"Not yet," he told my wife, holding his had steady against her wet pussy.
"Ohhhhh," she moaned, looking up at me, meeting my eyes, hunger and desire written all over her face.
It wasn't supposed to be like this, we were just supposed to meet him for a drink. Hell, we were not sure we even wanted to do this, let alone with him.
Yet, here we were, three hours after the first drink, in our living room, alone with him.
Here we were, Rebecca naked but for her bra, her garter belt, her stockings, and her heels. Naked, on her hands and knees, his hand on her.
Here we were, me, naked but her panties; when she tossed them aside he smiled, looked at me, and said in a commanding voice, "put them on."
Here we were, vulnerable, helpless, desperate.
"Please," she begged.
He said nothing, a heart beat, two, ten, twenty. Until finally he spoke. "Now."
He didn't move his hand, not once, he just stood there like a statue while she humped him, rubbed against him, while she fucked his hand.