Double Teamed: Sharing Jenna (3 page)

My feet hurt from all the pacing, but I can’t sit still, waiting for Devin. More than once, my chattering monkey brain howls
he’s not gonna show.
I want to spank my monkey (now that’s a fucking great pun!).

“Let me know when he’s here,” Jenna shouts from upstairs—for the third time in less than ten minutes.

“Yes dear,” I struggle to say through my desert mouth. Normally, when I feel like this, humor flies naturally off my lips. Now, my tongue is bound and gagged. I step toward the stairs to change my shirt, but I hear gravel and gasp.

I dart over and peek around the bare window and see headlights.

“He’s coming,” I proclaim, but the pun makes me cringe instead of laugh. I’ve never been this nervous in my life. And I use both hands to adjust my jeans. A slam of a door startles me, and the squeak of auto-locking a car door makes me panic. I chuckle nervously and feel like yelling you’re not in the city anymore.

Footsteps on the brick path gain ground toward me; I utter
Showtime
as I force in an inhale
.
The knock nearly makes me piss my pants. I count to three—don’t want to seem too eager—then cup my mouth enough to muffle my yell, “I’m coming.”

I shudder inside, this time from head to toe.

My palm slips as I turn the door knob, but I manage to open it. And there he is...

With the porch light, Devin looks, well, studly. Standing proud as a peacock, he’s wearing jeans that fit him better than my best pair. And his biceps bulge out of his black V-shirt. There is more intrigue to his physique now than in basketball shorts and a wrinkled t-shirt.

“Can I come in bro?”

I shake my head and chortle, “Yeah, sorry man,” I extend my hand but wish I rubbed it on my jeans first.

“Nice digs dawg.” Devin’s green eyes sparkle as he surveys the room we rarely use.

“Oh, thanks, let me show you around...”

Devin follows me as we hike upstairs and enter the bedroom. And as my eyes meet Jenna, I freeze and nearly sprain my jaw.

She’s standing in front of the mirror donning the infamous stripper heels—and girl-next-door looks more like high-end call girl.

Jenna snaps her head at me and scolds, “Luke, you were supposed to tell me when he’s...”

Jenna freezes as Devin strides into the room. Her eyes widen and the lingering pout on her red lips tingles my groin. I’ve never seen her with that much lipstick on—and her fingernails and toenails are the same shade of passion red as her lips. She reminds me a little of the porn star from the other night. Only hotter. My cock pulses against my jeans.

Jenna looks stunning in her skin-tight dress that looks more like body paint. Her hair dangles off her bare shoulders and gone is the Swiss Miss look. I haven’t seen Jenna wear her hair down in a long time. Change that high-end call girl bullshit; the way we both gawk, Jenna’s closer to slut-on-a-pole. And the pole is in my pants, oozing in my boxers.

I glance up at Devin, and mister ladies’ man is gaping—at a loss for words. “You remember my wife Jenna?” I usually never introduce her as
my wife
Jenna
but my nerves short-circuit my brain.

“Of course I do,” Devin snakes around me and says, “wow,” as he slips in past her comfort zone and surprises Jenna with a kiss. On the lips. Not a French greeting on each cheek, not the suave kiss on the back of the hand. Right smack on the lips. And I shake my head as he stays there, his tongue already parts her lips, exploring.

I stand open-mouthed and alternate from one foot to the other like a Village Idiot.
What have I gotten myself into?

I clear my throat, but they remain lip-locked.

I whistle, then say, “If you guys just want to take it to the bedroom...”

With that, they finally break for air. Jenna gasps with crimson cheeks, but Devin is cool as a cucumber. Jenna glances at his cucumber and tugs at her dress, then says, “Are you hungry?” Her eyes don’t leave Devin, and I feel invisible.

Devin bites his lower lip, then his green eyes gaze into Jenna’s soul as he says, “I’m up for whatever you want.”

Jenna fidgets and I adjust my jeans—again. I half-expect to hear thunder to accompany the lightning flashes in the room.

“Can I get you a drink?” I blurt out, desperate to break the spell.

Neither of them respond as if waiting for the other to speak first. And undressing each other in their minds. Devin not-so-subtly eye-fucks Jenna. And Jenna’s blushing spreads below her neckline. Also, below the neckline, Jenna’s turgid nipples are ready to cut through her dress.

Hey, what the fuck, Jenna always wears a bra—even the other night when we watched  porn. My gutter mind guesses she shuns panties too.

Aside from the heels, I had no say in Jenna’s attire and she hid from me like a bride before her wedding.

So seeing her now has pre-cum invading my boxers. The only say I was granted was that she did not shave her pussy hair. Her dress is tight enough to tell me she grants my wish. I want to see Devin’s reaction to her honey bush. I imagine his big lips and tongue navigating through her nether region and my legs wobble.

“Drinks anyone?” I say with a rising voice.

After a pause, Jenna says, “Luke, why don’t you open a nice bottle of champagne?” as she up and downs Devin again.

“Mmmm, sounds good, I’ll have some of that,” Devin says, licking his lips—and eye-fucking her again. I can tell that his deep green eyes are torturing Jenna’s nipples—and probably her lower lips.

I leave and stomp down each step like a punished child marching to his room for a timeout. At the foot of the stairs, I glance back but they aren’t following me. That chattering monkey erupts in my brain:
she sent you to get the champagne all the way in the wine cellar to get rid of you!

I trudge down to the musky basement, with said monkey howling in my brain, thinking this is bullshit—this isn’t starting out like a threesome. I still hear no sign of them moving to join me. What do I expect? I’ve seen Devin pick up and coax a girl on her knees like speed dating. And that’s with a completely random chick. This is a pre-arranged, sure thing. I stare in a defocused blur at the mini-refrigerator beneath the wine rack and mutter, “Three-way...who am I kidding?”

My insides are in a Civil War. They say you only feel one emotion at a time, but my stomach disproves that bullshit.

I am a cocktail of anxiety, lust, jealousy, and profound fear—all in one big dirty martini. I used to be jealous when Jenna and I started dating. Every time we went to a bar, if I would leave her alone just to take a piss, the horny land sharks circled her like a piñata when I returned. Over time, and as I matured, I took another guy hitting on her as a compliment. I knew my prudent wife enough to know she was faithful.

Now, that prudent wife is wreaking havoc on my, well, maturity. On one hand, I am
über
horned up about seeing Devin slip Jenna the python; on the other, I’m feeling more than a ping of jealousy. I know that my jealousy is only a fear of her liking someone better than me. I know I sound like an immature bitch, but before tonight, I never felt like this.

Watching porn together in the security blanket of our bed, my fantasy pillow talk—
I wanna watch you fuck him
—made me feel like Superman; now as my fantasy is turning into a reality show, I feel like Kryptonite.

Part of me wishes the night could end; the other part, can’t wait to see how it plays out.

I shake my head, adjust my jeans, and fling the refrigerator door open. I reach to the bottom shelf and grab a bottle of Moet—the top-shelf stuff—and the bottle in my hand reminds me of what I had planned for later. I chuckle, but my nerves still feel jittery.

Gripping the bottle tightly, I power up the stairs, two at a time, and spring out the door only to find...

They’re not here!? I stand stock-still, but don’t hear them. Fuck me!

I stomp into the kitchen while hastily undoing the foil on the champagne. I stop to unhook the wire, then press under the tight cork. It launches into the ceiling, leaving a mark, and I nearly jump and hit the ceiling too.

The champagne oozes out of the bottle, on the counter, then drips onto the floor. I realize the sexual connotation and cringe. Pouring two glasses mainly full of bubbles, I march toward the stairs with wobbly legs that are directly wired to my jealousy. Kryptonite invades my usually strapping legs as I have an overpowering feeling that my wife and Devin are doing more than just talking.

My lungs feel aflame as I heave breaths in and out, needing the hand rail to reach the top of the stairs. I hold both glasses in the other hand and almost drop the glasses that have already spilled most of the bubbly.

I pause, but don’t hear anything. I lunge forward and poke my head around the bedroom door and brace myself...

Whew, not in bed! It’s dark and my eyes struggle to adjust against my thumping chest.

I feel like I’m playing hide-and-seek and they are winning. I wonder where the fuck they’re hiding and almost yell
come out, come out, wherever you are
...

I stop as I hear an all—too—familiar sound. Coming from the bathroom. It’s dark in there. I bee-line past the door and there they are—

For a moment, I think it’s an optical illusion, but the full moon beams just enough light through the bare bathroom windows to illuminate...

Jenna up on the counter, legs spread, knees up, with heels pressed against the granite—and Devin’s curly dark head twitching between her legs. Her dress is still on, except her shoulder straps are down and her tits are exposed. Her nipples look bigger than usual and I squint and guess it’s lipstick, no doubt remnants from Jenna’s mouth to Devin’s during their little
greeting
.

Interestingly, Devin is fully clothed.

They don’t even notice I’m here. My wife’s eyes are closed and Devin is in no position to take one of the drinks I’m holding for him. Instead, he drinks my wife’s sweet cherry cocktail. Hungrily. I pause, unsure what to do next. My crotch is exploding and my boner aches against my jeans.

I don’t want to clank the crystal flutes down and interrupt, but I want to slam them onto the tile floor to stop them. This is the best way to describe my inner Civil War. I’m not sure who’s winning, the north or the south.

I try to nudge my raging snake up with the glasses but can’t. I lean forward enough to ease a little of my trouser tension while gaping at the naughtiest thing I’ve ever witnessed. Jenna’s moaning loudly, or maybe the jackhammer in my rib cage subsides just enough to hear. She runs her fingers across Devin’s tight afro and cups her palms against the back of his head, beckoning him closer.

Devin groans into her pussy and she flings her head back. She pants as her rapid-fire moans tell me she’s close to erupting. I wonder how long it took Studly Hungwell to claim my wife’s pussy. If I were in Vegas, the odds would be heavily on before my feet hit the basement floor.

I know Jenna has the hots for Devin, but sheesh already.

My wife’s honey hair flails as her head thrashes like she’s possessed by Cupid’s evil twin. I almost yell get a room!

Just as I think
I can’t take this anymore...

Jenna erupts, thrusting into Devin’s face with quick pulses. Her face screams bliss as her spasms continue, setting an orgasm record. My knees wobble and I purse my lips as my Turret’s pops inside my head, saying
I hope she doesn’t break Devin’s nose. Or, maybe I do
.

I feel surreal, an ethereal other-worldly eeriness. A fucked up thought flashes: why does her orgasm seem to end quickly with me, but go on forever with him?

Finally, Jenna’s guttural moans subside into a steady whimper that I’ve never heard from her sweet lips before. She gently guides Devin’s head away and his glistening grinning face oozes success.

Devin growls, “I love a squirter.”

I flinch and notice a small puddle on the floor—
holy shit!

Jenna utters, “Oh my God...that was fucking aaaammmmmazing.” I swear Jenna is crying.

I’m an even bigger mess; I don’t know if I should clap or cry. My conservative little Jenna just squirted for the first time and she hasn’t even seen his python yet. So much for the saying that black dudes don’t go down. Devin not only goes down, he conquers the pussy. No wonder girls flock to him—he must ooze aphrodisiac from all the pussy juice splashed on his face. And now, my wife is added to his pheromone fragrance.

Another surge of Kryptonite overtakes me as dread invades my deep recesses...

Scripting this whole fantasy into my brain, I had expected him to yank out his python and fuck her—roughly and painfully—then cum quickly, and take off. With Jenna crying tears of bliss, Devin now owns her.

Devin stands and adjusts his jeans as Jenna gawks lustily at his bulge. The moonlight illuminates the outline of his python that is ironically pointing my direction. If my boner hurts, I can only imagine what he’s going through right now.

Something primal screams inside me and I slam the glasses down hard enough to break one of them—and break their spell.