting sharp bites with tender licks. His hands explored with the same enthusiasm—stroking, gripping, and sliding in rhythm with the vintage 80s power ballads that filled the air.
Time seemed to stretch, melting into an intimate exchange of mouths and hands, bodies pressed together in a sensual triangle balanced on soft murmurs and shared promises. I felt every part of L—the warmth of her breath, the bliss of her lips, and the delightful heat of her body as we mirrored each other's movements, our pleasure intertwining.
However, beneath the thrill of desire, a weight lingered. I held the rhythm as best I could, guiding us along, but L resisted, her touch both gentle and deliberate, clearly marking her territory. Her fingers traced possessively down my husband’s chest, tightening over his hips, her gaze full of intensity and challenge.
When the music shifted to a slow, haunting 80s tune, the mood thickened. L nestled closer to him beneath the sheets, a shadow that wouldn’t let go. Her fingers drew a slow, possessive line across him, sending shivers down my spine. The power dynamics shifted. She burrowed into him, whispering in his ear, lingering like an impending storm. What started as playful turned into a tug-of-war; she showed no signs of leaving. As the night went on and I discreetly hinted that I needed to go—work was calling, the hour was late—she stood her ground, stating, “Now that I’ve had him,” she said, her voice low, almost possessed, “I’m not letting go.”
That moment shattered the room. The music faltered, the bed turned cold and cramped. My husband called the cops, and they pulled her from our bed, but her presence refused to fade. Even now, the letters come, obsessive and pleading for a permanent place between us—a throuple fantasy spiralling into something darker.
That night, the air crackled with energy—music from the 70s and 80s seeped through the walls, creating an electric atmosphere. Our bed became a battleground of power, passion, and possession.
The sun was setting behind the trees as I forcefully shut that rusty Ford door. The seat was torn, smelled like smoke and spilled beer, but I didn’t care. She was grinning like a devil, and my heart was already pounding in my chest. Boots hit the floorboard, sending gravel flying behind us. There was nothing but sky, dirt, and bad decisions ahead.
By the time we reached that crooked trailer, my pulse was louder than the engine. She pulled me close before I could catch my breath. Her lips were hard, desperate, and tasted like whiskey and trouble. Denim scraped my thighs, leather burned hot against my skin, and every button she tore loose felt like another mile marker to nowhere good.
We collapsed onto that busted mattress like we owned the night. Springs squealed, walls shook, and neighbours probably heard every curse spilling out of my mouth. But I didn’t care. Her hands were wild, my grip was tighter, sweat was dripping, hair was tangled, and nothing was polished or sweet. Just raw, ugly-beautiful hunger.
And damn… it was perfect.
Because in that moment, with no phone, no world, and no rules, it was just me, her, and the fire we had ignited.
No filters. No shame. No tomorrow.
In twilight's glow your whispers tease
A sultry wish upon the breeze
To be your princess soft and sweet
With tender dreams at our heart's beat.
Your hands trace my curves with care A sacred bond we two would share,
Wrapped in silk and midnight's sighs
With longing deep as starlit skies.
Each flutter tells of love's design
A life within our souls entwined
The world outside fades into night
In your embrace I find my light.
So hold me close let whispers flow
As tiny kicks begin to show
Just wanna be your pregnant queen
In this lush dream where love is seen.
We excitedly invited my husband's long-time friend, L, into our open marriage, thinking it would be a breeze just letting an old friendship evolve into something fun and carefree. L and my husband go way back, having been friends since childhood, with nothing romantic between them, just innocent games of “seven minutes in heaven.” That's it! My husband and I generally like to mix things up. If we see a girl on a date night who sparks our interest, we'll invite her over for the night. So, I thought, “Why not your friend L? It’ll be enjoyable; it won’t be awkward.”
The atmosphere was electric as L and I settled next to each other, perfectly aligned in a playful 69 position. Our bodies intertwined like the moon meeting the tide, skin warm and slick with the gentle build-up of anticipation. My head rested just above her hips while her face hovered near mine, our lips and breaths mingling as we playfully explored each other.
Meanwhile, my husband moved with a determined intensity, his hands gliding over my bare curves, skillfully guiding me closer to the warmth of L's mouth. Then, his kiss found me—pressing deeply in my throat while his tongue danced at the entrance of my desire.
At the same time, L responded with warm, inviting lips, wrapping around him and teasing him delightfully. Her hands tangled in his hair at the nape of his neck, urging him deeper, as my fingers explored her waist, tracing her smooth contours like silk.
My breath hitched as his tongue moved within me, a mix of softness and urgency. I returned the pleasure, tasting sweat and longing as I explored the arch of L's spine. The delightful pressure from my husband traded between us—one moment lingering on me, coaxing soft sighs, then turning his attention to L with a passionate devotion.
Our bodies, glistening with heat, moved together seamlessly. L’s gentle moans whispered in my ear while my own connected with the soft gasps echoing between us. My hips responded to her teasing flicks, and I pressed my fingers into my husband's back, feeling the strength beneath my touch.
He navigated his way between us, growling softly against L’s skin before slipping back between my thighs, contrasting sharp bites with tender licks. His hands explored with the same enthusiasm—stroking, gripping, and sliding in rhythm with the vintage 80s power ballads that filled the air.
Time seemed to stretch, melting into an intimate exchange of mouths and hands, bodies pressed together in a sensual triangle balanced on soft murmurs and shared promises. I felt every part of L—the warmth of her breath, the bliss of her lips, and the delightful heat of her body as we mirrored each other's movements, our pleasure intertwining.
However, beneath the thrill of desire, a weight lingered. I held the rhythm as best I could, guiding us along, but L resisted, her touch both gentle and deliberate, clearly marking her territory. Her fingers traced possessively down my husband’s chest, tightening over his hips, her gaze full of intensity and challenge.
When the music shifted to a slow, haunting 80s tune, the mood thickened. L nestled closer to him beneath the sheets, a shadow that wouldn’t let go. Her fingers drew a slow, possessive line across him, sending shivers down my spine. The power dynamics shifted. She burrowed into him, whispering in his ear, lingering like an impending storm. What started as playful turned into a tug-of-war; she showed no signs of leaving. As the night went on and I discreetly hinted that I needed to go—work was calling, the hour was late—she stood her ground, stating, “Now that I’ve had him,” she said, her voice low, almost possessed, “I’m not letting go.”
That moment shattered the room. The music faltered, the bed turned cold and cramped. My husband called the cops, and they pulled her from our bed, but her presence refused to fade. Even now, the letters come, obsessive and pleading for a permanent place between us—a throuple fantasy spiralling into something darker.
That night, the air crackled with energy—music from the 70s and 80s seeped through the walls, creating an electric atmosphere. Our bed became a battleground of power, passion, and possession.
The sun was setting behind the trees as I forcefully shut that rusty Ford door. The seat was torn, smelled like smoke and spilled beer, but I didn’t care. She was grinning like a devil, and my heart was already pounding in my chest. Boots hit the floorboard, sending gravel flying behind us. There was nothing but sky, dirt, and bad decisions ahead.
By the time we reached that crooked trailer, my pulse was louder than the engine. She pulled me close before I could catch my breath. Her lips were hard, desperate, and tasted like whiskey and trouble. Denim scraped my thighs, leather burned hot against my skin, and every button she tore loose felt like another mile marker to nowhere good.
We collapsed onto that busted mattress like we owned the night. Springs squealed, walls shook, and neighbours probably heard every curse spilling out of my mouth. But I didn’t care. Her hands were wild, my grip was tighter, sweat was dripping, hair was tangled, and nothing was polished or sweet. Just raw, ugly-beautiful hunger.
And damn… it was perfect.
Because in that moment, with no phone, no world, and no rules, it was just me, her, and the fire we had ignited.
No filters. No shame. No tomorrow.
In twilight's glow your whispers tease
A sultry wish upon the breeze
To be your princess soft and sweet
With tender dreams at our heart's beat.
Your hands trace my curves with care A sacred bond we two would share,
Wrapped in silk and midnight's sighs
With longing deep as starlit skies.
Each flutter tells of love's design
A life within our souls entwined
The world outside fades into night
In your embrace I find my light.
So hold me close let whispers flow
As tiny kicks begin to show
Just wanna be your pregnant queen
In this lush dream where love is seen.
We excitedly invited my husband's long-time friend, L, into our open marriage, thinking it would be a breeze just letting an old friendship evolve into something fun and carefree. L and my husband go way back, having been friends since childhood, with nothing romantic between them, just innocent games of “seven minutes in heaven.” That's it! My husband and I generally like to mix things up. If we see a girl on a date night who sparks our interest, we'll invite her over for the night. So, I thought, “Why not your friend L? It’ll be enjoyable; it won’t be awkward.”
The atmosphere was electric as L and I settled next to each other, perfectly aligned in a playful 69 position. Our bodies intertwined like the moon meeting the tide, skin warm and slick with the gentle build-up of anticipation. My head rested just above her hips while her face hovered near mine, our lips and breaths mingling as we playfully explored each other.
Meanwhile, my husband moved with a determined intensity, his hands gliding over my bare curves, skillfully guiding me closer to the warmth of L's mouth. Then, his kiss found me—pressing deeply in my throat while his tongue danced at the entrance of my desire.
At the same time, L responded with warm, inviting lips, wrapping around him and teasing him delightfully. Her hands tangled in his hair at the nape of his neck, urging him deeper, as my fingers explored her waist, tracing her smooth contours like silk.
My breath hitched as his tongue moved within me, a mix of softness and urgency. I returned the pleasure, tasting sweat and longing as I explored the arch of L's spine. The delightful pressure from my husband traded between us—one moment lingering on me, coaxing soft sighs, then turning his attention to L with a passionate devotion.
Our bodies, glistening with heat, moved together seamlessly. L’s gentle moans whispered in my ear while my own connected with the soft gasps echoing between us. My hips responded to her teasing flicks, and I pressed my fingers into my husband's back, feeling the strength beneath my touch.
He navigated his way between us, growling softly against L’s skin before slipping back between my thighs, contrasting sharp bites with tender licks. His hands explored with the same enthusiasm—stroking, gripping, and sliding in rhythm with the vintage 80s power ballads that filled the air.
Time seemed to stretch, melting into an intimate exchange of mouths and hands, bodies pressed together in a sensual triangle balanced on soft murmurs and shared promises. I felt every part of L—the warmth of her breath, the bliss of her lips, and the delightful heat of her body as we mirrored each other's movements, our pleasure intertwining.
However, beneath the thrill of desire, a weight lingered. I held the rhythm as best I could, guiding us along, but L resisted, her touch both gentle and deliberate, clearly marking her territory. Her fingers traced possessively down my husband’s chest, tightening over his hips, her gaze full of intensity and challenge.
When the music shifted to a slow, haunting 80s tune, the mood thickened. L nestled closer to him beneath the sheets, a shadow that wouldn’t let go. Her fingers drew a slow, possessive line across him, sending shivers down my spine. The power dynamics shifted. She burrowed into him, whispering in his ear, lingering like an impending storm. What started as playful turned into a tug-of-war; she showed no signs of leaving. As the night went on and I discreetly hinted that I needed to go—work was calling, the hour was late—she stood her ground, stating, “Now that I’ve had him,” she said, her voice low, almost possessed, “I’m not letting go.”
That moment shattered the room. The music faltered, the bed turned cold and cramped. My husband called the cops, and they pulled her from our bed, but her presence refused to fade. Even now, the letters come, obsessive and pleading for a permanent place between us—a throuple fantasy spiralling into something darker.
That night, the air crackled with energy—music from the 70s and 80s seeped through the walls, creating an electric atmosphere. Our bed became a battleground of power, passion, and possession.
The sun was setting behind the trees as I forcefully shut that rusty Ford door. The seat was torn, smelled like smoke and spilled beer, but I didn’t care. She was grinning like a devil, and my heart was already pounding in my chest. Boots hit the floorboard, sending gravel flying behind us. There was nothing but sky, dirt, and bad decisions ahead.
By the time we reached that crooked trailer, my pulse was louder than the engine. She pulled me close before I could catch my breath. Her lips were hard, desperate, and tasted like whiskey and trouble. Denim scraped my thighs, leather burned hot against my skin, and every button she tore loose felt like another mile marker to nowhere good.
We collapsed onto that busted mattress like we owned the night. Springs squealed, walls shook, and neighbours probably heard every curse spilling out of my mouth. But I didn’t care. Her hands were wild, my grip was tighter, sweat was dripping, hair was tangled, and nothing was polished or sweet. Just raw, ugly-beautiful hunger.
And damn… it was perfect.
Because in that moment, with no phone, no world, and no rules, it was just me, her, and the fire we had ignited.
No filters. No shame. No tomorrow.
In twilight's glow your whispers tease
A sultry wish upon the breeze
To be your princess soft and sweet
With tender dreams at our heart's beat.
Your hands trace my curves with care A sacred bond we two would share,
Wrapped in silk and midnight's sighs
With longing deep as starlit skies.
Each flutter tells of love's design
A life within our souls entwined
The world outside fades into night
In your embrace I find my light.
So hold me close let whispers flow
As tiny kicks begin to show
Just wanna be your pregnant queen
In this lush dream where love is seen.
Throughout my life, I have cultivated a passion for writing and have harboured a long-standing aspiration to publish a book.
While financial success or achieving bestseller status may not be my primary motivation, the accomplishment of having a book published would be a significant milestone for me. It would serve as tangible proof of my literary endeavours and a testament to my dedication to the craft.
