Drunk husband gropes wife as friend watches

20 Min Read

The weekend was just beginning. It was Friday afternoon and I was waiting for my husband to get home so we could do something. We don’t really like to plan our escapades unless we have to.
I was at home in my pjs, being a housewife and all with no kids. Once my husband gets home we either decide to do something, which is when I change, or we stay home, which, depending on the situation, I’ll still change but usually into something sexier. I wait until he gets home because he loves to watch me change.
So Mark, my husband, got home and he told me he had some news to tell me. Apparently, one of his old college friends was coming into town and wanted to see what we were up to. I had never met his friend, but I had heard of him. Now my husband and I both went to the same school, save for one semester, and we knew plenty of people there. He didn’t get to meet all my friends, nor I his.
Since college Mark had occasionally talked to his old friend, Peter. They would exchange e-mails every now and then, maybe once every couple months, but never talked on the phone. So my husband was surprised that he called him.
It was during the phone call that my husband decided to tell Peter he could stay with us. This wouldn’t be the first time a friend of his stayed with us, and we’ve also had friends of mine stay also. It’s not uncommon.
So Peter was supposed to get into town sometime early Saturday morning, and early it was. It was 2 am when we were woken up by the doorbell. I wasn’t about to get up since the only thing on me were my bed covers. My husband grabbed his robe and went to the door. Then, as quietly as they could they made their way to the guest room.
Luckily I had already made the guest bed and put fresh sheets and pillow covers on, otherwise I may have had to get up!
When Peter finally woke up and met us outside we exchanged pleasantries. There was some serious yardwork that we had planned to take care of and his friend arriving wasn’t gonna stop us from doing it. Luckily, though, his friend did help us. We did eat out for lunch and did some other activities that don’t need to be mentioned, all until nightfall eventually arrived. So it’s Saturday night, and we all decided to stay home, but not before having bought some beers and fruity drinks for me.
Even though we had finished out outside work for the week, I still had some pots I wanted to paint. So we all went to the basement and I sat on the floor with my pots and newspaper under them and my paint and brushes. To my left was my second wine cooler and to my right was my husband sitting on the couch. My back was against the same couch. To my husband’s right was Peter, sitting on a sofa chair that faced perpendicular to us. At an angle in front of us was our flat screen, showing some action movie they were watching.
By this time my husband was already passed buzz, but I wouldn’t say drunk. I’m not sure how his friend was doing. But I know he wasn’t being as vocal. Then again, my husband always said Peter was quite shy.
There were nine pots total I needed to paint, and I had just finished painting two pots. Unfortunately I couldn’t find my other brush, and my husband doesn’t let me use his but that’s mainly my fault because I always mess up the brushes, so I had to wash my brush to paint my next set of pots a different color.
When I got up to go upstairs to the kitchen to wash my brush, that’s when I realized I should have maybe worn more, or at least worn a bra. I was wearing a white shirt with spaghetti straps. It wasn’t loose enough that it would fall forward and show my cleavage, but instead was pretty tight that my C size boobs looked substantial in them. That’s when I noticed Peter just staring at them as I got up. Now I’m not as young as I used to be, so my C size boobs do droop a little, but the shirt is so tight that they don’t swing around like crazy but just sway slightly. Yet I could still feel his eyes burning holes through my shirt as he caught a hint of my nipple poking thru and my aerolae.
Even though I’m of Latin descent, my skin is a little lighter than most, but my aerolae is a little darker. Plus, being about silver dollar in size, it’s intricate bumps are also visible thru the thin, slightly see-through white shirt.
But I couldn’t blame him. Guys always love my boobs, lol. Then, as I passed him (the path to the stairs was between Peter’s chair and our couch, where Mark was sitting) I swore I could hear shuffling, and it could have either been him shuffling his penis around, or him turning in the chair so he could see my voluptuous butt.
My butt is not small. It never has been. But it’s not fat. It’s round and delicious, my husband’s words, and Mark can never keep his hands off them. Each time I walk by him, or him by me, he says his hands naturally gravitate to my butt. In fact, he told me up until high school he was a breast man, and even though he still loves breasts (especially mine) he now loves butts equally. He’s an ass and tit man now, his words.
So it’s a big butt. But luckily I was wearing pjs and underwear, however my underwear was quite visible. What can I say, it was late and we were at home.
So it’s possible Peter turned because he wanted to follow my ass as I walked up the stairs. Being a decent girl, I was careful and didn’t splash water onto my shirt, though I was tempted to do so. Then, when I went bounding down the steps back to the basement Peter was a total gentleman and did not glance back at all. He would have caught my breasts bouncing a little as I took each step down.
However, this time, as soon as I sat back down on the floor with my back against the couch, my husband plopped off the couch and sat right next to me on the right side. Who knows how many beers he had drank by now, but he was pretty vocal and friendly now.
Not one minute passed where I was painting my pot that he decided to put his arm around my back, kinda like when you’re at the movies. So with a pot in my left hand and my paintbrush in my right, my husband decided to get bolder.
Slowly his left hand went lower until he was holding my breast completely. But he didn’t settle for holding it in his hands. He was groping it. Squeezing it almost like one squeezes a stress ball. And not just once or twice. He was a man on a mission. Squeezing hard, and fast, and for a good while.
Me being in the middle of painting my pots, I didn’t wanna stop him. Then he started making moaning sounds. With every squeeze there was a moan.
‘Oh yeah’
A mixture of all these is what could be heard. All this while he was looking down slightly. Who knows what he was imagining.
Then, after I had finished with three more pots, I had to wait a little so they could dry and I could put another coat on them after the paint dries a little.
With me not moving around anymore I sat back and he continued fondling my boob. All in front of his friend. I still hadn’t had eye contact with Peter yet, but when my husband tried groping my right boob also, that’s when I decided to look at Peter and I rolled my eyes a little then looked away. Peter was just smiling.
But my husband couldn’t really grope my right boob also, so he decided to give his full attention back to my left boob.
So with his left hand he decided he was done groping, for the moment, and then put his left hand under my boob, and started bouncing it up and down. Maybe it was more like jiggling. Either way, now they were bouncing obscenely, but I still let Mark have his fun.
Then he went back to groping, then he’d shake my boob left and right, then bounce, then shake, then grope, then pinching my hard nipple, all over and over and over.
This is when I decided to be a little naught and ended up turning slightly towards Peter. Before he could kinda see my boob being fondled, but now he had an even better view. Before he could see the outline of my boob. Now he could see the front and all the goodies that were happening to it. It was easily visible he enjoyed the show. The swell in his pants told it well.
But enough time had passed and I needed to put on that second coat on my pots. I very well couldn’t do it with a hand on my boobs hindering my movement. Since there was a possibility the pots were still wet, I decided to paint them in place. The front of the pots, the side facing me, I could do with no problem. But the back and sides I would have to move around.
So I took the easiest route which was to lean forward and get on my knees so I could access everything. Since it was harder for my husband to reach my boob, he stopped doing that and went for something he now had access to.
So he turned to me and stuck his right hand down my pjs and under my underwear, sticking it between my butt cheeks. I guess he was so drunk he though he could grab my whole butt with just one hand. Honestly, it takes two hands to grab a cheek. Ive never had a guy be able to cover one whole cheek with just one hand.
So here he was with his hands down the back of my pjs. If Peter would have been above us he would have seen my whole ass crack. With Mark’s position, though, hovering by my right side, he could have pulled my pjs down and Peter still would not have seen my ass.
However, he could definitely hear the light slapping Mark started to do.
Slap, slap, slap, slap, slap, slap.
Mark even lingered a little too close and would touch my rosebud every now and then. It’s one thing to grope me and it’s another to touch my orifices. Each time he rubbed by it I flinched a little. Not because I didn’t want him to do it but because each time he did it it messed me up from concentrating on my pots.
Eventually his left hand cupped my mound from underneath, and that I just couldn’t have.
So I spoke up and said, “Honey, it’s one thing to grope me, but every time you touch my rosebud I flinch and almost mess up my pots. And if you keep touching my vagina you’re gonna get me all hot and bothered, and I need to finish painting my pots. Ya’ll can touch if you want but avoid my pleasure zones.”
However, the ya’ll I didn’t say super clear and it sounded in between a regular ya’ll and you. I’m not a slut.
Then Mark went back to simply groping my ass, and it was on the third coat on my pots that he realized my boobs were hanging down freely and loosely, save for my shirt, that he went back to them.
He kept moving around me as I stayed bent over trying to paint the pots all over, so Im sure Peter got some good sights of my breasts swaying about. From behind and from the sides my husband would push my breasts, and slap my breasts.
The last thing he did was cup his hands under my boobs and then feel their weight envelop his hand as he raised his hands up, while moaning in the process.
He loves it when my boobs look like ‘torpedoes,’ as he calls them. He loves it even more when he pushes the torpedoes up around his fingers and hands. So he did this not only once, but several times, lifting them up and down over and over, I’m sure making Peter wish it were his hands that could play with these funbags instead.
Just about the time I was done with my pots for the night, Mark sat back down next to me and got really quiet. I think he too was done for the night.
Unfortunately, the night’s events ended there. Peter didn’t try anything with me, even after he had helped me take my husband up to our bedroom. Even after we had laid him down and as I turned abruptly, rubbed my right breast across his left arm.
I didn’t wanna have sex with him or anything, tho I will admit I’m sure it wouldn’t have been disappointing if we had, but I was hoping for a little flirting.
Instead he went off to the guest room and got ready for bed. All while I stripped my husband and got him comfortable. The last thing I did, though Peter may not have noticed, was after Peter had turned his light off. The guest bedroom is kind of across the hallway from our bedroom, but off to the side a lil. To keep it simple, you can see from one bedroom to the other if you angle yourself correctly.
So while I was stripping my husband I was saying in a low voice how I’m making him comfortable for bed. Then, in a slightly louder voice I said since I had stripped him it was my turn to get comfortable. So I got in the best position visible to the guest room and pulled my shirt over my head.
My bedroom light was still on and both bedroom doors were open. But his light was off so I don’t know exactly where he was.
After stripping my shirt off facing him I turned facing away, and proceeded to remove my pjs. I bent over to really stick my butt out. I was going to stop there but a naughtiness overcame me and I decided to strip all the way. So in the same position as before I removed my underwear, and if I’m correct he would have been able to see a glimpse of my vagina. That really started getting me wet. So I turned off the light and hopped into bed and rustled about a little, before I loudly said, “Ok hun, I’ll give you a blowjob. But make sure to cum in my mouth so we don’t make a mess.” Then, without my husband, I made some little gurgling sounds and sloppy wet sounds, before I stopped and said, “Hold on honey, I think Peter can hear us.” To which I got out and walked over to the door, and closed it, letting Peter’s imagination run wild.

——————— By verysimplegal

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