This is a work of sheer fantasy in all respects, and is intended for the purposes of erotic entertainment only. All characters are over the age of 18. I love to receive positive feedback, and I appreciate constructive suggestions. I hope you enjoy it.

When Jean, Donna, and I met for lunch that Thursday, it had been a few months since we’d gotten together. We’ve been friends since middle-school, and remained inseparable into our mid-twenties. These days, though, we’re all long-married—juggling jobs and kids—so it’s hard to carve out the time.

Still, when we reconnected that day, it was like nothing had changed. Even before the drink orders were taken, we were already sharing intimacies—just like the three amigos we’d always been.

Now strictly between us, Jeannie can be tightly-wound at the best of times—and on that particular Thursday, it looked like she was barely holding it together. By the second glass of wine, it had all started spilling out: she and Steve were going through a serious rough patch.

“You know we’d always agreed we’d have at least two kids, right? Well, I’m not getting any younger, and I really want Theo to have a little brother or sister. But Steve has been putting it off, and putting it off. Finally, I felt like I needed to take a stand. So, we had this long talk and I told him exactly how I felt, no holds barred. And he agreed. He said he was OK with trying to get pregnant again—that he knew he’d been a jerk about it, but he was ready now too...”

Donna and I smiled encouragingly, but there was obviously more to the story than that.

“I was so happy, at first,” Jean sighed. “I’ve really been craving another baby. But, you know ... ever since then, things have just been, well ... off ... with Steve. He’s distant. He won’t tell me what’s going on in his head. He says nothing’s wrong, but I know something is. It’s like there’s a wall between us.”

We nodded sympathetically. Men!

Being me, however, I couldn’t help trolling for the juicier details. “So ... is he performing in bed? I mean, are you guys, you know ... trying?”

She blushed and grimaced. “God, that’s been even worse. To be honest, our love life was pretty crummy before this all happened—and since our little talk it’s been awful. He hasn’t been initiating anything, and the times that I’ve pushed him into it, it’s been really awkward ... I thought making a baby would be hot, but now I’m just starting to dread it. It’s like we’ve dug ourselves into a deep hole, and no matter what I do, I can’t get us out of it again. I don’t know what else to try!”

We made supportive noises; but after that, a tense silence fell. Jean’s shoulders were hunched, her jaw set, and I could see tears glinting in her eyes.

It was at this point that I did something really stupid. “Uh, Jeannie,” I blurted out. “I’m probably out of line here. If I am, please slap me down. But, if you’re looking for a way to shake things loose with Steve, you know, sexually ... well Donna and I socialize with this small couples’ group. Just people from the area. And we’re ... um, let’s just say things get pretty wild when we’re together. Uninhibited. It’s done wonders for Ben and me—really spiced things up in the bedroom. And we’re meeting at my house this Saturday if, you know, you just wanted to dip your toe in.”

To my credit, I grasped immediately that I should have kept my mouth shut. The hot daggers shooting across the table from Donna’s eyes only served as confirmation.

If she’d been free to yell at me, I think Donna would have made two points. First off, we’d agreed to keep this from Jean. Of the three of us, she had always been the most shy, the most self-conscious, the most starchy and straightlaced. We’d talked about inviting her several times before, and always concluded that she’d be mortified to even be asked. Not to mention disgusted with us.

Second, and more important, was the fact that Jean’s marital problems clearly went way beyond sex. Asking her to one of our parties was tantamount to pouring gasoline on the bonfire of her marriage. In my defense, I’m just an impulsive person by nature; but even so, this was like best-friend-malpractice.

Still, there was no way to take it back now.

Jean glanced up at me, hesitantly. “How wild are we talking about?”

“Well, like last month, Don-...” At this point the toe of Donna’s boot made firm contact with my shin, and I started over. “Look, we’ve never really thought of it as ‘swinging,’ but I guess you could call it that. Or maybe ‘poly’ is the new term. But all those labels make it sound weirder than it is. It’s only a small group of people, very discreet. And we’ve simply gotten comfortable with each other, learned how to loosen up, and realized that more variety and less jealousy can make married life a lot of fun.”

Jean folded her arms over her chest and looked away. “I’m ... sex is so private. I don’t think I can loosen up like that.” She exhaled through her nose and turned back to me. “You’re different, Gwen. You’re always laid-back and ready to try new things. You never worry about stuff. But I’m not like that. I’m too uptight.” Jeez, I’d expected her to be judgmental of my life choices, but instead she was sinking even further into self-criticism. That was the last thing I wanted.

“Jeannie—don’t get down on yourself. You’re fine! Whatever way you want to be is fine...” I paused, but she seemed to expect me to go on. “Look, if you don’t want to come, I totally get it. And if you did want to come, it would be 100% casual. No pressure. You could just drop in, see what it’s like, and leave whenever you want. Really—it’s no big deal either way.”

Jean pondered for a moment, and then a switch appeared to flip in her mind. When she spoke, her voice had a hard, unfamiliar edge. “Well, what have I got to lose, right? I’ve been so unhappy, and something’s got to change. I’ll run it by Steve tonight.”

Later that afternoon Donna called my cell. She didn’t bother with any preliminaries. “What the fuck were you thinking?!”

“You saw Jean—she was so sad. And the group really has helped Ben and me rekindle our intimacy. In the moment, it just felt like something to try ... Anyway, you know I haven’t been able to keep my mouth shut for thirty-three years—why would I start now?”

“God, sometimes I don’t know what to do with you. What makes you think Steve and Jean are at a place where they can handle this?” Donna is usually unflappable, but my indiscretion had flustered her. Feeling duty-bound, I shot a sheepish look into the phone. She couldn’t see it, of course, but I think she got the vibe, because after a second she hmphed and went on. “Well, the damage is done now. Does this mean we need a change of plans?”

We usually tried to have some structure at our couples’ get-togethers—something a little different each time. This month we’d planned a game night. After the final event, the lucky champions would get to ‘have their way’ with the partners of their choice, while the rest of the group enjoyed the show. Donna and I had been proud of this idea—having winners and losers and quirks of fate would inject an extra bit of thrill into the evening. Since we all knew each other well, and were comfortable with each other, nothing about it would be too fraught. And the losers could take comfort in knowing there would be fresh opportunities for debauchery next time.

“I think we can stay the course,” I replied. “Jean and Steve will just watch, right? It’ll be fun for them. And they’ll probably leave early anyway.

She sounded a little doubtful. “Yeah ... I mean, knowing Jean, they won’t last five minutes. But then, I still can’t believe she’s thinking of coming at all!”

“Don’t worry,” I tried to reassure her, “we’ll give them one hell of a performance, and it will whet their appetites. Then they’ll go home and have the best sex they’ve had in years. I guarantee it.”

“Yeah, maybe...” I could tell Donna was unconvinced.

At last, it was Saturday night. Everyone’s kids were packed off with a sitter at Donna’s house, and the fun could begin. Thanks to one vacation, one case of flu, and one last-minute business trip, we ended up three couples down from our normal complement. Besides Ben and me, and Donna and Eddie, there was only one other pair at my house that evening: Charles and Suzanne. Normally that might have been a bummer, but tonight I didn’t mind. I figured it would be better for hosting newcomers—more intimate, less intimidating.

In fact, Steve and Jean already knew most of the people present when I ushered them into the living room. The three amigos had gone to high school with Steve (though none of us had dated him back then), and of course our husbands had all met dozens of times over the years. The men weren’t exactly close friends, but they got along well enough. I didn’t see any problems there.

That left only one remaining couple. “Jean, Steve—let me introduce you to Charles and Suzanne Zhang. I don’t think you know each other. They live over in Oak Park.”

Charles is a first-generation American of Chinese descent. He’s a real go-getter in the tech industry—the kind of guy who’s never happier than when he’s talking about his important projects and money-making deals. He presents himself as a big success, and I suppose he is. Anyway, he pulls down enough that Suzanne, his overstuffed and slightly neurotic blonde wife, can stay home fulltime. They live in a swank subdivision a couple of miles down the road, and send their kids to private school. I have to admit, I can get a bit jealous sometimes.

Jean shook their hands, murmuring some pleasantries. But Steve stood back on his heels, and I sensed a crackle of tension between the two men. “Yeah,” he said coolly, “Charles and I have met.”

Steve works in tech, too—though he earns a lot less—and evidently their paths had crossed at some point. Charles gazed at him for a moment with heavy eyelids, and then his face lit up in a big grin. “Oh yeah, you’re with Bytesoft, right? Oof, it must have stung when we snagged the MegaBank account from you last year! Still, you always get back up off the mat, right Steve? Small world.”

Shit. There was history between them. One didn’t have to know the details to register Steve’s defensiveness, or the condescension dripping from Charles. Shit, shit, shit.

“Look,” I butted in, “I didn’t know you two work together. This is awkward. Let’s just—”

Charles cut me off in his smooth tenor. “It’s no big deal. At least, it’s not awkward for me. But, if you’re uncomfortable Steve...?”

He simply let that dangle there in the air. Steve’s face flushed a little. “No, it’s great. I have no problem with Charles.”

Jean looked at her husband with a worried expression on her face. She touched his arm. “Honey...” she said softly.

He glared at her. “I’m fine.”

Shit.

We remained in the living room for a good while, mingling over hors d’oeuvres, margaritas, and light chit-chat. We always tried to pace ourselves—after all, anticipation and build-up was half the fun!—and in light of our guests, it seemed extra important to take it slow.

After an hour or so, I decided it was time to lead everyone into the den. I’d borrowed enough gear (from the PTA I’m embarrassed to say) to turn it into a pretty decent casino. Green felt covering the card tables, heavy chips, a fullsize roulette wheel, the works. We’d all worn our best approximation of James-Bond-in-Monaco apparel (though we’d ditched our shoes at the door), and I had my green eyeshade on. It wasn’t half bad.

The first game I’d planned was a little strip-poker, with the men playing the cards and the women cheering them on. “I think Jean and Steve should just be voyeurs tonight,” I suggested casually, figuring this was an opportune moment to shepherd them to the sidelines. “That’ll give them a chance to see how we operate.”

Jean opened her mouth, but before she could speak Steve broke in gruffly. “We don’t want any special treatment. Count us in.”

“Hoo boy, Steve came ready to play!” Charles boomed out.

Donna shot me a look.

The poker game would feature small bankrolls and high minimums, so that it wouldn’t be long before the men started going bust. When one of them did, he’d have to pay an item of his wife’s clothing to refill his kitty. Last man whose wife was covered was the champ. The point wasn’t really to win—but with the testosterone oozing from Steve and Charles, I feared the boys would still turn it into a dick-waving contest.

They got right down to business. My Ben is a dear soul, and he played in deadly earnest, but he has a lousy poker face, and he started the game by losing several big hands. Before I knew it, my dress and bra were discarded on the side-table and my tits out for all to see. Well, I supposed, that was only fitting, seeing as I was the hostess.

Donna’s husband Eddie is shrewder than Ben, and he was talking a lot of smack with Charles and Steve. At heart, though, he’s a pretty laid back guy, and not all that competitive. Also, I think he wanted to keep the night moving along. At any rate, he wasn’t trying very hard, and Donna soon lost her dress as well.

As Donna flipped the spaghetti straps from her shoulders and let the garment fall, I happened to glance over at Steve, and was struck by the hungry intensity of his gaze. After a second, he noticed my attention and tried to act nonchalant, but there was no doubt that he’d been riveted. Then, a bit later, when Donna lost her lacy red bra, I caught that same look, even more pronounced. I swear he hadn’t ogled my rack that way!

It wasn’t entirely surprising, I guess. Back in high school, if you’d told me that Steve would end up marrying one of the three amigos, I might have picked Donna. It always seemed there was some kind of chemistry between them. Of course, it hadn’t ever gone anywhere, either in school or afterwards. But given what I’d just seen, I couldn’t help wondering if he’d been nursing a suppressed Donna-fantasy these last fifteen years.

I also wondered if Donna had detected the same obsessive glint in his eyes that I had...

The game went on. I had no qualms about peeking at the cards, and after the next deal I saw that Ben had three queens, while Eddie had a flush. I knew my husband well enough to know he’d go all-in on his losing hand, and that was exactly what happened. When the last bets were placed, Ben laid out his cards eagerly, and I waited sympathetically for his hopes to be dashed. But Eddie merely folded his hand, face-down. “Too much for me,” he lied, a twinkle in his eye, “I only have aces over eights.” That meant Donna would be the first person stripped instead of me!

Donna guessed what Eddie had done, and she gave the back of her husband’s head a smack, half playful, half vexed. Then she eased off her matching crimson panties and flaunted her goods with a confident little twirl.

Donna may be a serious woman in her 30s, yet somehow she retains a girlish spark. Her family is Sicilian, and she has a lovely, smooth olive complexion, with long, glossy, kinky black tresses. I would not call her face beautiful, but it’s wide, alert, and frank, with liquid brown eyes and irresistible dimples. Her body is petite, her curves trim and firm, and her breasts small and pert, with generous, dark nipples. Most of all, she conveys an impression of abundant energy and life. Whenever I feel down, I try to channel my inner Donna.

Now, along with these other assets, she revealed a carefully trimmed crotch, adorned with a neat strip of fur that was also jet-black. Happy to bask in the attention, she turned her back to us and bent coquettishly from the waist to pick up her panties, giving us all a flash of her plump, ruddy-brown labia. Most of us had enjoyed all this before, of course, but the men still craned their necks, and I could distinctly see Ben’s pants bulge in front. As for Steve, he just sat there with his mouth hanging open. If I hadn’t given him a quick nudge, I don’t think he would have pulled it together before Jean noticed.

Soon enough, Ben lost too. I didn’t mind—I had a fresh wax-job to show off. And I wasn’t about to let Donna upstage me, either. When it was time to retrieve my undies, I squatted down, knees spread wide. To be honest, I like showing off, and was already feeling a little tingly at the crotch. As I knelt, my pussy opened easily, so that my clit poked out unashamedly. I gave the audience my best dazzling smile, but I don’t think they even noticed, given that their eyes were directed elsewhere.

Now it was down to Steve and Charles. Steve was keen to win, but I feared his attention was divided. I kept catching him darting glances at Donna, where she lounged on the couch with Eddie’s arm draped around her. Still, Steve battled gamely, and the momentum shifted several times before he finally lost a huge pot on a queen-high straight. Charles’s expression was undeniably smug as he laid out a dominating full-house.

Silence fell and all eyes turned to Jean. She gulped visibly. Jean is slim and leggy, with strawberry-blonde hair and freckles. She had on a long, sleek green dress with a high neckline, cap-sleeves, and a tantalizing above-the-knee slit. Now, she knew, it would have to come off. I wished I had at least warned her to wear something sexy underneath...

She fidgeted awkwardly for a moment. “It’s OK, hon,” I said, “you can quit if you want. It’s no big deal.” How absurd to be saying this, when I’d already been stripped stark naked! But, I felt responsible for her. And anyway, the whole point of the party was to have fun.

Her voice grated. “N-no, it’s ok. It’s just that I’m new at this. Steve, would you mind, uh-unzipping me?”

Wordlessly, he got up and moved behind his wife. He zipped her down, and eased the dress off her shoulders. Then she extracted her arms and peeled it off her body, revealing a matched set of burgundy satin underwear—modest but elegant.

Steve returned to his seat. The room was warm, but Jean shivered a little bit. I edged over and put an arm around her bare shoulder. “You look gorgeous,” I whispered in her ear. She managed a half-hearted smile.

Charles got a little over-confident, and tried to push his advantage with a foolhardy bluff. Steve wasn’t that far gone, and he called it. Now Suzanne gave a delighted giggle as she realized it was her turn to discard her outerwear. She was wearing a hot-pink cocktail dress; and I was utterly unsurprised when she shed it to reveal skimpy, high-end lingerie in the exact same resplendent shade of pink. When you have nothing to do but shop all day, you can pull off things like that.

The hard-on in Ben’s pants ticked up another notch at the sight. It’s fair to say that I’m on the curvy side, but Suzanne still has quite a bit of weight on me—plump ass, meaty thighs, and big, pendulous breasts that were barely contained by the sheer fabric of her bra. For my husband, I knew, this was a serious turn-on. At previous parties, I’d don’t think I’d ever seen him more revved up than when he and Suzanne fucked. Maybe I should try to gain a few pounds, I thought...

The game rolled on. Charles was clearly a better poker player than Steve, and he didn’t make any more unforced mistakes. After a string of small wins, he busted Steve again, and Jean’s tits were forfeit. Charles, Eddie and Ben whooped and hollered (I wished they wouldn’t). Jeannie blushed furiously and looked straight down at the floor, but this time she didn’t hesitate. Reaching behind to work the clasp, she dropped her arms and allowed the bra to fall.

My friend’s breasts are full, and I admired how they still had such a youthful lift to them. Her nipples were rock-hard, as if she were in a cold shower instead of my cozy den, and poked out nearly a half-inch. Still, their rose-pink flesh looked so silky that even I wanted to stroke them. She crossed her arms over her chest for a minute, peering off toward the wall. Then, realizing she must appear defensive, she let her hands drop awkwardly to her sides. She didn’t look like she was having fun.

Now Steve really did start losing his cool and making bad decisions. It only took a few more hands before his defeat was sealed. He stared down blankly at the pair of aces he had tried to coax into a win, while Charles crowed exultantly. “All right Jean—let’s see you take it all off!”

Jean blanched. I saw Suzanne whisper something in Charles’s ear—no doubt reminding him that this was not quite the spirit in which our group convened. But he seemed too caught up in his victory to register her concerns.

“Really, Jeannie,” I said earnestly, “you can stop now. There’s no need to overdo it.”

I caught a hunted look in her eyes. All she wanted to do at that moment was throw on her overcoat and scamper home. Before she could say anything, though, Steve spoke up, in a harsh monotone. “Nope, I lost fair and square.” Standing stiffly, he moved behind his wife again, grasped the waist of her panties at each hip, and pulled them down to her ankles.

The blush on Jean’s face crept down her neck and across her breastbone. As our eyes continued downward past her trim waist and admirably taut belly, we could all see Jean, unlike me, is a natural blonde. Even stripped naked, though, she still retained some shreds of her natural modesty. Between the neat wedge of her curly, honey-hued locks, and the way her strong, shapely legs pressed tightly together, she managed to keep her most intimate treasures well concealed. I figured this only made Ben all the more hot for her, and it was probably the same for the other guys as well.

With Charles holding all the chips, that was the end of the poker game. At this point, I was eager to shift the spotlight away from my friend as quickly as possible. “All right, enough ogling the ladies, folks. It’ll be the men’s turn next. But first, who’s up for another round of drinks?”

In the kitchen, Suzanne was bubbly. “I really wanted to lose,” she said, as if confiding a secret.

“You could just pop off your undies now, dear,” Donna replied, voice a little thick. “The boys would love it.” Donna had already downed one fresh margarita, and was pouring herself another. Probably trying to drown her worries, I supposed.

“Yeah,” Suzanne replied, half apologetically, “but you know how Charles gets—I want him to feel good for, like, ‘defending my honor.’ In a while...”

Returning to the rec room, we sipped our drinks, and watched as Ben set up the table and Eddie handed each of the women a stack of chips. The game was roulette, and I’d set the payouts high enough that it would be hard to lose. Whenever one of us gals had scored enough extra chips, we could cash them in to redeem an item of clothing from the male of our choice.

The men had to ditch their jackets, ties, and socks before we even got started—we weren’t about to mess with all that. Then we got down to work.

Suzanne, I saw, was taking big risks, stacking wobbly piles of chips on single numbers or runs of three. And damn if she didn’t hit a straight-single on the second spin of the wheel. Eddie grinned and pushed a heap of blue chits across the felt. Suzanne giggled again and started counting them.

“Five forfeits!” she gloated when she’d made it through the stack. “Well, to start with boys, you can all remove your shirts.”

She bounced over to each one in turn, pressing her voluptuous rack up against their backs and caressing their chests as she made a show of helping to undo the buttons.

When it was Eddie’s turn, it soon became obvious that he hadn’t worn a t-shirt under his button-down. Even amidst the raunchy surroundings, Donna couldn’t resist a wifely snort and rolled her eyes. “Ed, you can do your own dry-cleaning if you won’t even bother to put on an undershirt.”

He grinned in mock contrition as the ample cups of Suzanne’s silk bra smashed up against the bare skin of his shoulder-blades. “Sorry, hon, forgot.”

Suzanne was loving it—she appreciated Ben’s attentions, but I knew from past soirees that she was even more into Eddie. “Someone’s in trouble,” she said in a playful singsong. “And I still have one forfeit left to claim. Sorry, champ, but I think I’m going to need your pants.”

Eddie’s grin was a bit sheepish, but he was enjoying being in the spotlight. He stripped off his trousers and placed them obediently in Suzanne’s waiting hands. Eddie is cute, and even cuter reduced to skimpy sky-blue jockey shorts. He played baseball back in college. He’s not big or heavily muscled, but he has a lean, taut physique and great coordination—traits that come in just as handy in the bedroom as the batter’s box.

Donna won next. Having collected her chips, she hesitated next to Steve for a moment, indecisively. I appraised my friend critically, and had the impression that she was not only distinctly tipsy now, but getting a little hot-and-bothered as well. Her face looked flushed, her eyes bright, her nipples hard, and ... was that her clit poking out a tad?

My friend had done nothing to acknowledge the intense vibes of desire Steve was putting off. Still, she must have sensed them. After all, it wasn’t as if the man was being subtle about his feelings. At the moment, for instance, the dopey grin on his face made it painfully clear that he was hoping she’d strip him down. My fear was that the more she drank, the more receptive she’d become to his attentions.

For the moment, though, his hopes were disappointed. Donna still had enough presence of mind to realize she shouldn’t give Steve any encouragement. Maybe even detected the anxious look on Jean’s face as she hovered in the wings, trying to be inconspicuous. At any rate, after pausing there a second, index finger poised at the corner of her full lips, Donna pivoted on her heel and made for Charles instead.

Charles is the kind of guy that some women might pass by without a second glance, because he’s not big or ‘built’ in a classical sense. Don’t let that fool you—he’s not only good looking, he’s toned and deceptively strong. And another thing about Charles is that he has great skin—like silk. Plus, he was a top-notch violinist in his youth (probably still would be, if there was any money in it) and had the fingers of a musician. Let’s just say that at our previous get-togethers, he’d definitely shown he knew what to do with his hands!

So it was natural that Donna, having given Steve a reluctant pass, might turn to Charles as the object of her attention. Her chips bought two items of clothing, and once she’d helped Charles off with his t-shirt, her fingertips brushed a long, slow path down his chest to unbutton his slacks. The only disappointment was that his expensive boxers concealed far too much about what was underneath.

All this time, as I said, Jean had been trying to hang around the edges of the group and avoid attention. Clearly being naked in a crowd was a new and awkward experience for her. She seemed to be finding it hard to concentrate on the game, and just placed small, timid bets, randomly, with no discernable system. She was nonplussed, therefore, when she hit on a column-wager. Grinning, Eddie grasped her hand and dumped way more chips than she had earned into her open palm. “That’ll buy you a couple of items,” he said. “See anything you like?”

Jean responded with a mortified look. For one thing, this had thrust her back into the limelight, just when she’d been getting comfortable with the idea that being naked wasn’t so bad as long as no one was really paying any attention to her. And for another thing, she would have to reveal something about herself by what she chose.

She lurched a half-step toward Ben, and then stopped, wheels turning in her head. Changing her mind, she turned and paced stiffly over to her husband, not daring to meet anyone’s eye. Fumbling awkwardly, she pulled Steve’s undershirt over his head, mussing his thick, sandy-dark hair, and then undid his fly. Next, moving her hands to his waistband, she undid his trousers. They dropped to reveal formfitting black briefs, stretched tight by an impressive bulge in front. If I’d have been in Jean’s spot, I definitely would have copped a feel.

Normally in this group, one didn’t strip one’s own spouse. Jean wasn’t to know that of course, but Charles let out a ‘boo’ anyway—which Suzanne quickly stifled with an elbow to his bare ribs.

Donna is a real shark at Vegas, and she won big again now. I think she would have preferred to strip Charles the rest of the way. However, Ben was feeling a little neglected, and it wasn’t in the spirit of the game to leave anyone out, so she bent her slightly-wobbly feet in his direction instead. In a trice my man went from mostly clothed to au naturale. And I’m pleased to say that although Ben may be balding, and a little slump-shouldered, he packs it where it counts. The man is hung like a horse, and his equipment was eager for its freedom—it made quite a spectacle when Donna knelt down in front to pull his shorts off, and every last inch of his glorious schlong came spilling out. With a twinkle in her eye, she stuck out her tongue and stroked it lightly along the underside of his pole, from base to tip. His face reddened, and his organ ratcheted up yet-another notch in response.