The Devil Comes Out at Night Pt. 07

Drinks were made, beer bottles were opened, and we all spilled out onto our back patio where the grill was still smoking and the ribs were almost ready to eat. Martin walked over and I suddenly realized I'd forgotten to tell our guests he'd be joining us for drinks and dinner. I felt a rush of fear that nearly paralyzed me.

Donald made the introductions and I pulled Jeana aside and quietly told her of my concern about inappropriate conversation. She said she'd help spread the word as best she could, and told me not to worry.

Martin, it turned out, was a motorcycle enthusiast, so the conversation flowed easily and happily. In his youth he'd owned Triumphs and Nortons, British bikes from the 60s and 70s that needed much tinkering to keep running smoothly. He'd even rebuilt the motor of one of them, long ago. It was fascinating and wonderful to see him bond with Ty, the old guard and the young, forever in the fraternity of the biker brigade.

It also came to light, after his second beer, that Martin was quite the flirt. Nikki and Cynthia played right along. I had fun watching his eyes when he didn't know I was looking at him. He's a gentleman and would never stare, but oh my goodness, he was constantly sneaking looks at the braless treasures in Nikki's little black tank top, and at Cynthia's big bouncers every time she giggled or laughed. I'm pretty sure both the girls knew, and both enjoyed the attention. He had his eyes on Jeana quite a bit, too, and on me, if I can say so without seeming immodest. Jeana certainly deserved the attention, dressed as she was in a low-cut cotton summer dress that hung on the thinnest of spaghetti straps. It was cut even lower on the sides, giving her curvy side boobs a nice airing out. When we were in the kitchen together she flipped the hem of the little dress up to show me she didn't have a stitch on underneath it.

"You're ready for anything," I said when I saw it.

"I am," she said. "Too bad Martin can't stay for later; he's adorable."

"He is, and I'm afraid I'm an awful tease toward him," I admitted. "Don't tell Donald, but...for the last few weeks I've been doing my morning workouts in the backyard...wearing my bikinis."

"Ha!" Jeana chuckled. "You dog! Has Martin seen you?"

"Oh yeah. He's seen plenty. More than I want to admit."

"Oh my God!" Jeana said, still chuckling. "You love it, don't you! I probably would, too, if I had a cute neighbor."

I felt bad when I gently encouraged Martin to leave after dinner. There was an understanding of things that showed in his handsome eyes and it gave me a tingle, like he knew exactly what our friends were there for. I had an urge to take him aside and try and explain, but excited embarrassment on my face was all I could manage. It was awkward, but strangely sexy, and Martin was a complete gentleman, as usual. Ty invited him to stop by the bike shop any time and Martin said he would. The girls said their flirting goodbyes and he wandered across the lawn, stepped over the low hedgerow, and he was gone.

It was a beautiful warm evening out on the patio, but soon we all migrated inside. Jeana and Cynthia were already rinsing dishes in the kitchen when I went inside with Ty. I watched his eyes take in the details of all our doo-dads and this-and-thats in the living room, including a few Christian items and the big Bible on the desk in the corner.

"You guys are churchgoers, huh?" he said. "Ryan said somethin' about it, that Cynthia's into that. It's all cool, I'm just a curious kind of guy I guess."

"Curious?" I said. "Didn't you go to church when you were a kid?"

"No, my mom and dad weren't into that. My grandma is. She sings in a choir."

"Oh, nice," I said. "So what are you curious about, Ty? I'd be happy to answer your questions."

"So what's the deal with, like, Protestant, and Jewish, and...is Catholic different, too? Isn't it all just about believing in God?"

"They're all different, but yes, a belief in God is at the root of all of them. We're members of the Christian Church. That's where we all met. It's more rooted in the teachings of Jesus Christ; more...fundamentalist, if you know what that is."

Ty nodded. "Are you guys the 'born again' kind of Christians? That's like...intense, right?"

"I guess you could say that," I said, smiling. "We don't really use the term 'born again' anymore, but you're right, that's us."

"Cool," Ty said. "Yeah, it's all good, right? I think it's kinda hot. Maybe I shouldn't say that."

"What's hot?" I asked, smiling. "Us doing the swinger thing, you mean?"

"Yeah. You and Jeana are married and big into church and stuff. And Cynthia, I can see how she could be kinda churchy. It's kinda wild. You guys are awesome."

"Ha!" I chuckled. "I'm not sure our pastor would agree."

Jeana looked surprised when she entered the room and heard us talking. "What are you two talking about? Church?"

"Ty was curious. I guess my house gave it away. That and Cynthia."

"Oh. Well, it's no secret, right?" she said. "Even church secretaries need to have fun now and then."

"Oh, wow. You guys are secretaries? That's even hotter."

"Just me, Ty," I said, smirking at his enthusiasm. "But lets keep it a secret, okay? Don't tell all your friends."

"Oh, for sure," he said. "I'm good with secrets."

—

The experience of watching my husband and three other couples enter my bedroom and start undressing and playing with each other's aroused bodies is something I'm sure I'll never forget. All of my speculation about whether we were hosting an orgy was confirmed. Our friends, new and old, had just assumed that was the plan I guess, and the hedonism flowed like water out of a newly opened spigot.

In the heat of the moment I'd forgotten the bedroom window was open. If I'm being honest, I think I planned to forget it, quickly closing the curtains after my housecleaning earlier in the day, hiding its openness from view. It was one of those things that you do when you're halfway mindless; there's a glimmer of mindful intent, but it's fuzzy, lost in a blur that's similar to intoxication. It's like driving drunk, something I haven't done since I was a teenager; you turn corners and pull away from stop signs without thinking, or even knowing that you've done it. And yet you do, and you have. Known you've done it, I mean.

As you might have guessed, the open window is one that faces Martin and Ellen's house. I've never been in their upstairs, but I think our bedroom faces one of their unused bedrooms, a guest room maybe. The eat-in part of their kitchen is down below, on the ground floor; Ellen has a cute little glass-top table in there, with some iron chairs around it. She calls it her "ice cream table." There's windows facing us down there, too.

Inside my closed-curtained room, my marital bed had become the Devil's playground. It was awfully small for the eight of us — we could have broken off into smaller groups in different parts of the house — but we all seemed to want to be together. My little bedroom was alive, teeming with horny, naked humanity, and the bed was the epicenter. It had been quickly stripped of its blankets by Jeana and me, its dark gray fitted sheet thankfully clean but far from crisp. It didn't matter, because soon it was spotted and stained, like a dirty whorehouse bed, some of it from wet pussies and drooling mouths and some of it slipperier splatters of semen that had lost its warmth when it soaked into the cotton.

I remember having the side of my face against a wet spot, with my ass up in Ryan's strong hands, his thumb tickling my asshole as he fucked me as deeply as he could from behind. I'll freely admit I'm a total slut for doggy style; there's nothing more thrilling than the feel of a man's hands urging me into that most wonderful of positions, and the feel of a hard cock sinking into my pussy that way. If I had to guess I'd say my love of it is rooted in two things: the taboo nature of it in the deeply Christian world I grew up in, and the fact that I always thought my ass was a little too big and not at all desirable, at least as compared to magazine girls and beautiful actresses. That's all back in the past, of course, before my awakening as a sexual woman, but those formative years are, well, they're formative, you know? So now, to know a man wants me that way, and can see me that way, with the deepest underneath of me spread open wide for his lusty gaze and his hard cock, it's soul-satisfyingly thrilling, every time.

One of the fascinating things about being a swinger is learning about the habits and desires of others, especially the women. Maybe it's simply the men's desires that make doggy style so prevalent in a dirty orgy situation, but there was a time early on in the evening's proceedings when all four of us gals were taking cocks from behind, so I'm pretty sure all three of my new girlfriends love it as much as I do. It was a beautiful, memorable moment: Nikki on her knees with her hands high on the headboard and her back deeply arched, with my Donald behind her exquisite little ass; Jeana and me nearly side by side on hands and knees, with our two biker boys fucking us; and Cynthia face down on the gray sheet with her widespread legs hanging off the bed, toes on the floor, her big, beautiful pussy taking all that Bob could give her.

Thinking back on that moment, and how thrillingly vocal we all were, I can't help but wonder about Martin. When did he catch on and start listening, and how did he do it? Did he sit at Ellen's ice cream table, maybe with a beer or a cocktail, with his window as wide open as ours was? Or maybe he was upstairs in their spare bedroom, sitting next to the window in the dark. Was his cock hard? Was it out of his pants, in his hand? I wonder if he's circumcised. I'm guessing he probably isn't.

I suppose it doesn't matter how he did his listening; he most certainly got an earful. The summer night was so quiet he probably heard everything, even the quieter talk, but the wild, unhinged orgasms and the begging fuck me's and the breathless oh my god's had to be unmistakable. I've become a loud lover over the past year, and Jeana and Cynthia are right there with me. Nikki's a shrieky little fucker, too. I blame the boat, the privacy of our little cove at the lake, and the way the hot summer days absorb our blissful screams. We'd gotten used to it, and once you let it out it's hard to hold it in, especially with the intensity of an orgy all around you.

It was about halfway through the evenings devilishness when I remembered the open window. I was on my back, with two beautiful men ravishing my pussy and my breasts. Bob was eating me and tongue tickling my clit in his unmistakably wondrous way, and Ty was nibbling on my big nipples, telling me yet again how much he loves my tits. In my state of mindless bliss my head turned onto its side and there it was: the closed curtains, barely moving from the wisp of a summer night breeze. Martin! It was as if his own heavy breathing was making the curtains move. The sounds of the orgy swelled in my ears and my mind went to the orgasms that had already happened; the beautiful screams, the cries of love. They'd been feminine and masculine, both, and from the outside, in the dark of the quiet night, they must have sounded as wild as wild can be. I wondered how far the sound had traveled — there are other neighbors — and I pictured them looking out their windows at the motorcycles parked in my driveway and...I had an orgasm. A big, beautiful one that made me wail. I'd officially lost control of my formerly sensible life, and I didn't care. Not even a bit.

It went on that way. Carefree. I've learned to love that word, and what it stands for. I licked all my men's balls that night, thoroughly, and inhaled the essence of them. Smooth ones and soft ones and tight ones and lower hanging ones. It's one of my favorite slut moves these days, getting a man's hard cock thoroughly wet with my mouth and then jerking it off with my tight fist while my mouth plays happily with his balls, toying with the perfect balance between pleasure and pain. I get lots of attaboys for it, lots of, "Oh Margaret! Holy shit!" I love to keep it up until they cum, and I milk every drop of their slippery stuff from them with my loving hand. I loved doing Ty that way that night, with Jeana riding his face with her cum-slickened cream-pie pussy. He groaned so sweetly when he came. It gave me goosebumps.

He's a very sexy young man. Ever since meeting him I've become a tattoo lover, looking for ink on every man I see. Ty wears them best, though, so much so that I can't imagine him without them. He's almost more ink than not, and Jeana and I are both crazy about the look now. My mother would slap me if she knew, I'm sure.

Earlier in the evening, downstairs when we were eating ribs with Martin, Cynthia told us that she was going to get her first tattoo and that Ryan would be there with her for moral support. Martin told of some friends who were drafted into the Vietnam War, and the various tattoos they all had. He didn't have any himself, and he said he was getting used to the idea of women and girls having them. Nikki showed him some of her hidden ones, pulling her little shirt up so high the bottom of her bare breasts showed. She held it there, much to Martin's apparent delight, while he took in all the fine details of the amazing work of art that seemed to cradle those firm but tender young breasts. After he'd had a good close-up look and she'd told him all about it, she turned her back to him and lifted her shirt all the way to the top of her shoulders. He got some nice glimpses of her side boob, I'm sure, when she twisted a little and turned her head to tell him all about the inky work done back there.

Ryan has some nice tattoos, some of them works in progress, but it's Ty who truly takes the aesthetic to its logical end. With his bad boy looks and his pushed-back hair that falls into his eyes when he fucks, the tattoos finish the job, rendering sex-hungry church women defenseless. I hadn't heard any of us say no to him.

"Cynth, you like it in the ass?" Ty asked, late in the night. We'd all slowed down and she was relaxed, in doggy position on her knees, with her head down and her ass up, and he was languidly eating her big pussy from behind. "Your ass is so fuckin' amazing; I'm totally into it if you wanna. Is there any lube around?"

Cynthia tried to hide her wide-eyed surprise but it was easily seen. "You guys...like that? I've never done it."

"Ryan should be first. You into it?"

Much to my surprise, Cynthia nodded. Her eyes looked a little wild; lusty and animal. Donald opened the bedside drawer and took out a small bottle of lube. It was nearly full, I'd only used just a few small smears on the head of a dildo once or twice; and no, if you're wondering, it didn't go in my ass.

The next few minutes were a blur. Cynthia stayed right where she was, on her knees in the middle of my bed, with her shoulders down on the dirty sheet. There was a squirt of lube, a slippery polishing of hard cock, another squirt right on her asshole, and then...Ryan's penetration, slow. There was sound coming out of Cynthia's mouth I hadn't heard before. There was fucking, not deep at first and then deeper. There was surprise in her eyes, and louder yelps and shrieks, and she had a big orgasm, loud and uncontrolled. Ryan withdrew with a satisfied, breathy moan, and then Ty was in, his cock lubed and slippery too. Cynthia's body was spasming. Beautifully. Her mouth was open and her throat was leaking desperately sexy screams of gibberish.

Ty held her there, in the realm of gibberish, his body all muscle and breathless energy, breathless from the feel of the inside of Cynthia's most forbidden opening, an opening he fucked long and hard. When he was done he pulled out. "Look at that," he said. "Look at how open it is. Bob, see if you'll fit in there."

"Oh my God," I said, my eyes wide and disbelieving. What was happening was finally sinking in to my spinning mind. Anal sex! Bob's huge cock! In Cynthia Marley's ass! In my own bedroom! Cynthia was looking over her shoulder at Bob, her nodding head and her wild eyes giving him permission. I looked at Jeana and she had the same look on her face that I had on mine. I could read her thoughts, and they were the same as the ones in my head: Is this really happening?

When Bob was halfway inside Cynthia his whole body was tensed and he looked like he might explode. "You gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me!" he gasped, looking down at his cock, watching it sinking deeper into the big, beautiful ass of the most bookish member of our church's congregation. He sounded almost childish, disbelieving, when he huffed out an "Oh my God!" He looked stunned as he worked his way deeper, and when he bottomed out, his enormous cock balls-deep inside her ass, he came. His eyes rolled and I could almost feel the pulses of his cum flooding Cynthia's insides, mixing with Ryan's and Ty's. Every muscle in Bob's body was tensed, showing us exactly what was happening, every mind-melting squirt of it. Cynthia was spasming again, her dark hole filled to the hilt with Bob's massive meat, the hard heat of him ever so deep, somewhere brand new in her gut. Her mouth gurgled and drooled. They were sounds and sights similar to death, but she was fully alive, orgasming, as he was, the two of them lost in the intensity of something extraordinary.

"I've never seen such a big cock in an ass before," Nikki said. "Bobby, you'll do me too, right?"

Bob's body was starting to fuck Cynthia's forbidden opening, a slow in-and-out, lubricated by all the cum inside her. He couldn't speak, couldn't answer Nikki's question. His hands roamed on the smooth roundness of Cynthia's ass, an ass I'm sure he'd dreamt of since he first met her, years ago on a Sunday morning, him with his Sunday church smile and her in a frumpy dress that only hinted at the sexy curve of her amazing ass. Knowing Bob as I do now, I'm sure he conjured up exactly what was under that dress. And now years had gone by, and his far-fetched fantastical dream had come true.

—

I'd forgotten about the open window again, until morning. Sunday morning. Church day. I wouldn't have a chance to talk to Martin, just the two of us, until my exercise session on Tuesday, one of my days off.

Walking into the Church's sanctuary for Sunday Service with all the congregants there felt very odd to me. I don't know if Donald felt it. It was a sort of otherworldliness, as if my formerly 'normal' life as a conservative lady of the church was somehow the strange half of my two lives, and the 'gonna-have-an-orgy-with-the-bikers' part of my life was now the new normal. It was as big a turnabout as can be imagined, one that most certainly must have been coordinated by both God and the Devil.

When we met up with Bob and Jeana they had similar looks on their faces to the way I felt, and when Cynthia walked in, saying hello to some of the older folks as she made her way toward us, I could see it on her face, too.

None of the five of us touched each other — no hugs or handshakes or cheek kisses. It wasn't because we didn't want to, it was because we all thought our naked Saturday night was written all over our faces. All I could think about was Cynthia's anal virginity being obliterated as a happy naked audience watched in awe. As I stood there in the sanctuary in my Sunday dress my mind was stuck on a loop — a vision of Bob's big beautiful cock disappearing inside Cynthia's forbidden opening, her spasming body orgasming from nothing more than the fullness of it, and the thought of it, and the spectacle of it.

"Anybody else having trouble focusing this morning?" I asked.

"I wasn't going to come," Cynthia said.