Wife gets tagged teamed in her garage by her running partners

When my two running partners decide to take turns inside me

Has it ever happened to you ladies when you finally have a day off, your husband is at work, and you have the whole house to yourself with nowhere to be and nothing but time? You put on something comfortable that makes you feel good, not for anyone else but just for you, and you start a project you have been meaning to get to forever. You are sweaty and focused and completely in your own world, and then you hear footsteps approaching. It is the two men you have been flirting with for months, the ones you jog with every morning, the ones whose eyes have been telling you things that their mouths have been too polite to say. You are not expecting anyone, you are not prepared for company, and suddenly your day off takes a turn you never expected but maybe, in the back of your mind, have been hoping for.

One morning I was cleaning my garage when exactly that happened to me.

It was my day off and my husband was at work. The house was mine until six o'clock, and I had decided to spend the morning doing something for myself. I pulled on black yoga pants that sat low on my hips and hugged my ass, and a white off-the-shoulder crop top that exposed my stomach and shoulders. I did not bother with a bra. It was just me, the quiet house, and a garage full of clutter that had been waiting for months.

We had been running together for six months, my two neighbors from across the street and I. Three mornings a week we met at the corner and covered five miles. Somewhere around month three, the energy shifted. Last week, we had played a game of tag on the back trail, chasing each other through the trees, our hands grabbing at waists and asses as we passed. We had all been breathing hard by the end, and not just from the running.

Now I was in my garage, sorting boxes, when I heard their footsteps on my driveway. I looked up. They jogged up to the open garage, shirtless, their chests gleaming with sweat from their morning route.

"We missed you this morning," the taller one said, slowing to a walk. His eyes moved down my body, taking in the yoga pants, the exposed skin, the way my nipples showed through the thin crop top.

"I have the day off," I said. "I wanted to get this done."

The shorter one stepped into the garage, looking around at the piles of boxes. "This is a two-person job," he said. "Or three."

"We could help," the taller one said. He moved closer, and I could smell him, that clean sweat smell I had grown used to.

I looked at both of them, and I thought about the tagging game, about the way we had touched each other last week. "Okay," I said. "But we should get to work."

We started moving boxes. I made sure to bend over slowly when I lifted, letting the yoga pants stretch over my ass. I reached for high shelves, letting my crop top ride up my stomach, exposing more skin. I caught them watching me. Their eyes followed my body as I moved around the garage.

After twenty minutes of this, I stood up straight and stretched, arching my back, pushing my chest forward. "It is hot in here," I said.

"Very hot," the shorter one agreed. He was staring at my chest.

I walked to the garage entrance and looked out at the street. "Mrs. Patterson is always watching from her kitchen," I said. "She will gossip if she sees me in here with two men while my husband is at work."

"Close the door then," the taller one said, his voice lower than before.

I looked at him over my shoulder. "Would you do it?"

The shorter one moved to the door and pulled it down. The metal rattled as it closed, sealing us in the dim, enclosed space. We all knew it was not about Mrs. Patterson.

The door clicked shut. I turned around and leaned back against the workbench, crossing my arms under my breasts, pushing them up. "So," I said. "Where were we?"

They moved closer, one from each side. The taller one stood in front of me. The shorter one moved behind me. I stayed leaning against the bench, looking up at the taller one, a small smile on my face.

"You have been teasing us for months," the taller one said.

"I have," I admitted.

"And today?" he asked.

"Today I am not teasing," I said. "Today I am offering."

The shorter one stepped closer behind me. I felt his chest against my back, his hands finding my hips. He was already hard against my ass. The taller one reached out and hooked his finger in the neckline of my crop top. He pulled it down slowly, exposing my breasts. He looked at them, then looked back at my face.

"No kissing," I said. "That is too intimate. This is just for fun."

He nodded. He understood. He touched my breasts, his palms rough, squeezing my nipples between his thumbs and fingers until I gasped. Behind me, the shorter one's hands moved to my waistband. He pushed my yoga pants down, sliding them over my hips, my ass, my thighs. He stopped when they were bunched around my knees, trapping my legs together, leaving me exposed.

His fingers found me from behind, sliding between my legs. He made a sound when he felt how wet I was.

"She is ready," he said.

"Of course I am," I said. "I have been ready for months."

The shorter one pushed his running shorts down, freeing his cock. He took my hand and wrapped my fingers around his shaft. I stroked him slowly, feeling him pulse, while his fingers continued to move inside me from behind, stretching me, preparing me.

Then he pulled his fingers out, and I felt the head of his cock pressing against my entrance. He pushed forward in one smooth stroke, filling me completely from behind. I gasped, my hand tightening on his cock.

The taller one pushed his shorts down and stepped closer. "Open," he said, and I parted my lips.

He pushed into my mouth, filling me. He set the pace, his hands finding my hair, gripping it as he thrust, controlling the movement. I relaxed into it, letting him use my mouth, focusing on the sensation of being filled at both ends.

They found their rhythm quickly, moving in counterpoint. When the one behind me pulled back, the one in front pushed forward. They moved like that, alternating, keeping me constantly stimulated, my body suspended between them.

It felt like the tagging game, back and forth, taking turns. Only now there was no running, just this raw physical connection we had been building toward.

The one behind me reached around and found my clitoris, rubbing it in tight circles as he fucked me. The pleasure built quickly, and I came with a muffled sound around the cock in my mouth, my body convulsing, my pussy clenching down.

They did not slow down. They moved faster, their thrusts becoming more urgent. The taller one pulled out of my mouth suddenly, stroking himself, and I felt warm semen splash across my chest, coating my breasts and my crop top, dripping down my stomach. He groaned, his eyes locked on mine.

The one behind me felt his friend finish, and he pulled out of me, turning me roughly and pushing me back against the workbench. My ass hit the edge, and he lifted my legs by the knees. My yoga pants stretched tight between my legs, keeping them partially trapped, and he entered me again from this new angle, sliding deeper.

He fucked me like that, holding my legs, watching me. I was sensitive, every thrust feeling intense. He released one of my legs and found my clitoris again, rubbing it hard and fast, and I felt another climax building.

I came again, arching off the workbench, and he slammed deep one final time and held there, his cock pulsing as he released inside me. I felt the heat filling me, flooding me, and when he pulled out, it overflowed immediately, running down my thighs, soaking into the yoga pants that still clung to my knees.

We stayed like that for a moment, breathing hard. The taller one handed me a rag, and I wiped myself clean, pulling my crop top back into place, though it stuck to the semen on my chest. I pulled my yoga pants up slowly, feeling the wetness inside me shift and pool.

"We should go," the one behind me said, pulling his shorts up. "Before someone wonders where we are."

"Same time tomorrow for the run?" the taller one asked, his voice casual.

"Same time," I said. "Or we can play more tag right now."

I turned around and bent over the workbench, pushing my ass toward them. My yoga pants were still around my knees, holding my legs together, but my ass and pussy were fully exposed to them, open and dripping with semen. I looked back over my shoulder.

"Go ahead," I said. "Tag each other."

They looked at each other, then at me. The taller one moved first. He stepped up behind me and pushed his cock into me in one thrust. I gasped, feeling him fill me again, stretching my sore pussy. He gripped my hips and fucked me hard, his hips slapping against my ass, his cock going deep.

Then he pulled out and stepped back. The shorter one took his place immediately, pushing into me, his cock sliding easily through the wetness. He fucked me with short, fast strokes, gripping my ass with both hands, spreading me open.

They passed me back and forth like that, taking turns, just like our game on the trail. One would fuck me for a minute, then pull out, and the other would step in and take his place. They tagged each other with a look, a nod, no words needed. I stayed bent over the workbench, my cheek pressed against the wood, my breasts hanging down, my body shaking with each thrust.

The taller one reached under me and found my clitoris again, rubbing it while the shorter one fucked me. Then they switched, and the shorter one took over rubbing me while the taller one pounded into me from behind. The sensation of their hands and their cocks, the constant switching, the feeling of being used by both of them, pushed me over the edge again.

I came hard, my whole body shaking, my pussy clenching around whoever was inside me at that moment. I screamed into the garage, not caring if anyone heard, not caring about anything but the pleasure ripping through me.

They did not stop. They kept tagging each other, kept fucking me through my orgasm. The taller one pulled out and came on my ass, his semen hot on my skin. The shorter one took his place one last time, fucking me fast and hard until he also pulled out and came on my ass, adding to the mess.

I collapsed onto the workbench, completely spent. My legs were shaking. My pussy was throbbing. Semen dripped from me onto the floor and down my thighs. My hair was tangled. My crop top was soaked with sweat and semen.

They stood there for a moment, breathing hard, looking down at me. Then the taller one handed me the rag again. I wiped myself as best I could, but I was a mess. I pulled my yoga pants up slowly, feeling the fabric stick to the semen on my ass and thighs, feeling the wetness inside me pool and shift.

"We really should go now," the shorter one said, pulling his shorts up.

"Yes," I said, my voice hoarse. "Before my husband comes home for lunch."

They froze for a second, then laughed. The taller one reached out and smacked my ass one last time, a playful tag.

"Tomorrow then," he said. "For the run."

"Tomorrow," I agreed.

They raised the garage door and jogged out into the sunlight. I stayed leaning against the workbench for another minute, catching my breath, feeling the soreness between my legs. Then I went inside to shower, already planning what I would wear for tomorrow's run, already knowing we would not make it five miles before finding somewhere private to play tag again.