Layla and the Party Guests

by Arthur Saxon
meganeura@hotmail.com

“Happy Birthday, Dad!” I said, handing him a present wrapped in blue and silver paper.

“Oh!” he said, taking it and sitting down at the breakfast table. “Thank you Lindsay!” He unwrapped it, and turned it over. “A diary!”

“Well, you’re 52 years old!” I said with a grin. “One year of your life for every week of the year. There’s not only a page for each day, but also a page for each new week. I thought maybe you could use the weekly pages to write down some event or memory from each year of your life.”

“Oh!” said Dad. “Goodness.”

“Or, if you don’t fancy doing that, you can just use those pages as weekly planners,” I added. “Entirely up to you!”

“Well thank you,” he said, smiling. “Very thoughtful.” He flipped through the pages, then closed it up. “Is Layla coming down…?”

I hesitated, then grimaced. “Well, not yet,” I said reluctantly. “You see, that’s the other part of our gift to you. Um … Layla felt … we felt … you know, both Grandpa and Uncle Geoff have been a bit more … intimate … with her than you have, so far. And Layla … we thought it would be nice for you if you went upstairs and … you know … had some fun with Layla. Um, that is … you can rub your cock on her, um, pussy … like they both did. If you want.”

Dad stared at me in shock. “Lindsay!” he said. “Why would you even offer that? I mean, goodness! I’m hardly going to refuse, am I? But heavens – won’t it be awfully rough on you?”

I sighed. “Dad, I’ve had plenty of time now to get used to seeing other men grope and kiss and finger Layla, and rub their cocks on her pussy. Well … okay I’m still not used to it, and it still bothers me immensely, to be honest. But I’ve sort of resigned myself to it, and I need to try to desensitise myself to it … because with Layla being Layla, it’s going to keep happening. So yes, it will be rough … but in a sense, it’ll also be good for me. And it helps that I know you won’t rub it in my face, like Geoff did.” Then I realised how that sounded, and added hastily, “I mean, verbally! Metaphorically.”

Dad chuckled. “I knew what you meant. And you’re right; I won’t.” He paused, looking uncertain. “So, um, when…”

“Oh,” I said. “Right now. She’s naked in our bed right now, waiting for you.”

Dad’s eyes widened. “Wow,” he said. “You really mean this? You’re … okay with it?”

I hesitated, then nodded. “Go for it, Dad. Have fun.”

Dad grinned, then he got up and hurried to the door. A moment later, I heard him bounding up the stairs like an exuberant teenager. I finished my Frosties, feeling glum, and wishing idly that Layla and I were like other married couples. Other husbands, I was sure, did not send their dads upstairs to rub their cocks on their wives’ pussies.

But then, I thought bitterly, other husbands were able to have sex with their wives. So far, I had yet to do that. I pondered this as I took my mug of tea through to the living room, and switched on the television as I sat down on the sofa. I was annoyed with myself. What kind of man was unable to fuck his wife? And was I really just going to roll over and accept that this was my lot? Or was I going to do something about it?

I had been wallowing in my own misery for so long that this almost seemed like a revolutionary idea. It was not, of course – Layla had suggested a sex therapist, and I had dismissed the notion. But now I began to take it more seriously. As embarrassing as it would be to discuss our sex life, or lack of one, with a stranger, it would surely be worth it if it helped me to get over my … problem.

I pulled out my phone, and began looking up local sex therapists. There seemed to be very few in our area, and they had intimidating names like “Dr Margaret Larrabee: Couples Counselling and Sex Therapy” and “Albert Ramsay’s Sex Addiction and Sexual Dysfunction Counselling Services”. One practitioner, Geoffrey Davidson, I admittedly dismissed on account of his first name.

But then another advert caught my eye: “Do you have trouble satisfying your partner? Charles Tan is here to help! I will work with you both in a relaxed, informal atmosphere, helping you to strengthen the bonds of your relationship by showing you the path to a fulfilling sex life!”

That sounded perfect! Just what I needed. Feeling very nervous, I dialled Dr Tan’s number. And got a voicemail message, telling me his office was closed on weekends. Of course it was; silly me.

A rhythmic creaking sound had started up directly above me, and I folded my arms across my chest, hunching my shoulders. Soon I began to hear grunting sounds coming from my dad, and breathy, staccato moans from Layla. I lay down on my side, drawing my knees up to my chest, and hugged my shins.

I turned up the television volume, but it was not sufficient to completely drown out the sounds of passion coming from upstairs. I put my hands over my ears, and waited for it to be over.

And then it was. After the loudest moans yet, the creaking stopped, and silence fell. Relieved, I uncovered my ears. I turned the television volume down a bit, and took a deep breath. I realised I was sweating.

A couple of minutes later, Layla came downstairs and skipped into the room. She was wearing one of her new thongs, which Dad had bought for her, and nothing else. I disapproved of her new, week-old habit of going topless around the house; I was certainly a fan of her gorgeous breasts, but I did not like the fact that Dad fondled them every chance he got. Not just during kisses, though these had become more frequent too, but pretty much any time he encountered her. Any other woman, I suspected, would get annoyed at so much attention even from a husband or boyfriend … but not Layla, it seemed. She had an apparently limitless tolerance for compliments, kisses, gropes, pussy rubbings, and vaginal fingerings. Two days ago I had quipped, as she got ready for work, that she was no doubt glad to go to the office, just to get a break from Dad’s naughty attentions. But she simply replied that she didn’t mind his attentions at all. Which was both reassuring, and a little disconcerting.

“Hi babe,” she said, coming over to give me a kiss.

“Did you have fun?” I inquired, trying to keep my tone light.

Layla smiled, and sat down next to me. “I did,” she said, “though that wasn’t really the point, was it? The important thing was that your dad enjoyed it.”

I nodded. “And … did he?”

Layla grinned. “Of course!” she said. “Anyway, he wants to take me shopping this morning, for a dress for this evening’s party. Is that okay? I can tell him no if you like.”

“Oh!” I said. “Um, doesn’t he know your measurements already? Goodness knows he’s bought you enough clothes…”

“That’s true,” Layla agreed, “but dresses, especially the more expensive ones, can be tricky; it’s always best to try them on before you buy them.”

“Well, all right then,” I said dolefully. “I was hoping to spend some time with you today … but I suppose it is Dad’s special day…”

Layla kissed my cheek. “Thank you,” she said. “I think you’ll probably have your hands full anyway with preparations for the party. Do you have a final head count yet?”

I nodded, and pulled out my phone. “Including us three, there’ll be fifteen of us. Grandpa, of course. Mr and Mrs Ibsen – old friends of Dad’s – and their daughter Clarissa. Jed Burrell, one of Dad’s mates from work, his son Taffy, and Taffy’s girlfriend, Colleen. Then there’s Matt Parrish and Scotty Scott, from Dad’s work…”

“Scotty Scott?” Layla repeated in disbelief.

“Well yeah,” I replied. “Scotty’s his nickname, I assume – I don’t know his real first name. I’ve only ever known him as Scotty. Don’t for heaven’s sake ask him to beam you up, though – he gets very tired of Star Trek jokes.”

“Got it,” said Layla, amused.

“Let’s see,” I continued. “Wally Evans – youngish chap, lives down the road. He works at a local garage – does all of Dad’s car work. Loves anything mechanical – he and Dad’ll happily talk for hours about planes, trains, ships, cars … anything like that. And finally Alan Bastable and Reg Barnes, old rugby mates of Dad’s, and Reg’s wife, whose name escapes me…”

“That’s sixteen,” said Layla.

I re-counted. “Oh yes – sixteen, sorry. It’ll be quite a crowd!”

“Will we have enough places to sit?” asked Layla.

“Yup,” I replied. “Sofa seats three, two armchairs is five, kitchen chairs make nine, dining chairs make thirteen, and there are several chairs in the spare room upstairs.”

“Ah yes, the spare room,” said Layla thoughtfully. “You know, it wouldn’t take much effort to convert that back into a bedroom…”

I sighed. “Layla, I’m still not sold on the idea of staying here with Dad. I know it would save us money, and we’d have an on-site babysitter for when we have … have need of one … and I know Dad’s really in favour of it, and you seem to like the idea … but I just really want the two of us to be in our own place together, you know?”

“I know,” she said sympathetically. “I can certainly see the appeal of it. I have mixed feelings myself. But let’s just … keep an open mind, okay?”

“Sure,” I said, glad to put off further discussion of the issue for now. “Got to focus on the party today. I’ll go and shop for pizza and other nibbles, and drinks. And balloons.”

“And a banner!” said Layla.

“And a banner,” I said. “Are you sure about that though? Dad might think it’s a little … I don’t know…”

“It’s a party!” said Layla firmly. “He didn’t have a big do for his fiftieth, he tells me, or last year. If we’re going to celebrate his birthday with a party, we should do it properly!”

“Okay, okay,” I conceded, smiling. “I’ll get a banner.”

The rest of the day passed quickly. I bought supplies for the party, and set everything up at home, with Dad’s and Layla’s help. Shortly after seven o’clock in the evening, our guests began to arrive. Wally Evans showed up first, followed by Matt Parrish, and the Ibsens. Dad showed them all into the living room, and got them drinks.

Then the doorbell rang again, and I answered it. On the doorstep was Reg Barnes, whom we were expecting … but he was not with his wife. Instead, next to him stood a young man with a face that looked all too familiar: it was Chester Barnes, a boy who had bullied me for years at school, all grown up now. I stared at him in shock.

“Hello Lindsay,” he said, and Reg said “Hi!”

“Hello Reg,” I replied. “I didn’t know you’d be bringing Chezza.”

“Anne’s tied up with work,” said Reg, “and Chez mentioned it’s been years since he saw you last. The two of you used to play together all the time!”

“Yes, he used to play with me,” I replied. “Like a cat plays with a mouse! You were horrible to me, Chez!”

Chez grinned – that awful, sneering grin. “Lindsay, it’s been years,” he said. “I’m not the same person now as I was back then – and I dare say you aren’t either. I hear you’re married now – congratulations! I’m glad things worked out well for you.”

I nodded. Perhaps he was no longer the arsehole he had been when we were children … but it was hard to just let bygones be bygones. The memories were still very raw for me. “Thank you,” I replied rather stiffly. “Well, come in then.” I led them into the living room, got them drinks, and then left them alone.

By eight, the living room was packed. Everyone had shown up except for Taffy’s girlfriend, Colleen, who apparently was not feeling well. Layla had made her entrance a few minutes ago, and she was an instant hit with all the men to whom I introduced her. The dress Dad had bought for her was red, and ridiculously skimpy – which did not exactly surprise me, but did make me groan aloud when I first saw it. It was a halter dress, apparently – one of those ones that loop around the back of the neck, with a plunging neckline. This one additionally had hardly any back to it, and moreover was indecently short. And when I say ‘indecently’, I am not exaggerating: it was literally too short to fully cover Layla’s bottom. And of course she wasn’t wearing a bra with it.

“Layla!” I whispered urgently to her, as soon as I managed to get her alone. “That dress is insanely short!”

“Yes I know,” she said ruefully. “Too short! But your dad begged me to wear it … and it’s his birthday. I said I’d wear it just this once, and maybe occasionally in a private setting, but never again in public.”

“Layla, I know these people,” I said nervously. “Most of them anyway. What on Earth are they going to think?”

“That you have a sexy wife?” she suggested hopefully.

“Well, yes, I have no doubt of that,” I agreed. “I just worry that they’re also going to think you’re … um…”

“A slut?” she inquired bluntly.

I felt guilty, even though I had not used the word. “Well … maybe,” I said. “I mean … I know you’re not a slut, and so does Dad … but our guests don’t, and I’d hate for them to get the wrong idea about you…”

Layla shrugged. “Maybe you shouldn’t worry so much about what they think,” she said. “But if it bothers you so much, you could always talk to them. Tell them what sort of person I am.”

“Ugh,” I said. “How am I supposed to do that? Say ‘Hello, this is my wife, Layla. I know she’s dressed very sexily, but really she’s a sweet, kind and faithful girl.’”

Layla smiled. “Sounds good to me!” she said.

I sighed. “I’m not sure I have the intestinal fortitude to do that,” I said, “but if the opportunity presents itself, I suppose I can try to slip something like that into the conversation.”

Unfortunately, Grandpa rather sabotaged my tentative plans to salvage Layla’s reputation. When he arrived, practically the first thing he did was pull her into his arms and give her a long kiss on the lips. As he did so, he reached down and grasped one of her buttocks, dragging the hem of her dress up in the process. She was wearing a thong underneath, but this was not immediately obvious.

“Grandpa!” she chided him with a smile, as she pushed gently against his chest. “Don’t be naughty!”

“Sorry,” he said with a grin, but he gave her buttock another long squeeze before he let her go.

My heart sank. Everyone in the room had seen this, judging by the shocked and startled expressions I saw around me. Mrs Ibsen looked especially unsettled. As she looked at me, I gave her a little smile, and a panicky sort of shrug that I immediately regretted. Then I noticed Chez; he was staring at Layla with an unnervingly predatory expression. Then he caught my eye, and smirked.

Over the next hour or so, fortunately, it seemed that Grandpa’s indiscretion was largely forgotten about, as alcohol was quaffed, junk food was munched upon, and stories and banter abounded, while hits from the 70s and 80s played through the big speakers of Dad’s sound system. Dad was animatedly discussing rugby with Reg and Alan, Grandpa was talking earnestly to Wally about World War Two aircraft, and Layla was sitting on the sofa, chatting and giggling with Matt Parrish while he eyed her cleavage and legs with interest. Meanwhile, I had found myself talking to Clarissa Ibsen, who was almost as giggly as Layla, though she was neither stunningly pretty nor barely dressed.

“How do you like being married?” she was asking me.

“Oh, it’s great,” I said, tearing my eyes away from Layla and smiling politely at Clarissa, who was sitting very close and looking at me with wide eyes. “It’s been … interesting, so far. We’ve been trying to find a house, but it’s not been easy…”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” she said earnestly, leaning on my knee for support. I think perhaps she had had a little too much to drink. “I’m sure marriage can be difficult sometimes – especially when you’re married to someone as pretty as Layla. Is it hard, keeping other men away from her?”

I chuckled. “You could say that,” I replied. “She certainly attracts attention.” I looked back over at Layla.

“I imagine it would be easier,” said Clarissa, “if she was a bit less pretty. And maybe a bit more covered-up…”

“No doubt,” I agreed absentmindedly.

“Do you think I’m too covered-up?” Clarissa inquired. “Or should I maybe try to expose a little more skin…?”

I looked back at her, and noticed that one of the buttons on her blouse had popped open without her realising it. “Oh,” I said. “Well, you look fine, but you seem to have come undone a bit.”

She looked down at her chest. “Oh!” she said. “So I see. Would you mind fixing it for me? I’m afraid my coordination isn’t the best after a couple of drinks.”

“Um, sure,” I said, reaching for her blouse with both hands. She stuck her chest out, to make it easier for me, and smiled at me.

“Or do you think it looks better with that one undone?” she asked. “Or maybe…” She bit her lip. “Maybe it would look even better with another button undone?”

I paused with my fingers on her button and blouse. “Well I’m no fashion expert,” I confessed. “I think it probably looks fine either way.”

“Would you … like to undo the next button?” she asked, her voice getting a little lower. The poor girl was definitely feeling the effects of the wine she had drunk.

“Um, sure, if you like,” I said with a shrug, and I unfastened the next button for her. This caused part of her cleavage to become exposed, which I was sure she had not intended. “That might be too much…”

“I don’t mind,” she said, in a sort of raspy voice. “I like it when a man undoes my buttons.” She began to lean closer to me, and I leaned back, worried she might fall over. I was ready to catch her if she did.

“Clarissa!” said Mrs Ibsen sharply, and Clarissa leaned back quickly, looking abashed.

I let go of her blouse. “She was asking me how many buttons she should do up, but I’m afraid I’m not a very good judge of that sort of thing,” I said. “What do you think, Mrs Ibsen?”

“I think we should probably get Clarissa home,” said Mrs Ibsen, looking at me with a stern expression.

“Oh,” I said. “Okay. Well, have a good night!”

Poor Clarissa. She was almost my age, but she still seemed to be under her parents’ thumb. She had only had a couple of drinks, but apparently that was too much as far as her mother was concerned.

“Bye, Lindsay!” said Clarissa, as her mother led her towards the door. “Nice to see you again!”

“Bye,” I said, giving her a little wave. “Bye Mr and Mrs Ibsen.”

After that I was engaged in conversation by Taffy Burrell, who was about my age, but – oh my god – one of the most boring people I have ever spoken to. His passion, it seemed, was cinematography, and while I enjoy watching films as much as the next person, Taffy was obsessed with the minutiae of camera design and functionality. I had to drink an entire glass of wine just to get through his description and explanation of cinematography techniques employed in the making of Korean film Parasite – which I had not even seen.

I was rescued, however, by an unfortunate event. Grandpa, while attempting to sit back down on his chair after a visit to the bathroom, misjudged his trajectory, and tipped off the side of the chair, falling against the piano and banging his head.

Immediately there was a chorus of shouts of alarm, and Dad rushed to his father’s side. As he helped Grandpa back on to his chair, I saw that the old man was bleeding from the side of his forehead. “Oh my gosh!” I said anxiously. “Are you okay, Grandpa?”

Layla had run to grab the tissue box, and was now bending over to peer at Grandpa’s injury. She scrunched up a tissue, and gently held it to the cut. “This might need stitches,” she said.

As concerned as I was about Grandpa, I was perhaps more concerned about the fact that Layla’s bottom was almost fully exposed, her white thong on display as a thin strip of fabric tapering between her buttocks. Neither Dad nor Grandpa had noticed this, but all of the men behind her had, and they were excitedly pointing and grinning and whispering to each other. Taffy raised his phone, and took a photo, and the other men laughed.

“Hey!” I said indignantly.

“I think I’d better take Dad to A&E,” said Dad to Layla. “I’ll be back as soon as I can; don’t stop the party on my account. You and Lindsay can host in my absence.”

“You sure you don’t want me to come with you?” asked Layla.

“No, I’ll be fine,” said Dad. “Actually, maybe you could help me get him out to my car…”

“I can walk!” Grandpa retorted, as Dad and Layla helped him to his feet. “I only hit my head. My legs work fine.”

Layla wadded up some more tissues. “Hold this against the cut,” she said, handing the wad to Grandpa.

“You sure you can walk okay?” asked Dad.

“Yes!” said Grandpa. “Don’t fuss so much.”

“All right,” said Dad, turning to Layla. “I’ll be back soon, I hope. Have fun!”

“We will!” said Layla, seeing him and Grandpa to the door.

“Taffy, I hope you’re going to delete that photo you took!” I said.

Taffy, who was looking at his phone and grinning, looked up. “Oh come on, Lindsay, don’t be a spoilsport. Layla looks fab in that little dress! Why shouldn’t I have a little memento?”

“You took it without her permission!” I pointed out.

“So can I ask her permission to keep it?” asked Taffy.

“Keep what?” asked Layla, coming back into the room. “Are you gentlemen talking about me, by any chance?”

“Taffy took a photo of your bottom!” I told her.

“It’s a lovely photo!” Taffy said defensively.

“It’s a lovely bottom,” his dad, Jed, remarked.

“It certainly is!” Matt agreed, and Scotty added, “Hear hear!”

“Let’s see it then,” said Layla, giggling. She did not seem at all fazed by the fact that Taffy had taken a photo of her bottom unawares!

Taffy showed her. “See?” he said. “It’s beautiful! Can I keep it? Please?”

“Sure!” said Layla, smiling. “I don’t mind.”

“But … what if he puts it on the internet!” I gasped.

“I wouldn’t do that!” Taffy assured me.

Layla shrugged. “There are worse photos of me on the internet,” she said.

“Wow, you’re so cool!” said Taffy. “Can I take another photo of you?”

“What, with my boobs out this time, I suppose?” Layla teased him.

“No!” said Taffy, turning red. “I mean … well … would you?”

Layla laughed, as did the other men. I did not find her remark particularly funny, I must say. “Anyone fancy a game of Charades or something?” I suggested.

“I’d be up for that,” said Scotty.

“I’d be up for Layla posing for more photos!” said Jed.

“Me too!” said Alan, and most of the other men agreed.

“You’re easily pretty enough to be a model!” said Taffy.

Layla giggled. “Thank you!” she said. “Well, I don’t mind. I quite like posing for photos.” She turned to me. “Would it be okay with you?”

“Well … it rather depends on the photos!” I said nervously. “If it’s just standard model-type photos, then I suppose that would be fine.”

Layla put one knee on the seat of Grandpa’s vacated chair, and struck a model-like pose. “How about this?” she asked.

“Very nice!” said Taffy, taking a photo.

It seemed innocent enough – just an arch of the back and a coquettish tilt of the head – but Layla had a way of looking sexy in almost everything she did, and almost instantly, it seemed, the men in the room had turned into a flock of ardent admirers. All of them had suggestions for poses. “Turn towards Wally more!” said Alan. “Bend over a bit!” said Jed. “How about lowering your right shoulder?” Matt suggested.

I finished my current glass of wine, and poured myself another. Layla was obviously having fun – she was in her element here – but it was not quite so much fun for me. I was proud of Layla’s beauty, and her natural, effortless sexiness … but I was not a fan of watching other men ogle her.

And ogle her, they certainly did. It took very little time for them to get her to pose in ways that revealed her thong and bottom – again – and from then on, it seemed like every pose showed off one or the other, or both. Chez, I could not help noticing, had so far not joined in; he seemed content to watch from his chair on the other side of the room, sipping his latest drink.

“Another drink, anyone?” I asked, hoping to interrupt the photo shoot.

It worked, to my relief, and the shoot was put on pause for a while, as Layla sat down on the sofa with a topped-up glass, and Taffy and Wally sat down on either side of her. While they chatted with her, I got pulled into a conversation with Scotty.

Half an hour passed, or longer – it might have been an hour – and Layla, plied with drinks by her admirers, was getting rather tipsy. Wally had changed the music to something more modern and poppy, and Layla had been dancing, much to her admirers’ delight. Now, however, she was slumped in the middle of the sofa, her dress rucked up around her hips and her thong on full display. She was sitting between Wally and Matt, and Wally was stroking her thigh as he talked to her. He had clearly had plenty to drink, and possibly was hardly aware of what he was doing. Nonetheless, although it did not seem to bother Layla, it was annoying me.

But I had had a few drinks myself, and was feeling very light-headed. It seemed like a lot of effort to get up, cross the room, and tell Wally off. If he tried rubbing her panties, I would definitely object at that point.

Taffy was taking more photos. Wally was helping her pose, by lifting her right leg over his lap. Then Matt, on her other side, lifted her left leg over his. Layla giggled, and put her arms around the necks of both men, as they leaned in for a photo. It bothered me that Layla’s legs were spread, her thong displayed in a vulgar manner, but I knew I would be in an unpopular minority of one if I vocally disapproved.

The other men now all wanted to pose with Layla, of course. And while sitting to her left, Reg, with a wicked grin, reached over and tugged the left side of her dress to the side, exposing Layla’s breast. The men cheered, as Taffy took a photo. Layla gasped, but then giggled and said, to my dismay, “What the heck – I don’t mind – I have nice boobs!”

So then the other one came out, and there were more cheers. At that point I stood up and walked unsteadily toward the sofa. “Chaps!” I said. “I think that’s enough photos. You’ve all seen quite enough of Layla now.”

There was a chorus of boos. “Oh come on, Lindsay!” said Wally. “Share the wealth! Layla’s boobs are amazing! She’s proud to show them off – and you should be proud too!”

“I am,” I said. “But I just think it’s not very appropriate for Layla to be sitting amongst a bunch of men, topless, with her dress around her waist.”

“Come on, mate,” said Jed, patting my shoulder. “Screw appropriate. It’s a party! Just a few more photos, yeah? My boy’s never seen a woman like your Layla up close like this, and probably never will again. Here, why don’t you have another drink in the meantime?” He fetched my glass, and refilled it. “Look, Lindsay, everyone’s having fun – including Layla. You don’t want to kill the mood, do you? I get that you want to keep Layla under wraps, but you’ve got to be careful you don’t smother her. If she wants to let people take more photos, don’t be the party-pooper who says no. She won’t thank you for it!”

“All right, just a few more photos then,” I said reluctantly.

All of the men wanted to pose with Layla as she sat there topless. Eventually everyone had; even Chez, who came over from his chair to join in the fun. Everyone … except me. “Not going to pose with Layla, Lindsay?” Chez asked me with a grin. “She is your wife, after all.”

Layla was currently sitting between Alan and Scotty; after glancing over at Scotty, who seemed disinclined to move, Alan got up and made room for me. Feeling pressured, I sat down next to Layla, and smiled at Taffy’s phone. A couple of men laughed. “How passionate!” said Jed. “You sure you two are married?”

“Very sure!” said Layla. Getting up, she pulled her dress down to her ankles, and stepped out of it. Then, sitting down sideways on my lap, she put her arms around my neck, and kissed me on the lips. I smiled at her.

“Much better!” Jed laughed. “Holy crap, though, Lindsay, if I had a woman in my lap as gorgeous as Layla, and she was wearing nothing but a thong and her shoes, my hands would be all over her!”

“Go on,” Layla whispered to me. “Cop a feel – I don’t mind!”

No doubt it was the alcohol lowering my inhibitions, because I would not normally have done such a thing … but I found myself grabbing Layla’s right breast, and giving it a squeeze. The lads all cheered, and Layla giggled. Then she got up, turned toward me, and climbed on my lap again, this time straddling me. As she kissed me, she began grinding her pussy on my crotch, while the lads cheered again, and applauded, and gave me words of encouragement. I planted my hands on both of her breasts, and caressed them.

Layla came up for air. “This is fun!” she said happily. “It reminds me of giving you and Damon a lap dance!”

“Who’s Damon?” Chez inquired.

“My boss,” I replied, wishing Layla had not brought up the lap dance.

“You gave your husband’s boss a lap dance?” Chez asked, clearly intrigued.

“Yes, it was a few weeks ago,” said Layla. “We’d had too much to drink, of course. It was fun though!”

“Will you give me a lap dance?” Taffy asked eagerly. “Please?”

Layla laughed. “I don’t think Lindsay would like that,” she said. “He wasn’t keen on me giving Damon one!”

“Oh, there’s no harm in it, surely?” said Jed. “Come on mate – let the boy have his first lap dance.”

“Why are you asking him?” Chez asked, amused. “It’s Layla’s decision, surely?”

“True, but she’s not likely to agree to it if Lindsay doesn’t give it his blessing,” said Jed.

“That’s right!” said Layla, which made me feel much better. “So you’ve all got to persuade Lindsay, or nobody’s getting a lap dance!”

She clearly meant well, but this was less helpful than I would have liked, because now everybody was talking at me, trying to persuade me to ‘let’ Layla give Taffy a lap dance … as if I was the one thing holding her back from doing something she really wanted to do. This put me in a very awkward position, because the last thing I wanted was to seem like the joy-killer at this party. If I stubbornly said no, I would be disappointing everyone in the room. If I said yes, I would be the hero; everyone would cheer. As possessive of Layla as I was feeling – and I knew that I was perhaps overly so – I could not bring myself to choose to be the villain rather than the hero.

“Lindsay…” Jed began.

“Fine!” I said abruptly. “Layla can do a lap dance.”

“Hurray!” Taffy exclaimed, and everyone else laughed and cheered.

“Good man, Lindsay!” said Jed.

Layla giggled, and climbed off me. “Well I suppose I’m giving Taffy a lap dance then!” she said cheerfully. “I’ll need different music though. Lindsay, can you play that Rihanna song again? That worked well last time.”

“Yes,” I muttered, “I can find it.” I looked it up on YouTube, then set it playing on the speakers as Taffy took a seat on the sofa,

Instantly, Layla was in dance mode, gyrating her hips, flinging her hair around, and jiggling her breasts at Taffy, who stared at her rapturously. She turned around, bent over, and twerked for him, backing up until her bottom was just eighteen inches from his face.

“Oh man,” said Chez, who was standing next to me. “Your wife is amazing. How the fuck did you get so lucky?”

“I don’t know,” I said awkwardly. “We just sort of … clicked.”

“Cool,” said Chez. “I can’t wait to fuck her.”

“Wh…what?” I stammered, thoroughly panicked by this comment. “That’s not going to happen, Chez!”

“Oh relax,” he said, laughing. “Your face right now! At least one thing hasn’t changed: you’re still too easy to wind up.”

So he had just been joking. Of course he had! I chuckled in relief. “You got me,” I said.

“No, but seriously, I am going to fuck her,” he said. Then, seeing my look of alarm, he winked. “Got you again.”

“Jesus, Chez,” I muttered. “Just stop saying that.”

Layla was now sitting on Taffy’s lap, straddling him, much as she had done with me. Taffy’s hands were on her breasts, caressing and squeezing them. “This is amazing!” he exclaimed jubilantly.

As the song drew to a close, Layla was on her feet again, facing away from Taffy. Then, as all the men in the room cheered (except for me), she hooked her thumbs into the sides of her thong, and slowly pushed them downward, bending over as she did so. The string at the back folded as the waistband descended over her buttocks, and then the wider part covering her pussy fell away, and Taffy whooped as he got his first close-up look at a woman’s pussy.

But as he reached out tentatively to touch Layla, she suddenly straightened up, pulling her thong back up and giggling as she turned around. “That’s it, Taffy!” she said. “I hope you enjoyed the show.” She bent over, and briefly kissed him on the lips.

“Wow!” he said. “That was … beyond my wildest dreams!”

“Is that what you do for work, Layla?” Reg inquired. “Because you seriously could!”

Layla grinned. “No, I work in customer service at a company called Meridian Glass. They make glass products; it’s very boring.”

“Then give it up and become an exotic dancer!” said Jed. “I feel like you were born for it – you’re that good!”

Layla laughed. “Thank you!” she said. “But honestly, I’m quite happy where I am. I say it’s boring, but it’s really not that bad, and I get along really well with my colleagues.”

“Well at least give us another lap dance!” said Wally. “Why should Taffy be the only one to get such a treat? I’d love to have one too – if you’re willing. I’ll even … pay…”

Layla giggled. “I’m not going to take your money, you silly man,” she said. “But if you really want a lap dance, I don’t see why not. If that’s okay, Lindsay…?”

Once again, all eyes were on me, and I had to choose between pleasing the crowd, and disappointing them. “What the heck,” I said magnanimously. “What’s one more lap dance…?”

More cheers. But Taffy, it seemed, was not quite done with Layla. “Dad, can you take a photo?” he asked. “Of Layla sitting on my lap?”

“Sure!” said Jed. “If the young lady doesn’t mind…?”

“I don’t mind,” said Layla, and she sat down sideways on Taffy’s lap, putting her arms around his neck. The wide-eyed young man grinned happily, and Jed took a photo.

“Okay, now it’s my turn!” said Wally eagerly.

Once he had swapped places with Taffy, I restarted the song, and Layla began dancing again.

“You realise,” said Chez, “that everyone will want a lap dance from Layla now?”

The possibility had indeed occurred to me, belatedly. “I think we should restrict it to the, um, younger generation,” I said, clutching at straws.

“Uh-huh,” said Chez. “Well at least I’ll get one, then.”

There was very little I wanted less than to see Layla give my old school bully a lap dance. The thought of him putting his hands on her made me feel sick. I had to figure out a way to prevent any further lap dances – but how? Having permitted two, I would find it difficult to prohibit a third.

Wally was proving to be a little bolder than Taffy had been. As Layla straddled his lap, grinding her thong-clad pussy against the bulge in his jeans, she leaned back, and Wally bent over forward, planting his lips on her right nipple while grasping her left breast with his right hand.

Layla squealed in delight as Wally sucked on her nipple. “Naughty boy!” she scolded him, but she was smiling, and her cheeks were flushed. With her hands around the back of his head, she seemed to be holding him against her breast; meanwhile, she was continuing to rub her pussy against him.

The onlookers were mesmerised. “Nice going, Wally!” said Alan.

“Wish I’d thought of doing that,” said Taffy ruefully.

Then Layla pushed Wally’s head away, climbed off him, and turned around, taking hold of her thong and pulling it down, as she had done with Taffy. But Wally was ready for this, and he reached between her legs, cupping her bare vulva as she bent over.

“Hey!” I objected.

“Naughty man!” Layla gasped, standing up again and pulling her thong back up. But she did not seem particularly annoyed, and kept dancing until the song was over.

“Do I get a kiss?” Wally asked hopefully, as the other men applauded.

“I don’t know if you deserve one!” said Layla, pouting playfully. “You were very naughty, Mr Evans!”

“Please?” he said, smiling roguishly.

Layla rolled her eyes, then giggled. “All right,” she said. She sat on his lap again, sideways, and as she put her arms around his neck, he kissed her, leaning into her and causing her to lean backwards. He supported her with his right hand behind her back, while tucking his left hand between her thighs.

“Mmmm…” Layla closed her eyes, and then she gasped as she felt Wally’s hand on the front of her thong, cupping her pussy. Wally took full advantage of her open mouth, thrusting his tongue in and French-kissing her.

“Whoa, whoa!” I protested. “Enough!”

Wally pulled back, grinning. “Thanks Layla!” he said. “Could someone possibly take a photo…?”

“Sure!” said Taffy, who already had his phone out (as did several other men, who had probably been taking photos and videos already). “Could Layla turn more towards me…?”

“Um, okay!” said Layla. She unwrapped her arms from around Wally, and shuffled around on his lap until her knees were facing forward.

“Yeah!” said Taffy, grinning at her breasts. “Wally, grab her boobs. No, like, cup them from below, so you’re not covering them up.”

Wally was only too happy to comply. While I watched in increasing discomfort, Taffy took photo after photo while Wally squished Layla’s breasts together, flattened them with splayed fingers, tugged them out to the sides by pulling on her nipples, and grasped them from the outsides, holding them like they were a gigantic pair of binoculars. If I had been Layla, I’d have been outraged at this disrespectful treatment of my anatomy … but Layla seemed to find all of these poses hilarious. Feeling grumpy, I crossed the room to pour myself some more wine. I was getting drunk, but I was not yet drunk enough to be able to shrug off Wally’s irreverent manhandling of Layla’s breasts.

Then Taffy switched his focus. “Now grab her legs beneath her knees,” he said, “and pull them up and apart.”

Layla gasped as her legs were unceremoniously spread wide apart, her thong now being indecently displayed. “Okay,” she said, “one photo like this, Wally, then we’re done.”

Taffy grinned as he took a close-up photo of Layla’s thong, with her out-of-focus face in the background. I scowled, and would have intervened, but Layla had laid down the law, and the lads were respecting it; Wally let her go, and she got up from his lap. I sat down on one of the kitchen chairs, and had a swig from my glass.

“You must be thirsty after all that dancing,” said Chez. “Why don’t you have another drink?”

“You’re just trying to get me drunk!” she said with a grin. “But you’re right, I’m a bit thirsty. Go on, pour me another glass of Riesling.”

“Then can I get a lap dance too?” asked Matt hopefully.

“Sure, why not?” said Layla, taking her refilled glass back from Chez.

Wally moved to the end of the sofa, and Matt sat down in the middle space, between Wally and Scotty. Then everyone watched in breathless anticipation as Layla slowly emptied her glass.

“Ahh!” she said eventually, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “That’s nice stuff. I never used to be much of a wine drinker, but Rory and Lindsay have really broadened my horizons!”

She got to her feet, and swayed slightly. “Ha!” she said. “Got up a bit too quickly. I’m fine, I’m fine. Music please!”

I glowered at Matt, as Layla gyrated and jiggled in front of him. As she began twerking, she started pulling down her thong … and then Matt leaned forward, and tugged it down to her ankles!

“Matt,” she said reproachfully, as she stepped out of it, then sent it flying across the floor with a flick of her high-heeled right sandal. “Now you’ve got me naked!” At least I think that’s what she said; I could barely hear her over the music and the cheers of the other men. Then I noticed, with surprise, that her little isosceles trapezium of pubic hair had gone. She had shaved herself completely! When had she done that? I did not like the new look; somehow it made her seem even more naked.

She resumed twerking, and continued even after Matt reached between her legs and began rubbing her pussy.

“Matt, for heaven’s sake!” I complained, but I was not sure if anyone heard me.

Layla turned around, climbed on to Matt’s lap, and began grinding her pussy on his crotch. He grinned, put his arms around her, and kissed her … and the kiss lasted for an annoyingly long time. It was hard to see, since i was pretty much behind Layla now, but I was fairly sure they were using tongues.

In hindsight, I should have pulled myself together at this point, and put a stop to the lap dancing entirely. Yes, the remaining men would have been upset, but at least I could have avoided much of the distress and unpleasantness that was to follow. But in my defence, weeks of seeing Layla tongue-kissing other men, and rubbing her naked pussy on their cocks, had to a certain extent prepared me for this, and desensitised me. I was inclined to be annoyed – angry, even – but in view of previous events and conversations, I felt as if this was all somehow … inevitable … as if this was just the sort of thing I was going to have to put up with, as a consequence of marrying such a flirtatious and free-spirited woman as Layla.

Layla had been fumbling at the front of Matt’s jeans for a while. Then she stopped, resumed grinding, and looked back at me over her shoulder. “I just got Matt’s cock out,” she reported, in the same matter-of-fact tone she might use when telling me she had just watered the plants.

“Ugh!” I groaned, putting my head in my hands. This was Damon all over again – except this time there were eight men to worry about instead of one.

Fortunately, the song ended. “Okay Layla,” said Taffy, “time to pose for a photo! Turn around please.”

Layla climbed off Matt, and I caught a brief glimpse of his erect penis before Layla sat down upon it again.

“Oof!” he said. “Ugh – Layla, just lift up a minute – let me scoot forward…”

When Layla sat back down, and Wally and Scotty each grabbed a leg and pulled it out wide, I was treated to the unpleasant sight of her naked pussy being eclipsed by Matt’s erection, which stood up proudly in front. I could not imagine that this was comfortable for Matt, since Layla’s bottom, and therefore her weight, was now sitting on his lower abdomen rather than his lap.

My suspicion was soon confirmed. “Uh, chaps?” he said. “Can you maybe help support Layla’s weight a bit? Layla, maybe put your arms around their necks?”

There now followed the most horrifying part of the evening for me, so far. And I did not see the danger approaching until the last moment. For as Layla put her arms around Scotty and Wally’s necks, and the two men gently lifted her with their hands under her knees, her pussy was slowly raised upward, until her vaginal opening drew level with the tip of Matt’s cock.

“Ooh,” said Matt, reaching beneath Layla and grasping the base of his cock. He shifted it slightly back and forth, so that the bulbous head of his erection settled into the opening of Layla’s vagina.

“Is this too high?” Scotty asked playfully. “Should we let Layla down a bit?”

“No!” I shrieked. Then, as all eyes turned to me, I cleared my throat in embarrassment at the high-pitched sound I had just emitted. “Er, chaps,” I said with a nervous laugh. “If you lower her down, you’ll impale her on Matt’s cock. And as much as I like Matt, I’m not about to let him have sex with my wife!”

“This is a fantastic pose, though!” said Taffy, taking photo after photo.

“My arm’s getting a little tired though,” said Scotty.

“Mine too,” agreed Wally, and to my horror, I saw Layla’s vaginal opening slowly dilating around the head of Matt’s cock. Layla’s eyes were wide, and she bit her lip.

“Off, off, off!” I exclaimed, jumping to my feet. “Lift Layla up please lads!”

The head of Matt’s cock had half-disappeared inside Layla when she was finally lifted off him, and then moved forward and set down upon his thighs. She climbed off, and giggled as she stood up. “Who wants the next lap dance?” she asked.

“I’m not sure it’s a good idea to do any more!” I remarked. “That one was very nearly disastrous!”

“It wasn’t, though,” said Chez, “because you stopped it in time. And I’m sure you’ll do so again. But it’s not fair for some of us to get lap dances, and not the others.”

“I’d love to go next, if that’s okay,” said Scotty, as Matt got up.

“Okay!” said Layla, and as Scotty slid over to the middle spot, Chez sat down next to him.

“Music please!” said Layla. I reluctantly started the Rihanna song playing again (I was getting pretty sick of it by now, I can tell you), and Layla kicked off her sexy dance routine once more. With no clothes left to remove except for her shoes, she soon kicked them off too. Now completely naked, she twerked up close to Scotty, who reached between her legs and played with her pussy as she danced. Possibly he stuck a finger inside her too; I could not tell, from where I was sitting. I finished my drink, and since this bottle was almost empty, I poured myself a final glass.

Layla now turned around and wiggled her bare bottom at the rest of the room while she bent over to unzip Scotty’s jeans. The forty-year-old man looked delighted as she pulled his erect cock out into the open, then climbed on to the sofa, putting her left foot between Scotty and Wally, and her right foot between Scotty and Chez. Then she sat down on his cock, and began rocking back and forth while putting her arms around his neck, and kissing him deeply.

I sipped at my drink, trying not to imagine Scotty’s thick cock sliding rhythmically along the groove between Layla’s labia. It seemed like this was happening on a regular basis now; any man Layla came into contact with would somehow get her naked and then rub his cock on her pussy. She had told me this did not happen at her workplace … so why did it keep happening in front of me? Was this what married life was going to be like for us, indefinitely?

I stared glumly at Layla’s back as she raised herself up a little, reached down beneath her pussy to make some kind of adjustment, then slowly settled back down on to Scotty’s lap. He gasped, his eyes widening, and Layla giggled. Then she began to bounce up and down.

When the song ended, and Layla climbed off Scotty, I noticed that his cock looked slick and shiny, and I suddenly realised what ‘adjustment’ Layla had made while on his lap. Clearly she had rubbed her own vaginal juices all over his cock, in order to lubricate their mutual genital stimulation. The thought sickened me.

“Photo time!” said Taffy happily. Layla turned and sat back down on Scotty, who reached around her, grasped her breasts, and began kneading them roughly.

“Gently!” Layla gasped. Then she reached out and put her arms around the necks of Wally and Chez, who lifted her beneath her spread thighs, and carefully lowered her until Scotty’s cock was poking at her vaginal entrance, as Matt’s had done.

“Careful,” I growled.

“Smile!” said Taffy. He took a photo, and then another, and another.

I was watching the head of Scotty’s erect penis warily, so I saw every detail of the awful thing that happened next. Chez and Wally both apparently got tired at the same time, because to my utmost horror, Layla’s vagina suddenly expanded around the head of Scotty’s cock, which slid smoothly inside her and disappeared.

“Guh … guk!” I choked, stammering incoherently as I watched Layla slowly slide down on to the full length of Scotty’s erection. “Stop stop stop!” I yelled, leaping to my feet.

But it was too late. Scotty was now completely buried inside Layla. His cock was fully in her vagina. This was further than even I had got with her, and Scotty was a total stranger to Layla – or had been until this evening.

I looked up at Layla’s face; she seemed rather shocked. “Oh dear!” she said. “Um … gosh. I’m so sorry, Lindsay!”

“It’s not your fault!” I exclaimed. “Lift her up, lift her up! Whatever did you lower her down for, you two?”

“Sorry,” said Chez, grinning. “I suppose I just wasn’t really paying attention to how high up I was holding her.”

“Me too,” Wally confessed. “I’ll do better next time.”

“Next time?” I cried. “What next time? There won’t be a next time! I want you off that sofa, Wally – you and Chez. I apparently can’t trust you to hold Layla up! Someone else can take your place for the next lap dance.” I clenched my fists, then, because the room was wobbling a bit, I sat back down on my chair.

Layla came over to me, and sat on my lap. “Are you okay?” she asked, putting her arms around me.

I sighed. “Not really!” I said. “Seeing another man’s cock going into your body like that … ugh!” Then a thought occurred to me. “Still … it was worse for you. I’m being selfish, aren’t I? My poor Layla! How awful! Heck … does that count as … as rape??”

“Oh hush,” she said softly. “No, of course not. It was just an accident. Trust me, when you’ve had as many cocks in your vagina as I have, feeling another one slipping in there isn’t as big a deal as you might think.”

I grimaced at this reminder of Layla’s past experience. I knew she had had a couple of boyfriends before meeting me, and a few one-night stands, but I did not like to think about what they might have done with her. She had once begun telling me in detail about one of her first sexual encounters, and I had shut her down. I simply did not want to hear about that stuff.

“Well,” I said, “do you want to stop the lap dances? I worry that they’re getting, um, racier…”

Layla smiled. “I’m having fun!” she said. “I’d like to go on. Besides, at this point I’d hate to leave anyone out.”

I sighed. “All right,” I said. “Might as well get it over with, then…”

“Thank you, babe,” she said, kissing my cheek. Then she got up from my lap, and turned around. “Who’s next?”

But Chez was already sitting in the middle of the sofa. To his left was Scotty – the two of them had simply swapped places – and to his right was Matt, who had taken Wally’s place. I glared at Chez; he was the last person to whom I wanted Layla to give a lap dance. Chez looked back at me, and winked.

I restarted the song. As Layla resumed dancing, Jed came over and sat down in the chair next to mine. “Lindsay,” he said, “I have to say, this is a party unlike any I’ve ever been to before. Layla’s a sensation. But I have to ask … are you really okay with all this?”

“Not really!” I replied mournfully. “What husband would be? I feel as if I’m sort of dying inside.”

“I’m not surprised!” said Jed. “So why on Earth are you letting it continue?”

I shrugged. “Because this is who Layla is. I fell in love with this bright, shining star of a woman, who loves to flirt and dance and show off her body, who doesn’t seem to mind getting groped by other men … and in fact seems to enjoy it.”

Jed shook his head. “Oh, mate,” he said. “I don’t know how you can stand it. If I ever saw my wife having sex with another man, I’d kick her out and call a divorce lawyer.”

“Well fortunately that’s not going to happen!” I said firmly. “Layla knows where the line is drawn.”

Jed turned and stared at me. “What line?” he inquired, seeming confused. “You literally just watched her having sex with Scotty.”

“That was an accident!” I said defensively. “She didn’t mean for Scotty’s cock to go inside her! Those two arseholes, Wally and Chez – they lowered her down on to his cock! That wasn’t Layla’s fault – and I don’t think it counts as having sex! Just one brief penetration with no thrusting…”

“I mean before that,” said Jed. “When she was … you know, when she was facing him.”

The light dawned. “Ah,” I said. “I understand your confusion. Layla was just rubbing her pussy on his cock. There wasn’t any penetration. It was more like a sort of mutual genital massage. I’ve seen her do it before. And while I don’t exactly like the idea – in fact I pretty much hate it – I’ve sort of come to accept it, I suppose.”

Jed opened his mouth, then closed it again. He seemed to be thinking hard. Then he said, “So … is it okay with you if I get a lap dance from Layla … and do the same sort of, uh, mutual rubbing thing as she did with Scotty?”

I sighed. “Well it seems like she’s going to do it with everyone, and so far you’re the only person who’s been decent enough to come and ask me how I feel about it … so yes, I suppose, you have my permission. I’m not going to say I’m okay with it – I don’t think I’ll ever be – but I’m not going to object to it.”

Jed smiled, and clapped me on the shoulder. “You’re a very good sport, Lindsay,” he said. Then he went back to get closer to the action.

Layla was now bending over in front of Chez, her eyes closed, her mouth open and panting, her knees slightly bent. Chez’s hand was out of sight behind her, but judging from the rhythmic movements of his visible shoulder and upper arm, he was rapidly rodding Layla’s vagina with one or two fingers. Then, as Layla stood up straight, I saw that he already had his erect cock out in the open. He wiped his wet fingers up and down his shaft, and then he beckoned to Layla, summoning her to his lap. She climbed on to him, and slowly lowered herself on to his cock. Leaning forward, she kissed him, and as the two of them – to my utter disgust – began tonguing each other’s mouths, Layla started raising and lowering her loins.

Chez eventually came up for air. Looking over at me, he said exultantly, “Told you I would fuck your wife!”

“That doesn’t count!” I retorted. “Just rubbing on the outside doesn’t count! That’s not proper sex!”

“Huh?” he said, looking in puzzlement at Layla. She whispered something in his ear, and he first smiled, then laughed. “Okay, fair enough!” he said. “I stand corrected. I’m just, as you said, rubbing on the outside.” He snickered.

My minor sense of relief that this matter had been resolved, however, did not last very long. At the end of the song, when Layla turned around to pose for photos, I very much hoped that Matt and Scotty would hold her up better than Wally and Chez. But as Chez reached beneath Layla’s bottom to grab the base of his cock and direct its tip to Layla’s vaginal opening, Matt and Scotty gently let her down … and I watched in abject horror as the entirety of my old bully’s cock slid up inside my wife.

“Ack! Matt! Scotty!” I shrieked, as Taffy excitedly took photos. “What are you doing??”

“Oh sorry!” said Matt, grinning, and he lifted Layla up a few inches, as did Scotty. Then they both let her down again.

“Ohh!” said Chez contentedly. “That’s good – do it again…”

“Oh gosh!” gasped Layla.

“What the…” I spluttered, as Matt and Scotty continued raising and lowering Layla, so that Chez’s cock slid in and out of her vagina.

“Look, Lindsay!” said Chez, grinning smugly. “I really am fucking your wife!”

“Well, stop it!” I exclaimed, beside myself with outrage. I was standing up on my toes, my fists balled, ready to jump forward and do battle.

“All right, lads, enough is enough,” said Layla, looking from Matt to Scotty. “You’ve had your little joke.”

Laughing, Matt and Scotty let her down, so that Chez’s cock became fully buried inside her again. Then they released her legs, and she climbed off Chez’s lap, his cock slipping out of her.

“That was awesome!” said Taffy.

“No it wasn’t!” I snapped. “I’m very upset about that!”

Layla came over, and gave me a hug. “Hush, babe,” she said. “Don’t be upset.”

“But … that’s Chez!” I told her, my eyes filling up with moisture. “He bullied me for years! And now he’s … he’s … had sex with you!” I would have added, “Before even I have!”, but she put a finger on my lips.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ll make it up to you, okay?”

I hung my head sadly. “You don’t have to,” I mumbled. “It wasn’t your fault.”

She hugged me again. “Listen, babe,” she said. “I’m going to give these other lads their lap dances now. But I’m worried it’s going to be rough on you. Would you like to go upstairs?”

“No!” I said. “I need to keep an eye on things – make sure they don’t go too far again. And if I’m upstairs, listening to what’s going on down here, my imagination will come up with way worse things than are actually happening.”

Layla nodded. “Okay, I understand,” she said. “Whatever you think best.”

The next man to get a lap dance was Alan, the oldest of our guests at 53. As soon as the song started, Layla began twerking in front of Alan, but she stopped and began slowly grinding on his hand as he fingered her. Then she climbed on to his lap, pulled out his cock, and slowly sat down on it. It did occur to me that her subsequent bouncing was unlikely to be as stimulating – for either of them – as a back-and-forth rubbing would be, but before the end of the song I was proven wrong, as Alan grabbed her hips, jerked his loins, and groaned, spilling his semen messily between them. I shuddered in disgust.

“Tissue please?” Layla asked, holding out a hand toward Wally, who grabbed a couple of tissues and handed them to her. As she climbed off Alan, she wiped herself, and then she turned around and sat back down. Matt and Scotty lifted her legs outward and upward, then lowered her down as Alan directed his softening cock into her vagina.

“Oh come on, chaps!” I protested. “He’s probably still leaking sperm!”

“Just let me get a couple of photos!” said Taffy, who had already taken a few. As Matt and Scotty raised and lowered Layla for the fifth time, however, Alan finally slipped out of her.

Next it was Jed’s turn. As the music started, Layla bent over in front of him, and moaned as he penetrated her with his fingers. Mere seconds later, once he had taken out his erect cock, she climbed on his lap and slowly sat down. For the rest of the song, she bounced up and down, as he French-kissed her and played with her breasts.

After the song finished, however, Layla continued bouncing. “Don’t stop!” Jed gasped. Then, a minute later, he groaned, becoming the second man to ejaculate as a result of Layla’s bouncing technique. Later I found myself wondering how it was possible to achieve the necessary stimulation this way, and decided to ask Layla to try it with me sometime … but at the time, watching Jed hungrily tonguing my wife’s mouth while she squished her pussy around in his semen, I could think of nothing except how badly I wanted this nightmare to end.

Then Layla turned around, and Scotty and Matt cheerfully lowered her on to Jed’s still-hard cock. As it disappeared up inside her, I almost had a panic attack as I saw that it was smeared with semen. “Oh my God!” I exclaimed. “Layla, some of his cum just went inside you!”

“Oh no!” said Layla, and she bit her lip anxiously.

The news did not seem to bother Scotty and Matt, who raised and lowered Layla several times before Jed’s cock wilted enough to flop out. Taffy, as usual, took photo after photo after photo.

Finally, it was Reg’s turn. “I don’t need any helpers,” he told her with a smile. Unzipping his jeans, he stood up, then pulled them down, along with his underwear. Then he sat back down in his armchair. “Come on Layla; climb aboard.” He was already erect as he patted his lap.

Layla approached him with a look of breathless, wide-eyed anticipation. Climbing on to his lap, she lowered herself down as he positioned his cock. Layla gasped, and Reg grunted with pleasure. Then Layla began bouncing, as I stared at her in bemusement. I had not even started the music.

Perhaps it was just as well; the music video was five minutes long, and Reg seemed to be in a hurry. There was no point in prolonging the experience if I did not have to.

Reg kissed Layla deeply and fondled her breasts, as the others had done before him, while she bounced on him. But he did not seem to be getting close to his climax when he paused and said, “Okay, photo time. You ready, Taffy?”

“Yup!” said Taffy, phone in hand.

“Get up and turn around,” Reg said to Layla. I did not like the way he said it: as if he were giving her an order. Nevertheless, she got up from his lap, and turned around. As she sat back down, he caught her beneath her lower thighs, and lifted her up easily. Lowering her back down, he carefully positioned her until his cock was nudging against her vagina. “Now watch this, Lindsay,” he said. And he lowered her down, his cock sliding up inside her.

“Jeez, Reg!” I complained. “I’m sick of seeing other men’s cocks going inside my wife!”

He laughed. “Oh come on, mate,” he said. “It’s a little late to object to that. Your wife’s pussy was made for fucking.” As if to demonstrate this, he began bouncing her up and down, using pure arm power, and I watched in horror as his cock thrust in and out of her.

“Oh gosh!” Layla gasped. “Ohh…”

“This is great!” said Taffy in delight as he recorded a video on his phone.

“All right, Reg,” I said, feeling rather distressed, “I think that’s enough!”

“Just … a few more … seconds,” he grunted, and I had a horrible feeling he was about to ejaculate inside her.

But it was not to be. After a few more bounces, he stopped, panting. “Nah, I just can’t cum that way,” he said. “I don’t suppose I could bend her over and give her a good pounding…?”

“No!” I said indignantly. “She’s my wife!”

“Okay, one last photo,” said Taffy. “A group photo! Can everyone gather around Reg’s chair?”

All of the other men did so. Wally and Matt sat on the floor in front of the chair; Chez and Alan knelt on either side, holding Layla’s ankles as they pulled her legs out wide; Scotty and Jed knelt behind the chair, grinning at the camera while resting their elbows on its high back. Reg cupped Layla’s breasts with his hands; his cock was visibly lodged deep in her vagina.

“You not going to get in the photo, Lindsay?” Taffy inquired.

“I don’t think so,” I said grumpily.

Taffy shrugged. “Okay, smile everyone!”

They all smiled. Even Layla! This rather upset me. I certainly did not want her to have had an awful time this evening, but I wished she did not look quite so happy about having Reg’s cock inside her.

Taffy took a photo. But then he said, “Wait – I want to be in it too! Lindsay, if you’re not going to pose with everyone, would you mind taking the photo?”

I did not want to do this, of course, but I feared seeming any more petulant than I was already coming across. “Certainly,” I said stiffly.

Taffy handed me his phone, and then he scurried around behind the chair and crouched, putting his hands on the shoulders of Scotty and Jed either side of him. When his grinning face appeared between theirs, I said, “All right, smile!” And then I took a photo, not caring whether it was a good one or not. The sight of the shaft of Reg’s cock disappearing up inside Layla was making me feel ill.

Layla now drew her legs back together, and climbed off Reg. “No more lap dances!” she said. “It’s been fun, but I think I’ve been quite generous enough with everyone!” She giggled.

“Have you heard from your dad, Lindsay?” Jed asked.

I checked my phone. “Not yet,” I said.

“Hmm,” said Jed. “Well I hope your granddad’s all right. I think Taffy and I will hit the road, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all!” I said. “Thank you for coming. It’s been … an interesting party. I’ll let Dad know you asked about Grandpa.”

“Goodnight Layla!” said Taffy. “This was amazing – you’re such a cool and sexy woman!”

Layla laughed. “Thank you!” she said, and she walked with Taffy and Jed to the front door.

“Well I don’t know about you, Chez, but I’m still too drunk to drive,” said Reg, who had by now put his cock away. “I need some time to sober up a bit.”

“Me too,” said Chez.

“And me!” said Matt.

“Anyone fancy watching a movie?” I asked, hoping to take the focus off Layla for a while.

Scotty shrugged. “Sure, what have you got?”

“What haven’t we got?” I said with a chuckle. “Check out those shelves – see if there’s anything we can all agree on.”

After some browsing and discussion, we settled upon Mission Impossible: Fallout, which some of us had seen already, but nobody was unwilling to watch again. I turned off most of the lights, and settled down on the sofa with Layla on one side of me, and Wally on the other.

Two and a half hours later, as the credits rolled, I looked around me and realised that only Chez, Wally and I were still awake. Layla was slumped against the side of the sofa, Alan and Matt had gone home during the film, and both Scotty and Reg were snoozing in their comfortable armchairs.

Wally now got to his feet. “I’m going to head home,” he said. “Thanks for an awesome party, Lindsay. You’re a very lucky man – and a brave one, to give Layla so much freedom! Would you thank her for me when she wakes up? I don’t want to disturb her.”

“Of course,” I said. “Thanks for coming, Wally.”

He left, and I pulled out my phone. I had a text from Dad: ‘Still at hospital. Looks like they might want to keep Dad here overnight – worried about something the scan showed up. Probably nothing but I’ll stick around for a bit. Sorry to miss the party – hope everyone’s having fun.’

I texted him back, then I got up and went upstairs to the bathroom. While I was there, I brushed my teeth and flossed. Then, still feeling a little groggy from tiredness and alcohol, I carefully came down the stairs.

As I entered the living room, I gasped in shock. Chez was on his knees in front of the sofa, his jeans and underwear pulled down. In front of him was Layla, whose legs he was holding up and out to the sides. Her bottom was overhanging the front of the sofa, and Chez’s cock was buried in her vagina.

“What the hell are you doing?” I demanded in a fierce whisper.

“What does it look like?” he replied with a shrug, as he began gently thrusting his cock in and out of Layla.

“Get your cock out of my wife!” I exclaimed.

“Dude!” said Chez, annoyed. “Calm down. You don’t want to wake her up do you?”

“Get out of her, and I won’t have to!” I told him. “Otherwise, I’m calling the police!”

“Lindsay!” said Chez in exasperation. “Relax, will you? Layla had absolutely no problem with me fucking her earlier, as you saw. I’m just finishing what I started.”

“It’s not the same!” I told him. “She was awake then!”

“Mmm, that feels good…” Layla murmured.

Chez looked at me as if to say “I told you so”.

“What?” I said. “She was talking in her sleep!”

“Look,” said Chez, now thrusting harder and faster. “Lindsay. You and I both know your wife loves cock. If she didn’t, she’d have put a stop to those lap dances the instant the first cock slid inside her. But she didn’t stop them, did she? She let them go on, and on. She loves feeling a nice hard cock inside her – it’s obvious. And if she woke up right now, she’d be quite happy for me to continue.”

“No she wouldn’t!” I retorted.

Chez did not reply; he simply continued fucking Layla, right in front of me. I pursed my lips, and scowled, and eventually said, “Right, that’s it…”

“I’m almost done!” said Chez. “Patience, Lindsay. Look, I’m about to cum. But I’ll give you a choice. If you insist on making a fuss, waking Layla, calling the police, or whatever … I’m totally going to creampie your wife. I’m on the brink, I can do it, and I’ll be happy to tell the police all about what happened here tonight. Taffy’s photos and videos will show them what kind of woman she is. You want to drag her through that? I don’t think so! But if you let me slow down, take it easy, and fuck her at my own pace for another couple of minutes, I’ll pull out and cum over her tits instead. Then you can clean her up, and you won’t have to worry about pregnancy or whatever.”

It was a horrible choice he was giving me. “You’re … you’re blackmailing me!”

“I’m doing nothing of the sort,” he replied calmly. “I could go ahead and cum inside your wife, safe in the knowledge that I’ll get away with it. But if you’d rather I cum on her tits instead, just back off, and let me finish in my own time.”

I ground my teeth. “You haven’t changed a bit,” I muttered. “You’re still an arsehole.”

Chez shrugged. “I’m an arsehole who’s fucking your wife,” he said. “Make your choice, Lindsay.”

“Fine!” I said. “Two minutes!”

He smiled, and slowed down, fucking Layla in a leisurely manner. I wrested my eyes away from the sight of his cock sliding in and out of her, and realised that Chez’s dad was no longer asleep. He was staring at me and Chez … and he was filming with his phone.

“Ugh, Reg!” I said in disgust. “Please don’t film this.”

“It’s just for insurance,” said Reg. “In case you unjustly accuse Chez of something later.”

“Accuse him of what?” I inquired irritably. “Of raping my wife in her sleep?”

Reg came closer, moving around the back of his son, then sitting down on the sofa, while keeping his phone pointed at Chez’s cock, thrusting in and out of Layla with a squishy sort of sound. His pace was now increasing again, and I folded my arms and tapped my foot impatiently, waiting for him to finish.

Finally, “Uhhh … ahhh … ahhhh!!!” Chez groaned, jerking his hips and pushing himself deep into Layla. “I’m cumming inside your wife, Lindsay. Oh, it feels so good…”

“What the … you said you would pull out!” I exclaimed hotly. “You bastard!”

“Oh hush,” said Chez. “I changed my mind. It was just too tempting – I really wanted to fill your wife with my sperm. Dad, do you want to take a turn?”

“What?” I gasped. “Are you fucking insane?”

“Tempting,” said Reg, “but do I really want to put up with your sloppy seconds? Hmm. Sure. Move over.”

“Don’t you dare!” I exclaimed hoarsely, though still keeping my voice relatively low. Somehow, Layla was sleeping through this.

“Lindsay,” said Chez, pulling his glistening cock out of Layla, “you need to stop making such a fuss. You’re going to stand there and watch my dad fuck your wife, and you’re not going to stop him or take any action against him. You know why?”

I was almost paralysed with fury and panic. “Why?” I demanded.

“Because we have you on video,” said Chez, “calmly watching while I fucked your wife in her sleep. When I show that to her, how do you think she’s going to feel? I doubt she’ll be particularly upset with me – I was just continuing what I started earlier, which she seemed to enjoy – but oh my goodness, Lindsay, the betrayal on your part … she might never forgive you.”

“What??” I gasped, wondering if this was true. “You wouldn’t … why would you do that?”

“I won’t,” said Chez, “as long as you just continue to do nothing while my dad fucks your wife.” He took the phone from his father, then sat down as Reg took his place in front of Layla. I watched in helpless horror as Reg slowly pushed his erection into Layla’s vagina, and began thrusting.

Chez continued to taunt me while Reg fucked Layla for the next ten minutes. It was the most horrible experience of my life. Numb with misery and defeat, I waited, and waited … until, with a groan, Reg pressed his hips hard against Layla’s buttocks, shuddering as he pumped his semen deep inside her.

“Are you all done?” I asked stonily.

“I think so,” said Reg, grinning at me smugly. He slowly pulled his cock out of Layla.

“Good,” I said. “Now get the fuck out of this house.”

“Sure,” said Chez. “But Lindsay … you’ve got maybe five minutes before some of that sperm finds its way into Layla’s womb. If you don’t want her getting pregnant, you’re going to have to suck it out.”

“What??” I said. “Fuck off! I’m not doing that!”

“Cool,” said Chez. “Dad, do you think Layla’s baby will be yours or mine?”

“There must be a better way!” I said, aghast, staring at the semen leaking out of Layla’s vagina.

“You could try using your fingers,” said Chez with a shrug. “But they won’t reach deep enough, and they’re bound to leave some behind. You could try another suction method, like a vacuum cleaner or a pump, but you then run the risk of damaging Layla. Also, it would be really loud.”

Chez walked up to me, grinning all over his stupid face. “I hope you enjoy the taste of my semen,” he taunted me. “Wee Willy Winkie – you’re just as pathetic as ever, after all these years, aren’t you? God knows how you managed to marry a woman like … Jesus Christ!”

He sprawled on the floor, clutching his nose. “You fucker – you broke by dose!” he wailed.

I would have launched a second attack, but Reg caught me by the shoulders and held me back. “All right Lindsay, you made your point,” he said. “We’re leaving now. Come on, Chez.”

Fired up on adrenaline, I bounced from toe to toe, my fists clenched, until they had both left through the front door. Then I relaxed enough to feel the pain in my right hand. I shook it out, and clutched it. Then I walked back into the living room.

Layla was still asleep, still sprawled on the sofa, with her legs now on the floor. I pulled some tissues from the box, knelt down in front of her, and pulled her thighs apart. Grimacing with disgust, I wiped her clean of the semen that had oozed out of her. Then, steeling myself, I placed my lips around her vaginal opening, forming a seal. And, hating that I was having to do this, I sucked hard.

Semen filled my mouth, and I coughed and choked, spitting it out into a tissue. My eyes watering, I went back for more, sucking hard, and then spitting out whatever entered my mouth. After the third suck, nothing else came out.

I threw away the tissues, went upstairs, and brushed my teeth again, very thoroughly. Then, for good measure, I rinsed out my mouth with Dad’s mouthwash. I wiped my mouth with my towel, then, feeling dizzy, I stumbled out of the room and went back downstairs.

I woke Scotty up. “Time to go, mate,” I said to him.

“Oh!” he said sleepily. “Righto. Thanks for the party, Lindsay. Your wife … she’s…”

“I know, I know,” I grumbled. “She’s amazing, I’m very lucky. But I’m tired now and I want to go to bed.”

“Fair enough,” said Scotty. “Okay, I’m off. Tell your dad happy birthday, and I’ll see him on Monday.”

“Will do,” I said. I saw him to the door, bade him goodbye, and then sighed with relief as I shut the door behind him.

Returning to the living room, I gently shook Layla’s shoulder. “Wake up, darling,” I said.

She did not stir. “Layla!” I repeated, more loudly, shaking her harder.

“Mmmph,” she mumbled. “What – I’m sleeping.”

“Time to go to bed,” I told her. “Can you walk upstairs or do I need to carry you?”

“Walk,” she replied. “I need a wee. Just … help me up.”

She was very drunk, still. I helped her up, and supported her as she stumbled out of the room. She climbed the stairs on all fours, giggling, and then she disappeared into the bathroom. I waited for her, to make sure she did not need my help. After a minute, I heard the toilet flush. Then I heard her brushing her teeth.

When she emerged, her face looked wet. “Ugh,” she said. “Remind me not to drink that much again.” She squinted at me, blinked a few times, then squinted again. “You all right, babe?” she asked. “Bit of a rough evening for you, I suppose. I’m sorry.”

She had no idea. But I was wracked with guilt at what I had allowed to happen. “Come on,” I said, not meeting her eye. “Let’s get to bed.”

She followed me into the bedroom. But as I got into bed, she was looking at me strangely. “Lindsay,” she said, “you don’t look okay. Something happened, didn’t it? While I was asleep?”

I put my head in my hands, and groaned. “I’m sorry!” I wailed. “I … I failed you, Layla! I tried to stop him, but … he … he tricked me, kind of. I … I didn’t know what to do!”

Layla got into bed with me, and took my hand in hers. “Just tell me,” she said.

“It was Chez,” I said tearfully. “He … he raped you in your sleep.” Then I looked at her in panic, fearful of her reaction.

It was not what I expected. “He what?” she asked, puzzled.

“He raped you!” I repeated. “He stuck his cock in you. He fucked you. And then … he came inside you…”

“Oh,” said Layla. “Wow. What a scoundrel!”

“I … I’ll call the police,” I said, reaching for my phone.

“Oh heck, Lindsay, don’t do that,” said Layla. “It wouldn’t do any good. It would honestly make things worse. I don’t want the police involved. Really, I’m not all that bothered.”

“How can you not be bothered?” I asked in disbelief. “He raped you! That’s like … one of the worst crimes!”

“Yeah,” she conceded. “But it’s like … a bit of a grey area, in this case. I mean, Chez had already had his cock inside me. He probably felt like one more time wasn’t a big deal.”

“That’s what he said,” I muttered. “Pretty much. But that doesn’t excuse it!”

“No,” said Layla. “Maybe not. But I’m going to forgive him anyway, and I want you to do the same.”

“No way!” I said emphatically. “He was horrible! What he did … he manipulated me! And he raped you!”

“Okay,” said Layla, “let’s start by not using that word, please. Can we do that? Let’s just say he fucked me without my knowledge.”

“Or consent!” I added. “Which is…”

“Which is a bad thing,” Layla interrupted me. “But I want you to forgive him anyway. Not for him. And not for me. But for yourself. I don’t want you holding a grudge forever because of this, or doing something silly out of revenge.”

“I already got revenge,” I said. “A bit, at least.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, looking concerned.

I grinned sheepishly. “I punched him.”

Layla stared at me, then she laughed. “Really?” she asked, seeming astonished. “You did?”

I nodded. “I knocked him down. I think I broke his nose. But oh … it felt so good…”

Layla giggled. “Well, I do hope he doesn’t press assault charges,” she said. “But I can’t help feeling a bit proud of you. What was his dad doing throughout all this?”

My face fell, and I sighed. “He … he fucked you too,” I said. “They both did, one after the other. And they both came inside you.”

Layla bit her lip. “Wow,” she said. “Okay.”

“Okay?” I echoed.

“Don’t get worked up!” she said, forestalling my explosion. “I don’t mean what they did was okay. I’m just … I’m still processing.”

I nodded. “I’m sorry I didn’t stop them. But at first, Chez said that if I let him continue, he wouldn’t cum inside you. He broke that promise, of course. Then, he said that if I didn’t let Reg fuck you as well, he’d tell you about how I just watched him fuck you and didn’t stop him.”

Layla shivered. “How Machiavellian,” she said. “I’m almost … impressed. So they both came inside me? Strange – I’d have expected … did you clean me up?”

My cheeks seemed to catch fire. I hung my head in shame. “I … I sucked it all out of you,” I confessed.

Layla put her hand over her mouth, staring at me wide-eyed. “You didn’t!”

I nodded.

“Seriously?” she gasped. “Oh my god…” She turned away from me and put her head in her hands. Her shoulders were shaking.

“I’m sorry!” I said, not sure why this had upset her so much. “I couldn’t think what else to do. I didn’t want them getting you pregnant…”

“It’s okay!” she said breathlessly. She took a few moments to compose herself, then she turned back to face me. “Lindsay,” she said earnestly, “you’re a trooper. Is your hand okay…?”

I looked at it. My knuckles were rather red, and a little swollen. “It’s fine,” I said.

“Make love to me,” she said. “I want to try again. I want that lovely cock of yours inside me. I want you to fuck me, cum inside me, make me yours.”

“Oh!” I said, surprised. “Um, okay! I’ll try…”

She lay on her back, opened her arms for me. I climbed on top of her, and she reached for my cock. “Halfway there!” she said. “Good boy. Let’s see if we can get some more life into him…”

“Ohh…” I said, feeling myself becoming harder. “That’s working … that’s working! Oh shit…”

Layla froze for a moment, then she smiled at me, looking a little disappointed. “Ah well,” she said, and she reached for a tissue. “Shall we just cuddle?”

“Yes please,” I said apologetically.

And we cuddled.


THE END



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