If that night of pussy-eating and golden showers marked a high in our progressive sexual attitudes then the following night marked a low. Erin took advantage of a weekend without the kids and invited one of her new partners to stay the night. We had an evening of hot sex and delicious company planned.
Erin was fond of Brett; she had entertained the charming Australian after meeting him at the gym the week before. She told tales of his firm hands and playful smile, and wanted to introduce him to our marriage. She thought he might be another Jason.
Alas, he took great delight in slapping me, and Erin watched as the dominant man tried to dominate me by using physical violence. He was much bigger than me; his muscular frame oozed anger as he got physically and verbally aggressive when we tried to explain that it wasn’t our dynamic.
In our play, my wife hit me; I was submissive to her and I would be dominated by both her and her lovers, but only my wife could use physical aggression against me. We tried to spell it out, but he got more pugnacious and rougher until we called a halt to the scene.
He swore. He called us “timewasters” and my wife was a “fucking cocktease.” I stepped in and his fist glanced my jaw before another landed in my solar plexus, causing me to bend double in the bedroom. My lingerie-clad wife rushed to my aid. He screamed abuse at us as he stomped from our house, throwing a vase onto the floor as he slammed the front door behind him.
Erin vowed never to see him again and it raised doubts about continuing with our cuckolding lifestyle. It shook Erin up more than me; she reasoned that if she had been alone, she couldn’t have stopped the bodybuilding brute from raping her. She questioned whether it was safe for her have so many lovers.
We talked to Christina, who promised that she would ensure that the matter was dealt with. A few days later, we received a signed apology from Brett and cash to cover the damaged vase. Christina never told us what she had done or said, except that he had been black-balled from the local cuckolding scene.
Christina did demand to be allowed to take my wife away to safely enjoy some “horny young men” and Erin excited agreed to a foreign break. Christina promised her a trip of rampant debauchery in a safe setting, and it was suggested I keep Bryn company on his trip to a conference.
Ten days later, when our children next went to their grandparents to spend time with my parents and my brother’s children, my wife and I travelled with our horny neighbours next door.
My trip to London sounded dull, but Christina had a glint in her eye that normally meant I’d have a good time and said there would be pain and guilty pleasures. I wondered if I would be getting in Bryn’s way as it was a working conference, but Bryn was delighted to be having some company.
It was an event on the Friday; a networking opportunity for his business in a lavish London conferencing centre.
We were both suited; I had never seen Bryn wearing such a smart suit before. His two companies and share portfolio were managed without dressing formally and most of his transactions were conducted from home while dressed only in panties. I was introduced as his “assistant.” We had worked out our story and Bryn had a couple of important meetings, where a dutiful personal assistant would look professional.
Bryn was keen to get his IT company involved in some Government tendering and he had arranged a short meeting with a smart Government junior minister. “He runs a company too,” he explained. “I saw him a few weeks ago in his office.” His eyes twinkled. “I went to Uni with him.”
“Oh …”
“Little tiger too. Never could keep it in his pants, charmed half the girls in the college.” His eyes wandered around the hall. “His secretary’s a bit sexy too. Probably a proper minx knowing Crispin!” I gulped as a smart suited gentleman approached my neighbour and they shook hands, before sitting at a small table away from the hustle and bustle of the conference.
I day-dreamt as Bryn talked, thinking of what lay beneath the navy suit of the young politician. His strong and forceful tone of voice was commandeering as he spoke with assured presence, conveying his message with ease to my neighbour trying desperately to gain a commercial advantage.
He was very well presented; a thin body, a wry, welcoming smile and a teasing bulge that alluded and promised so much. I imagined a delightful cheeriness when the confident man stood naked; dominance that the powerful exude as they survey the minions beneath them.
And I wanted to be beneath him. Him and his cute secretary: so sexily prim and proper, yet with a splash of filthy nastiness running through her tight shirt and figure-hugging skirt. I imagined the two of them fucking doggy style as my tongue swept over her slit.
It would be hairless; I glanced at her blue eyes waiting patiently for her political master. She saw me through her wire-framed glasses catching a glimpse at her petite frame, and looked away as our eyes met to run her fingers through her long, straight black hair.
“Do you want a coffee?” I blurted out, and then looked at my perverted friend. “All want coffees?”
He looked up at me and nodded. “Sure, usual for me. And … ummm … small muffin or something.” He turned away, treating me with a little contempt, but it was for show. His meeting with the junior minister was partly to demonstrate how powerful he was, and the political heavyweight showed no less disdain for his own personal assistant. A nod of his head towards her, sent the gorgeous woman to the expensive coffee shop at the venue beside me.
“You look … really nice,” I muttered, my heart fluttering as I broke the silence. She snorted, and coldly turned away from me in the coffee queue.
“I’m not interested in you,” she replied, almost icily. “I’m taken.”
“Oh me too! I’m married.” I spun my ring around my finger and held it up, almost as proof that I wasn’t lying. “I just sayin’ that I think you look really nice.”
“Right. Thanks.”
“I don’t think many IT conferences attracts …” My voice tailed off as I struggled to think how to finish the sentence. “… well you know.” She tried to suppress her giggle, and shook her head at my momentary social ineptitude. “It’s a nice day out. Rather be outside.”
She hummed. “I live by the canal so it’s lovely in the evening.”
“Oh, I used to love taking my wife, girlfriend then, for picnics by the river and canal. It’ll be a nice evening. You should go with your boyfriend when you get home! It’ll be good weather, I’m sure.”
She sighed and cocked her head. “I don’t have a boyfriend. Or a man.” She waited for the cogs to turn in my brain, working out the meaning behind her smirk.
“Oh … you’re a … oh right that’s umm … cool.” She shook her head. “It’s fine, ’cause my wife’s bi and so I get it. I …” Her eyes widened. “OK. I think I better shut up!”
“Yeah, that could work!” I didn’t think I could blush any more. We said nothing as we ordered the drinks and we waited patiently for the conversation between our respective masters to finish; Bryn was demonstrating the product or system on his tablet and the minister was clearly excited by the presentation.
The clock ticked past five, and Billie had long since reneged on her “no talking to me” stance; we sat on an adjacent table, having been dispatched by the two men in deep conversation, and idly chatted.
I apologised for my inappropriate indiscretion and she dismissed away my sincere apology with a casual wave and a wry giggle. I didn’t quite know what she was thinking, but that was part of her charm. She looked so sensible and yet so dirty. Perhaps it was my pornographic conditioning or my nymphomaniac brain, but I stereotyped her subconsciously.
She had so many mannerisms that were cheeky and alluring; a flick of her hair, the delightful smirk and the teenage giggle. She blushed too when she said a double entendre and the relaxed secretary oozed charm her cheeks reddened.
I wanted her. Or more to the point, I wanted her to make her orgasm. I wanted to taste the luscious wetness of her cunt and to watch as she writhed under my touch. I wanted her to flood my face with her orgasm, crying in lust as I brought her to waves of pleasure. And in many ways, I wanted nothing in return: I wanted to give and not receive, wanted her to collapse into her mattress, her body swarming with spent pleasure without the need or want to reciprocate.
Because even if I wanted to, I could not take satisfaction from the young lady: that would be cheating. That would destroy the foundation my relationship was built upon. She drank the last of her coffee as my mind whirred. “You OK? You look deep in thought.”
“Oh … nothing,” I blurted: I could hardly admit that I was thinking of burying my face in her crotch.
The junior minister called his secretary over to him and passed her a bag of his affects. “Go home,” he ordered. “Bring them to the office on Monday.”
I looked at Bryn, airily watching his companion dismiss the young female assistant. “I want to finish our meeting over dinner,” he told me. “Book us somewhere local and then go,” he ordered, nodding his head to me as I took out my phone. “Somewhere good.”
The Michelin-starred restaurant a short walk away from the venue had space for Bryn and the minister, and after the briefest of conversations, I was walking Billie home: I offered, and she accepted, stretching out on the Tube train to take us to the suburbs.
“So, what’s it like working for … him?”
She snorted, looking around the carriage before sighing. “He’s OK. A bit of a cocky twat,” she admitted. “But even he admits that. There are worse.”
“Really?”
“Definitely. What’s it like working for Mr Forrester?”
“Oh Bryn?” I laughed and rubbed my face. “He’s ummm …”
“You don’t sound very sure.”
“He’s good.” My body language must have betrayed me as she gestured towards me and needled me. “You don’t want to know the rest.”
“Sure I do.”
“It’s … inappropriate.”
She sniggered. “I’m not at work any more.”
I hummed, taking a deep breath. There was something about her playfulness that put me at ease and I bit my lip as I stared at her coquettish demeanour. “We have fun together.”
She scowled for a moment, trying to read me. “Oh, like that sort of fun. Oh … I don’t do that!” She rubbed her hands. “Promotion for sexual favours.”
“No. He’s my neighbour. We have fun together. Watching the football, or when we are just bored. I’m bi.”
“I don’t believe you!”
“Why?”
“There’s something about your expression. Is this just because I told you I’ve not got a boyfriend?”
“No!” I gulped. “I can’t prove it but I enjoy men as well as women! I enjoy going down on them both, OK?”
“OK. Although you could prove it if you wanted to!”
I rocked back on the chair as the packed tube train pulled into a station and I glanced around the carriage, unsure as to whether anyone was listening to our conversation. “How? Find someone at random and claw at their jeans? Don’t think so!”
She flicked her hair and said nothing, staring at me with a gleeful glint in her eyes. I suspected a wildness in her personal life, and we alighted to catch another train and then another. She remained silent as we travelled, the tension between us growing as the other passengers disembarked.
She flashed me her knickers as she sat opposite me; her eyes not making contact with mine as she typed on her phone. Her actions deliberately provocative as her sexiness oozed from every pore in her svelte body.
I tried to guess her age: I suspected mid-twenties, yet there was a teenage exuberance to her actions and a lustful experience to her demeanour. She knew she was taunting me, she knew she teasing my cock with her wanton display of female sexuality. She knew and she enjoyed the power she wielded over the cuckold.
We disembarked at an empty station; the booking hall was empty and the suburban road behind it was quiet. “Where are we?” I asked, but I got no response.
I wasn’t sure what she wanted; I had offered to walk her home in the early evening twilight. Her route twisted between the rows of identical houses in London suburbia, far busier than rural Cheshire I was used to. She said nothing as she walked up to a town house and turned to face me. “Fancy some dinner?” Her eyes twinkled behind her secretarial glasses as she waited for her answer.
“Sure,” I muttered, unsure of what she was really after. The ground-floor flat was more spacious than I anticipated, the bright lounge opened into a large kitchen. “Do you want …”
“Help with dinner,” she finished for me. “Yes. Peel those carrots and parsnips.”
“OK.”
“And put the oven on 180.” I slipped my coat from my shoulders and threw it onto the corner sofa, walking into the kitchen and washing my hands. I looked to see the young lady walking into a bedroom, filing some items away as I opened the bag of vegetables on the counter.
I wasn’t sure what to make of her antics, or her behaviour, but then I liked that. If I was being honest I was intrigued by charm and her allure. I loved her mystery. I heard the other bedroom door open loudly and watched as a naked man walked into the kitchen.
He did nothing as he sauntered past me, the tall lean frame of a late-twenties man, his cock swinging as he filled a glass with water. “Hi,” I muttered and the short ginger-haired man nodded as I glanced at his sizeable dick.
He saw me peeking; I saw a feint smile flicker across his lips as my eyes captured the long, thin shaft of his circumcised cock, covered at the base with a slight furry fuzz. “Evening,” he replied with a raised eyebrow as Billie entered the kitchen, naked except for a translucent apron.
I took in the sight of her naked body; a slight dash of pubic hair was cheeky, a belly button piercing was sexy and her breasts were deliciously pert. I longed for her, I longed for them both. “We’re nudists,” she simpered as her hands reached for the chopping board. “Go get ready and hang out with Michael.”
“Ummm …”
She turned to face her flatmate. “Michael, this is Peter. Peter is bisexual and married and is the neighbour and assistant of a man Crispin is having a meeting with. He spends his evenings watching football with another man and sucking him off. Or so he says.”
I blushed; I knew the familiar feel of reddening cheeks as the young coquette sought to embarrass me. Her playful giggle and shimmy of her hips with part of her games. I held her waist as I whispered in her ear. “I thought you didn’t have a boyfriend.”
“I don’t,” she whispered. “He’s bi, my girlfriend’s bi and I’m … not. Work it out for yourself.”
Michael lay on the couch, leaning back as the water drained into his gullet. I admired him for a moment from the doorway, watching the bulge of his muscles and casual demeanour. My eyes traced the prominence of his testicles, lying underneath his long, smooth cock and the welcoming sight of his purple glans.
He flicked the television on with a wave of the remote control, ignoring the ogling stranger. I was oblivious to him as he stretched on the couch with his feet resting on a wooden table. He scratched the inside of his thigh. I smiled as his cock flopped to the side and imagined the impressive dick sliding between my lips, feeling the warmth of the nudist as it hardened in my mouth.
“Go join him,” Billie demanded and I stepped towards the sofa. “Naked. Only naked.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s my house, my rules!” Michael briefly glanced at me as I unbuttoned my belt. It felt weird to be without trousers in a stranger’s house; the long tails of my shirt covering my underwear. My heart fluttered as I slipped the flimsy panties to the floor and unbuttoned my shirt. I shivered from fright not cold, and for the first time Michael paid me attention, tearing his eyes away from the sports news to ogle me.
Briefly.
I wasn’t as big as him; my muscles not as defined and my pubic hair more plentiful. I heard a sniggering behind me, as Billie held up the pink panties to her flatmate. “You wear female knickers,” she laughed.
I blushed further. “My wife makes me! She’s a hotwife and a domme and I …”
“You’re quite a nasty little fucker,” she interrupted, and stood akimbo, watching me. “Now prove you’re bi!”
“What?”
“Prove you’re bi,” she demanded. “There’s a cock there. Suck it.”
“Ummm … well I’m not sure Michael would want that and …”
“He does,” Billie replied. “He always wants a blowjob! See you talk the talk, can’t walk the walk.”
Michael pushed his hips further into the beige couch, saying nothing as I stared at his semi-erect cock. It called to me; the feint aroma of man filled my nostrils as the long, thin shaft encapsulated my attention and pulled my open mouth towards it.
Billie gasped as my lips closed over the round head of his prick. I slid my tongue along the underside of his impressive cock that tickled my gag reflex as I sunk my mouth on his organ.
He grunted, pushing his legs further apart. His pubic hair tickled the end of my nose as I bobbed on his long prick, feeling the gorgeous shaft fill my throat. My fingers explored his balls, pressing against his perineum as he panted.
I stared at his eyes, watching his expression of relief and lust as my tongue swept over the head of his circumcised prick. I jerked his shaft, closing my lips over the sensitive tip and bobbed on his erect cock, eager to have him splash his cum over my lips.
Billie watched; she said nothing at first, and just ogled as the stranger fellated her flatmate at her command. Then she teased and she taunted, hoping to embarrass me. Toying with me and playing with my embarrassment.
But instead I was zealously sucking Michael’s slender dick in front of her. Savouring every scent of his masculinity and enjoying every twitch of his delicious cock. Enjoying it. Loving it. Floating as she watched spellbound at the degrading submission of the stranger.
He grunted, panted and his cock twitched. He cried out in orgasmic delight, warning me of his climax and I sucked hard, flicking the top of his cock hole as his legs shook and his cock quivered.
I waited. I knew what was coming. I longed for it, closing my eyes as I felt his muscles tense and his buttocks clench. I sucked, harder and harder, eager to taste the musky saltiness of his cum, desperate to feel the jet of his seed against the top of my mouth. My lips pressed against his glans, my tongue flicking his frenulum as he gasped and I got my reward.
Four squirts of his cum, splashing against my mouth with a flourish as the confident man filled the rampant submissive with the sweet fruits of his testicles. His cum rolled against my tongue and I savoured the spent lust of his masculinity. A thick, glutinous deposit from the naturist stranger that fizzed on senses and brought my cock to leak pre-cum.
He said nothing as his slippery cock slipped from my mouth and I glanced at Billie, still and motionless as her mind processed the show. “I told you I was bi,” I said calmly and glanced over at her. “Now may I have some pussy to lick to finish my show?”
She squealed. “I’m not bi,” she flustered and I couldn’t suppress a smile as she returned to her kitchen.
It wasn’t a surprise, but the blowjob broke the ice with Michael and I lounged on the sofa with him, happily chatting about the football and work, about my family and his love life. About everything, while Billie watched from a safe distance.
Our conversation was interrupted by Billie’s girlfriend coming home: the blonde-haired, blue-eyed shy PhD student and the young lady was too shy to venture back into the lounge until Billie called her for dinner. I was cordially introduced to the naked woman as “my acquaintance who just gave Mikey a BJ.”
Sandy blushed more than I did; Billie had prepared a wonderful dinner and we thanked her as we ate our “vegetable stew” with chips and peas. A weird combination but one that worked well.
Of course, the chatter turned to sexual matters: Billie’s initial surprise that I wasn’t lying about my bisexuality to impress her had waned and the large glasses of red wine were removing the svelte woman’s inhibitions.
“I don’t know you’re bi,” she blurted out as I finished my dinner. “I’ve only seen you with Michael. You might be gay.”
I sighed. “Well my relationship with my wife allows me to eat out pussy.” I stared at her. “I just need to borrow a woman.”
She pouted, sighing dramatically. “I am not bisexual or straight,” she replied firmly, gulping her wine. “You aren’t touching my cunt.” I shrugged at her denials.
“Then I can’t prove my sexuality. Not that it matters, you know I love cock and I’m married with kids so loving a woman is obvious.”
“Or …” Billie motioned. “Or maybe you’re gay. Maybe you are staying together for the kids, so your wife gets to have other lovers. Lovers with big balls of cum that want to fuck a hot little wife while you go around sucking men and having big, thick cocks stuffed up your arse.” She rested her head on her arms, smiling as her eyes permeated my gaze. “And so you’re together, on the outside you’re a married couple who adores each other. But really you’re this cock hungry slut who can’t wait to get his next fix of cum. Can’t stop thinking about the long, thick shafts that penetrate his ring and fuck his sissy little mouth. That’s why you wear panties, because you long to be a woman. You’d not want to go near a woman’s cunt any more than I want to touch your cock.” She cackled as she downed her wine; the teasing rampant.
“Sandy, may I go down on you?” I looked at Billie’s girlfriend, causing the shy blonde to splutter into her drink and nearly choke. “Because I adore eating cunt. I adore watching a woman squirm and writhe, squealing out my name as I take her towards orgasm. I love the slippery feel of her clit against my tongue and the smooth elegance of a female silky body. And I adore kissing a woman’s butthole, sliding my tongue against her sensitive skin and feeling every quiver, every jolt of electric lust and every sizzling enjoyment of her sensual orgasm.” I glanced at Billie watching her girlfriend intently, staring at her for any sign of emotion. “As I said, give me a woman and I’ll show you.”
Sandy screwed up her face as Billie nodded; her cheeks blushed and she screwed her fists together. Was my new friend coercing her? Was this consensual?
Sandy sniffed and nodded. “OK.”
“You sure?” I heard myself mutter.
The scared expression replaced by a feint smile. I tried to read her body language. I needed to see consent; a desire to be publicly touched and not being navigated into a cul-de-sac. I wanted to see something.
I got it. She nodded, getting up from the table and held her hand towards me, over the head of her partner. Billie kissed her midriff and the two women exchanged loving gaze. “Love you,” the political secretary whispered into the belly of her lesbian lover, staring as I was led to the expansive sofa.
Sandy placed a towel onto the cushion and sat down, pulling me towards her and pressing her lips against mine. It should have been natural: the soft feel of her plump lips kissing me, but I recoiled in shock. She looked into my eyes, almost disappointed.
I wanted to eat her pussy, and bury my face between her legs. I wanted to taste her juices and smother her cunt with my tongue, drawing her towards orgasm after orgasm, and yet the act of kissing felt alien. The precursor to lust was almost strange: an unwanted diversion in my quest to find her delicious cunt and savour her sweet nectar.
But yet, she was sexy: incredibly sexy. Why didn’t I want to make out with her? “Sorry,” I muttered. “Didn’t expect it.” I cocked my head and moved in for the kiss. She was soft; sweet, gentle movements as her tongue slid against mine.
Her hands touched my body, my fingers played with her golden hair and swept over her neck. I toyed with the smooth orbs of her breasts, rolling her nipples between my fingers as we snogged; long, beautiful kisses that pushed her back onto the sofa and left her breathlessly expectant.
My kisses travelled down her body; gentle osculations on her neck, flicks of her nipple with my tongue, long smooches in her belly that left butterflies fluttering inside and gentle teasing pecks on the top of her mons.
Her smooth, hairless mons that bathed in abundant sexuality; an advert for my tongue and an invitation to me to push my lips against her crack. My mouth floated around her inner thigh, inhaling her sensual aroma that tickled my excitement. Fragrant, delightful femininity; the smell of a young lady eager and excited; aroused and slick.
Her legs were open, splayed to allow access to my mouth; she groaned as I flicked at her cleft, softly poking to the soft, slick wetness underneath. Her legs quivered as my tongue brushed her clit, making her cunt twinkle and sparkle with lustful magic.
I loved the feeling of her slippery wetness against my face, feeling her squeal against my tongue as I massaged her clit into breathless grunts. She writhed, bucking her hips as she noisily appreciated my efforts.
And I loved it. I loved the feel of her dripping crotch pressed against my face, and the desperate sounds of female satisfaction emanating from her cunt. I loved the feel of submission as she seized gratification from my efforts, without wanting or able to reciprocate. And I adored the public spectacle, knowing I was little more than entertainment for the two flat-mates.
She panted, and rocked, muttering obscenities as my tongue swirled over her button, feeling her body shake underneath the forearms holding her thighs apart. I pressed a finger against her hole, hearing her simper as it slid effortlessly past any resistance.
She panted, gulping and squealing as I scissored her cunt with my fingers, watching the lust seize her expression as she neared her first orgasm.
I was soaked; the aroused woman squeezed my fingers with her cunt, yelling into the silence of the room as her muscles quivered and her body lurched into waves of naked relief.
But she wasn’t done; I wasn’t done. I lifted her thighs up and buried my face against her perineum, flicking her butthole with my tongue and slipping against the whorl of her anus.
Her cries became louder; no longer mewling and squealing but deep, booming yells of unadulterated lust. Of sin. Of desperate thirst for more and more sexual relief.
And I was happy to quench that thirst, pressing my mouth against her tight whirl and sliding my fingers into her slippery cunt. She gasped as she snatched breaths; her legs shook and shuddered, trembling as I brought her hurtling towards her second orgasm.
Stronger than the first. Much stronger. Her cries and yells filled the room; her wetness soaked the towel. Her quivering muscles clenched tight and her breathless squalls of sated relief caused my cock to stand.
“No more,” she begged and weeped as my fingers found her G-Spot. She recoiled in lust, panting as I pressed hard against her insides, rubbing her with firmness. She squirmed and she pulled a cushion onto her face, screaming into the fabric pillow as I took her into her third orgasm.
Her cunt glistened with juices: the air was thick with the scent and taste of female satisfaction. The slippery slide of her cunt gently allowed my fingers to depart, as her body rocked by her third climax, slouched onto the sofa, her face appearing from behind the beige cushion.
I smiled at her; she smiled at me. “I told you I wasn’t gay,” I said to Billie; her own fingers circling her clit. “I can take care of that for you,” I said with a wink.
She leant against the wall, shaking her head at the offer. “Wrong gender. But thanks, I hate giving her head. She loves it to receive it. Makes a change from Micky doing it!”
With a sweetest grin, the scheming woman walked past me and jumped on her lover, kissing her passionately.
I looked at Michael. “I better head off.”
He nodded. “Sure. Unless you fancy going to a party tonight. I could do with the company!”
“What sort of party?”
He looked at the snogging women on the couch. “A place where free love reigns supreme and girls aren’t allowed.”
“A gay party,” I blurted out and he just smiled.
“I prefer a festival of fun for the open-minded man.”
I shrugged. “Sure. I got nothing else to do.”
“Oh, one more thing. It’s fancy dress. I need to lend you a tracksuit.” My eyebrows raised. “It’s go as a Chav.”
Classy.
Or not. But it was tremendously good fun.
