0 comments/ 26660 views/ 1 favorites Jill & Tim's Story Ch. 01 By: Lou Thomas Tim AS is the case with most couples, the early days of our marriage were spent in confirming the tastes and attitudes of each other, finding the things each of us enjoyed doing. One quick compatability we found was Jill loving to "tease" and turn-on men -- and my love of watching her do so. For safety's sake, this is not something she ordinarily does at work; there she dresses pleasantly, attractively but, in the main, conservatively (although there are a few guys there who would slash their throats if they knew how often she's worked all day in garterbelt and hose, pantyless).. While, on rare occasions, she'll wear a slit skirt or dress to work -- or a demi-bra that leaves them wondering whether she's wearing a bra or not, the way her breasts stand proud and her nipples make mini-mounds in her blouse, sweater or shell -- it's after 5 o'clock and on weekends that she really Does Her Thing. Step One is hose and rather high heels, especially ankle straps, plus her gold ankle bracelet. If we're going to be out in public -- especially if we're going to a shopping mall -- it's tight skirts, tennis outfits or skating dresses with their little microskirts. Women give her dirty looks and men drool as they walk into posts. If it's something like a dinner or convention or a restaurant, it's highly slit skirts and dresses -- front, side, back slits . .. makes no difference: her lovely legs are on display at all times. If the blouse or dress is of a thin material, she'll make sure she's bra-less or, again, the demi-bra with its push-up pads and no coverings over her sensitive, proud nipples. We love it and calmly pass on to each other the reactions we see around us. At home, things get a bit more blatant, exactly how blatant depending on who's visiting us at the time. If it's guys from the various social groups to which we belong, Jill's usual outfit is sheer-to-the-waist pantyhose, heels . . and a thin, tight leotard with nothing else beneath it but Jill! (She's been known to wear this outfit when a couple's been over just to watch the guy trying not to stare while his wife/girlfriend comes to a slow boil because he's doing a lousy job of it). If it's a stranger we'll probably never see again -- or a salesman, repair or delivery man -- it gets a bit more interesting because, almost invariably, Jill will wear a thin blouse or tight shell with the no-bra/demi-bra choice, plus a short skirt, one hemmed slightly above mid-lovely-thigh. With this, either a garterbelt and hose or elastic-in-the-top thigh-high hose. From that point on, it's a game as she "accidentally" exposes her cunt and/or ass to the poor slob while I sit there 'unaware" of what he' s seeing. We've been party to some of the worst, most disorganized sales presentations in the history of that profession. Ever seen a man start sweating in an air-conditioned room? This type outfit is also a killer when we go out shopping for shoes for Jill. I’m sure more than one shoe salesman has gone home the night he served Jill and screwed his wife or girlfriend with visions of Jill's smiling face perched over a clear shot of her delightfully hairy snatch drumming through his head. Naturally (?), her bathing suits tend to be abbreviated, skin-tight and, in a couple of cases, we've removed the linings from them; when she comes out of the water, she has no secrets. She also has no lack of admirers and company, all male. Jill has a number of women around the apartments who could cheerfully run her down with their cars, but there's not a man here with a harsh thing to say about her . (There's been an interesting side-effect, though: a lot of the other gals in the apartments have started fighting back by themselves getting even briefer, snugger swimsuits; going to the pool these days is as much fun for me as it is for Jill). * * * We approached our first married "just us" photo session with a certain amount of trepidation. We had four reasons for wanting the photos: (1) For our ads in swingers magazines; (2) to swap with other couples of a similar bent around the country; (3) to decorate our bedroom walls; and (4) because it'd be a fun thing to do (and still is). Our apprehension stemmed from this question: would it be as much fun, would we do it with the same enthusiasm, as we had when we were just "foolin' around." In other words, would the same aura of illicit excitement still be there? It was with those questions in mind that I recorded Jill's step-by-step disrobing from diaphanous skirt and blouse down to just pale blue, lacy garterbelt, beige hose and 5-inch spikes, her body enchanting, the smile of pleasure on her face infectious and charming, the look of a woman who's really enjoying what she's doing. I had recorded Jill in various revealing but relatively demure poses when she resolved the dilemma of "What next?" herself. She was sitting in an armchair and, I think, sensed my reluctance to go beyond the nudes (although God-only-knows why I felt that way, considering our experiences together prior to our marriage) because, without saying a word, she lifted her lovely, hose-clad legs up and over the arms of the chair and, with an enticingly wicked grin on her face, reached down with both hands to daintily -- but explicitly -- open the lips of her hairy, come-glistening cunt to expose its tasty interior. Well, I wasn't about to let that opportunity pass by and I quickly recorded the delightful sight from a couple of angles . . and ran out of film. Changing it took me a couple of minutes and, by the time I turned around again, she had pulled both spike-shod feet up on the seat of the chair, framing her lovely ass with her legs, her knees splayed outward. One hand now held the pouty lips of her pussy open . . while one errant finger gently toyed with her erect clit. The look on her face was an open invitation to immortalize her lewd self-manipulation and I did, the photos capturing not just her physical activity but also the now sexually aroused, lips-slightly-parted excitement on her face. We had not been exactly silent during the session but, so far, most of our comments had concerned themselves with angles, poses, position of clothing; our normal light banter had been notable by its absence, choked off, perhaps, by the rapidly deepening atmosphere of barely restrained sensuality that had started at the very beginning of the evening. But I couldn't resist: I said, "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Her finger never slowed as, passion making her voice throaty, Jill said, "Of course, I am . . . and I'd enjoy it even more if you'd bring me the vibrator." That made me do something that, for some reason, I'd tended to avoid doing during the evening, which was to look her square in her lovely face -- and I found her eyes, glistening and unashamed, staring directly into mine. I was startled at the cheerful lust she was radiating from those clear orbs .. and thrilled out of my skull. There is something so terribly intimate about masturbation that I really look forward to watching her do it -- and now the chance to photograph her at it was at hand. Better, I didn't even have to ask her to re-confirm her feelings on the situation: that totally unashamed .. even proud .. look on her face, coupled with the obvious, well-lubricated dilation of her lovebox answered any questions I might've come up with. Thus, I made no comment as I quickly went to get the long, thick, pink plastic phallic-shaped machine and, equally silently, thanking her with just my eyes, gave it to her. She held the vibrator in one hand (her other still slowly massaging her clit) and quietly said, "Darling, I'm going to kind of ignore you for the next few minutes and concentrate on myself." She one-handedly turned on the long, pink gadget and, still working her cunt with her right hand, she raised the now-whirring "lady's home companion" to her right breast, placing the tip at the edge of her nipple, to that little point's obvious enjoyment. She hissed softly, then continued as the machine explored, daintily, all the little nerve-ends, "Take all the pictures you want, from any angle you want: I love it. I really get off on finger-fucking and vibrators . . . and I'm really turned on by you watching me and photographing me doing it." The vibrator pressed down on her nipple, pushing it into its firm-but-resilient cushion. "I think," Jill said, her voice low and slightly shaky, "you're going to find I'm still a totally shameless bitch when it comes to getting my rocks off; you said that's what you wanted and, by God, that's what you've got. I hope you don't mind." Her eyes, which had slowly drifted closed in reaction to her self-manipulation, now opened to look squarely up into mine, the question in them unmistakable. In answer, I just leaned over and planted a gentle kiss on her slightly-parted lips. "I love you," I said quietly, "Go for it!" She smiled and puckered her lips in silent invitation to one more small kiss, one which I gave her with great pleasure before stepping back to capture her, eyes wide open, on film. Then, still half-smilingly, she slid the vibrator down over her garterbelt-bisected abdomen and gently inserted its whirring tip onto her clit in place of her finger. Jill moaned softly, her eyes closed and, within moments, her legs had readjusted themselves, one lovely stem, her left, stretching straight out to rest in a dancer s point on the floor, the right re-draping itself over the arm of the chair. Her exciting hose-clad thighs were then spread wide, her cunt completely exposed to my view and that of my camera, which accurately -- and excitingly -- captured the loving machine's downward passage through her erotic slot to begin unhurriedly pressing against the opening of her tasty vagina. I watched -- and photographed -- in an excitement growing as rapidly as Jill's as her now-joined hands began slowly fucking her snatch with the motorized dildo, each unhurried inward thrust driving the machine a little farther up into her quivering body. In just a matter of moments, fully one-third of the vibrator was disappearing into her on each inward stroke, to her great delight; her entire body would tense as the machine reached full insertion and would pause while she made a small, involuntary moaning and/or grunting sound. Jill seemed so totally wrapped up in what she was doing that it came as a surprise to me when, in a quiet, almost-dreamy voice, she asked, "I know why I enjoy playing with myself, darling . . . but why do you enjoy watching?" I mulled that for a moment as I watched her right hand -- her left still stroking the vibrator in and out of her -- raise itself to her mouth and her tongue begin licking, very erotically, her fingertips. "It's not just masturbation," I told her finally, softly, "I enjoy watching and hearing women come; it's usually such an intimate, uncontrolled and utterly beautiful and exciting thing to observe . .. . and it makes no difference in its effect on me whether I've caused it, someone else has caused it -- or the gal's done it to herself. It's beautiful and I love being part of it, especially as a spectator, so I can observe all the nuances . . and because it seems like such a completely TRUSTING thing for a woman to allow me to share with her." The now-saliva-covered finger of her right hand had dropped squarely to the top of her slot and began rubbing her red, erect clitoris in concert with the vibrator burrowing within her, the twin sensations making her slide down a little farther in her seat and (if such a thing were possible) exposing her beautiful cunt and exciting self-manipulation even more. Her throaty voice was now a little shaky as she asked, "You don't feel . . threatened . . by me being able to get my own orgasms?" It was my turn, as the tempo of her self-delight subtly picked up tempo, to ask a question: "Does it make you enjoy sex with me any less?" Her eyes still closed, she smiled and said, "Not at all!" "Well, then," I told her, "There's no reason for me to feel threatened. I just like to relax and watch the show." The smile still on her face, her eyes still closed, her trembling voice said, "In that case, Tim , Darling, get your camera ready . . because I think you're about to get one HELLUVA show!" With that, her head kind of rolled to one side, her right leg pulled itself up to rest, bent at the knee, on the arm of her chair, her left leg raising and draping over the other arm. Everything, including the puckered rosette in the middle of her ass, was now completely exposed, the position even pulling wider the already dilated lips of her femininity. My camera and I immortalized each step-by-step readjustment of her luscious, quivering body ... especially the rearrangement of her hands which, in a few subtle, obviously-practiced moves, had quickly switched roles: suddenly, the vibrator was in her right hand, the tip teasing her clit, while two fingers of her left hand plunged into her vagina to begin stroking, her ring finger with its broad, gold wedding band splayed out so that it pressed on her tightly-clenched rectum each time its mates slid into her well-lubricated tunnel of love. Jill's moans were very loud now and it was obvious that she had made the decision not to hold back on her reactions, even though I was observing her; in fact, she theorized later that the thought of me watching and photographing her probably amplified, to a large degree, her usual strong and abandoned enjoyment of her own body. Unformed sounds erupted from her throat in concert with her rapidly-moving fingers and their clit-tingling plastic companion. Somewhere in this, my darling started having little orgasms every minute-or-so; when one would hit, her movement would pause for a few seconds and you actually could see the tension rise in her body until a semi-anguished sound would come from her throat simultaneous with her body shaking . . then she'd resume her twin strokes. Each explosion seemed a bit more intense: she was obviously building to a peak. It didn't take her long to get there. As I excitedly recorded every significant move, her left leg started rising, and growing, inquisitive sounds crept from her straining throat as her fingers moved faster in her juice-dripping pudendum . . "Uh? Huh? UHH?!?!" suddenly, her fingers jammed themselves deep into her well of love and, judging from the movements of the tendons, began wiggling frantically back and forth on her super-sensitive “G-spot” as the vibrator slid down in such a way that the tip was pressed to the edge of Jill's busy fingers while the barrel of the machine rested solidly on her entire slit -- INCLUDING her clit Her lovely body went rigid . . she went silent, although her mouth was open, her throat strained . . her back and neck began to arch, her face tilting toward the ceiling . . . . . . and, suddenly, her eyes popping open in a look of shocked surprise, she came. A sharp scream came from deep within her, small but growing rapidly to a full-grown whoop of total delight, and then her body began convulsing as her hands began moving again, her legs waving in mid-air while unformed cries of joy howled from her mouth and rebounded off the walls of the room for at least a full minute before, exhausted, she collapsed in a sexy pile of trembling, closed-eyed femininity. * * * After a couple of minutes, I knelt at Jill's side, kissing her softly on the hand and offering her a glass of chilled strawberry wine which, with a small groan as she readjusted her body, she accepted gratefully. "That was beautiful," I told her, "one of the most exciting things I've ever seen in my life." She smiled, sipped her wine, and said, "That was one of the more exciting moments I've ever HAD in my life. Darling TIM , you've got a full-blown exhibitionist on your hands; I hope you don't mind." "My only regret, my darling, is that I don't have a videotape recorder and camera, too." She thought about that for a second before deciding, "Now THAT'S kinky; maybe we should build it into our budget . . such as it is." We both thought about that for a few silent moments before she seemed to shake herself, look at me, leer (one of the few woman I know who can leer), and say, "Okay, sport: your turn." Gulp. * * * It was almost 45 minutes later - - with me half-frantic -- that Jill got around to the Grand Finale. She had donned a floor-length satin robe after I'd helped her out of her chair ("You were clothed while I was naked; the least I can do is return the favor") and the reason I was half-frantic is that, by the time she'd gotten me disrobed to the point where my shirt was open and my cock hanging out of the fly of my pants (capturing each step along the way, of course), she was using her cool hand and hot mouth to get me rigid and keep me that way. For her purposes, it wasn't enough that I just be hard, oh, no: each time I needed pumping up, she'd spend the time to single-mindedly stroke or suck me right up to the edge of the borderline before orgasm. While this was certainly delightful as it was going on, it built a pressure up in my nuts that, in looking at the photos later, gave a certain . . strained and rather desperate look to my face. Jill didn't miss much in those photos. Quickly getting me stripped to nothing but my short-sleeved shirt, she captured me and my rigidity standing up, laying down, kneeling, squatting, arched backward, bent over, sitting . . . . legs closed, spread, raised . . if there was an external portion of my body that she didn't get on film, I'll be damned if I can figure out what it was. Finally, she disappeared for a moment, to return with a towel which she carefully laid down on the front edge of the seat cushion on the chair in which she'd earlier had her frantic bout of self-excitation. A silent, mock-formal wave of her hand made her wishes clear and, with a pretty damned good idea of where we were heading, I sat down, slouched toward the front of the chair. A couple more hand signals and it was MY legs that were draped over the arms, my ass, cock and balls open to the inquisitive eye of the camera. As has always been the case in somewhat similar situations, I was simultaneously embarrassed . . and enjoying myself. Both conditions were fueled by the smile on Jill's face that told me SHE was enjoying herself, too . . . especially when she quietly said, "Okay, my darling: stroke -- but no popping off until I tell you it's okay." I blushed as I reached down to lightly slide my fingers over my cock, the sensations from my fingertips quickly bringing me from half-limp to full stiff in just a few seconds . . and rebuilding my excitement to the point where I threw my residual inhibitions to the wind and went with the flow. Jill teased me a bit by letting me get close to explosion a couple of times and then making me quit before I could get release. Finally, she let me calm a bit, to have a cigarette, sip some wine, change film in the camera . . . all without straying from my seat, although my legs were down now. My darling, bless her, is as aware as I of the value of taking your time in an erotic encounter: what could be accomplished in five minutes becomes infinitely more enjoyable when dragged out to an hour or more, a mutual discovery that we not only take advantage of at every opportunity but do our best to teach to every playmate we acquire. One can drag things out only so far, however, and by the time I'd polished off my wine, the combination of pent-up excitation and a certain . . apprehension . . about letting myself go totally, to completely release my dignity and self-control in front of someone not physically involved, had me in a curiously semi-stoned state: I couldn't have been more stoned, in fact, if I'd had a hit-or-two off some exceptionally good grass. Jill & Tim's Story Ch. 01 Which is the long way around of saying I was Ready when Jill picked up the camera again, then coaxed me into a position where my ass was at the edge of the chair, one leg bent up to rest on the arm, my other foot on the floor with that thigh pulled wide. Cute kid: her next instruction -- sounding just like somebody's mother -- was, "Now, let's make your little soldier stand at attention." I couldn't help blushing again a bit as my fingers carried out her wishes; within seconds, my "soldier" was not only "standing at attention" but was vigorously saluting both her and the camera. It was at this point that she reached into the pocket of her robe and pulled out the little plastic bottle of baby oil. Handing it to me, her only comment was, "Don't be stingy." Never one to contradict or disobey my darling, I snapped the titty-pink cap on the bottle and, holding it so that Jill's ubiquitous camera could record the label for the information of our as-yet-unspecified audience, I liberally poured the viscous fluid all over my cock and balls, reveling in the cool touch of the oil, even as it ran down the crack of my ass onto the towel she'd placed with such foresight. It took only seconds to totally inundate my manhood; having done so, I snapped the cap back into place, put the bottle to one side and looked inquiringly at my photographer. Nodding her head in tacit assent, she elaborated: "Fuck your fist, love. Make it long, make it good. Don't hold back on your enjoyment -- and, when you finally pop your rocks, don't mess up the chair or floor. Dig?" I just nodded my head . . . then slowly reached down to take myself in hand. Jesus! There are very few pleasures in this world that feel better than jerking off with baby oil: a talented, enthusiastic blow-job and an exquisite fuck are the only two things that'll beat it. Slowly, I wrapped my fingers around my hardness and began stroking, quickly losing myself in the self-induced sensations. Aware at all times of Jill's bending, kneeling and snapping of my totally obscene manipulations, I was, nonetheless, able to let my head roll back, close my eyes and fill my mental movie screen with dancing images of things even lewder than what was going on at that moment. I was in no mood -- or condition -- to drag it out too terribly long: the pressure built up in me by Jill's hands and mouth specifically and the entire situation in general made my left hand slide down so that my fingers could lightly tickle that oh-so-nice area just on the underside of my balls while my right hand, the fingers tightly grasping my slippery shaft, kept up a medium-tempo stroking up and down the full, sensitive length. I was only dimly aware of small grunts coming from deep in my throat as my hand continued sliding across all my nerve-ends, the rhythm picking up slightly every few seconds, my body sliding a little farther down in my perch, opening my legs even wider. I began panting, my hand moving ever faster, my other fingers pressing even harder into my scrotum. The pressure was building, my fist fucking firmly and furiously. I rapidly reached a point of total body tension . . almost . . perversely, I tried holding back, although my hands never slowed what they were automatically -- and sensationally -- doing to me. It was like having a battle with myself, one I wanted to lose, but I wanted to go down fighting . . so I stroked . . and exerted all my self-control .. and built .. almost .. it's .. Jill! .. oh! .. OH!! ... ah ... AAHHHH!! Heralded with a loud whoop from my throat, my feet rose from the carpet but my legs stayed wide open and my body convulsed as my orgasm hit me with all the force of a hammer. My fist plunged down hard, spasmodically, and wordless cries of pleasure/pain poured from my throat as each thick, copious spurt of come shot from the almost purple head of my cock to fly through the air and land on my chest, my shoulders . . one gob even hit my face -- and I couldn't have cared less as blast-after-blast hit me and began sliding a sticky path down my hysterically trembling and jerking body in response to gravity . . . a force that finally got to all of me and, as the last tremendous spasm hit me with monumental force, I uncontrollably slid off the chair to end up in a sprawled, exposed and shaky, sticky heap on the floor, only my head and shoulders still in contact with the chair it'd been on just moments before. That was all captured on film, too. * * * A shower, a 69 that began with little enthusiasm on my part but which Jill cured with her damnably talented tongue and lips, finally led to her lovely body -- still decorated with garterbelt and hose -- covering mine, my cock firmly in her cunt as she slowly, skillfully fucked me from the female-dominant position we both love so well. As my hands caressed her silky, trembling body, we commented on the excitement each of us had felt on BOTH sides of the camera and quickly came to the conclusion, as twin explosions began building inside each of us, that regardless of what else we might discover we were, there was no doubt we were both exhibitionists -- AND voyeurs. We also agreed that that opened the door to all kinds of fun adventures, a few of which we detailed right up to the point where we clung tightly to each other and shared a marvelous orgasm. -0- IN THE BEGINNING - I Tim I try hard not to think of Jill when I'm at work or at one of the various community group meetings which we can't seem to avoid. No, it's not that thinking about Jill is unpleasant: in fact, it's just the opposite. That’s the problem -- so pleasant is it, even after a few years of marriage, that a few of the more lurid thoughts of her is liable to set me into a daydream, and then I've got to get my mind organized all over again. You see, I'm one of the few people in the world (one of the few also being, we suspect, the janitor where she works) who sees Jill in erotic terms .. unless she's deliberately chosen to show that side of herself to them. She looks at the world with such wide-eyed innocence that the reaction of most men (and women) to her is one of protectiveness, the kind you exercise over a favorite kid sister. That's because they haven't seen her as I'VE seen her, and DO see her, in person and in my mind... which is why I try not to think of her when I've got other projects at hand. For instance, one view of Jill that began in my head before, many, many months later seeing for real (and it's still, as you'll see, one of my favorites, even now) is this: I'm leaning against a cabinet next to the wall to one side of our king-size bed. I'm stark naked, my feet are spread slightly, and I'm non-frantically stroking my shaft as I watch my wife and a friend. Our friend (male variety) is laying crossways on the bed, a pillow under his head near the edge of the black fake fur spread, his feet pointed away from me. My near-elfin Jill is dressed (if that's the right word) in a pair of innocent beige thigh-high hose, the built-in supporting elastic at the top of each transparent tube keeping the sleek fabric taut all the way to the beginning of her deliciously full hips. On her feet, a pair of innocent, graceful mid-high heels, with a tiny gold chain around one delicate ankle, a couple of thin bracelets on her wrists, delicate tiny dangling gold earrings on her lobes. Other than the earrings, her sweet, innocent-looking face is punctuated only by her glasses (someday, maybe I'll figure out why glasses on a nude or near-nude girl turns me on, but I haven't made it yet). With the adjectives I've used to describe her, I hope I've evoked a picture of demure nudity (don't laugh -- it's quite possible). In point-of-fact, that IS the effect ... which makes doubly startling the rest of the tableau, makes even more exciting: the fact that my Lolita-like love is astride our friend's hips, supporting herself on her knees and her outstretched hands, his cock tucked into her marvelous looking/feeling black-haired cunt, with Jill single-mindedly fucking him to a fare-thee-well. She is unevenly dividing her attention between looking at her temporary lover -- whose hands are doing erotic things to her surprisingly prominent nipples -- looking at me leisurely stroking myself just a few feet in front of her, and closing her eyes to view whatever the wondrous scenes are that take place in the head of a woman who's in the middle of being well-screwed. As for me, I not only get the view as described, but I can also look across at the other, mirrored wall of our "Love Room," (as we call it) and get a perfect view of me -- the view Jill gets -- plus the bonus of her beautiful ass, her hose-clad thighs, and our friend's salami-like shaft spearing up into my wife's most intimate portal. Jill is enjoying herself. Except for looking at the two of us once-in-a-while, her mind is concentrated on that thick thing between her legs. Her instinctive skills at screwing in the female-dominant position never fail to amaze and excite me. It is not the uninspired, straight up and down friction of a girl Just anxious to get it over with but, instead, an up and down and around of varying pace, a gut reaction process that tells that her innermost mind has realized that the best way for a woman to give maximum pleasure in this position is to seek maximum sensation for herself . God!, how! love to watch Jill fuck, whether it's me sampling her skills or someone else. Her yoga and bellydance training, combined with the natural litheness of her petite form, make her movements sinuous and sensual; her abandonment, her dedication to the task at hand, speak exciting volumes about the pleasure she's deriving from what she's doing. Her voice, too, serves as a warning clarion of impending explosion, her ragged breathing soon punctuated by a soft "oh-oh-oh" in tempo with her ever-more-rapidly rotating hips. Our friend has his fingers around her sides now, his thumbs mashing flat her nipples. Jill's eyes are closed behind her glasses and her "Oh's!" get louder. I look at the far mirror, at the cock that is bringing her so much pleasure with its hot, hard length; in the dim red light of the Love Room, I can see just a hint of the glistening juices of my wife on its surface. I see the balls at its base begin to draw up, to get tighter, as our friend's hands reach out to grab Jill's full hips and slam her down on the full length of his love muscle. Once, twice ... Jill's monosyllabic sounds in her little-girl voice, get louder ... his balls jerk ... and Jill suspends herself for a moment, her head thrown back in wonder, then wails, "Oh, GOD!" and drops, hard, back down the full length and receives his hot juices, wiggling her cute butt frantically, accompanied by a repeated "Oh ..Oh God! ..Oh God!!" ... and then drops forward on his chest. ***** It was through writing stories like the one you're reading, stories that I'd authored over the years before our discovery of each other, and my subsequent sharing of them with her, that I expressed my personal values, philosophies and dreams to Jill. It was through these stories that my Beloved came to realize that there could be a beauty to pornography, as there can be in any art form. A talented authoress (of childrens' books, at that!) herself, Jill joins me in writing this final, seminal book, in the hopes that it might, perhaps, help you understand and accept yourself a little more ... and because, exhibitionists that we are, we want to show off a bit. * * * Jill If I had to pick one word to describe us, it would be unconventional: unconventional courtship, unconventional relationship, unconventional proposal and, definitely, an unconventional marriage. (Oh, dear, I bet my writing teacher -- Tim , of course --- is going to scream “Redundancy!” when he reads that). My background was not the kind to prepare me for the sort of life we’ve lead together. My mother kept very close control over the boys I was allowed to date -- infrequently -- in the medium-size southern city in which I grew up. By the time I went off to college, the pattern had been set in my mind and, when I finally married another student, Frank, it was to settle down into submissive domesticity with everything centering on him. Believe it or not, but I was a virgin -- at 23! -- on our honeymoon. I have, since marrying Tim , come to realize why the European/middle-eastern ethic places such a high premium on men marrying virgins: a virgin has no standard of comparison, and doesn't know when she's getting shorted in the sex department. That was Frank and me, for ten long years. Frank was vigorous in his lovemaking .. when it occurred, but I always had to start it. He was also very conservative, conventional to the ridiculous extent that he got upset when I tried kissing him with some tongue .. on the mouth! Nor did graduating from college, moving to a more liberal atmosphere and becoming extremely successful in his chosen profession loosen him up. About all it did was give him an appetite for magazines of the "Playboy," “Penthouse" and "Hust1er" variety, all of which he kept carefully hidden from me, so I wouldn't be shocked by them. (I could never figure out WHEN he read them -- or looked at the pictures: I never once saw him looking through one). Caution: Fellas, you can't hide things from a woman in her own house, whether that woman is your wife or your mother. However, I was always a Good Girl: I always hid them back exactly as I'd found them, and never, never mentioned them to Frank. After all, why destroy his illusions? There was nothing in my background, then, to prepare me for Tim .. except, maybe, for having developed, over the years, a pragmatic acceptance of things As They Are, an acknowledgement of reality that didn't carry with it the overwhelming urge to change people into something more in line with my own ideas. But I still wasn't prepared for Tim . * * * I've always enjoyed wearing short dresses or skirts, hose, and graceful, high-heeled shoes. Frank, fortunately, liked me in the combination, although he could get kind of schizophrenic at times if my hemline began moving above the mid-thigh level: he loved seeing me like that, but was afraid somebody else might see me, and Frank has always been VERY conscious of his/our "public image." So, my dress was about mid-thigh, with hose and low, purple anklestrap heels, the night we went to a public function at which Tim was part of the centerpiece. He was introduced to us, made the appropriate responses, and complimented me on how I was dressed. All very conventional and above-board ... except for one thing: as he walked away from us, I thought to myself, "That man has absolutely no right to look at me the way he did!" I said nothing to Frank, but that was the first time in my life I'd ever been .. caressed .. by a pair of eyes! I ignored the fact that, after the first shock, I'd enjoyed it. Yes, I put THAT thought as far back in my mind as I could. Circumstances over the next couple of years allowed us to get to know each other better and, somewhere in there, Frank, Tim , Tim 's wife, Dolly, and I all became close friends. During the same period (gossip being the pervasive thing it is in a not-too-large resort city), I "learned" a lot about Tim , things like he'd been separated from Dolly for over a year, having walked out on her to set up housekeeping with a very young girl with whom he'd apparently done some shocking things before moving back in with Dolly. Since then, I'd heard that he'd done some pretty shocking things WITH Dolly -- but was STILL a compulsive womanizer who'd chase anything in skirts, especially if it had big breasts and/or a broad bottom ... neither of which I happen to possess, incidentally. I have deliberately drawn that word picture to conform to the rumors, because they sketch the portrait of a crude, cold, opportunistic, selfish bastard that only a woman of no taste (and less intelligence) could have anything to do with. The only flaw in that is that, as the four of us got to know each other better, I discovered Dolly was a cold, self-centered, lazy slob .. and Tim warm, affectionate, extremely sensitive and artistic, good-humored, kind .. and Good, if you know what I mean. All-in-all, a Nice Person. I slowly, unrecognizably at first, grew to care for him very much and, I suspected, he for me. But I still thought there must be some truth to the other things about him, because so many of those who'd known him since before I met him still liked him but, in vague and ambiguous ways, tried to warn me about or shield me from him. That made him fascinating to me, too. You see, while my real life to that point had been fairly dull so far as sex was concerned, I did (do) have one secret vice: masturbation. I'd been making love to my finger since about the time I entered grammar school; my parents thought my "Sunday Afternoon Nap" was always so "cute" and "little-lady-like." What they didn't know was that I was laying in bed riding my finger like it was a racehorse, dreaming dreams for which I didn't even have words. By the time I was in my teens, I regarded fingering myself as normal, acceptable (and, in my case, very, very necessary) ... but, as I grew into my 30s, the images that began to pop into my mind caused me some concern: they were uncharacteristically lurid, even for me. And then, one day, Tim started populating them. -0- RANDOM SHOTS - 1 JILL Is a colorful explosion. She's wearing a bright red, boned, lacy basque that squeezes up her tits, squeezes in her waist, emphasizes her hips. Her legs are in black silk hose, her feet in 4-inch purple spike pumps .. and she's laying on a pale blue sheet. The videotape camera catches her sounds and whoops of delight, plus the visual delight of watching one thick vibrator in her vagina, another being played over her clit .. a third, smaller one sticking out of her asshole, the combination of the three driving her into what seems like a solid half-hour of color comes. A TEMPORARILY deserted stretch of highway ... Jill at the side of the road, a suitcase next to her. She's looking questioningly up the road, toward the low-level camera, her right hand, thumb extended, raised in the hitch-hiker's time-honored manual request .. her left hand holding her skirt up to her waist, fully exposing her hose-clad legs and wonderfully hairy cunt, the implied reward for any driver smart and brave enough to give her a ride. TIM in thigh-top hose and 5-inch ankle strap heels, blushing furiously -- and sporting a very nice hard-on, which looks ludicrous, but oddly exciting in conjunction with the feminine trappings. JILL in nothing but an open blouse and a pair of high ankle-strap heels, her ass at the edge of the chaise lounge on our enclosed patio. Her legs are spread and she's leaning back on her elbows, smiling cheerfully as she watches a stream of urine arch through the air from her dark pubic patch to splatter on the tiles. -0- Jill & Tim's Story Ch. 02 Tim It was a toss-up as to which of us was more nervous: Jill, me . . or Millie. I think it was Millie. Millie is a contemporary of mine, a very brilliant woman, a clinical psychologist. For years, she'd been deeply immersed in religious-oriented work until, one day, she came to the conclusion that the philosophies she was involved in seemed to be more fallacy than fact, turned her back on it, got laid, and hadn't stopped since. In fact, she and I had ended up screwing spectacularly the second time we ever met; the chemistry between us had never been right for a romance, but we'd stayed friends. Other than fairly straightforward fucking, Millie's interest in offbeat sex, while intense, has always been as an observer: she had all the makings of a first class voyeur and, after Jill had had a chance to get to know her, we decided that, for our purposes, Millie could come in very handy. Exhibitionists rather need voyeurs to make their lives complete -- especially if the voyeur (or, more accurately in this case, voyEUSS) happens to be a lady with a camera. * * * Which is how the three of us came to be sitting in our living room mellowing out on strawberry wine, as I finished explaining the eccentricities of my camera to Millie. Millie was in slacks and blouse, Jill and I in considerably less: robes. Beneath mine, a pair of very abbreviated briefs and lots of me. Beneath Jill's, a just-below-the-nipples to just-above-the-cunt satin basque, the garment holding up a pair of sheer black seamed silk hose that led down into very high black patent ankle-strap pumps. She was also wearing a very lacy and brief pair of red panties which hid nothing. While Millie wasn't sure, at that point, exactly what was beneath the robes, she was almost uncomfortably aware that she'd find out quickly, and both Jill and I took amusement from the fact that our friend was trying to appear very clinical and detached about the whole thing . . and failing miserably, her excitement and anticipation obvious to the two of us, if it wasn't, consciously, to her. Not that WE were totally unaffected, of course. Since we knew EXACTLY what we were going to do (something which Millie knew only in the most general of terms) and, with her presence, were about to put into reality something of which we'd dreamed of for, literally, years, our excitement had been building ever since we'd "dressed for the occasion” earlier in the evening. "Many of our poses will be obviously that," I told Millie. "We're not going for the "peeking at a couple alone' effect; rather, we're going for blatancy, our poses for maximum exposure and lewdness, smiles to-and-for the camera. Feel free to get close-ups and facial expressions, of course, but remember that the overall effect we're going for is to let whoever sees these pictures KNOW that we were very much aware we were being photographed -- and were loving every minute of it!" Millie mulled that for a moment before asking, "Uh .. . who IS going to see these?" There were a few seconds of silence before Jill mock-resignedly sighed and said, “Heaven only knows . . . .” It was enough to get a smile from all three of us and put us in the proper mood to start the session. * * * We'd chosen the living room for our setting; besides the fact that there is more furniture and room -- and, thus, more position possibilities -- than in the bedroom, the simple fact of the matter is that sex in the front room seems more open and blatant than it does in a bedroom setting (you EXPECT to see it in a bedroom; the livingroom setting implies that there are more people than the bed will hold and that you have company). So we stood, side-by-side, in front of the couch, our arms around each other's waists, smiling at Millie and her camera . . . before we turned our heads to smile at each other while I peeled Jill's robe off one shoulder, exposing one lovely breast and toying with its quickly erect nipple. From there, it was both robes hanging open, our bodies still turned to the camera but our heads turned towards each other so we could kiss, our lips barely touching and our mated tongues in plain sight. While my one hand still cupped Jill's tit, her hand was holding my half-hard cock and balls inside my shorts. Each of our poses we held long enough not just for Millie to record, but to honestly give each other pleasure: we were unhurried, to say the least. As Jill tugged my briefs down my hips to just below my balls, fully exposing my now-stiff cock, she was the one who told our photographer, "Don't be afraid to touch us, Millie. If you need to rearrange our bodies to get a better shot, if there’s some particular activity or position you think might be interesting, let us know, or just grab us and move us." I peeled Jill's robe from her shoulders and, as her hand reached out to milk, delightfully, my shaft, I turned her squarely toward the camera and slipped my hand inside her panties, one finger sliding into her thoroughly wet and slippery snatch. I enjoyed her almost surprised gasp of pleasure before she finished telling Millie, "Anything you can do to make this set of pictures totally lewd, revealing and beautifully obscene is fine by us." A pause before she smiled and added, "Or . . . just touch us because you want .. to touch us . . okay?" The camera snapped before Millie's voice rather weakly said, "Uh . okay ..." Off with my robe and shorts, neither of us showing (or feeling) any nervousness or reticence now as I sat Jill on the end of our long coffeetable and knelt between her legs. We kissed before I lowered my head to take into my mouth her taut, tasty nipples . . to her obvious delight as I sucked, tongued, licked first one, then the other, my hands doing pleasant things to whichever of her neat, diminutive breasts was, at that moment, unattended by my mouth. Jill's lovely, hose-clad legs were already spread to allow me to kneel between them so, when I finally raised my head from her tits to kiss her again -- long and heartfelt -- I took both her wrists in my hands and, our kiss remaining unbroken as I did so, moved them behind her, positioning them, and her, so that she was leaning back on her outstretched arms, her lithe torso at a 45° angle. When our kiss broke and I resumed my kneeling position, we smiled at each other as she levered her hips up to allow me to remove her lacy panties. Still smiling, we continued looking fondly at each other as I slid my right middle finger straight into her snatch. My left hand grasped one globe of her cute ass in such a way that the thumb rested squarely on the pink, puckered rosette of her asshole. I enjoyed the transition of her smile to a look of excitement as my middle finger slowly started sliding in and out of her cunt, a one-finger fucking that created tiny-but-growing waves of sensation, amplified by my left thumb erotically threatening her lower portal, its pressures joining in rhythm with my more successfully invading right finger. I felt, then heard, Millie behind me getting a full-length, frontal shot of Jill, capturing on film all of her, from my impertinently massaging fingers up her satin-bound torso, her stiff-nippled breasts, and including the erotically-infused smile on her lovely face. After a couple of clicks from a couple of different angles, I said, "Millie, do us a favor, will you?" "What's that?" a small tremor in her voice giving away the information that she was not entirely unaffected by all this. "Get a couple of throw pillows off the couch and pile them behind Jill so that she can lay back, but still be able to watch what I'm going to do next." I felt Jill's vagina clench around my finger as she immediately realized what I was up to, and I rewarded her by sliding my middle finger in beneath the index finger already moving slowly-but-steadily in and out of her well-oiled snatch. I, in turn, got from her a small, half-stifled groan as she felt her tunnel stretch slightly to accommodate the twin digits. Our photographer, meanwhile, had gotten the pillows and placed them on the coffee-table, keeping her hand on them as she told Jill, "Lean back." Wordlessly, my wife laid back down and Millie positioned the pillows so that Jill's neck was at a fairly extreme angle that allowed her to look down between her tits, across the black expanse of her basque, to her finger-invaded cunt. My next words were directed to her: "Reach down, darling, and spread yourself open for me." As Millie picked up the camera once more to record it, Jill smiled and, as instructed, reached down with both hands to part the lips of her tidy snatch. As she did so, I readjusted myself to sit indian-style on the carpet . . . before I glanced forward and, my fingers still busy in her bush and ass, stuck my tongue out and flicked it across her upright clitoris. Jill's lithe body jumped when I made that first contact with her clit . . and then seemed to . . sort of melt a bit when, after the camera's click, I leaned forward a little more and almost literally buried my face in her cunt, my lips sucking her "little boy in the boat" almost harshly between them, stretching the super-sensitive nub to its limit while, simultaneously, beginning to lash its helpless tip with my tongue. "OH, GOD!!" was my wife's moan and her feet danced outward, exposing her even more to my mouth . . and Millie's all-seeing camera. I quickly got very involved in eating Jill; as many sex things as I like, that one tied for first place on my list of activities and I showed my enthusiasm with mouth, tongue and hands, to Jill's great and obvious delight. As my mouth continued giving her pleasure, I turned loose of my wife's cute ass and reached around to take her wrist in my hand, to slide her arm upward to rest her hand on her right breast; having done that, I went back for the other one and repeated the process. No sooner were both hands in place than Jill began molding and kneading her small, sensitive globes, her fingertips tantalizing her upthrust nipples, giving her physical pleasure . . and Millie and I visual delight. My chin was dripping with Jill's delicious juices and her body was writhing beneath my mouth and our combined hands. Sometimes when I'm eating Jill, she can hold off her explosion, teasingly, for quite a long time. It was quickly obvious that this was NOT going to be one of those times: she was almost hyper-sensitive due to the fulfillment of the long-time fantasies: having an audience . . and being photographed In The Act. "Oh, Tim . . oh, yes, darling! Oh, that feels so good . .” I single-mindedly sucked her clit as my twin fingers kept sliding in and out of her clenching cunt; my left hand had lifted her right thigh up on my shoulder and then reached around it to spread the top of her slit open and taut, intensifying the pleasures of what my mouth was doing to her. The camera clicked away as Jill's movements became more erratic . . as her body trembled . . seemed to pause . . and then, as her fingers clamped around her pink nipples almost painfully, she let out a near scream, her left foot lifted off the floor and my fingers buried themselves totally in her suddenly-dilated vagina as she came, one wave of sensation after the other causing her body to spasm and cry-after-cry to come from her lips. Jill hits her peak and then stays there, climaxing repeatedly for an unusually long period of time. I did my part to aid her in this by reaching out with both hands to lift her stygian-hose-clad legs, raise them, and press them back into her body. Automatically, her own hands reached out to grasp the undersides of her shapely thighs to hold them in place, her spike-shod feet waving in the air in concert with her pleased cries as my hands parted her pussy and my mouth slid down her slot to fasten tightly to her and then almost brutally blow a blast of hot air up in her womb, hold it there before, literally, sucking it out again. I did this a couple of times, to her great and obvious pleasure, before shifting my hands a bit so that my fingers rested lightly on her clit -- then gave her my "blow job" one more time as I mashed down on that tender nub, pressing and rotating simultaneously as I put a double breath into her. Jill exploded, her legs driving almost straight up into the air as her satin-bound body seemed to arch . . to hold suspended for a moment . . . and then she bounced all over the place, screaming and, seemingly, trying to get away while, at the same time, driving her snatch tighter into my face as I sucked my breath back put of her. It was an absolute joy to watch . . and taste. * * * Jill had slumped, trembling, after her explosion, too sensitive, for the moment, to stand any more contact with her clit. As she sprawled, ungracefully but beautifully and lewdly, on the coffeetable, legs spread, I moved to her side to kiss her and caress her lightly before helping Millie change film in the camera. As calmness returned to Jill's nervous system, so did her sense of humor. "How're you holding up, Millie?" she asked our photographer. Millie mulled that for a moment before she said, "I may have to go hit a singles' bar when this is over." "There's always Tim ," my wife brightly suggested. "I don't think so," our guest dryly observed. "From what I've seen so far out of you, I suspect he's not going to be worth a fiddler's fuck by the time we're done." She thought for a second. "In fact, it probably would be fair to say that, when the evening is over, you and I may be done . . but HE'LL be finished .. at least, he will be for the night." "Well," said Jill with a smile and a certain amount of put-on ingenuousness, "I'm certainly going to do my best to make it happen, so you're probably right." "Probably ..." Millie murmured. "Oh, well," chirped Jill, sitting up, "There's always the vibrator!" "Thank God for Science!" We all had a giggle over that before Millie asked, "Well, what's next?" The pose had absolutely no class or subtlety at all, which is why Millie hated it and why Jill and I loved it. We sat side-by-side on the couch, our inward legs resting on the coffeetable, flat, our outward legs up on the couch and spread. My left arm was over Jill's shoulders, the fingertips toying with her left nipple; my right hand caressed my totally exposed balls. Jill's left hand was, from the top of her thick triangle, holding the lips of her cunt open while her right hand, having pumped me to full erection, had encircled the head of my cock with just her thumb and index finger. We were both smiling broadly right into the camera. Once Millie, protesting lightly, had immortalized that crude pose from a couple of angles, Jill and I exchanged a short kiss before I dropped both feet to the floor, at the same time slouching down on the couch a bit. As I did so, my elfin wife let her body slide sideways so that, in just a few seconds, she was laying on her side, facing the all-seeing camera, her hose-enhanced legs out straight, her lower arm straddling my body so that her torso was supported on my lower chest -- and her left hand holding my nuts as her hot, busy mouth took my shaft into it, to lick it, suck it . . fuck it with her lips. All I could do for a few moments was to gasp and then surrender myself to the exquisite pleasures of her oral love (which she does as well -- or better - - than ANY of the many women I've been fortunate to bed in my life). She sucked me slowly, unhurriedly -- delightfully and, for an eternal number of minutes, I just laid back and enjoyed it. Millie, after getting a full-length shot of the action, moved in for close-ups of Jill's lovely face, distended by my cock stretching her lips and jaw, her pink tongue wrapping around and up my trembling manhood while I continued lightly squeezing her breast . While our friend concentrated on that lovely sight (looked as good as it felt!), my left hand trailed down Jill's trim body to coax her leg up, bent at the knee so that her spike heel rested on the sofa cushion, opening her thighs so that I could slide my hand over her cute ass, between her legs . . and bury my middle finger in her once-again-juicy vagina, right up to the last knuckle. I was rewarded for this impertinence by a series of super-hard sucks that had me gasping, open-mouthed, within seconds -- and caused me to return the favor by slowly finger-fucking the dark triangle between her legs. Jill and I delicately, with enough restraint to keep each other from climaxing, kept pleasing each other for some few minutes before I gave Jill a special pat, our "secret signal" to make a change in position. Since we' d already choreographed this session in detail over several weeks, there was no hesitation or awkwardness on either of our parts as, at the same time, Jill released my joint, I released her cunt, she turned over to face me as I laid down on my side between her and the back of the couch and, within moments, had my face between her open legs, my tongue busy in her bush while she took my cock into her mouth again. Of course, WE had known we were going to do that, but it came as hot news to Millie, whom I heard mutter something to herself under her breath before she moved in to immortalize the action. Another shift of bodies and now we were in the classic 69, Jill's writhing body on top of mine, her hands busy on my balls, mine on her breasts, our mouths still tightly fastened to each other's sexuality, jaws and tongues busily bringing pleasure to our partner. I felt - - and heard -- Jill have a small explosion just very shortly after we made that last move and, as soon as it died away; I gave her another pat -- only, this time, not for variety's sake but to keep from gushing myself. It was all the encouragement she needed. Raising her torso -- after one last, hard suck that damn near ended the ballgame -- she put her hands on my thighs for support, lifted her snatch from my come-smeared mouth and quickly slid down my body to straddle my hips. Even though her back was toward me, I had a birdseye view of her reaching down between her bare thighs to grasp my swollen cock, raise it upright . . and then sink down on it, both of us moaning in pleasure as the weight of her body buried me within her and caused her to spasm in another minor orgasm. I raised my legs to plant my feet on the sofa cushion, keeping my thighs open but allowing her to rest her arms on my knees. Her forearms were crossed, her elbows near my kneecaps, her fingertips were in a perfect position to stretch out and tickle her out-thrust nipples, which she did, unhesitatingly. Jill was not so much fucking me as just kind of rotating her hips, enough to bring pleasure to us both, but not so much as to create any worries about coming on my part. She'd just settled into that subtle movement when our photographer stepped around into view . . and we got a surprise! Millie had slipped off her slacks and blouse and was now clad in just her panties and bra! "Welcome to the party!" was Jill's grunted acknowledgement. Millie blushed a little as she moved around to the side of the couch to record on film my wife's insouciant impalement on my shaft, at the same time saying, “I'm still a spectator; I was just starting to feel overdressed for the occasion.” "You still . . are," I grunted, the grunting being caused my wife raising her hips to show Millie's camera the full length of my cock, just the throbbing head of it still in Jill's cunt before, the shutter having snapped, Jill let herself drop down on it again, bringing little sounds of pleasure from both of us. "I'll stay on this side of the camera, if you don't mind," Millie said .. before surprising Jill and me -- and, I think, herself -- by stepping forward to place the palm of one hand right on top of one of Jill's trim, sensitive tits, looking straight into Jill's eyes, and adding, ".. but I must admit that the temptation's there ...." Breathily, Jill murmured, "One should always give in to temptation ..." Millie just smiled down at my wife . . after a pregnant pause spent looking into each other’s eyes. Finally, after some indecipherable message had passed between them, she leaned down, her hand still on Jill's breast, and gave her a short kiss on the lips, then stepped away and asked, "Got any more poses?" Jill & Tim's Story Ch. 02 Yep . . and over the next few minutes, in growing excitement on ALL our parts (and several more small-but-growing climaxes from Jill) we demonstrated some of the classic fucking positions, particularly doggy-style -- both of us smiling at the birdie and at each other -- to, finally, the Male Dominant, this last ending up with my torso supported on my out-thrust arms, Jill's black-hose-clad legs straight up in the air, the backs of her warm thighs & calves pressing against the front of my shoulders, my legs open both for leverage and to give Millie a clear view of my cock in my wife's wonderful cunt as carefully, skillfully (if I DO say so myself), using great restraint in order not to pop my cookies, I gently fucked her up, up .. pausing .. taking her a little farther . . . manipulating her senses with my cock so that, instead of a small explosion, I began building her to a major one by precisely stopping before a small one could happen, then plunging into her again, taking her higher . . higher . . she was moaning, almost pleading . . feeling . . anticipating . . almost . . her hips throbbed into mine, her stiletto heels waving in the air as she begged, “ Tim . . Tim . . fuck . . me . . I'm . . oh, Tim .. love me, darling . . I think . . it's .." louder, longer, my full length sliding into her ... “ Tim .. I'm .. OH!! ..." thrust and hold .. "Eeeh ... AHH .." plunge again and again .. "AHHH ... Oh, GOD!!!" and she exploded, her body convulsing under me as I ground my shaft into her and enjoyed the hysterical outbursts of both her mouth and her vaginal muscles squeezing and tugging at me while she climaxed, one-after-the other, her voice echoing off the walls of the room. * * * I was still lightly within Jill's cunt, her legs now beneath mine, the full weight of my body resting on her as we got our breath back, gently kissing as Jill slowly came back down to earth. Millie was sitting, her legs clasped tightly together, on the coffeetable to our side, just watching Jill's post-orgasmic reverie . . as I rested and enjoyed the minor aftershocks in my wife's body periodically transmitting themselves to my still-buried -- and terribly, terribly sensitive and anxious -- cock. Jill's eyes finally opened and I gave her a kiss, then raised myself on my elbows so I could see her a little better. As I did so, she smiled at me, then turned her head to smile at Millie, who returned the smile . . although it got a little shaky at the edges when Jill reached out to take our friend's hand and pull it towards her, to lay it again on her breast palm-down and then press her own hand down on top of it. Millie made no attempt to retrieve her hand. As I rolled off of Jill to her side away from Millie, my hand moving to cover my darling's unoccupied breast, it was my wife who broke the silence, asking Millie, "Did you get some good shots?" Millie started to speak but had to stop and clear her throat before she could say, "They certainly looked good from THIS side of the camera. I can't think of a thing I missed." "Good!" said Jill softly, "I've always wanted to see what Tim 's cock in my cunt looked like fucking me." "You know," said Millie in some wonder, "I don't think I'll EVER get used to hearing words like that coming out of that terribly innocent-looking face." "Do they offend you?" "Oh, hell no!" said Millie, "No more than this" -- squeezing Jill's breast -- "does. It's just that your face looks so innocent that the average person can't imagine you saying 'damn' let alone 'fuck,' 'cock,' and 'cunt.' Somehow, though, they don't seem quite as lewd . . when YOU say them." Jill mulled that for a moment . . as I ran my hand down her body and slid my middle finger into her slit to start gently pressing on her clit The tiny shudder through her erotically displayed body told me that switch in attention was appreciated . . while she let out a little, pleased hiss of breath before telling Millie, "I must admit to having fun with that once-in-a-while, deliberately . . . but it's helped by the fact that Tim , some years ago, taught me the phrase, 'beautifully obscene,' and that's how I think of sex words and sex activities. "Like right now, Millie . . . Tim 's finger-fucking my cunt right in front of you and you're squeezing my tit right in front of him. Both things feel so good that I can't think of them as obscene .. but I CAN regard them as ‘beautifully obscene.' See the difference?" "I .. think so," our friend said. The three of us were silent for a couple of minutes, Jill's legs parting slightly in reaction to my insistent finger, Millie enjoying the sight, all of us engaged in a quiet, albeit slightly tense, companionship. It was Jill who got things moving again, her voice carrying an undertone caused by her excitement and anticipation. "Millie," she said, "We have one more thing lined up for this evening for you to photograph. It's something we've done only once before, a long time ago, and we've been saving it for a situation just like this. It's something that's done only for love or money and you know which of those reasons I'm doing it for. If anything could ever be called 'beautifully obscene,' this is it. "But . . before I do it, I'd like you to do us a favor." Millie just looked her inquiry at my shaky-voiced wife. "I'd like you to go over and put your heels on, then stand there and take off your bra and panties. We've hid nothing from you and we'd like it if you'd return the favor. After all, Tim HAS seen you naked .. and I'd like to. Okay?" Millie thought that over for a few seconds before she said, "I suppose so -- but no pictures, okay?" In her most winning way, my elfin wife said, "Well . . we WOULD like just one, for our Memory Book -- but if it'll make you feel better, I'll have Tim take it of both you and I standing together." The emotional conflict was obvious on Millie's face and the two of us just watched as she struggled to resolve it. Her resolution was heralded by nothing but a long, somewhat resigned-sounding sigh and then she set the camera down, got up, and walked over to where her slip-on high heels had been abandoned early-on in the evening. Blushing furiously -- the one-and-only time I ever saw her do so -- she stepped into her heels, then fumbled off her bra and slid down her panties, unable to even look in our direction until, finally, there was nowhere else to look . . and then she looked at us almost defiantly. I'll say this: Millie may be my age, but she's kept her body in pretty damn good shape and she looked quite desirable as she stood there and stared at us . . as we looked back at her with great and approving interest. Millie couldn't stand too much of that kind of observation and finally broke the silence with, "Do I have to tell you how naked I feel?" Jill made a big show of looking down her own lewdly-dressed body at my steadily-rubbing finger before she looked up at our embarrassed friend and not-quite-mocked her with, "Do I have to tell you how naked I feel?" As they giggled over that, I dryly commented, "Well, both of you are STILL wearing more than I am!" We all shared another chuckle before Millie said, "You'd better get your picture quick, before I lose my nerve." That got me a quick kiss from Jill before, with a certain amount of regret, she removed my finger from her nice, warm, wet snatch and, groaning, got up from the couch, followed immediately thereafter by me. Millie looked at me warily as I walked over to her, but she didn't resist as I put my arms around her bare back and pulled her naked body to mine and laid a great big kiss on her, a kiss which she initially met with closed lips; however, within seconds she . . . melted to it and returned it with a certain amount of tongue-tangling enthusiasm, her arms coming up to encircle my neck, her body pressing into mine. I heard the click of the camera's shutter; from the way Millie paused in her tongue-probing for a moment, I'm sure she heard it, too, but there was just the momentary pause before she returned to our kiss with full enthusiasm. Shortly thereafter -- about the time my cock grew enough again to start pressing against Millie's hairy portal -- our kiss broke and Jill observed, approvingly, "That was very nice, but now lets get a full-front shot." Silently, keeping one arm around Millie's trim waist and her keeping one around my neck, I moved apart from her enough for Jill to focus on both our bodies side-by-side. As soon as that picture was taken, Jill silently handed me the camera and I moved so she could take my place next to our friend. They made an enchanting pair, short wife, tall friend -- it was a very nice photo .. and the next one was even nicer, as Jill put her other hand on Millie's waist, turned slightly and, bending forward, sucked one of Millie's nipples into her mouth. The picture was taken before a protest could be made, so Millie contented herself with a soft, "You know, you guys don't play fair" .. but made no move to get away from my wife's hungry mouth. As I captured the erotic pose from another angle, I told our role-reversed friend, "We never said we were fair: just interesting; besides, we're trying to get you in the proper mood for our finale." Dryly, Millie responded, "If I get any more in the mood, I'm probably going to rape you." That got Jill's attention. Releasing Millie's throbbing, erect nipple, she raised her head to tell her, "Uh-uh, he's not going to be in any shape for that when I get done with him. We'll let you rape him another night." It was difficult to determine whether Millie was happy about that or not, but she was smiling and the two of them exchanged a lip-peck kiss before turning loose of each other. Jill looked-at me and said, "I think she's ready -- I know I am." With that, she disappeared into the bedroom while I put a fresh roll of film in The camera . . and Millie just stood there looking somewhat apprehensive . While I finished getting the camera ready for her, I gave Millie some instructions. "Jill is about to give me a blow job, all the way . . but with a bit of a surprise at the end. After you shoot us full-length from several different angles and get some medium and close shots of her doing what she does so well, we'd like you to get in a position where you can get a series of shots of just her face and my shaft as I come. You should be prepared to take several shots rapidly because, once my climax starts, a lot's going to be happening in short order. You can take them all from the same angle, but be sure you've got a clear view of her face." "Sounds interesting," said our friend. I took note of the fact that she was unconsciously rubbing her fingers over her pubic patch as Jill walked back into the room with an armload of stuff and started preparing our "stage." "Oh, it will be," I told Millie, "and, if you'll be sure to save at least a couple of shots at the end of the roll, we'll have one more interesting thing for you to photograph." Millie regarded me, then my busy wife, thoughtfully for a minute -- her fingers still absent-mindedly stroking her wonderfully furry triangle -- before asking, "That's all you're going to tell me, hmm?" "That's it." She shrugged, I handed her the reloaded camera, then we both walked over to the corner of the room where Jill had efficiently been getting things ready. Actually, what she'd done was to cover our padded bar stool with a shining satin sheet; on the floor in front of it, she'd placed a pillow covered in the same slick material. Jill and I came together in a kiss, a long, passionate kiss during which our hands stayed busy roaming over each other's backs and flanks. Although the kiss (as the phrase goes) spoke volumes, I still had to whisper in her ear, "You sure you don't mind?" She whispered back, "Are you kidding? I've been looking forward to this for a long, long time." Her arms encircled me and squeezed hard as her body seemed to melt into mine and the undercurrent of passion and lust was even stronger in her voice when she added, "Oh, darling Tim .. . don't make me wait any longer. Let me do for you and make you feel good. I'm ready!" Keeping my mouth shut (figuratively speaking) for a change, I gave her one more long, long kiss before we separated and I positioned myself on the stool. The position was simple, utilitarian -- and obscene. I sat at the edge of the stool, my feet on the floor, feet and legs spread wide; actually, I was almost more leaning against the stool than sitting on it. The two gals watched me get into place before Jill took my hands and placed each of them, palms down, behind me on the padded cushion, leaning me back slightly. Mock-lecturingly, my inamorata told me, "Now, keep your hands there and don't move them, no matter what. Understand?" Definitely -- and so did Millie when Jill looked at her and said, "Well, here we go!" Our friend began to photograph the action again as Jill stepped forward between my legs and began using her cool hands to stroke me once more into full, trembling erection while she stared lovingly into my eyes. One of her hands continued to hold my cock, our eyes still locked together, when Jill sank slowly to her knees on the pillow before me and she continued staring up at me as she leaned forward, extended her dainty, pink tongue and began to lick me, first my full -- almost aching from pent-up lust -- balls, leisurely covering every wrinkled inch, diving down to put her salivary warmth on the sensitive skin of my scrotum, then working her way back over my nuts again . . . while one hand lightly stroked the inside of my thighs, the other gently, almost teasingly, squeezing my shaft. Millie faithfully recorded on film my darling's upward progress, her tongue sliding up the underside of my cock, the warmth outlining the throbbing vein on its underside . . . and then Jill's eyes closed, I groaned in pleasure, as she pulled my prick downward so that, by simply leaning her head forward, she could engulf my entire length in her hot, busy mouth. Her groan of pleasure matched mine (my darling, like me, frequently has a hard time deciding which thing she likes best: giving head, getting head . . . or fucking. They're ALL so delightful!). I really can't detail the next few minutes: I was too lost in the pleasure to get any clear memory of every little, wonderful move. Suffice it to say that Jill used all of her considerable skills, her talented and hungry lips, tongue, hands, to thrill me out of my mind, sucking, licking, stroking -- sometimes looking directly into my eyes (which, when a girl is simultaneously mouthing your joint, is a bit like being fucked in the brain), sometimes closing them to lose herself in the wonder of what she was doing to me. As for me . . . I was building to my peak, orchestrated by Jill, photographed by Millie . . . trembling uncontrollably as Jill became less leisurely about what she was doing and started closing in for the kill. With a certain amount of (understandable, I think) difficulty, I managed to get my voice to quietly say, "Millie, I think you'd better .. get ready for .. your .. close-ups." Silently, our friend moved to my left side where, shooting downward, she had an unimpeded view of my darling's face -- a face which, distended by her mouthful of delighted cock, managed to look up at Millie, smile, wink . . and then plunge down all the way on my shaft, making me almost crazy. The sensations spiraled upward, Jill's hot mouth and busy tongue no longer giving me brief breaks to regroup, her hands skillfully caressing and stroking my balls and scrotum as she single-mindedly drove me to my pinnacle. Her head moved unhesitatingly back and forth, her tongue independently busy, her cheeks drawing inward as she sucked on me. Higher I went, grunting, groaning, my eyes half-open, mated with hers, our minds locked together as I felt myself get closer, almost . . Be ready, Millie . . Jill . I'm . oh, darling? .. it's .. Oh! .. OH! .... Here ... I … ... A loud, open-mouthed groan from me signaled the onslaught of my orgasm -- and, simultaneously, was Jill's cue to draw her mouth off my cock, at the same time encircling it with her fingers in a vise-tight grip that wrapped around the supra-sensitive head and almost brutally forced itself down the full length. This manual move, in fact, was the trigger, the final sensual input, that drove me past the line of self-control and, as her hand harshly jerked back and forth on my dong, all my stored-up juices began spurting forth in a seminal fountain, the sensations from which had me all but screaming in joy! As for Jill herself . . . her mouth was open, her tongue extended as if straining toward something it wanted very badly (as, indeed, it did) -- while her hand, as she had intended, sprayed her lovely face with the spurts of hot, thick come she was forcing from me, the love offering splattering her nose, forehead, open jaws, her chin . . while Millie's camera clicked away, recording this unique facial. I DID scream, finally, as Jill's head suddenly popped forward and her mouth swallowed my hyper-sensitive shaft, to suck the last of my gonadal fluids from me as if the meaty mouthful were a straw, and I finally had to shout, "No .. NO, PLEASE!!" before she'd quit. Jill sank back on her haunches, her obscenely, beautifully come-smeared face staring up at my open-mouthed panting, my semen dripping down her petal-lovely skin ... her tongue unconsciously licking off her lips. I quickly recovered enough to ask Millie -- in a more-than-slightly-shaky voice -- "Do you have a couple of shots left in there?" I got a bi-syllable "Mm-hmm" from her so I slid off the stool to kneel facing Jill. My hands lifted themselves to her trusting, innocent-looking face, my thumbs gently rubbing off the sperm that threatened to drip into her clear, beautiful eyes that were staring at me in such love and patience. Then the rest of my fingers wiped the other penis-placed paths from her face before my hands lowered to massage the cooling stickiness into Jill's diminutive breasts as I leaned forward and covered my darling's sweet mouth with mine, our tongues meeting, mating and mutually communicating our delight in and love for each other. When our kiss broke, we cuddled for a moment, our heads side-by-side; we stayed that way for a couple of minutes before Jill whispered into my ear, "I'm going to go wash my face and fix my makeup. Why don't you do something nice and oral for our friend?" With that, and another quick kiss, she rose gracefully to her feet and, without a backward glance, went off to the dressing room. I must confess to having put Millie out of my mind there for a few minutes. I looked around to find her standing, camera in hand, several feet away, a . . strange . . look on her face. Although my sex urge disappears just about completely when I pop my cookies, it's a point of honor with me never to leave a lady stranded if I can at all help it. It was with that thought in mind that I got to my feet and walked over to Millie who, although she didn't move physically, watched me with the intensity of a mongoose checking out an approaching cobra. Smiling, I reached out to take the camera from her unresisting fingers, using the strap to lower it to the floor, then reaching out again to take her hand in mine. She followed wordlessly as I led her across the room to the couch where, turning her body to face me, I said, "Millie, that whisper from Jill was an order to do something nice for you. I never disobey my darling . . . especially when it's something I really want to do." I could see a small battle going behind her eyes, so my hands raised to gently, erotically squeeze her taut nipples while I told her, "Sit down, lean back in the corner, and let we do something nice for you." Jill & Tim's Story Ch. 02 She stared directly into lily eyes, her body unmoving .. until my hands pressed forward on her breasts and she moved backwards in response to the pressure, to sit on the couch, still staring up at me. She didn't resist as I took her shoulders in hand and turned her while pushing her back so that she ended up semi-reclining, one foot on the sofa, the other on the floor ... Nor did she move to fight me off when I sank to my knees and buried my face in her bushy, swampy cunt, my lips and tongue, with no subtlety, attacking her ready femininity in concert with two of my fingers driving up into her vagina to fuck her at the same time. Millie exploded, there's no other way to put it. Her legs spread wide, she pressed her pudenda frantically up into my face, her eyes closed, her hands pressed down on her convulsing stomach and she went wild! She passed from compliant docility to screaming tigress within two seconds and, within ten, was a demanding, continually climaxing participant, her hands grabbing my head to pull me even tighter into her tasty innermost secrets as her legs moved joyously in the air and strangled sounds of pleasure rang through the livingroom. So engrossed was Millie in her release, so intent was I on delighting her without dislocating my neck, that neither of us were aware that Jill snapped a couple of shots of our mouth-to-crotch coupling -- or, for that matter, that she'd even returned to the room until she slid into the space between Millie and the back of the couch and, with no preamble, once more sucked one of Millie's nipples into her mouth while her right hand grasped our friend's other breast to begin gently milking it. Millie went right off the end of the erotic scale! Her body went rigid .. held almost painfully for long, long seconds, then snapped into a series of hysterical convulsions and screaming that finally resulted in her pushing my mouth away from her while shouting, "ENOUGH .. PLEASE, ENOUGH! MY GOD! ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME????!!!???" We released her as Jill said, "No, just trying to thank you." Willie reflected on that for a few moments as she fought to get her breathing back under control. Finally, she said, "I think we're even." "No, no, Millie," I told her gently, "that was for fun; the 'thank you' is for being our uncritical friend." Silence broken only by breathing until Willie gave a small giggle, looked at each of us in turn, laid her head back to look up at the ceiling as, with a big smile on her face, she said, "Anytime you need a friend, just holler: I'll come running!" Our shared laughter is a good place to close this episode. -0- IN THE BEGINNING - 2 Jill TIM and I and, sometimes, our respective spouses, worked together frequently on community projects. Quite often, Frank and Dolly would have to work on one phase of something while Tim and I were concurrently working on another part of it. Our respective husband and wife knew that Tim and I were good friends, which was all right, since were a foursome just as often when all of us were away from our community service work. Please understand: the FOUR of us were good friends. Tim regarded Frank as a "younger brother I'd like to smack across the head occasionally," I thought (originally) that Dolly was one of the sweetest, smartest women I'd ever known, Frank thought Tim to be one of the most fun and talented individuals he'd ever met in his life. I tell you this so you'll understand how much courage it took Frank to tell me what he did about Tim and Dolly, something he'd learned from a mutual friend. He didn't want to damage the high regard he knew I had for the two of them, but he wanted me to be forewarned, because our spouses had given their permission for me to accompany Tim on a same-day business trip to a neighboring city, so Frank felt he had to warn me that he was fairly certain Tim and Dolly were involved in "wife-swapping," and even supplied a couple of names of people they'd been involved with. It was very sweet of him. It was also very unnecessary: I already knew all of it and more ... although I didn't dare tell Frank that, or let him that it was Tim who'd told me about it. *** Tim The rumors were true, so far as they went; like many rumors, however, they didn't go far enough. The key element that the gossips had missed was that Dolly had tried very hard to enter my swinging world (one of the few sweet things she ever did in her life), only to discover that she just wasn't geared for it, emotionally or physically. Worse, she had no interest whatsoever in my pornographic writings or photography and, while she never verbally objected, I could tell she was hurt when I'd party with groups or with other women. It made me very lonely in a very special sort of way, a way that couldn't be sublimated by correspondence or photo exchanges with the like-minded around the country, or even entirely assuaged by periodic 3-somes or more-somes with cooperative couples and groups. Worst of all was the discovery that a fast fuck with the occasional free-minded chick no longer appealed to me. You see, I needed to be loved BECAUSE of what I am, not DESPITE it. I needed someone with whom I could share both my pleasures and my adventures. Jill was Number One on my list of "Women Who Would Not Understand," which made doubly frustrating the fact that, of all the people I've ever known, I cared the most for her opinion of me. Even Frank and Dolly, after a certain point, acknowledged that Jill and I were each other's best friends. The only thing that kept us from being discovered when we finally became something even better than friends (or In Addition To, since we're STILL each other's best friends), was the fact that those who knew her just couldn't imagine Jill participating in something so horrendous as an Affair. Neither could I. * * * Jill was in the summer hiatus from her teaching job, a job she held because she enjoyed it (and still does), not because she and Frank needed the money. It didn't even upset her to have the extra time on her hands, since she's got a very broad range of solitary interests: writing, sewing, yoga, music, reading, etc. Most importantly, it made it possible for me to go over to her place for coffee during the day, which was great, since I had the kind of job where I was out of the office all day anyway, and it was the slack season in my business, so I could kill several hours every day without worry. The First Day was innocent enough: we had our customary hug and cheek-kiss at the door (something in which we indulged even in front of our respective spouses in public) and talk. When I was ready to leave, though, after three hours of steadily-more-confidential conversation, our lips met as we were standing by the door, and our goodbye shook both of us considerably .... and our Hello the next day picked up where our Goodbye had left off ... and we did more of it without waiting for arrivals and departures. Within that first week, I spilled my guts to Jill. After a couple of days of ever-more-intense kissing and innocently caressing, I told her all about me, and I did so with a great deal of very real fear. We were growing to care for each other so much that I wanted her to know about me. It was, to me (and this came as a great surprise to me, because I'm an expert at showing the face I choose to the world) very important that, if she liked/loved me, she do it knowing full well WHAT she was liking/loving and, in doing so, I took a calculated risk, the risk that she would be repulsed and that I'd lose even her friendship. That possible eventuality was NOT something I wanted to happen; hardly, but I very much wanted her to love me FOR MYSELF even more. I was considerably jarred to find that she was fascinated: she not only approved, but thought that the lifestyle I craved sounded delightful .. for her as well as me! Just as importantly, she was able to grasp the philosophical cornerstones of my feelings and urges, the one of the only two women who'd ever "loved" me who'd been able to pull off that particular stunt. Maybe it was because, after my first, hesitant lifting of the corner of my Secret Self, I NEVER AGAIN felt the least bit of reticence about telling her my innermost thoughts, and so she regarded them all as natural, as part of me -- and she loved me, she told me so. This was all, to me, an absolute amazement, because there were even some very swinging people -- women included -- to whom I found it impossible to Tell All. I showed her my photography, including some shots I'd done not-too-long before of an attractive bisexual black chick using a dildo and vibrator on herself. Jill's comments (condensed): "I like them, I like them very much. I'm not shocked, because I've seen pictures like them before, in some of the magazines Frank keeps hid. "What gives me a big ..'wham!' though, is the knowledge that YOU TOOK THEM, that it was YOU there and in back of the camera ... and .. I find that very exciting. "And that scares me a little, I think." I let her read two of my novel-length stories. Comments: "You're right, it's pornography ... but it's more than that, it's also a very tender love story. No, I wasn't shocked, I loved it!" (Jill didn't like the second as well as the first, but only because the heroine of the first was a lady in her 30's, while the centerpiece of the second was sixteen when her adventures began, and My Love couldn't identify as readily with her). The key thing is this: while there were a few -- a VERY few -- specific sexual activities dissected in obscene detail in my books that she didn't think would ever appeal to her personally, she could accept that other people could do and enjoy them. Just as importantly, she could picture HERSELF indulging in and enjoying most of the things I'd written of. At a slightly later point, after she'd finished the second book, Jill told me, "Tim, there were places where I would remember that it was YOU who'd written the things I was reading and, like knowing you'd taken those pictures you showed me, it would get me very .. EXCITED!" "Did you ever finger yourself while reading them?" A demure look and a fervently quiet, "Yes!" As the cliche' has it, it was like giving water to a guy dying of thirst. I kept sharing even deeper and more emotional parts of me with Jill, things both sexual and non-sexual that I'd never shared with anyone else, especially not in such detail. I grew to love Jill, who could understand how there would always be a little part of me that would love a girl named Anne, whom I'd cared for more than anyone else I'd ever known in my life. In fact, Jill was the only woman who'd ever cared for me who was INTERESTED in Anne, and who wanted to know about her simply because she had been such a vital part of my life. There was a geometric progression to our mutual discoverings: The more we told each other, the easier it was to tell more, even though we were moving, verbally, in what seemed to be diametrically-opposed directions. I, for my part, had told her the sexual things about me first and then had progressed to the equally important but, mostly, non-sexual areas; she started with the straight things and slowly worked her way into the erotic ... and I found it thrilling. Examples: "Four or five-inch heels with my short skirts? I don't know if I could walk in them .. but I'd love to try!" "You know when you mentioned the other day that I'd have to be prepared for you to come home sometime and say something like, 'Wow, I laid Margie today!' and I told you I could handle that? Well, there's more to it than that. I think that, if you came home and said something like that, I'd probably say, 'Good, tell me all about it!'" "I ... I really enjoy being on top." "Last night I was .. using my fingers .. and .. I imagined .. you were watching me do it. It was .. very exciting." "I was thinking, after you left yesterday ... I remember a pair of heels, very high ones, with wooden platform soles, and I saw us ... well, I could see you coming home from work one day and me greeting you at the door in a kind of Hopi coat that came down to the bottom of my .. bottom .. but it's open. With it, I'm wearing a pair of brown net bikini panties, a pair of thigh-high hose like those you gave me -- the stockings with the elastic in the tops -- and those heels. “You come in and I kiss you at the door, then we walk over to your chair and you kiss me again and sit down. I walk over to the easy chair opposite you and turn to face you. While you sit there smoking and watching me, I take the bikinis off, then sit in the chair, one leg straight, the foot on the floor, the other leg up and over the arm of the chair .. and then I reach down and start using my fingers on myself. You haven't told me to do it, but I KNOW, somehow, that it's what you want! I use my finger for awhile as you sit there silently watching until you get up, come over to me, take my hands in yours as a signal to stop. You kneel and remove the shoe and stocking from my leg that's over the arm of the chair, you begin kissing me, starting at my instep and kissing very slowly up my leg until .. until .. you begin .. using your mouth on me .. down there." Jesus! ***** This has all looked -- and been -- very verbal so far, to the point where you might be tempted to think that our only physical contact, other than kisses, was by our own respective hands on ourselves. Well, we DID do a lot of talking: there were days when we'd do nothing but go out for a drive, park in a rather public place at the beach, and look at the water while we explored each other's minds. Things did, however, progress rather rapidly to the physical -- and, even then, it was a bit unconventional. -0- RANDOM SHOTS ADS which, with-and-without minor variations, have been run by us in every swingers magazine we can find: LOVE CIRCLE Attractive, intelligent, good-humored, affectionate couple seeks very special guys, gals, couples who, like us, love exotic lingerie, photography/modelling, French, sexual experimentation, fantasy fulfillment and other same-room encounters with friends. Smokers okay. Age/race unimportant; sincerity, discretion, open minds mandatory . All answered with photo/phone. SHUTTERBUGS Couple, attractive, imaginative, love taking and posing for no-holes-barred heels/hose, action, fantasy fulfillment color photos. Seek to swap same only with other similar couples and only after a phone call verifying that we're real and you are, too. Location/age/race unimportant. Reply to all couples sending photo/phone and best tine to call to speak with BOTH of You. KINKY SEEKERS Been rejected by others because your sexual specialty was too "far-out"? Try us. Attractive, affectionate, unshockable couple will consider trying almost anything with anyone who's gentle, clean, discreet and good-humored. Photo, phone and description of what you'd REALLY like to do will get a quick and gentle answer. -0- Jill & Tim's Story Ch. 03 III Jill I'D had my eye on Eddie ever since we'd first met -- almost as intensely as he had his eyes on me, especially my legs, at every opportunity. The first time we met, at a meeting of a group to which we belong, my reaction to Eddie was almost identical to the reaction I'd had when I'd first encountered Tim many years before: the thought that, "NO man has the right to look at another man's wife like that!" I loved it, just as I had the first time Tim had looked at me that way. I confess to shamelessly playing up to Eddie every time we met thereafter, making sure he had a good (if seemingly accidental) leg show whenever possible and, in conversation, standing close to him, touching his chest and arms frequently, and skillfully loading our conversations with just enough double entendre' to keep him guessing as to exactly how much I meant in which way. Since our group is also big on hugging as a socially-acceptable greeting, I always made sure to hug him with more than just my arms, if you follow that. Besides, being hugged by Eddie is quite an experience, since he's about a foot taller than I am, lanky, good-looking in an unconventional, Abraham Lincolnish sort of way, wry, quietly humorous . . and just a wee bit shy. Tim and I, of course, discussed the mutual attraction between Eddie and I, just as we freely discussed his attraction to other women and I mentioned other men. As anxious as I'd been to share my body with not just Tim but, simultaneously, with other men as well, though, there is a very definite line to cross the first time you put the urge into practice. You might find this hard to believe but, at the time Tim and I took up housekeeping together, he was one of only THREE men I'd actually had sex with in my entire life -- one of them my ex-husband -- notwithstanding the fact that I had my first rememberable sex fantasy (and, not too long thereafter, my first bout of masturbation) before I entered grade school, and one of my favorite fantasies for years has been of laying on a floor, naked, playing with myself with dildo, vibrator and fingers . . . while a group of equally naked men stand around me in a circle, watching me and jerking themselves off all over my quivering body. It was Tim who decided it was time to take me across the line from fantasy to reality. He orchestrated exactly how it was done -- and Eddie was his instrument. * ** Unusual for a Saturday night, we had nothing in particular planned -- at least, I THOUGHT we didn't until Tim , over dinner, casually said, "Oh, by the way, darling, I've invited a friend over for drinks in a little while. I wonder if you'd be agreeable to wearing . ..." and he specified what he wanted me to put on. Interesting. I told him I'd be delighted to .. and who's his friend? At that question, Tim got about half . . flustered/embarrassed/vague and went silent for a few moments before he looked up at me and said, "Uh . . sweetheart, unless you have some serious objections, I think I'd like to invoke our 'Do what you're asked without questions' agreement for the evening. I'd like what happens to be a surprise; it certainly will be for my friend . . and I'd like it to be that for you, too." He paused. "Look, Jill, that agreement of ours can be one helluva lot of fun for both you and I, but I don't think either of us is going to be comfortable THINKING about it until we actually DO it the first time. I think each of us needs to put the other through a totally unexpected event that involves someone other than just the two of us and get total cooperation before our minds will REALLY turn themselves loose. "In other words," he said very seriously, taking my hand in his, "I'd like you to follow my lead blindly this evening . . so we can find out how we feel about it in the morning. Will you do that for me? For us?" His need was obvious, his discomfort plain. The implications, the possibilities -- good AND bad -- riffled rapidly through my mind, but I don't think he noticed the mini-second pause before I squeezed his hand and said, "I love you . . I trust you. Corny as it sounds, I'm yours to command," and gave him a smile. "Thank you," was his simple reply. He glanced at his watch. "Go get your cute ass ready then, and I'll do the dishes; he's due in just half-an-hour." Naturally, as soon as we both stood up, we kissed . . . long and deep (is there any other way?). * * * Finding Eddie at the door was, at one-and-the-same-time, both a pleasant AND an unsettling surprise. Pleasant because, as I've indicated, I like Eddie; unsettling because, with Tim knowing of my feelings toward Eddie, I immediately realized that my husband's imagination would be less inhibited than if whoever I'd greeted at the door had been a total stranger. Yet, there were also streaks of both excitement (I'd craved Eddie -- now I was pretty certain I'd have him before the night was out) and fatalism: I'd promised to do ANYTHING Tim asked, so I had no control over what was to happen . . . which, rather than being frightening, I found peculiarly comforting: it was out of my hands, so I could just relax and go with the flow, with no responsibility for anything that happened (isn't rationalization fun?). So, the first flow I went with was the urge to hug, a big one, amply returned by our tall friend . . . although he wasn't quite as tall as usual, since one of the items Tim had specified I put on was a pair of shoes I had not, at that time, had an opportunity to wear in public, mostly because I was afraid of breaking my neck if I didn't get used to them around the house first. Black patent ankle-strap sandals, they have a two-inch platform under the sole . . and 7-inch stiletto heels! What they do for legs and the way I walk is totally obscene and, since this particular encounter, I HAVE worn them out in public, with spectacular results! Eddie really didn't get a chance to see them at first, though, and his vague puzzlement over the difference in my height went unrequited as, arms around each other's waists, we walked into the livingroom, in the middle of which we stopped as he looked around him. "I like your decor," was about all he managed to find to say. The "decor" to which he referred was Tim 's photography: two walls of me, one of landscapes, one of other girls. The shots of me and the other girls are about evenly divided between portraits and what used to be known as "cheesecake": lots of legs showing in slit and short skirts, dresses, tunics, leotards; some cleavage, too. No tits, cunts or asses showing, but precious little of anything else hidden. It's a display intended to be very suggestive, and Eddie was in hog heaven, especially over the more leg-revealing shots of me, all of which had me in heels and hose, for which his fetish is as strong as ours (yes, "ours" -- I love the look and the feel of them, too). About that time, Tim came in from the bedroom, gave Eddie a big greeting and deftly directed us so that our guest ended up on the couch and I ended up sitting in an easy chair directly across from him -- to BOTH our delights. I must explain: Tim hadn't had me put on much but, as is always the case when he specifies my garb, it's with carefully malice aforethought. I was wearing a copper satin demi-bra -- push-up pads but no covering from below the nipple on up -- and a brown pair of very special stockings: picture a pair of pantyhose with the entire front, back and hips cut out of them and you've got it. With those was a pair of very minimal and quite transparent bikini panties. Over all this was a sleek, slick, shiny and totally concealing robe that flowed over my body, all the way down to the bottoms of my feet which, of course, were set in their fetishistic heels. Other than that, and my always-present ankle bracelet, I was naked . . . although, compared to what I normally wear around the house, I was overdressed. Eddie and mine s mutual delight stemmed from the fact that Tim loves "staging scenes," so the sequence was this: Eddie gets a hug, Eddie sees my photos -- and me dressed very demurely in real life. Eddie sits down on the couch, I sit down across from him, cross my legs .. . and the bottom of the robe falls open almost all the way to the tops of my thighs, giving him a sudden, unexpected look at not just my kinky heels, but the full length of my legs . . which I smilingly made absolutely no attempt to conceal. My cunt got instantly wet at the way he looked at them. At the same time, he tried NOT to look .. so hard, in fact, that I surprised both of us by saying, "It's alright to look at my legs, Eddie; I wore this robe so you could." His comment: "Oh." Tim came back from the kitchen with glasses of ice and a bottle of white wine at the tail end of this, so he amplified on my statement by telling our friend, "Jill's like most women: she loves to be admired. She's different from most women in that she's more honest about admitting it." As Tim handed me a BIG glass of wine (oh, boy!, I have NO tolerance for alcohol; I knew that, by the time I got halfway through that glass, I was going to be well-stoned!), I again surprised myself by calmly adding, "And there are a lot of men who enjoy showing their wives off -- but Tim is more honest than most, because he freely admits he enjoys guys getting turned on by me and not only does he encourage me to do it, he gives me a lot of suggestions as to HOW to do it." "I see" ... said Eddie, obviously not quite seeing it at all. "For instance, we've both noticed how much you enjoy looking at my legs, so it was Tim who specified my ensemble this evening, so you could get a REAL eyeful . . right, Darling?" Tim , who'd taken a seat by Eddie, on the couch, said, "100% right." He took a sip of wine -- as did I -- before continuing, "Actually, Eddie, we both like you, very much -- and one of the things we like about you is the way you admire Jill. We also like your gentleness and your quiet good humor, but we're especially impressed with the fact that YOU are obviously impressed by her." Eddie was blushing! Good grief! 'We're also cognizant of the fact that, as much as you've probably been tempted to do so a time-or-two, you've never so much as hinted to her that she should 'cheat' on me by meeting you 'on the sly.' We felt such discretion in the face of such urges should be rewarded, hence the invitation to share our Saturday night with us." Eddie -- poor, confused Eddie -- looked very, very puzzled. I wasn't puzzled but I WAS rather curious as to how Tim was going to maneuver up to what I suspected he was heading for. My curiosity didn't have long to wait. "Eddie," Tim continued, "We would like to start putting together a group of 'Water Brothers' (CF: "Stranger In A Strange Land" by Robert A. Heinlein), people with whom we can share anything and everything, friends in the best and most complete sense of the word, people with whom we can be completely ourselves and whom we can trust to keep their mouths shut about it. "We think you’re a candidate." We both looked at Eddie for his reaction. After a few silent seconds, he finally mumbled, "Well, I like to think of myself that way. I'll certainly try." "We know you will, Eddie" -- this from me -- "that's one of the reasons you re here tonight." Very sincerely, he said, "Thank you" . . . and then a sudden thought hit him: "You said 'ONE of the reasons.' There's more than one?" "Um-hmm," I said, surprising myself by adding, "The way you look at me turns me on, ferociously. YOU turn me on!" Oh, dear, the wine was getting to me! Poor Eddie just kind of added a grin to his blush, simultaneously and understandably: after all, what CAN you say to a remark like that? Anyway, his blush at hearing it was no deeper than mine at the realization that I'd SAID it. Tim continued on, "Our 'Water Brother’ rules, as we have discussed them, will be very simple. This home is a sanctuary, one in which our special friends may suggest anything they'd like, say anything that occurs to them, do anything they want if they can find someone who wants to do it with them. If they want to walk in the front door and immediately peel off all their clothes, great; in fact, after tonight, you're just as liable to find us naked as clothed when you come over . . . which we hope will be fairly often. "Naturally," Tim added, "it follows that what happens within these walls STAYS within these walls . . except with other Water Brothers. Dig?" "Makes sense. Sounds nice, in fact," said our lanky friend. "I'm flattered that you'd ask." Tim got up from the couch and started toward the bedroom as he said, "It's a theory we've been developing for several years; we figured it was about time we saw if theory could be translated into practice." With my husband's disappearance into our bedroom, Eddie and I found ourselves with nothing to say . . . nor anything to do besides stare at each other. With the wine pervading my system pushing me along, I decided to let Eddie stare at something worthwhile so, silently, I recrossed my legs, slowly, in the opposite direction, simultaneously leaning slightly to the side so he could see the expanse of hose-covered flesh better. He proved a silent but unmistakably appreciative audience. I'd just completed this obviously deliberate move when Tim returned. I wasn't terribly surprised to see him carrying a couple of loose-leaf binders in his hands ... although a small, alcohol-submerged corner of my mind muttered, "Oh, dear!" again when I saw their color: brown, the white letter "J" emblazoned on their spines. I'll explain. We mount our photos inside plastic page protectors in notebooks; the color of the cover indicates the type of content, the letter indicating who's inside. Black is general stuff, kept in the livingroom; green, also kept in the livingroom, is portraits and cheesecake. The brown notebooks pick up at the point where breasts or pubes start showing: nudes. These are kept in the bedroom, as are the red ones -- what we call the "Down and Dirty Collection" -- which pick up at the point where any sexual contact is made, even if it's just my finger in my own cunt; regardless of what it is with whom or how, anything like that goes in the red books, right next to the bed where we can grab them and enjoy them anytime we'd like. So, Tim was getting ready to show my body, via photos, to Eddie . . with absolutely NOTHING hidden from him; usually considerably enhanced by my sizeable collection of garterbelts, basques, corsets, open bras, hose and heels, the photos show me standing, sitting, kneeling, legs wide or up and spread open, my (usually dilated from excitement) cunt generally aimed right at the lens. A very short, silent, eye-to-eye communication passed between us as Tim re-entered the room. He saw my recognition of the books, raising an eyebrow in inquiry; only a flicker of time passed before I gave just the tiniest of nods. ("May I?" "Go ahead"). Tim laid the notebooks down next to Eddie, then perched in his own corner of the couch (the better to watch both of us) as he continued weaving his web of words: "Since you're also a fan of my photography, Eddie, we figured we'd give you our '2-in-l' special. You get to see Jill at her best and also see what I've been up to with my camera over the past few months." Tim 's hand pointed at the books. "Feel free to take your time looking; we're in no hurry.” Speak for yourself, darling. I was getting downright anxious . . and very, very wet between the legs! Our friend picked up the top book and opened it as if he were afraid there were a letter-bomb concealed within -- but open it he did, uncomfortab1y aware that both of us were watching him intently. It didn't take him very many pages to forget our inspection: he was busy conducting one of his own. He submerged himself in those books so completely that, at one point, he unconsciously reached down and readjusted his swelling cock within his jeans, to my great delight. It caused Tim and I to look at each other, smile, and throw each other kisses before we went back to watching Eddie. Our friend must've spent the better part of twenty minutes looking at the contents of the two books and seemed more-than-a-little dazed when he closed the second one. "These are . . very good . . was all he managed to say besides, "Thank you for sharing them with me." I just smiled, blushed, and took another sip of my almost-gone wine while Tim acknowledged Eddie's remark by saying, "We're glad you enjoyed them." It was Eddie's turn to take a slug of wine. Apparent impasse. What next? I hesitate to say I was drunk, but I certainly had a good buzz going, which is what probably gave me the nerve to get up from the chair and announce, "I don't know about you two, but I'm very, very warm and, since Eddie's already seen me naked in pictures, I don't see much point in wearing this robe any more. Any objections?" Both of them were smiling, Tim in relief (I found out later he'd been trying to figure out the best way to get me to do exactly what I was getting ready to do) and Eddie in . . embarrassed anticipation: he just gestured palms-up with his hands while shrugging his shoulders in an "It's alright with me" move. Quickly, before I lost my nerve, I undid the buttons and slipped the robe open and off, tossing it onto my chair. Tim raised an eyebrow at me in acknowledgement of his discovery that, in my own contribution to the proceedings, I'd lightly rouged my otherwise-pale nipples and aureoles. The rubicent buds were quite stiff. Eddie just stared as, in my kinky heels, I tip-toed around the coffeetable to stand between the two of them, facing toward our guest, who no longer found it possible to avoid looking at me. Looking down at him, I softly asked, "Do you like my ensemble, Eddie? Tim picked it out thinking you might find it attractive." Our lanky chum seemed to be having problems breathing, swallowing and speaking, but finally managed to say, "It's VERY .. attractive . . and exciting!" I was just full of little surprises tonight: surprising myself as well as my audience of two. I stepped directly in front of Eddie while turning my back to him, giving him an unmistakable view of my ass, posing there for a few seconds, then completing the turn so that I ended up facing both Eddie and Tim , right by Eddie's knee. I was very much aware of how lewd I looked. "Actually, Eddie," my husband contributed, "few people are aware of how often Jill is wearing outfits like that under her street clothes; it's usually our own private joke. "However, what you're looking at right now does have one item in it she normally doesn't wear at all." Eddie looked up at my face, questioningly. The silence from my husband gave me my cue to assuage our (friend's? victim's?) curiosity. "The panties, Eddie. Three-fourths of the time, I'm wearing no panties under my clothes; no pantyhose, either, unless I'm in shorts or jeans. Just think: most of the times you've seen me, my pussy's been naked under my skirt or dress. From now on, when we meet in public, you'll wonder whether I'm that way or not. Since I don't want you to die of curiosity, if I look at you and do this" -- I rubbed the side of my nose in a seemingly innocent way -- "you'll know that, no matter what else I'm wearing, there's nothing covering my bush." Tim picked it up instantly. "Actually, Eddie, the only reason I had Jill wear any panties at all tonight, quite honestly, is because I thought the two of you might find it enjoyable for you to be the first man to ever take her panties off of her while I watched." Eddie's head swiveled sharply around to face my husband, who later described the look he got as "delighted shock;" Tim just gave him a wide "that's what you heard" smile that caused Eddie to turn around and look up at me. Still blushing slightly --although less, now that the die was cast -- I did my best to sound calm as I said, "Please, Eddie . . . take my panties off of me. I don't want to hide ANYTHING from you." Jill & Tim's Story Ch. 03 Slowly, as if he were afraid someone was going to yell "APRIL FOOL!" at any moment, Eddie reached forward to take the elastic on my diminutive bikinis in his long (and, as I learned not-too-much later, gentle) fingers and slowly slide them down my legs. As I raised my skyscraper heels one-at-a-time to allow the removal of the gauzy apparel, I placed one of my hands on Eddie's shoulder for balance; when the panties were off, I didn't move my hand. Instead, I looked down at this now-upturned face and told him, "Eddie, it's very important to me that you know how delighted I am that you're here and doing what you're doing." He cocked one eyebrow up by way of silently asking for explanation. "Feel me, Eddie," I told him. "Reach between my legs with those beautiful fingers of yours and see how wet I am." WET?!? I felt as if my cunt were drowning! "Rub me and make me feel good . . . please!" Our new Water Brother looked, with awe, up into my face as I placed my other hand on his other shoulder and spread my legs apart to give him better access as he slowly reached forward . . and slid his fingers right into my gash! I don't know what premonitory instinct had made me hold on to him with both hands instead of just one, but it's a damn good thing I did because, if I hadn't, I would've fallen right over. "Oh, Eddie!" I breathed, "That feels so GOOD! Please, Eddie, rub me .. find my clit ... there .. UMPH!!" That last sound was caused by the arrival of a totally unexpected orgasm, one which made my back do a reverse arch and made me hunch down on his fingers, driving one of them all the way to the second knuckle, to my great delight! For a few moments, as his finger rested (mostly) quietly within my most intimate portal, all I could do was hold tightly to Eddie's shoulders and let my climax run its course through my rapidly-vibrating body, then -- following my instincts rather than planning my move (I can be a calculating bitch when it comes to coming!) -- I almost literally threw myself on Eddie, straddling his legs with mine and, throwing my arms around his neck, planting my lips on his for a long, tongue-filled and utterly wonderful kiss. The kiss was marvelous . . and was considerably enhanced by Eddie' s hands roaming my body, totally oblivious to Tim 's presence. (I should explain something here that, perhaps, will help you understand both me and the relationship between Tim and myself: I am NEVER unaware of my husband's presence. Although I could enjoy sex just with my partner of the moment, whoever he -- or she -- might be, I find having Tim in the same room with me, even if he's busy fucking the brains out of some other girl over in the far corner, amplifies my sexual response. The knowledge that, at any time, he can look over and see me at my sluttish best and hear me having one of my loud, frequent orgasms, makes the physical experience AT LEAST twice-as-good, if not more than that. As I wrote him once, "I think that having sex without you around to enjoy it with me would be like eating steak . . with no salt or pepper." I'm delighted say he pretty much feels the same way, the only exceptions being when he's out-of-town on a trip without me and has a chance to tumble someone new. At that, he always tells me about it, in intimate detail, the first chance he has). Anyway, I was aware -- keenly aware -- of Tim 's silent presence but, understandably, my concentration was on our friend as we came up for air, caught our breath, with me saying, "Eddie, you can help us with a lot of 'firsts' tonight, if you're willing." Silent questioning as his hands caressed my diminutive -- but very, VERY sensitive -- tits. "You can be the first person to see our bedroom; it's quite nice, albeit a bit crowded. You can be part of my very first threesome (fudging a little on Millie, I suppose) . . which means you'll also be the first man to eat me, fuck me and be sucked by me while Tim enjoys the sight -- AND the otherwise-unoccupied openings in my horny little body. "I want to, and I'm ready to do anything necessary to make you feel good . . but are YOU game?" In his first real flash of humor since my disrobing had started, Eddie thought for a second before saying, "I think only a corpse could say 'no' to you. I'm .. flattered .. you want me." "Yes, we do, Eddie," I told him, "BOTH of us selected you . . and WANT you . . to join us.' ' That last was a deliberate piece of double entendre. Thanks to an ex-girlfriend of Tim 's who'd once spent the night with Eddie, Tim and I knew Eddie had some bisexual tendencies .. but he didn't know we knew and, sneaky little bitch that I can be sometimes, I threw that out and then deliberately left him wondering exactly how I'd meant it. He'd find out soon enough, if I had my way about it. I didn't give him much chance to think about it, though: instead, I dropped my lips to his once more and tongue-fucked his mouth with great enthusiasm, amply returned. When that marvelous kiss ended, I think I shocked hell out of all of us by declaring (My God, I'm dangerous with wine in me!), "I want so much come on me and in me that I'll have to hold on to the headboard to keep from sliding off the bed!" That, while embarrassing me, also broke both my lovers up and lightened the atmosphere in the room so, at least, it did serve a useful purpose. Blushing at my Freudian Slip, I still had enough sense to take advantage of the slight shift in mood by sliding off Eddie's lap (and almost falling on my naked ass, having forgotten my extreme footwear) and moving around to my original chair. Tim and Eddie looked a bit puzzled, but I finished the last sip of my wine before removing the suspense .. by spreading one hose-covered leg up-and-over the arm of my chair and sliding one finger into my slit to lightly diddle my dew-covered clit (that would make a good poem, now that I think of it) and said, "Guys, as you can see, I have nothing to hide from you. I think it's time you returned the favor. I'd like both of you to stand up and peel down to nothing but your jewelry . . and then we'll go in the bedroom and have an evening that none of us will ever forget!" I kept rubbing -- marvelously! -- my "little-boy-in-the-boat" as I watched Eddie look at Tim for guidance and saw Tim smile -- his beautiful smile, so full of approval! -- in return before getting up and kicking off his shoes while unbuttoning his shirt. After a moment's pause, Eddie got up, too, if somewhat slower than had my husband, and began disrobing. How wonderful, how fun! Acutely (and enjoyably) aware of my own nude, lewd exposure, my pussy throbbed even harder as those two lovely men quickly revealed their bodies to me, Eddie's very long cock springing from his briefs in full erection . . . and then there they stood, full-front to me, Tim 's hands casually on his hips . . and Eddie looking like he didn't quite know what to do with his. I quivered in anticipation . . and, yet, was a little hesitant to do anything next --until Tim said gently, "It's your party, darling." I was just at the point where about three more probes of my pudenda would put me over the edge, but I sensed it wasn't time for that yet. Instead, I dropped my foot to the floor and said, "Would you two lovely men come over here, right in front of me?" Moving around opposite sides of the coffeetable, they walked -- their cocks swaying -- to a point directly before me. I sat up, telling them, "Closer . . that's it. Put your arms around each other's waists. Yes!" If ever a girl gazed at a feast . . .! Almost reverently, my hands reached out to stroke the two marvelous organs right in front of my eyes. For a few minutes, I lost myself in their silky hardness, the heat from them, the infinite promise of pleasure they contained within themselves. Finally, my hand slid off of Tim 's cock, down to the warm, pleasing sack of his balls while, at the same time, I leaned forward to slide my hot, hungry lips over the head of his cock, very much aware not only of Eddie's stiff shaft in my other hand, but even MORE aware of his staring down at my shameless sucking. Oh, God!, how I reveled at the taste of Tim 's cock, my tongue outlining its thrilling shape while my lips sucked on it. After my husband's first hiss of pleasure, I heard his voice say quietly, "There's another first you've given her, Eddie: you're the first man to ever watch her give head to me . . . and, unless I miss my guess, in just a few seconds, you're going to be the first man to ever get sucked by her while I watch." Well, I certainly would never want to be accused of making a liar out of my husband so, as he said those last words, I simultaneously re-grasped his shaft in my hand while my other hand lovingly captured Eddie's balls and, with no hesitation, I lowered my mouth onto our friend's cock. Years before, Tim had taught me the meaning of the phrase he used in his writings, “beautifully obscene.” If anything in the world is the key to the things I do and the way I do them, it's that phrase. As I sucked our chum's long, thin cock between my rosy lips, I was well aware of how abandoned and lewd I looked, especially to my husband. I mean . .. sweet, innocent-looking me playing with the balls and sucking the cock of another man, hungrily slurping his stick and marveling at the different feel and taste of it, while my husband, my life-mate, watches my lewd, abandoned cock-sucking . . . . I knew he was enjoying the sight as much as I was enjoying the taste and feel of my very first party-suck. My cunt felt like it was squishing as I finally released Eddie from my mouth and, retaining my grip on the organs of both of them, I stood up, massaging away at those two hot tubes as I raised my face first to Eddie for a kiss, then to my husband for the same. In this case, a lot of tongue-travel punctuated the marvelous meeting of our mouths. I was probably breathing the heaviest of the three of us (shameless, horny wench that I am) when I finally broke contact with both my lovers and said, in shaky voice, "Gentlemen . . I'm ready to go to the bedroom and get my brains balled out. If there are any volunteers for that project, follow me." With that, I turned from the two of them and headed for the bedroom, very much aware of the way my kinky footwear accentuated the rolling motion of my alabaster ass -- and with no doubt in my mind that they were right behind me. * * * I should tell you about our bedroom (we'll be spending a lot of time in there). It's not as large as we'd like, but we make the most of it. The centerpiece of the room is a queen-size bed with four large pillows on it. On the wall, just above the headboard, is a large frame about the width of the bed; this frame contains a mirror. If this frame were flat against the wall -- as it is when Tim 's kids or our parents come to visit -- it goes almost to the ceiling. In its "normal" position, however, it leans out from the wall at almost a 45° angle and is the next-best-thing to having a mirror in the ceiling -- especially when you consider that the wall opposite the foot of the bed is almost ALL mirror so that, laying on your back on the bed, looking up you not only see yourself full-length, full-front, but you also see your crotch reflected in the other mirror through the one overhead. With no shame whatsoever, I tell you that I spend several hours a week getting my rocks off in those mirrors: I am a narcissus and, fortunately, I have a husband who encourages that tendency, not resents it. Anyway . . . the other walls of the room have framed photos on them. Some are of me, some of Tim , some of both of us. At this point in time, there were some of Millie, too and, since then, we've added shots of other playmates (including Eddie). What they have in common is that they're all 8 x 10's, all in color, they all have one or the other or both of us in them -- and they're all 100% pornographic! Not that Eddie, at that point, could really notice the photos. For one thing, my neat little body, in real life, had him thoroughly distracted; for another, four red light bulbs at strategic points in the room provided the only illumination, lighting the room well but, when Tim closed the door to the livingroom, giving our lovenest a completely surreal effect, the focus of which is the bed . . . . . Which, without doffing a single item of what little I was wearing, I plunked myself onto, wriggling to the middle and, getting onto my back and spreading my legs while propping my shoulders up on a couple of the pillows. I looked at my companions, who themselves were drinking in the sight, heard my husband ask, "Eddie, have you ever done a threesome before?" He got a negative answer. "The rules are very simple. You take your time. You change positions or activities when the mood strikes you. You give pleasure to whatever's handy that'll serve the purpose. While you don't neglect your own pleasure, in a 2-guy 1-gal situation, you carry in mind that the ultimate point is to thrill the lady. "Above all, Eddie, don't worry about offending either of us: it would be impossible for you to do that. You're helping us bring to life a fantasy we've had for years." My fingers lightly stroked my tits and cunt as I got hotter-and-hotter, looking and listening while my husband concluded, "Just relax and enjoy yourself; follow Jill's lead, concentrate primarily on making her feel good and I guarantee you we'll reciprocate in kind, won't we, darling?" "Um-hm," I said, languidly, adding, "You make us feel good, Eddie, and we'll make YOU feel good. Right now, though, wanton little bitch that I am, I need something on-or-in my juicy little cunt, and I want to feel and kiss those beautiful bodies. Please, join me.” Tim confidently, Eddie a little more hesitant, my lovers approached the bed, one on each side. As soon as they laid down next to me, Tim gave me a very quick kiss, then lowered his mouth to one of my super-sensitive nipples to begin exquisitely sucking and tonguing it. Meanwhile, I reached up and pulled our lanky chum's furry face down to mine and tongue-fucked his mouth. After a few second's worth of reticence, he groaned softly and then REALLY started giving it back to me! Thereupon . . . beginning with Tim sliding down between my legs and shooting his tongue up my love-tunnel . . came Heaven . . an impression reinforced by all three of us, at various times, loudly invoking the Deity and His Son. * * * Lust, combined with the nether-world lighting of the room, makes that entire gloriously wonderful experience almost dream-like in my memory, and definitely makes it difficult -- impossible -- for me to remember who did exactly what, when and how (and, in a couple of cases, to whom), but various scenes stick in my mind: Me on top of Eddie. First, I straddled his bearded face for a tongue-fucking before sliding down his wiry body to sink my pussy all the way down on his wonderfully long cock, fucking him while Tim played with and sucked on my tits, even fondling my ass and kissing me while I screwed Eddie . . and came. Sixty-nining my so-understanding husband, enjoying his tongue in my pussy, his cock in my mouth . . . and Eddie's hands rubbing my back . . and my rock-hard nipples. Then I did the same with Eddie -- with the added touch of Tim sliding one finger gently into my asshole and manually butt-fucking his horny wife while she was getting her pussy eaten . . and her rocks off. I'm especially fond of one period where I'd laid down between Eddie's long legs to suck his cock. After watching for a few minutes, Tim moved by me to begin caressing my quivering-with-delight body. With a sneaky hand motion, I indicated that I wanted him to lay next to me and, as soon as he did, I reached up to take his head and bring it down next to mine. While my other hand continued to milk Eddie's shaft, I gave Tim a long, hard kiss . . then my hand slowly pressed his face toward our friend's stiff dick. A slight hesitation . . and then Tim opened his lips and began sucking Eddie, to my utter delight and excitement! Talk about obscene . .?!!? Watching my loving husband, the man I adore, sucking a cock that's been in me and will be again has to be one of the most thrilling things I've ever seen in my life!! For awhile, thereafter, we BOTH gave Eddie head, sometimes one of us licking or sucking his balls while the other gobbled his joint, then switching places; other times, our mouths on opposite sides of that erect, lengthy masterpiece, both sets of lips and tongues busy. Somewhere in there, we heard Eddie mutter, "Oh, shit!" and felt his hips REALLY start to move. I looked questioningly at Tim , who nodded and relinquished his place on Eddie's trembling cock, caressing my body and giving a lick to our friend's balls as Eddie gave a tremendous whoop of delight . . and then my open mouth was wonderfully assaulted by Eddie's come spurting into it. This is something I always love, but to have my husband, up close, watch me take another man's load down my throat for the first time . . . well, I'll never forget the warm love and utter delight I felt -- and I'll always be grateful for the loving kiss Tim gave my come-smeared lips when Eddie had finished unloading into me. * * * That didn't end the party, incidentally. During one of our occasional rest breaks (necessary during any kind of sexual encounter if you intend making it last awhile), our conversation had revealed that, so far as a threesome goes, Tim and Eddie make a good combination: Tim only comes once, ordinarily, in the course of a tryst, but his is a monumental explosion, throwing out unbelievable quantities of his thick, hot creamy, delicious juices. Eddie, on the other hand, doesn't come much (but enough, mind you) in terms of ejaculate, but he's good for three or four orgasms in the course of the evening ("I have to be . . coaxed . . a little for that third or fourth one," he said; "Do I make a good COAX-sucker?" asked I with my most mock-ingenuous look) . That will explain how-and-why we three spent the better part of two hours pleasing each other's bodies -- Tim sucking our friend while I rode Eddie's face, Eddie and Tim taking turns fucking me in every conceivable position. At one point, I even convinced my two lovers to do a side-position 69 with each other for a few minutes. I can't count the number of times I screamed my pleasure when another climax hit me from fingers, tongues, lips and/or cocks (I DO know that, the next day, my titties were red and swollen, my jaws ached, my pussy was so sore that I felt like walking bowlegged .. and I was STILL ready for more!). It was Tim who signaled our finale, holding a whispered conversation with a seemingly-indefatigable Eddie, apparently asking a question, the answer to which was, "I'd love to!" and then my husband kissed me -- with lots of tongue -- while Eddie caressed my crotch, before Tim said, softly, "It's fantasy-fulfillment time again, darling. Get on your hands and knees long-ways on the bed." With those instructions, I knew what was going to happen and, in delight, I gave both of them a quick kiss before shamelessly hopping to the prescribed position . . . feeling almost embarrassed for a brief moment as I realized my cheerful lewdness. Here I was, open and exposed, dripping with excitement, submissively on my hands and knees, docilely waiting for twin penetrations of my sex-quivering -- and totally randy and ready -- body. I loved it! I glanced sideways to one of the mirrors and thought to myself, "On your hands and knees like that, you look so much like a REAL bitch-in-heat waiting to be topped that you ought to bark a few times just to complete the impression." I managed to restrain myself from breaking the sex-thick atmosphere in the room by doing so, although I do think I whined a bit as my big, shaggy stud -- Eddie --got on his knees between my legs and, taking my hips in his strong hands, slid his long joint straight into my cunt to begin slowly fucking me. Jill & Tim's Story Ch. 03 Oh, WOW! It felt so good that I met his long, deep thrusts with rythymic enthusiasm, banging my ass back into his groin as he repeatedly drove himself into me, each penetration making the head of his cock knock on the door to my womb (never had your cervix touched by a prick? You haven't lived!). As my back-door lover and I settled into a gentle, satisfying, coordinated motion, Tim -- my adorable husband! -- knelt before me, his knees spread wide, his cock stiff and directly before my mouth in an invitation I immediately R.S.V.P.'d, parting my lips and lowering my head to take its thick, satisfying length in where I could worship it with my tongue. Tim and I have identical -- for all practical purposes -- tastes in sex (and most other things, for that matter) and, among these, is an enjoyment of verbalized obscenities, both for purposes of fanaticizing and as an amplification of our lewd activities. That being the case, when Tim -- in between his moans and hisses of pleasure over what my mouth was doing to his cock -- started talking over my bobbing head and rutting body to Eddie, I knew it was as much for my benefit as for either of them. "Isn't she a delightful fuck, Eddie?" I heard him half-whisper. "She's the greatest, most enthusiastic and skilled piece of ass I've ever known. Her mouth is so hot and so busy that it's not going to be too long before I come, Eddie, I'm just going to blast my load right down her throat. I'm going to try to wait for you, but I'm not sure I can. But that's alright because, if I come before you, when she tastes my juices, it's going to make HER come and, the way her pussy clenches when she orgasms, I'm pretty sure it'll trigger off your load and you'll be right behind me in filling her up at both ends." Our lanky friend was silent through this . . except for a great deal of heavy breathing, along with assorted moans and groans as his ass-banging tempo, to my great delight, speeded up. The lack of verbal response didn't bother my darling at all (it never does), he just chugged right on, his cock trembling (its echoes in his now-shaky voice). "Eddie," he said, "my little darling and I have another secret to share with you. We like being photographed doing things like this as much as we like photographing each other. Before you leave tonight -- or the next time you visit us -- you're free to look at those photos, too ..." interruption for a set of groans from all three of us for reasons so obvious that I won't elaborate "... but what we'd really like to do is, in a few days, have you come over again, and we'll re-create every little thing we've done to my darling Jill . . . only we'd like to have another friend over, a lady, to take pictures of it for our memory book." There was silence from our friend . . . other than his explosive grunts as he banged harder and harder into my ass, each plunge driving me closer to that wonderful edge, and making me re-double my sucking of my husband's delicious cock. "Would you be willing to do that for us, Eddie? I'd enjoy it . . and my shameless, adorable little wife would enjoy it even more. Who knows? You might even get to fuck our ladyfriend, too. "Think about it, Eddie: TWO hot, passionate pussies in the same night . . and a chance to watch ME in action. Come on, whaddya say?" Silence, broken only by the formless sounds of three people rapidly reaching the point-of-no-return . . and then, almost explosively, Eddie said, "Shit! Why not! I'll do it!" "You won't regret it, Eddie. Now, fuck that hot little pussy your cock's in and load her up with juice because I . . . I think I'm . . oh, darling! . . suck me . . I ..” and, with a scream, Tim began coming, an almost unbelievable amount of tasty juice shooting out of his stick. Fortunately, practice (a LOT of it, I'm happy to say) has taught me how to handle it and I'm pleased to report that I didn't lose a drop, frequently sucking and swallowing . . as Tim 's cries and my almost hysterical motions suddenly snapped Eddie into frenetic, broken-tempo thrusts that triggered my own climax and, in turn, gave his prick the final clench it needed to get him to fire off into my pussy. For almost a minute, three sweating bodies shuddered hysterically, loud gasps, groans, strangled screams bounced off the walls of our bedroom as our menage-a-trois went -- literally -- fucking crazy! It was one of the most delightful, wonderful, fulfilling moments of my life. It was an experience I recommend to EVERY woman, at least once. Shameless hussy that I am, I indulge in it every chance I get. * * * We did, indeed, re-create all the high points of that excursion about a week later, Millie not only doing the camera chores (and wearing a garterbelt, hose and heels I talked her into), but finally threw inhibitions to the wind and got in on the action herself. There are several shots from that session on our bedroom wall. The set I like best, I think, has two shots in one frame showing, first, Eddie laying on his back, Millie kneeling on his face, me on his cock, the two of us facing each other and stroking each other's tits; the second is Tim on his back, Millie and mine's locations reversed .. and I'm leaning forward sucking one of her big tits. The third shot shows me on my hands and knees, Eddie in my cunt, Tim in my mouth, the shot taken as the three of us were VERY obviously coming. There are two more, also in the same frame: one shows Eddie on his back, Tim on his side between Eddie's legs, sucking Eddie's shaft while stroking his own, we sitting at Eddie's side, stroking my husband's neck while I watch him giving head to our friend. The other is Millie sitting on the edge of the bed, her hose-clad legs spread. Eddie is standing to one side of her and her head is turned so she can play with his balls and suck his cock. As for me, I'm kneeling between her legs, my face -- for the very first time -- buried in a pussy, hungrily lapping away at her clit, discovering for myself why my darling Tim loves "giving face." Ours was a 'photo finish," in the best sense of the 'word -- and the REAL beginning of our adventures. Fantasy can, indeed, become an even better reality! As for menage-a-trois .... Well, Three Is Whee! with Me!! -0- IN THE BEGINNING - III Jill I tempted Tim . One part of my mind did it very innocently, supposedly not aware of the maddening effect what I wore could have on Tim 's libido, justifying what I had on as being because "he was curious to see it." The other part of my mind occasionally broke through to make me realize that I was deliberately placing temptation in Tim 's path, hoping he'd give in to it and, thus, remove the onus of initiative (seduction?) from me. Things progressed as rapidly in the physical realm as they did in the verbal. All it took was the slightest hint from Tim and I "innocently" moved to comply, with results that even I, with my wealth of inexperience, could have predicted, had I been completely candid with myself. First, I knew he loved my legs, so I was always in a super-short skirt (of which, even then, I had plenty) and heels, and I reveled in the looks he gave me and the way his fingers moved up and down my hose-clad legs as we spoke and kissed. (God!, how I love his hands, both in the feeling and even in just the watching, then and now!). His casual mention that he'd love to see me in my leotard, but with sheer-to-the-waist pantyhose instead of tights, caused me to un(consciously)thinkingly be wearing them the next day after he voiced his request. The get-up, complete with an even shorter, wraparound skirt than those I habitually wore, got an enthusiastic response from Tim , who held me even tighter than usual when we "hello-kissed;" for the first time, his strong-but-gentle hands slid down my back to grasp the globes of my bottom and squeeze them as our tongues met. And, when he'd sat down on the touch, I blushingly “had” to remove the skirt so he could see his "dream come true" (that's what he called it). Still, with panties, pantyhose, bra and Leotard on, I figured I was pretty safe when Tim suggested we both lay down on the couch, face-to-face, to "..talk more comfortably." I had been, by that time, laying for almost an hour with my shoulders propped up on his thighs as he sat, his hands caressing me (!). I knew I was excited and, in the position he suggested, I figured he'd probably get that way, too .. but I did it anyway and, frankly, was prepared for his hand when it slowly drifted up my leg to the cloth-buried hump of my crotch to begin rubbing me there. But I WASN'T prepared for me opening to him, and riding his finger to a small, delightful climax! Naturally, having once allowed him to do that, it was pointless to tell him not to touch me there again. That would've been teasing and hypocritical, right? Part of me watched, in cynical amazement, the next step. See, Tim called me every morning during this halcyon period to check our schedule for the day (that's right. for a brief, glorious time, EVERY weekday!). I dressed, if at all, very casually around the house when alone, and Tim got into the habit of asking what "..the Phantom Housewife's Secret Costume .." was each morning. A couple of days after the leotard incident (INCIDENT? My God, a major turning point in my life!), I told him, in truth, that all I was wearing at the moment was a pair of skimpy bikini bathing suit bottoms that had really gotten too small for me (about five years previously), and an old black T-shirt so shrunken that it left my midriff bare. Well, Tim expressed, in his own flatteringly inimitable way, an interest in seeing me in that get-up. While I demurred on the phone, as I waited for him, I figured why not let him have a look and then I could go change into something more appropriate. One part of my mind, again, figured that move as innocent, while the other part said, "Okay, kid, go ahead and do it ... but it's going to be like waving a red flag at him!" That being the case, I can't sit here and lie to you and try to convince you that I didn't have any idea how Tim was going to react to my ensemble -- but neither part of me was prepared for the INTENSITY of his reaction! No sooner had I gotten the door locked behind him than we began kissing, passionate, loving .. and, in Tim 's case, for lack of a better word, Worshipfully. I could feel both passion AND love rolling off of him like a waterfall off a clifftop. That's not all I was feeling, either. Those hands of his, those wonderful, soft, irresistible hands, began exploring me, tentatively at first but then, when they encountered no resistance, they began touching me in places only Frank had ever touched me in before. Tim 's fingers slipped beneath the low-slung waistband of my abbreviated bikinis to grasp my globes, to tease the cleft .. his fingers moved up my sides, beneath my thin shirt, to toy with my breasts, to caress my nipples .... and all I could do was stand there and enjoy every moment of it! Slowly, Tim dropped to his knees and began kissing my stomach as his hands continued caressing my bottom, his mouth -- when it wasn't planting kisses on my tummy -- was murmuring, in passion-laden tones, "Oh, Jill .. My God, you're beautiful. Thank you, darling .. God, how I want you!" I was fast losing what little control I had: all I could do was caress his head, myself murmuring, “ Tim .. oh, TIM!" while I looked down at him. I had never had a man kneel to me before, and the way Tim did it made it crystal clear that he'd done it not just for easy access to my body, but also as a symbolic gesture that needed no explanation. I was sure I didn't warrant such adoration. I was also sure that I was about to lose control of both myself and the situation so, finally, with my very last ounce of self-restraint, I slid down to my knees, too, facing Tim , and we kissed again. We both knew I wasn't ready .. quite. Kneeling on a hard floor isn't conducive to prolonging whatever activity you're kneeling for so, soon, we moved to the couch. I knew damn well I should immediately go change clothes --which usually meant panties and pantyhose and a measure of safety --- and said so, but Tim easily (blush) persuaded me to delay that move. So, to the livingroom couch, to kiss, to talk, to touch. . . My body was roaring at me and Tim was being very persistent in his caresses .. and I was very, very scared. Don't misunderstand: I knew I could stop Tim any time I chose (at least, I'm PRETTY sure I could have), but I was scared because I didn’t want to stop him except I DID want to stop him (only serious students of feminine psychology will follow that). Finally, around one of our kisses, I almost frantically murmured, “.. I've GOT to get dressed!" Tim correctly read the panic in my voice and broke our kiss to say, "All right, but I'm going to .. help a little." Saying that, he quickly got up, took my hand and led me into my bedroom. As soon as we got there, it was like a repeat of the front door scene -- the kisses, our bodies pressed together, his hands moving over me, his tongue (!) on one of my briefly exposed (and aching!) nipples, him sliding to his knees before me .. only, this time, he looked up into my eyes and whispered, "I get to remove these for you, because I just HAVE to see you!" I didn't say no. In fact, I didn't say anything, although I could feel my jaw working frantically, but silently. I watched as Tim 's fingers grasped the waistband of my bikinis and slid them down my legs. I was so stunned and embarrassed that I could not, of my own volition, raise my feet, so Tim had to use his hands to raise each of my feet to get the bottoms off. And then he stared straight, eye-level, at my hairy triangle with its kinky ringlets and softly, but intensely, whispered, "My God! ... Beautiful, absolutely beautiful!," then leaned forward to plan a tender, loving kiss right at the top of my hairline. My body betrayed me! One of Tim 's fingers, as he kissed the rising curve of my tummy, slid quickly through my outer lips, and the vast quantity of fluids there confirmed to him my excitement. Worse, my body wanted to spread itself and let him kiss me between those lips, something he'd unabashedly expressed a deep desire to do. My mind was afraid, but my body wouldn't obey my persistent orders to break way, run to the bathroom and hide! But I managed to stop him with a pleading, " Tim .. please?" His look up into my contorted face told him all that, I guess, because he DID stop, to stand up and kiss me again, a frantic, wanting kiss on both our parts, our tongues saying things our minds couldn't verbalize. At last, Tim started to break away but, in doing so, he looked into my eyes, stared for a second, then softly said, "I can’t leave you like this ... it isn't fair." Before I could even think of questioning that cryptic comment, his hands moved me to the bed, pressed me back down on it and he lay down beside me, his hand going between my thighs. I didn't -- couldn't -- resist. Oh, my God, how GOOD his fingers felt! They slid through my slit, then settled on my clitty and the tender nerves around it, deftly pressing, rolling, vibrating .. thrilling! My naked hips rolled in response as our tongues and mouths locked together, but my legs (to my secret amazement/almost-shame) stayed wide apart so as not to impede his probing. It was so GOOD! And then it got even better! I almost screamed in joy as one of his fingers slid into my vagina, stretching it, rubbing the inner walls, while another, doubled finger still managed to hit my clit! I went crazy, moaning, throwing my love-hump unashamedly up to meet his constantly re-entering finger ... faster ... ever faster ... "Oh..oh .. Tim! .. Oh .. OOH ... OOHHH .. oh MY GOD!!!" I screamed as I came and came in one of the most beautiful climaxes I've ever had in my life, my knees splayed outward and my tender lovenest rejoicing! ***** A few minutes later, as I neared recovery, Tim -- in obvious-but-controlled (and almost melancholy) excitement -- kissed me again on the mouth, planted one more quick kiss at the top of my exposed triangle, and said, "You .. you'd better get dressed now .. before this goes any farther." Then he got up and left the room, and I did as he'd told me, with a vague feeling of regret ... but a great deal of satisfaction .. and a world of love! ***** My subconscious mind, tired of watching the "surface me" messing around and wasting precious time(summer was almost over and it would soon be time to get ready for classes again; circumstances being what they were, that was going to eliminate any physical fun and games for the foreseeable future) took over. I let my conscious mind play its silly, self-deceiving games while, simultaneously, setting the stage for the next step in our physical relationship. -0- RANDOM SHOTS Three couples sit in the darkened roam as the film projector starts whirring, and numbers flash on the screen, to be replaced by a close-up of what, after a moment, everyone realizes is Jill's face. The reason it's difficult recognizing her for a moment is because she's wearing her glasses, but absolutely no makeup, and her pale, lovely face is surrounded by .. something strange. She’s looking upward, a pleading look and hesitantly moving lips making it clear she's asking someone for something. The camera pulls back slowly; it's only when it does that the audience realizes that Jill is wearing a classic nun's outfit; that weird item framing her face a wimple, the starched headcovering that conceals all of the head and neck except the face. She seems to be praying. The camera angle reverses and we see our 'nun" from the back and soon confirms our guess that the uniform she’s wearing is, indeed, the fully traditional, floor-length one. We can see, as the camera slowly zooms back, that she's in a small, spartan room, just a chair (that she’s using to rest her elbows on), a small crucifix on the wall, a metal bunk against the wall to the right. Suddenly, both the picture and Jill jump as, seemingly by magic, three gold-foil-wrapped packages miraculously appear on the foot of the bunk. Thanks to a judicious piece of lighting, the packages seen to glow in the otherwise-drab room. Apparently, a noise accompanies their appearance, because Jill 's head swivels towards them . . and a look of surprise and some fear crosses her face. Nonetheless, she gets up and, carefully, approaches the pile of packages, sitting down next to them on the bed before reaching over to hesitantly pick up the closest one and tremblingly remove the wrappings. She peers inside the box before reaching in and picking out a mirror and same assorted makeup. A quick glance toward the wall with the crucifix and, hesitantly at first, then with growing confidence, she begins making up her face, changes of camera angles allowing her to get rid of the glasses and put in her contact lens, not to mention accelerating the process of seeing her transform her face into the face of the Jill that all of us in the roam know and love (as often as possible, which is often, indeed!). Package Two -- after Jill has admired her face in the hand mirror with obvious approval -- presents to her a pair of 4-inch high heels. We watch her take off her black "sensible” oxfords and replace them with the pretty heels, then get up to try, unsteadily, to walk the length of the room and back, at last sitting down to open the final package. Inside of it . . . a large, black vibrator with a gold stripe and base, an exciting machine that Jill strokes in what seems like awe -- suddenly stopping, looking questioningly up at the crucifix for a moment before, obviously reaching a decision, she brushes the rest of the wrappings onto the floor, laying back on the bed with her heel-shod feet toward the wall with the cross on it. Jill & Tim's Story Ch. 04 IV Tim My Darling Jill: There's a place in San Francisco, Part of it is a theatre, the other part is a theatre, too ... but a most unusual one … … a large, round room. In the center of it is a large, round, fur-covered bed. Motorized, the bed turns slowly -- say, a complete revolution every two minutes-or-so, when it's turned on. Why? Because the outside wall of the room, except on one end, is made of booths. Each booth has a one-way mirror allowing whoever's in the booth to see into the room without, themselves, being seen. Hanging over the bed is a sensitive microphone, so that those in the booths can hear what's going on in the room by way of speakers in their booth. The system also allows someone offstage to talk to the audience. This audience is frequently co-ed; the management encourages couples to share a booth and, with locks on the insides of the booth doors, a certain number of brave ladies -- and a lot of horny men -- inhabit the cubicles. The usual fare is two young girls wearing only heels and smiles, who have a simulated, lighthearted girl/girl encounter for the pleasure of their hidden audience. That audience, on this particular night, has no reason to suspect that this performance will be different .. but it will be -- and memorably so, especially for us! * * * The regular show runs its course. At its conclusion, a strange voice -- mine -- fills the booths as the two girls go offstage for a moment before, still naked except for their shoes, they return, leading you. Other than your high spike heels and your seamed hose, you’re dressed rather demurely: modest dress with a knee-length hem. You, in fact, look quite suburban housewife/innocent. You continue looking so as one of the girls leads you around the perimeter of the room, close to the one-way windows, so everyone can get a good look at you (a nice leg show, since the floor of the room is a couple of feet above the floor of the booths), while the other girl disappears for a few minutes. All eyes are on you, so no one really notices her returning with a towel full of unseen articles, which she places, still covered, next to the pillow on the bed, before she, too, stands next to you again as you complete your introductory circuit of the room. As you stand there, you hear my voice.... "Ladies and gentlemen ... a bonus performance. What you are about to see, the woman you are looking at, has never before been seen in San Francisco and, except for this one appearance, will never be seen here in this way again. “This woman is not a paid entertainer: she's not getting a penny for appearing here tonight or for doing what she's about to do. She is a housewife, an author, a teacher with an advanced degree. "She is also my wife, and I am as proud of her as she is of herself, which is why we both want to show her off to you." The two girls have led you to the far end of the room, by the entrance, so that all the cubicles -- including the one on the side opposite the door, in which we have our TV camera mounted on a tripod, saving this event for us to savor at our leisure -- have a clear view of the girls unzipping your rather virginal dress and removing it from your body, revealing you in a mini-slip, still demure except for the fact that it comes to just halfway down your magnificent thighs which, of course, are set in the sheer, seamed hose and perched atop your stiletto heels. “For all her innocent looks and the fact that she's highly respected in her profession, my wife is a delightfully horny wench ... and a rampant exhibitionist, to boot. She never gets enough of men and women admiring her body and the things it can do." The girls grasp the hem of the slip and pull it upward. Do you just imagine the pleased gasp from the booths when they see what you’re wearing, or did it really happen? You're in a sexy, lacy, garterbelt and a matching demi-bra, your now-naked nipples rouged darkly for prominence. They're very stiff and sensitive: you can feel the air-conditioned breeze in the room brushing across them, making them even pointier. You're also wearing a pair of satin bikini panties -- really nothing more than abbreviated front and back panels held together by two thin strips of elastic, not quite enough to contain all the hair creeping around their edges -- but you’re not wearing them for long, as your assistants take the elastic from each side to pull them down your gorgeous legs and off. "Several years ago,” I continue, as the girls together once more lead you on a close-up circuit of the mirrors and the anonymous audience behind them, "I sat where you sit now and watched the show. I told my wife about it and, even though we live a long way from here, we vowed that, someday, we'd find a way to get here together and arrange for her to do what you're about to see her do.” You've stopped at one of the windows -- one picked at random, with no idea of who's behind it, man, woman or couples .. or anyone -- and, just inches away from the glass, face the window directly, spreading your legs and reaching down with your fingers to spread the lips of your cunt apart. With the stage a bit above floor level, if anyone is in there, they're looking up into your wet and welcoming vagina. You imagine that, inside, there's a guy who, with that view, can no longer resist pulling his cock out of his pants and stroking himself. You smile at the thought, then let the naked girls finish leading you around the room .. and then over to the fur-covered bed. They help you up on it, making sure your magnificent legs (their soft hands seeming to deliberately caress the bare skin of your thighs) are spread and that your head and shoulders are propped up on a pillow so that those who can see your totally revealed body can also see your lovely face .. which means everyone since, even though it’s a high floor, it's a very low bed. One of the girls pulls the towel of articles down by your hip, within easy reach; the other kneels on the bed by your side -- her bare ass and cunt impudently facing one whole wall of anonymous mirrors -- and kisses you, long and deep, one of her hands lightly caressing one of your naked breasts as, faintly, you hear my voice telling your audience, “You’re about to watch a woman do in reality what she's fantasized about for years. She and I hope you enjoy it half as much as we're about to." The girl breaks the kiss and whispers, very sincerely, "Enjoy yourself!” before getting off the bed and joining her companion as they both go offstage, closing the door behind them -- but, having done that, they turn to watch you (as do I) through the one-way mirror in the door. The bed begins to turn, soft music to play faintly in the background. Your dainty hands come up to begin stroking your sensitive breasts as you watch your naked cunt and hose-encased legs reflect back at you from the mirrors/windows while the bed rotates. You wonder if everyone can tell how soaking wet and fragrant your pussy is. And you wonder what kind of people are watching you. As one of your hands trails down your mostly-naked body to insinuate its fingers brazenly in your luxuriant bush, your puckish sense of humor brings a smile to your face as your mind begins populating the cubicles with people you know: the 14-year-old boy who delivers our paper, your principal and his ultra-straight and stringy-built wife, an ex-priest we once knew well (you're positive he'd both approve of and enjoy your display) .. me in the next booth humping his cute, pudgy blonde wife from the back while we both watch you .. your ex-husband, regretting the loss of that which he’d never really appreciated ... Both your hands, you discover with some surprise, are busy in your bush now as you continue populating the cubicles from the storehouse of your mind. There's the young Cuban man and his adorable sister that you and I have, respectively, both lusted after for years, since they were teenagers. In your mind, he's stroking her diminutive breasts while she squeezes his cock, warming him up for you, him warming her up for me . . . You pull your knees up. While your spike heels are still on the bed, your beautiful legs are now spread to their fullest, your dainty asshole now as exposed to your audience as are your many fingers busy in your sopping-wet pussy. You can't wait -- you MUST have some relief, so two of your fingers slide into your vagina and begin stroking in and out, with one lone digit from your right hand mauling your clit. As you watch yourself reflected back from the windows, you also hear, amplified, your almost strangled moans echoing in the cubicles around you, relayed there by the microphone above the bed. Faster move your fingers .. louder your cries. Suddenly, a screaming gasp and your body arches, your ass levered completely off the bed as a beautiful orgasm hits you and, for several seconds, you hang suspended as its marvelous waves wash over you, your eyes -- seeing things only you can see -- open wide in delight. Finally, you slump, your fingers still in place, to rest a moment. As your senses return, you're ready for yet more. You pull your joined fingers from your cunt. Realizing how coated they are with your thick, delicious juices, you hold the hand up so your fingers can be seen, then slowly separate the two digits. As you suspected, your come is so viscous and abundant that a pearly strand of it stretches across from one to the other of your finger-"Y,” so you twist your upraised wrist, making sure everyone sees it, before slowly taking all of it into your mouth, not just sucking your own come but, for good measure, sticking your tongue out to hungrily lick your fingers. Now you're ready for Round 2, and you dip into the towel by your side, bringing forth a small, pink vibrator, the one-AA battery size. Your pink tongue comes out of your mouth again, this time to lasciviously lick the little mini-prick, coating it with your saliva, before you twist the gadget and start the motor, then hold the machine up towards the microphone so that its soft whirring can be heard by your avidly-interested (you're sure) audience. Down it slides over your clit and into your vagina. We all hear your pleased gasps while, for a couple of minutes, you stroke the small machine in and out of yourself .. and we watch in fascination as your lovely legs slowly come up, your heels leaving the bed, your thighs moving back toward you until their tops are resting against your pointy-nippled breasts. Now there's nothing to prevent us from watching your hands remove the vibrator from your cunt and slide it downward to the small, exposed rosette between the cheeks of your adorable ass. In something like awe, all of us hear your grunts of pleasure/pain as you begin coaxing the machine into your asshole a fraction-of-an-inch at a time, both your discomfort and your pleasure obvious to all of us. In a minute, it's in, only one small end sticking out to remind us of its presence. Slowly, you allow your legs -- still spread wide -- to lay back down flat on the bed (which continues to turn slowly). Your chest heaves in reaction as your hands cup your tits and once more plays with them and their stiff nipples for a couple of minutes before, again, you reach into the towel next to you. You’re positive you hear murmurs from your unseen audience as you draw forth one of your favorite dildoes, a large, ebony-black one with prominent ridges on it where warm, distended-with-lust veins would be if it were a real, rather than an artificial, cock. As the small vibrator continues whirring away in your bowels, you make love to the artificial phallus, your dainty hands stroking it in a way that makes the prick of every man watching twitch, before raising it to your mouth, licking it, then taking the beautiful head of it between your erotically-distended lips (in your mind, a delighted mental image of the cunts that dildo's been in: the pornographic sculpture in pliant rubber is a favorite of several your -- our -- girlfriends, too). There's not a man watching who doesn't wish that were HIS cock being sucked by you. As I unconsciously (and without any protest from the lady in question) play with the tits of one of the two girls who'd disrobed you earlier while all three of us watch, I realize that this is probably the most singularly obscene thing I've ever seen ANYONE do .. and revel in the fact, the warming knowledge, that you and I belong to each other. Quickly now, you remove the dildo from your mouth; one more kiss on its glistening head, and then you lower it to your snatch, two fingers parting the luxurious hair of your bush, revealing the shiny pink interior, the other hand planting the head of the huge fake organ right on your portal. Both your hands grasp the base of it now, fucking it into you by slow inches. The girl whose tits I've been unconsciously mauling leans back against me, gently takes my arm and pulls my hand down to her cunt. Nothing loathe, I wrap my other arm around her torso to recup her breasts, while the fingers of my other hand slide through her pussy hair to begin stroking her clit. The second girl takes no note of this: her eyes, like ours, is riveted to the sight of the last of the very large dildo disappearing into your moist, fragrant depths. The three of us watch in fascination, listen in growing excitement, as your joined hands begin sliding your toy in and out of you in a slowly increasing tempo, the full length of the phallus appearing, then disappearing, your moans getting rhythmically louder in time to the plunges, sounding just exactly as you sound when you're getting well-fucked ... which, in a sense, you are -- but you're doing it to yourself, able to guarantee that each stroke hits exactly those places you want to be touched by the ebony shaft and its oversize head. The girl on whom I'm performing my own intimacies murmurs, "My God, how does she take it? She's so small! I’ve had some big ones in me, but never anything like THAT!” I smile to myself, but my only outward response is to slid a finger into her vagina while squeezing one of her nipples between my fingers. She sighs softly, appreciatively, and opens her heel-shod legs a bit more as all of us watch you sink your toy, full length, into your snatch before closing your legs to hold it in place. Once more your hands cup your breasts, your strong-but-dainty fingers sliding over their smooth surfaces to softly torture your swollen nipples in unknowing imitation of what I'm doing to the girl behind our window (with the persistent stroking of my fingers in her snatch, her breath is becoming somewhat ragged. The other girl, I note, also has her eyes riveted on you .. and one of her hands is rubbing within her own luxuriant bush). What the Manager tells us later is 25 people, plus us, watch you dip a final time into the towel and bring forth another of your favorite toys: a slim, white vibrator, a full ten inches long, two large batteries in it giving it a powerful "kick." As you did with the now-buried dildo, you make oral love to the slim shaft enough to coat it amply with your saliva, then you flick the switch on the bottom and, this time, there's no need to hold the machine up towards the all-hearing microphones: we can hear the strong whir, and the girl whose pussy I'm fingering whispers a soft "Oh!” of anticipation as she watches you press the tip of the powerful toy into each of your pink nipples in turn --your delight, not to mention the butts of the vibrator and dildo already within you, obvious to all of us as your bed slowly turns -- before you quickly lick the end of the large shaft once more before lowering it to your lovely bush. In a peculiar, but strangely exciting move, the fingers of your left hand take a strong grip on a clump of your cunt hair and uses it to pull the well-swollen lips of your pussy open .. then you seem to pause for a second, as if gathering either your strength or your courage, before letting the end of the dynamo in your right hand drop onto the tender protuberance of your clit. As it makes contact, all of us watch your unseeing eyes widen and your throat issue a loud "OOOH!” .. before things start happening very quickly: your heels begin sliding upward toward your toy-punctuated ass, your legs open, your knees spread wide to lay on each side of you, your left hand placing fingers on the tip-ends of both the small vibrator and the dildo, not just to jiggle them for added sensations but also, I know, to keep your forthcoming inner erotic convulsions from forcing them out of your erotic portals like two rockets. You’re open wide to the gaze of all 28 people in your audience (plus our all-seeing video camera) -- and what a show you're giving them! As you force the inserted gadgets even tighter into place, your right hand presses the large vibrator into your super-sensitive clit, making the tender nub of your mini-prick flatten, making it party to every powerful sensation coming out of the white shaft's super-strong motor! The girl leaning against my front is unconsciously fucking my finger now, her partner unselfconsciously stroking her own cunt as the three of us watch your beautiful body go crazy and explode! You don’t just have a climax: you begin a string of monumental orgasms, one right after the other, your head snapping from side to side as your busy fingers probe your seizure-ridden snatch into one convulsion on top of another. Your child-like voice alternates between screams -- echoing screams of pleasure -- and (the actress in you aware of the needs of your audience even in the face of the physical sensations almost overwhelming you) disconnected pleas of "Oh, Tim .. Tim, darling, fuck me. Oh! I want to suck your cock! Oh, dearest, darling, lover, I want to eat your come. Oh...!” Finally, you can't form coherent words anymore. Your swollen cunt -- its juices smeared all over your lovely thighs -- still leaps upward to meet the motorized monster in your right hand and, even though you're still popping your cookies at a frantic pace, we can all feel -- hear -- you building to a crescendo. As I drive my fingers well up into the pussy at hand (and am rewarded by feeling her body starting to convulse in concert with yours), I see you make a minute adjustment in the angle of the large vibrator, the same change you made the night we took those beautiful photos of you jerking off: only the side of the barrel stays tightly against your throbbing clit. The end of it slides down to make contact with the bottom side of the dildo so that, suddenly, not only is your "little boy in the boat” getting its lascivious vibrations, but so is your womb, and the come-coated channel the pseudo-shaft is stretching to capacity. It's as if a bomb had gone off in your cunt, and all of us share in your explosion over what must be the next two minutes as you twist and scream and convulse, and your thrice-thrilled body bounces hysterically all over the still-rotating, fur-covered bed, there being no mistaking the rare monumentality of the ultimate orgasm to which we're all witness (as are you, surrounded as you are by what seem to be mirrors, another thrill for you). At last, you sprawl, exhausted, quivering, your arms at your sides, large vibrator still in hand, the smaller machine laying on the cover between your beautiful, widespread legs, your ass having forced it out just at the last moment of your climax. The girl in my arms -- as is the case with her masturbating chum -- is coming down off her own high, her explosion having occurred almost simultaneously with yours. All of us watch in reverent silence as you slowly come back to earth, your little moans and cries calming bit by bit. Instinctively, we all know the scene is incomplete, and we wait patiently for you to regain your senses. Jill & Tim's Story Ch. 04 When that moment comes, only the subtlest of changes comes over your beautiful face, but I know you're once more aware of your surroundings, and I give one more stroke to my temporary companion's full breasts as I watch you, first, turn off the vibrator in your hand, then reach down to slowly draw out the immense fake cock. Looking at the latter item admiringly as you hold its come-covered length over your face, we all hear you say, "Darling Tim ... as soon as we get back to your hotel, THIS is what's in store for you!” and you lower the phallus to your lips, your tongue quickly licking the juices from its sides before you take a remarkable amount of it within your mouth, the rhythmic hollowing of your cheeks making it obvious that you're sucking the gentle monster. I release my short-term playmate, pick up the microphone, and you hear me say, "Thank you, my dearest; I'll look forward to that .. and Jill and I would like to thank all of you who watched and helped my loved-and-loving wife and I bring a fantasy to life. We'll never forget it .. and we hope you won't, either." The lights fade on stage, the music gets louder..... * * * The management of that wonderfully strange upstairs theatre just a few blocks from Union Square will, understandably, deny that this ever took place, but there are those of us who know the Truth .. and then, of course, there is always The Videotape, a favorite with our friends. -0- IN THE BEGINNING – IV Tim You could logically ask why, with all this cooperation I was getting, I didn't just go ahead and fuck the daylights out of Jill; after all, I suspected -- and Jill, when I asked sometime later, confirmed -- that if I had pressed the issue, she'd have gone along with me. I didn't do it because I didn't want to. Now, don't get me wrong. On several levels, mental and physical, I couldn't imagine anything I wanted MORE than to feel my cock buried in Jill's marvelously elastic, snug snatch. In fact, that was the most frequent fantasy I had about her: her wearing her thigh-length hose and a pair of heels, me laying on my back, she on top of me, her beautiful hips moving up and down, moving me in and out of her marvelously wet and tight cunt. No, my restraints came from the emotional level, in two parts. First was the self-knowledge that I had this nasty habit of screwing a chick 2-or-3 times, then getting ... tired of her, for lack of a better way of putting it. So I didn't want this bit of psychological conditioning going automatically into play to make an already difficult situation even more so ... because I'd already determined something very important: never before in my life had I met a woman more in tune with me, in sex and out, and never again (I was sure) would she come my way. Although I couldn’t see any way out of our twin-marriage dilemma at that moment, I wasn’t about to let my own conditioning louse things up when-and-if that problem was finally resolved. I'm sorry if that seems somewhat obscure; perhaps you can understand my other reason better: when we fucked, I wanted it to mean something Special. Let's face it: in my lifetime, at that point, I'd dipped my wick into something like 50 or 60 females, some eminently forgettable, a few regrettable, and a small portion superb. If all I wanted was to get laid, I had THAT waiting for me at home! As I told Jill, "I'm not going to fuck you until I can give you a better guarantee on the permanence of our relationship. The day I sink my cock into you, I want it to be symbolic of something, the beginning of the rest of our lives together forever. Which is not to say that finger-fucking was the whole of our sex life with each other for the next year. Hardly. ***** Because of a nosy neighbor ("She's got five kids and I think she resents the fact that I don’t have any"), we tried to alternate our time between spending all of one day at Jill's, the next me picking her up either at her house or someplace else, then driving to a nice place where we could sit in the car, look out at the water, talk, and even allow me to stroke her marvelous legs and share an occasional kiss, although Our Spot was just a wee bit too public to do anything more. It was on one of our "travelling days" that I, quite unexpectedly, got another of my heart's desires. Jill met me at the door, locked it behind me as she always did, then turned for our long series of "Hello" kisses (this was a routine we always followed, regardless of what the Plan for the Day was). We never tired of this number: it was a constant re-discovering of our feelings for each other. When we finally separated -- me feeling a tingly undercurrent from her that I couldn't quite place -- she stepped away from me a couple of steps and said, with a nervous smile, “I wore something special for you today." And...? Fighting hard to keep the smile on her face, she said, "It ... it's your thigh-high hose and some .. red bikini panties .. with black lace.” The look she was giving me was the kind a gal gives a guy who might hit her at any moment. It didn't go away as I asked, even more nervously, "May .. I take a look?" She mulled that, still staring at me for a moment, before dropping her eyes and making merely the smallest, almost imperceptible nod. Very afraid that the slightest mis-step on my part might send her running, I took a step toward her, reached out gently to grasp her dress, and pulled it up to her delightfully broad hips. I gulped as the lewdness struck me full-force. Her underclothing was as advertised, but the description hadn’t gone far enough: it didn't, for instance, warn me about the startling effect such explicitly erotic garb would have when displayed against her innocent looks and diminutive body. Nor did she tell me how brief the panties were, or how little tendrils of her dark pubic hair were hanging out the legholes and over the top elastic of the tiny piece of cloth. I swallowed hard as I looked then, hands still in place, I pulled Jill to me and began kissing her again while my hands caressed her beautiful hips. She returned my kisses with an equal fervor, no part of her body implying resistance to my caresses. One of the things that made (and makes) Jill and I such an inevitable twosome is the fact that we’re both, to a certain occasionally unnerving degree, telepathic. No, don't mutter "Bullshit!": ESP is an established fact. I have it, to a certain degree, with most people; in my case, it's an ability to "feel" moods without a word being said by the person I'm "reading.” Jill's ability works mostly with me, and hers is classified as Precognition which, in her case, usually manifests itself as knowing what I'm going to do before I do it, or knowing what I'm doing when I'm elsewhere and she has no other way of determining it. I mention this not just as an interesting sidelight (which it is and which can make life very interesting), but so you'll understand how, as I kissed Jill, I could feel a war going on inside her. One part of her was saying, "Pull down your dress and get the hell out of the house!" while the other faction was .. was what? THAT I couldn't tell, just that it was there. Fuck the fight! Let those two battle it out, I thought, because I've got bigger .. uh, fish .. to fry. Having made that decision, I broke our kiss and, in a reenactment of our earlier scene, I sank to my knees and gazed at Jill's naked tummy, then leaned forward to bury my face in its gently-domed fragrance, kissing it while my hands slid down to caress her hose-enhanced thighs, then slid up to grasp the gorgeous, naked globes of her ass and pull her tighter to me. I didn't want to rush or scare Jill; however, although I consciously didn’t realize it until later, the "secret me" must have taken note of the fact that one of her hands was caressing my head ... while her other hand held her hemline up and out of the way, giving me unimpeded access to her. I went crazy with desire, my lips planting tongue-filled tributes on her abdomen, her thighs, directly on her red-fabric-upholstered pubes, my palms and fingers tracing their own pattern over her nether region. I kept my eyes closed most of the time, reveling in her fragrant softness, but a couple of glances upward showed me her lovely face, filled with love of an almost indulgent nature, a teensy amount of fear -- but nothing particularly indicative of lust. In fact, the war was still going on, evidenced by an occasional nervous, weak attempt to step away, but not so definite a move that it required any pressure from me to keep her in place. "You .. you know what I want to do for you, don't you?" I was looking up at her, my cheek still resting on her gently-heaving tummy. She slowly nodded. "All you have to do is say yes.” No movement from her, no acknowledgement except for a small pinch of anguish added to her face. I went back to my oral adoration, confused -- afraid, even --as to whether to take the next step, to bull my way through in the absence of an unequivocal go-ahead from My Love. And then one of my hands, seemingly of its own, approached her from the rear and slid beneath the fabric of her panties .. to again find the slit of her cunt absolutely dripping, just as had been the case some days earlier in the bedroom. As I kissed in front, my fingers maneuvered gently from the rear and, within seconds, her hips began pressing against me as her voice softly murmured, "Oh Tim .. Oh, Tim!" I slid her panties quickly off; she raised her feet so that I could get rid of them, while my hand went back to rubbing her outer lips, still from the rear, and I mashed my face into the beautifully lush growth of her pubic hump, my tongue spearing out to rub over -- but not into -- her snatch. Her hand gripped my head harder and she kept murmuring my name ... ...and I reached a quick decision. Getting to my feet, I pulled her to me, kissed her once more, propelled her the step-or-two to the easy chair she'd fantasized herself fingerfucking herself in for me, sat her down on the edge, dropped again to my knees, pulling her legs apart, kissed her crotch a couple of times, then spread her apart with my hands, locked my mouth to her cunt, and speared the hard nub of her clitty with my tongue. She went wild! Her reaction was not only everything I'd hoped for, but more! Her hips rolled frantically, but TOWARD me rather than away, her voice screaming, "Oh Tim .. TIM!!" and she almost immediately came. I didn't let her come down. I sucked her unbelievably delicious juices and her prominent clit tighter between my pursed lips and flailed away at her with my tongue, keeping her back arched in climactic suspension. Silence for a moment .. I glanced at her face to find her lips curved in an "0" of surprise, her eyes wide with amazement, staring straight at me for a surprised moment before I ran my tongue over her clit again. I saw her eyes roll up just before she closed them, she slid down farther in her chair, then began her climb again -- a rapid one, her sweet voice running up the scale as "oh .. Oh .. OH ... AAH .. OOOO!...Tim!!!" and then she exploded a second time, her body jerking, her throat issuing uncontrollable, indecipherable but unmistakably excited sounds as she went into an orgasm that seemed to last an hour before she finally slumped, eyes closed, in the chair. I took the pressure off for a few moments, quietly kissing her between-the-thighs hair as she fought to get her breathing under control. Finally, her eyes opened and she got the most beautiful look of surprised discovery on her lovely face, looking at me in delighted wonder as she softly said, "Oh, Tim ... that was marvelous!" "There's more where that came from," I muttered, before thrusting my tongue back between the dilated lips of her pussy, immediately finding her clit and attacking it again. Once more, she looked at me in amazement before the sensations I was creating overshadowed her control and she sank back into her reverent enjoyment of my lips and tongue, her neck twisting to one side. As for me, I closed my eyes, the better to concentrate on her sounds of delight, her physical opening to me, the delicious smell and taste of her. More, I wanted this one to be even more special, and my mind immediately flipped back to our fingerfucking on her bed a couple of days before and her reaction when I'd slid my digit up into her vagina. So I did it again, without relinquishing my lips' grip or my tongue's attack on her clitoris. If her spasms at being completely eaten for the first time in her life had been marvelously intense, her reactions THIS Time were almost frantic! Jill seemed to explode and scream, and her erotic nerve-ends self-destructed twice in beautiful, voluptuous crests before she finally sagged, exhausted, in her chair. I waited, my lips pressed against her naked, heaving abdomen, while she struggled inwardly for recovery. Finally, her eyes open, and I could've cried from relief when I saw that there was no remorse or recrimination on her sweet face. On the contrary, one of her hands reached out slowly to caress the side of my head, the look of delighted discovery back as she said, in sheer wonder, "Oh, Tim, that was beautiful!" She pulled me upward for a kiss which, at first, I resisted: my face was smeared with her juices and I didn't want to impose that on her, just in case it hadn't occurred to her, but she wanted to be kissed and I, by God, wanted to kiss her! When our lips met, there wasn't even the slightest hesitation on her part, or reticence in her tongue-filled kiss. (I asked her, some time later, if she'd been consciously aware that she was kissing a part of herself at that point. "Yes." Did it bother her? A small, faintly embarrassed smile and, "No"). As we rested, her still in the chair, me still on the floor between her feet, she asked, "Tim .. have you ever had a girl .. faint .. on you when you made love to her?" "No, although a couple -- including Anne -- came close." "Well, I came close, too; it was like .. like .. everything was suddenly pulling away from me, the whole world." "Well," I said with a smile and another kiss, “We’ll work on it and maybe it'll happen for real." ***** We went out for a drive, Jill carrying her panties in her purse .. at my request. This way, when we parked at Our Spot, I was able to non-frantically stroke her pubic mound under cover of her skirt as we talked the happy talk of mutual discovery. When it was finally, regrettably, time to go back, I suggested she put her bikinis back on. Looking first at the highway just a few feet away from us, then at me, she asked, "Think I should?" I nodded. She pulled the tiny handful of cloth out and reached down with it to her feet, then stopped, looked at me, and asked, "Is there a ladylike way of doing this?" I considered that for a moment before telling her, "There's ALWAYS a ladylike way -- there's just no GRACEFUL way.” As I watched her, with great love in my heart -- and, I hope, on my face -- she blushed slightly, and then proved my point. No matter WHAT she's doing, Jill is ALWAYS a lady ... and wouldn't know how to be otherwise! -0- RANDOM SHOTS - 4 JILL and a tall, well-tanned friend of ours named Theo; both are dressed in dark, nearly identical, side-slit, soft, form-fitting, floor-length dresses. Shot (after hours) in a nightclub owned by a friend of ours, several other couples from our group are seen in the backgrounds of the photos, seeming not to notice what's going on. There are enough of them there to give the impression that the club is doing its regular business. In the first shot, we see Jill sitting on a bar stool, her back to the bar, a generous expanse of crossed leg showing, thanks to the high slit in the dress. Theo is standing next to Jill, apparently talking to her, her hand resting on one of Jill's hose-covered knees . #12 - A back shot of the two of them walking out to the dance floor, arms around each others' waists. (Several) - The two lovely, contrasting ladies are dancing. Seemingly, it's a slow number, because their arms are around each other and they're looking quite intimately into each others' eyes. Then they kiss ... tentatively at first but, soon, tongues begin exploring mouths, lips sucking ear lobes and tracing wet circles on necks. The camera records this, as well as both pair of hands exploring their partners' bodies, caressing breasts and buttocks. The occasional couple-or-two seen in the background seem oblivious to the tribadic seduction. (Several) - Still on the dance floor, couples in the background, Theo and Jill stand facing each other, just a couple of feet separating them. The camera records them dancing slowly in place, staring fixedly at each other as they peel their dresses off their respective, exciting bodies. We share their delight in each other, Jill in black waist-cinch, black seamed hose and red six-inch heels, her 5' 11” companion in lacy white garterbelt set off by a pale blue ribbon holding up white hose set into high white ankle-strap wedgies, a demi-bra matching the garterbelt thrusting her full breasts toward her friend/lover. (Several) - The two ladies move together again to dance, their (for all practical purposes) naked bodies clinging tightly together as the re-create their earlier dancing sequence, lips, tongues, hands busy on each others' lithe and responsive forms. (Several) - Another back view of the two, walking away. This time, their arms, rather than being around each others’ waists, are extended just far enough so that each can grasp the other's impudent ass. #27 - Jill is back on her bar stool .. but she has a mouthful of one of Theo's out-thrust tits .. and Theo, in turn, has one of her fingers buried in Jill's cunt, all the way up to the second knuckle. (Several) - Jill's elbows are behind her on the bar. Her legs spread, she's playing with her nipples while she watches between her legs as Theo, kneeling, has buried her face in Jill's thick pubic bush. We see this from several angles and, along the way, are treated to Jill's lovely legs in the air, her fingers mashing her rouged nipples flat as Theo's tongue and lips rake her core. (Several) - Jill's turned on her stool now, toward the bar. Theo is ON the bar, leaning back on her outstretched hands, her shoes on stools on either side of Jill. Theo's silky thighs are spread wide, giving unimpeded access to Jill's tongue, lips and fingers in her bushy twat, and we join the camera in exploring Jill's juicy meal .. even to see one of her middle fingers sliding into Theo's asshole to what is, obviously, the lady’s great delight. Her climax, like Jill's, is unmistakable. (Several) - Theo is laying flat on her back on the bar, parallel to its length, her hose-covered knees splayed apart. On top of her is Jill, the two finishing off their evening with a loving 69, which the camera records in intimate, lengthy detail. #40 - The "Exit" sign is showing plainly as the two stand at the inner door of the club, holding hands and laughing, obviously ready to leave together, both still naked, their long-before-discarded dresses slung casually over their respective shoulders. -0- Jill & Tim's Story Ch. 05 V Tim IN READING what we've written to this point, one would get the impression that, as a rule, I come up with all these bright ideas and Jill docilely -- albeit enthusiastically -- goes along with them. That’s not necessarily so. In fact, if the truth be known, it's usually the other way around. There are several reasons for this, the biggest one being that my Darling has a much more broad-ranging and prolific erotic imagination than have I. This is one helluva confession from a guy who wrote his first pornographic story at age 15 and has written literally reams of them since -- not to mention sex-fact columns and articles for an impressive number of swingers' publications over the years. Jill, for her part, had her first fantasy at four or five years of age and started regularly playing with her pre-pubescent pussy about a year later. To this, add the fact that, over the years, I've had opportunities to bring a surprising number of my fantasies to fruition; until she met me, she had NO outlet for hers whatsoever, so she's got a lot of catching up to do. I'm perfectly willing to help. The other reason for her gentle dominance of most of our escapades ... she ENJOYS being in control of a situation (although, in her "public" persona, she's the last person you'd expect to have that streak in her ... and I like putting myself at her (usually-)tender mercies. We love surprises in general and sexual surprises in particular. More specifically, I enjoy being greeted by the unexpected, especially when it's embarrassing and/or emphasizes my helplessness to control the situation, either because I’ve made an over-all promise of unquestioning compliance to Jill (as she has to me) .. or because she has me fastened up so that I can't do jack-shit about it except watch her do what she will. That's right: I enjoy being tied-up, handcuffed .. whatever. If you define the borderline between Restraint and Bondage as the difference between, respectively, being fastened up for helplessness and being fastened up for the sheer enjoyment of being fastened up -- usually uncomfortably or even painfully --then what we're into is Restraint ... although there've been some photo sessions that have definitely been borderline, particularly the one night not too long ago when a couple we know helped Jill cuff my wrists behind my back after stripping me naked, then assisted her in hanging me by my leather-cuffed-and-widely-separated ankles from chains hooked to one of the beams in their garage. Jill got photos of me from all angles, then Larry took the pictures while the two girls started playing with my cock and balls, Jill also slowly pressing a well-lubricated (Thank God!) vibrator down (up?) my ass as all this was going on. Needless to say, they made me come, right down my body. Well, to be quite honest about it, Jill finally knelt and held my head facing upward in her lap while Stacy popped my rocks straight down into my face. Strange effect scenes like that have: I eagerly, albeit fearfully/reluctantly, look forward to and fanaticize about them. Even though, during their actual execution, I frequently ask myself what the hell I've let myself in for, afterwards I must admit that I enjoyed doing them ... and I'm ready for the next kinky episode my darling comes up with. My prolifically erotic wife, in concocting these "experiments," works with any one, all, or some combination of these elements: (1) THE SHOCK OF THE UNEXPECTED. This can be as simple as to be sitting around reading one evening when, with no forewarning, I might suddenly find Jill tying my wrists to the arms of my chair, following which she strips me naked from the waist down and well, you figure out the possibilities: I don't think she's missed any. (2) THE "FEAR" OF THE UNKNOWN. To be told that, at such-and-such an hour and/or on such-and-such a day I'm going to be put into a kinky situation -- "It's 'experiment time’ at 9:30, darling, be naked by then!" -- without being given the slightest hint of what form it's ultimately going to take ... well..!! (3) THE ADRENALINE RUSH OF EMBARRASSMENT. This can take any number of forms: being the only person naked in a group of people who are dressed ... being "forced" to perform some sexual act that you ordinarily wouldn't do, at least not under those circumstances (like, with an audience) ... and numerous other things, chief among which is the fact that nothing makes you feel more out-of-control of yourself than having an orgasm .. and having one while a physically-uninvolved group watches can produce some interesting mixed emotions, no matter what triggers the climax. (4) THE SWEAT-PRODUCING KNOWLEDGE OF HELPLESSNESS. As just one example of the vast possibilities, picture me tied spread-eagled to a bed, with Jill building me repeatedly, exquisitely, to the fine edge of explosion .. and then quitting to have her cunt eaten by me or to sit, while I watch, and finger herself to climax before once more working me up to the borderline and turning loose until I've calmed down again. I guarantee you that it takes UNDER an hour of that to reduce the strongest man in the world to a begging, pleading wimp. (5) THE EXQUISITE AGONY OF OVER-STIMULATION. I submit to you that a human being has TWO different sexual limits, one mental, one physical. Most people never discover this second limit simply because the sensations encountered along the way can become so exquisite, so excruciatingly good -- to the point that they're almost painful -- that the mind forces the body to avoid them. On a scale of 1-to-100, No Sensation to Blackout, most never get beyond around 40 ... and that only if they’re very, very lucky. The reason is very simple: someplace around that point, it starts feeling so intensely good that you can’t stand it anymore .. unless, of course, you don't have any choice. Jill, to my great (if occasionally rueful) delight, has found many ways to use these principles. For instance, I came home from work one day to find Brenda visiting, a not-unusual occurrence: she's a member of a community group with which we're involved, and she and Jill had become sort-of buddies. A young, dark-skinned, dark-haired gal, she's cute rather than pretty, and fun to be around, with a nice, bubbly personality. Anyway, I said "Hi!," got a short kiss before going in to change clothes and freshen up; then I went out to fix a drink and join in the conversation, me in "my" chair, the two girls on the facing couch. About the time my ass hit the chair, Jill said, "Darling, I've been telling Brenda about our agreement, the one where both of us have promised to do ANYTHING the other asks .. and she doesn't believe it." I confirmed to our visitor that that, indeed, was the case, which caused her to ask, "But what if it’s something you don't WANT to do?" "Well, Brenda," I told her, "most things you really don’t know whether you'll enjoy or not until you've actually tried them, so the second part of the arrangement is -- whether you think you're going to like it or not before the fact -- DO IT ... then, afterwards, if you STILL don't like it, say so, and the other is honor-bound not to ask you again to do that particular thing -- or not to do it with that particular person, whichever is applicable. "Has that ever happened?" "Not yet, although it probably will some day. However, we both have a pretty good reading on the other's tastes and wants, so it will be rare, if at all." Beginning what I discovered only later was a "put-up job" (I’m just not naturally suspicious by nature), carefully prearranged by the two of them, Brenda said, "No, I just don't think people do things like that." Jill, playing her self-designed part, asked her chum, "What would it take to make you believe it?" Brenda "thought about it" for a few moments before answering. "I think I’d have to see one of you tell the other to do something really off-the-wall, embarrassing, something really unusual before I'd accept it as fact." "Would you like us to prove it to you?” my wife asked. Brenda pondered that for a second before saying, simply, "Yes. With no other warning, Jill turned to me and said, "Sweetheart, I’d like you to stand up and strip to your jewelry." “You’re serious," I said, more as a statement than a question. A nod of her head and a smile confirmed it. I really don’t know who was blushing more, Brenda or me, as I got slowly out of the chair and, equally slowly, started removing my just-donned clothing, terribly aware of the two sets of inquisitive eyes staring at me from atop fully-dressed female bodies. (The worst part of a situation like this is you never seem to know what to do with your hands). My darling wife looked over at our visitor and asked, "More?" and got the breathy reply, "Oh, yes!" "Sit down, darling," was the next instruction; as I complied, Jill added "...and spread your legs up over the arms of the chair.” My blush deepened and spread wider over my body, but it didn’t keep me from carrying out her orders .. or Brenda from eagerly leaning forward to look closer at my wholly-exposed groin. She stared at me discomfortingly for a few moments -- as Jill leaned back, casually smiling -- before she asked my Darling, "Can I give him an order?” Jill's reply. "Be my guest." To me, Brenda said, "Make it hard." Oh, my .... Not able to really look at either of them, I reached down with both hands, the fingertips of one lightly stroking my totally-exposed balls, the other brushing lightly over my cock. Just like pushing a button: my Best Friend started to grow and, within a minute, was swollen to its full, rather nice size (standing proud, though from humble beginnings .. as it were...). Having gotten over the initial shock, and aware that our friend hadn’t run screaming into the night (on the contrary, she was obviously enjoying herself, as I discovered when I finally looked up), I relaxed and started to enjoy the delicate, lascivious sensations I was creating, my head back, my eyes closing. I began to settle into a very relaxed, almost self-hypnotic state when I heard Jill tell our guest, "Hmm ... Brenda, I think you started something here. You told him to make it hard and it looks like he wants to play with it for awhile." “I noticed," was the reply. "I think that, just for that, we should make him take it all the way, don't you?” Oh, shit! "Oh, yes!" Brenda said, in tones as enthusiastic as they look on paper, "but I’d like a closer look at it." "Well, we can certainly take care of THAT," was my wife's response. "Tim?” I reluctantly opened my eyes and looked the question at her. Very succinctly, she told me, "Towel, baby oil, then here," as she patted the space between her and Brenda. My mixed emotions were in full bloom as, very much aware of my nakedness and my full erection preceding me, I heaved myself out of my chair and headed for the bathroom, where I picked up the specified items. I could, at that point, predict the rest of the scenario: as was/is the case with most of them, it'd been a fantasy of mine -- or Jill's -- for years before we finally got together and started making reality out of them. Like so many fantasies, the fulfillment, that conversion to reality, engenders certain feelings and emotions that fanaticizing never takes into account . . . .. As I explained about five minutes later to our friend. By that time, I was located in the center of the couch, the towel on the cushion beneath me, my ass at the edge, my legs splayed apart. When I’d gotten into my slumped-down position between the two lovely ladies, my Darling had taken the oil and, as Brenda watched closely, she'd poured it generously all over my cock before bluntly telling me, "Now, love, fuck your fist." About the time I got hard again, Brenda asked, "Does that feel good?” "Um-hmm," said I, my eyes closed as I concentrated on the slowly-warming sensations. "Do you feel embarrassed?" "Um-HMM.” "Why? Jill tells me you've had sex in front of people before. Why should you feel embarrassed now?" I thought about that for a few seconds; it was a good question. Finally, I told her, "Both of you are dressed and I'm naked "I can see that," she archly cooed. "And that would be .. disarming enough. But I’ve never had sex with you, I’ve never seen YOU naked, and here I’m doing one of the more generally frowned-upon-by-society sexual things you can do. So, even though I'm excited, both by what I'm doing and by the fact that both of you are watching, the fact remains that, in a few minutes, I'm going to go bananas and allow you to share my orgasm, the most intimate thing a person can have, without ever having seen YOU in anything even remotely resembling the same state." "Do you LIKE feeling embarrassed?" A lloonnnggg silence, my blush (along with my breath) deepening, as I finally confessed: “Yes (sigh)." "Oh, good!" she chirruped before asking my wife, "Jill, can I embarrass him some more?!" "In this house," my Darling told her, "you can do anything you'd like." “In that case," Brenda said, after a moment’s thought, "I think that, if you and I are going to watch, Tim should watch, too. Open your eyes, Tim, and look at what you're doing.” Reluctantly, I did so. "Now, do it faster and, when you finally explode, do it all over yourself." I increased the tempo of my hand. Shit, it felt so good that, notwithstanding the validity of what I'd told Brenda just a few minutes before, I wouldn't have cared WHO was observing me by that time. I watched, almost detachedly, as my hand slid tightly up and down my oil-glistening cock ... and enjoyed the hell out of the attendant sensation. The index and middle fingers of my left hand were delicately tickling the super-sensitive area just below my balls as my rapid up-and-down stroking with my other hand began taking me upward toward my final peak. It didn't even slow me up when Brenda archly asked Jill, "Does he always make strange noises like that when he gets excited?” My darling replied, "Um-he .. and that's nothing compared to the sounds he's going to make when he comes.” Even though that exchange was obviously intended to fuel my feeling of embarrassment, I was so far gone that it was almost like they were talking about someone else. While I watched -- still almost detached from the scene -- my hand rapidly jerking up and down, I was still in enough control to say, through clenched teeth, "The next time you come over here, I wish to fuck you'd wear something besides those goddamn slacks!" "Oh? Why?" "Because your legs drive me fucking crazy and make me want to feel and kiss them all over!" Brenda condescendingly patted my trembling thigh and said, "Well, if you’re a good boy and come all over yourself for me right now, maybe the next time I’m here, I’ll let you see me with nothing on at all. Think about that." I DID think about that .. for about three seconds, following which I near-screamed, "OH, JEESUS!!!" and started exploding. My feet came off the floor, my head snapped back, and thick gobs of come cannoned out of the eye of my prick as my balls drew up. I whined and moaned, twisting and turning, my hand jerking spastically on my joint, triggering spurt-after-spurt onto my chest, my neck .. all the while, Jill encouragingly squeezing one of my muscle-clenched thighs while Brenda hissed -- equally encouragingly -- "Yes, YES!" After one last, huge spasm poured over me (and one last blast poured OUT of me), I slumped back, eyes closed, trembling, my hand still wrapped around my slowly deflating joint, my fingers thick with a mixture of baby oil and come. I felt Jill's arm cradle my head .. and then she lowered her lips to mine for a sweet, lingering "Thank you" kiss. When that kiss ended, another began! An encouraging nod from Jill was all the incentive Brenda needed to place her lips on mine and give me a hungry-tongued kiss that promised much .. and lasted long. By the time it ended, Jill had gone to the bathroom and brought back a hot, wet cloth and towel. Solicitously, she wiped me off and, equally helpful, Brenda went behind her with the towel, drying. You can feel quite pampered with this kind of treatment. There are several footnotes to this episode. For one, later that night, Jill gave me a present: a set of color nudes she'd shot of Brenda the week before when they'd set this little scene up between them. Brenda had been reluctant to peel to nothing. starting from an innocent-looking dress and tights for my petite photographer but, having already established that our friend was hot to watch me do my thing, Jill had made it a condition: no photos, no watching. Another tidbit: that had been Brenda's first chance ever to be sexually dominant and she discovered she really likes it so, occasionally, I’ve got our friend giving the orders. During most of these sessions, Jill lets Brenda run the show while she takes pictures between bouts of assisting her ... like the night Brenda tied my wrists to each side of my waist and then the two of them took turns bringing me up to the brink, after which I would reward whichever of them had contributed to my frustration by eating her cunt to climax ... and then they’d do it again. There is another VERY important footnote. At one point in our relationship, Brenda and I did something that, in the Swinging World, is one of the few Cardinal Sins: we got EMOTIONALLY involved with each other. It could've been disastrous, but was saved from becoming so by two things: one was my insistence that we not "cheat" on Jill, nor keep our feelings from her. The second was my Darling encouraging both of us to SHOW our affection for each other openly, rather than trying to hide it. As a consequence, the heavy stuff quickly ran its course and then mellowed into a warm friendship that encompassed all three of us. Not that Jill's primacy in my life was ever in doubt: Brenda, darling, I know you're going to be reading this, and I hope you won't feel hurt when I tell you that, hadyou tried insisting that I cut Jill out of our relationship, I would've dropped you like a bad habit. This, in fact, DID happen with one of our male chums who -- as is easy to do -- fell in love with Jill. She was very fond of him, too, but when he started with the "I want you all to myself" jealous-of-me number, he was unceremoniously bounced out of our lives, permanently. Sharing and cheating are two entirely different things: we love the former, but the latter has no place in our lives. * * * This is getting away from the point: the point is Jill's dominance in our sexual escapades. Sweet -- in the nicest sense of the word -- even demure in the "real" world, she gets off on having me at her mercies, able to do what she wants to do, when she wants to do it, the way she wants and for as long as she wants. It also gives her an opportunity to exercise her curiosity, imagination, voyeurism and exhibitionism to the hilt. For my part, I enjoy the sweet surrender of not having to concern myself with "What do I do next?” It's the lazy man's dream. Especially do I enjoy being tied up (or down): the feeling of naked, exposed helplessness is delicious, the knowledge of vulnerability total, the ability to control events zero, the liability for voluptuous sensation beyond your normal capacity to absorb it almost limitless. Jill uses it all. I never know what in hell's going to happen to me when she fastens me up .. like the night she had ME put on garterbelt, heels and hose, got a few photos (God, how humiliating!), then tied me, legs spread, to an armchair in the bedroom. Jill pleasantly, but very low-keyed, played with my unprotected cock for a few precious minutes .. and then the doorbell heralded the arrival of a couple we’d met a few weeks before -- to my great embarrassment when my darling led them, clothed, into the bedroom. Jill & Tim's Story Ch. 05 After a few joking preliminaries about my feminine garb, Jill had Elaine take off her panties .. and stuff them in my mouth; Jill made sure they stayed there by twisting a scarf into a rope, wrapping it around my head and tying multiple knots right over my mouth. At this point, Andy -- Elaine's hubby -- commented, "Better you than me, sport!" and started taking off his clothes, within a few minutes getting naked and laying on the bed, very lightly stroking himself while watching what was happening to me .. although I, myself, was a bit too busy watching what was happening to me to pay much attention to him. As my Darling bustled around getting what she needed, she put Elaine to stroking me to a full, throbbing erection. By the time that had been accomplished, Jill was back and took over. She first put one of our most-used (after the vibrator and dildoes) sex toys on me, a strong, narrow cock ring that, clamped around the base of my prick, insured that my erection was going to stay that way, no matter what, until it was removed. Jill's next move was to take our largest vibrator -- 12 inches worth -- and lay it on the underside of my cock and against my balls. Folding over a couple of rubber bands, she slid them over the now-joined phalli, clamping the machine firmly against me near the base and again right under the head of my joint. Courteous hostess that she is, Jill let Elaine throw the switch that turned the vibrator on, meanwhile smiling at the look of incipient horror in my eyes as I looked down at their handiwork. The two women then stood up, moved together to embrace, to kiss, finally to undress each other, before they moved to the bed to join a quite-ready Andy for a raging threesome that left the trio limp and satiated. I think I had the first of my machine-and-view-induced climaxes about the time Jill buried her face in Elaine’s almost abnormally-bushy cunt .. for only the first (but not the last) time that evening. As for how the evening left me .. I'll leave you to wonder: it serves you right for not being sympathetic to my plight. * * * Lest you misunderstand, Jill -- Bless her! -- does NOT need any assistance whatsoever in order to run me violently over the hurdles. In the early days of our live-together relationship as we waited for our respective divorces to become final so we could get married, and before we'd managed to find playmates that liked our games, Jill spent many mutually-pleasant hours "learning the ropes" .. as it were, even to letting me tie HER down one evening so she could really understand the psychological impact and nuances of the experience. Up until the night of which I'm about to tell you, the tie-down sessions Jill conducted with me as her "victim" pretty much followed the same pattern: I would be spread-eagled, my arms and legs aimed at the four corners of the mattress, held in place by the broad leather cuffs attached to chains fastened to the legs of the bed (devices we leave in place permanently: you never know when they'll come in handy). Usually with a pillow in the small of my back and another under my head, the chains are pulled tight enough that, for all practical purposes, I can’t move anything but my head. Dressed in some fetishistic lingerie -- the ubiquitous basque, garterbelt, heels, etc. -- Jill would play with me and suck me to rigidity and have me suck her tits at great length .. kiss me while stroking me back to white heat .. kneeling over my face to be eaten .. sucking me .. fucking me for awhile (especially facing away from me so she could watch herself in the wall mirror) .. getting her pussy sucked some more and keeping both of us flying for an hour-or-so before variously sucking, fucking or stroking me to my own orgasm after she'd enjoyed around a dozen of her own. Nice. The first inkling I had that this evening was going to be Different was when I got home to be greeted with not just a kiss, but a large glass of wine, too. This, in itself, was not a total departure from routine but, since neither of us drink much, a before-dinner drink wasn't entirely normal, nor was the suggestion that, having chugged it down, I take a nap before dinner. The nap was nice, as was the next glass of wine, the one that greeted me when I stepped out of the shower. I was starting to get just a bit blitzed by the time I got to the diningroom to find my Darling in a see-through blouse, high heels, and a short, slit-to-the-hip-up-the-side skirt of her own design and construction, one that made it immediately obvious that she was wearing regular hose and, presumably, a garterbelt. The meal was on the light side, and Jill loaded mealtime with overt, teasing sexuality, playing with her nipples through the transparent blouse, reaching through the slit in her skirt to apparently rub her pussy -- at one point, rubbing her juices from her fingers onto a short stalk of celery, then licking the celery before crunching decisively down on it. Early-on in the meal -- as I sat there in just my briefs and an open shirt -- she'd told me, "Your pink little body is MINE tonight!" NO further details were forthcoming, but the fact that her motor was running 90-miles-an-hour was blatantly obvious .. as was the fact that she was trying to get me zonked, the level of wine in my glass seeming never to drop. For herself .. she'd had one glass while fixing supper. Even the cup of coffee after dessert didn't sober me up; it wasn't intended to, just make a wide-awake drunk out of me as she led me into the bedroom on my unsteady feet. The combination of the unaccustomed amount of alcohol in me, and the red light bulbs in the four corners of the room gave everything that followed a surreal air that's very difficult, almost impossible, to describe. Suffice it to say that I silently, docilely, followed her instructions so that, in just a few minutes, I was in The Position in the middle of the bed, my wrists and ankles cuffed, my body incapable of avoiding whatever it was that she had in mind. When she finished fastening me in place, she knelt by my side and, her soft hand beginning to stroke me lightly and very effectively, she just stared at my face unnervingly, a strange combination of emotions crossing her own for at least a couple of nerve-wracking minutes before -- as her hand continued its wondrous ways -- she said, quite seriously, "This is going to seem like a very long night to you, my love, maybe the longest of your life. I've finally worked up the nerve to give you your strongest fantasy. It starts with this" -- she picked up the cock ring so I could see it before she slid it down over my prick and locked it tightly, trapping my erection in place for as long as she chose, then she went back to stroking me, without at all ever pausing in her carefully prepared speech -- "and it will go on until you can't come any more, no matter WHAT I do to you.” Suddenly, realizing what scenario she was referring to, I started to sober up, while the sweat began trickling out of my armpits. Her super-skilled hand kept stroking my shaft, feather-light but no less exciting for its delicacy. "This evening's going to be tough on you physically; it's going to be tough on me emotionally, because I know you're going to beg and scream and do your best to talk me out of what I'm doing" -- the cupped edge of her hand was now rasping up and down exclusively on the sides of the head of my cock -- "but I’ve made up my mind that there'll be no getting out of it for you tonight, my love. No matter what you say or do -- TRY to do," she corrected herself -- "you're down for the duration. You can beg, threaten, call me names .. if you get too loud, I'll gag you." Her damnable, persistent hand kept rubbing my cock-head in a way I recognized as intended solely to make me come. I fought it because, when I blast off, my urge goes away; once I’ve climaxed, I'm done with sex for the next several hours, my strongest surviving urge being simply to turn over and go to sleep. I don't even want my joint caressed because, as the last spasm goes through me, my prick gets to sensitive that I can't stand ANY contact with it for a few minutes.... ... ALL of which I'd made her abundantly aware of over the years; she knows as much about my mental and physical processes as any person alive, including myself. Now, she was about to use that knowledge on me in ways that I knew only she could do. Her hand, for instance ... tickling every nerve in the pseudo-raw head of my joint. I was clenching my jaw, so hard was I fighting its inescapable, nagging persistence. "I can't tell you," my Darling continued, "how excited I get when I think of all the women your beautiful cock has been in .. and how. Hands, mouths, pussies ... nor can I tell you how much I love making you come, knowing I'm giving you such delicious feelings, listening to you groan, watching you thrash around. "Tonight .. I'm going to get to enjoy it ALL. I'm going to get to REALLY watch you bounce on the bed .. and I'm going to BE all those women you've fucked and who've sucked you over the years, I'm going to be all the cunts you’ve buried your face in. I don't know if you're going to enjoy yourself, but I certainly plan to!" She looked, for a moment, at her superbly skilled --and very busy -- hand before she concluded, "I do know one thing, though: when this evening is over, for once-and-for-all, you'll KNOW whether this fantasy makes as good a reality as it has been something nice to think about while you've played with yourself all these years. And I think your fantasy is about to begin ...." As hard as I was fighting it, she was right. I started making strangled little noises, all my muscles tensed .. she gave my prick three hard squeezes and my resistance collapsed, my body giving up the orgasm her hand had demanded... ... and which her hand abandoned at just the precise instant it began. As he felt the first rumblings of my geyser coming up the tube, she turned loose of me and just sat there, an intense, slightly sadistic smile on her face as I twisted and heaved, not in excitement but, rather, in frustration, my orgasm ending up not as my usual intense explosion but, because of the cessation of stimulation, just a couple of weak dribbles that, really, is worse than no climax at all: it makes my prick super-sensitive, kills my sex urge, but leaves me feeling unsatisfied and .. cheated. I wordlessly whined my disappointment .. and then, as the chance for the Magic Moment passed, my organ deciding that no one was going to play it, words formed -- "Jill .. no! Don't! PLEASE! OH GOD!!" -- as my depraved little darling leaned forward, her fingers once more stroking my shaft as her tongue delicately, but maddeningly, licked the few drops of my juices off my abdomen, off the raw-feeling head of my cock, before sucking the entire head of it into her hot mouth and tonguing and sucking it furiously for a couple of minutes, her eyes never leaving my face as I thrashed my way over the threshold where it went from feeling TOO good to feeling .. VERY good. With her very precise knowledge of my physiology, Jill knew when I crossed that line, and it was at that instant that she released me, smiling at my frustration as she slid off the bed, standing to face me and seductively peeling off her blouse and skirt. As I’d guessed over supper, beneath them was nothing but a thin, black garterbelt holding up her hose. When she'd removed her outer garments, she stared very openly down at my trembling form and anxious face as, just as deliberately, she spread her spike-shod feet, reaching down between her legs with one hand to start caressing her clit, while her other hand began playing with her nipples. I was enchanted, as she knew I’d be: I never tire of watching my Darling play with herself, so I just lay back (as if I had any choice) and enjoyed the show. I watched as her hips began to sway, a deep flush darkened her skin, then enjoyed the sight of her body bucking as her left hand, squeezing one of her nipples almost painfully flat, triggered off a tidy little climax in the rest of her, pleased little sounds coming from deep in her throat as the lascivious sensations ran their course. When her Onanistic little show as over, she raised her sticky fingers to her lips and licked them clean, another little maneuver that always fascinates the hell out of me .. to the point where, notwithstanding my earlier, abortive orgasm, I was more than ready for her when she took off her high heels and climbed on the bed --although I WAS a trifle puzzled. The reason for the puzzlement was that, as we've already made you abundantly aware, Jill and I are shoe fetishists. There is something so deliberately, deliciously obscene about a woman wearing her spike heels when having sex, in bed or out, that usually about the only time she's out of them is when bathing, swimming, or sleeping. My curiosity didn't last long, however; Jill climbed on the bed, gave me a little kiss .. and then proceeded to get into a position I'd never seen before. Rather than kneeling over my face (difficult to do when your victim is spread-eagled, which is why she usually tied my wrists together and pulled them tightly behind my head to fasten them to the headboard), she sat on the upper part of my chest, her hose-covered feet finding a spot on either side of my head, staying there long enough for her outstretched arms to find a comfortable spot on each side of my waist to support her backward-leaning torso. Then she curled her legs in a sort of .. sitting .. or Yoga position, the move placing both calves of her deceptively strong legs under my head .. and pulling my mouth right up into her pussy, then holding me tightly in place that way! I was delighted! I always enjoy eating women in general and my wife in particular, so I ran my tongue up her slot with great enthusiasm, a move she greeted just as enthusiastically as I reveled in the smell, taste and feel of her self-dampened sexuality. From her point of view, it was a great position, too. My Narcissistic little Darling was leaning back at about the same angle as the leaning-out-from-the-wall mirror over the headboard and could watch herself being eaten to a fare-thee-well, from two different angles -- down her body or in the mirror -- as could I, delighting in the slow writhing of her body as my busy tongue and lips began mauling her taut, tender clitoris. As my mouth worked on her body, hers started working on my mind, her sweet, soft voice starting a monologue -- punctuated by pleased sounds -- that was simultaneously exciting and frightening. "Eat my pussy, my love; run your tongue through it. Think about the cocks that have been where your mouth is right now. Think about the gallons and gallons of come that you're going to watch being pumped into my cunt by other men. Sometime, I’m going to make you suck a man out of me, just the way my mouth is going to suck other men dry while you watch and take pictures.” Her hips wiggled her juicy, hairy snatch enticingly on my busy lips. "I love watching you eat pussy. I like watching you eat other women and making them come because I know you and they are enjoying it .. and that I can get you to suck my clitty any time I want it. You really are a cunthound, and I love it." My Darling -- still staring entranced at herself in the mirror as her red-lighted body began to twist from the pleasure she was getting from me -- then changed her tone a little. "This is Revenge Night for me," she told me, "this is the night I get even with you, the night I show you how foolish you were all those years when you wanted every woman in the world to take care of this fantasy for you, when you ate their cunts hoping they'd put you in the totally helpless position you're in now and do to you what I’m getting ready to do.” The words registered more in my subconscious than on the surface of my mind, my upper concentration being more on bringing her to the climax she was obviously approaching. "You deliberately ignored the fact that I was the ONLY woman in the world who was not only capable of doing this for you, but was ANXIOUS to do it to you, and you deprived both of us of a lot of pleasure by being blind and pigheaded about where your heart REALLY belonged." Her breath and her words were coming with difficulty now as she reached her pinnacle. "So, tonight, you’re not only going to get your fantasy fulfilled, you're going to be punished with pleasure. mine and yours. My pleasure's going to come from hearing you beg and moan; where you get yours will be from me .. much, much more of it than you want. By the time I get finished with you tonight, you may never want to fuck AGAINNNNNN!!!!!" Jill exploded, her legs clenching spastically, almost smothering my face in her juicy cunt, her eyes closing, head snapping back as she enjoyed all the lewd pleasures of a grade-A climax. I kept prodding and sucking her, driving her crazy and enjoying the sight, sound and taste of my Darling as she, went crazy from sensuous sensation. Finally, she reached her limit and shifted her cute ass back just far enough to take her pussy out of range of my hungry mouth, relaxing her legs slightly to drop my head a little. Her abdomen, heaving as her pleasure receded, had a faint sheen of sweat on it. I watched my Darling coming back into my world, slowly, her sighs dying away .. and then I got a bit apprehensive as she looked down in my face with a malicious little smile that, I suspected, did not bode well for me. This stare continued an alarmingly long time before she simultaneously giggled and began moving, disentangling her sleek legs from beneath my head as she told me -- with a note of bemusement -- "Oh, dear ... I really hadn't thought about saying that to you; in fact, I wasn't even consciously thinking it. Looks like my subconscious is running things tonight." Jill knelt over my upper chest, her doubled thighs and calves spread to lay against the undersides of my outstretched arms. I was almost too fascinated by the .. strange .. expression on her face to pay much attention to her position, though -- and even MORE distracted by her words as she stared down at me while absentmindedly (it seemed) caressing her luxuriant pubic bush. "I guess," she said, in tones of near-wonder, "that the smart thing to do is to leave my game plan alone and follow my instincts .. which, right now, say you deserve this ..." "This..” was one of the biggest surprises I've ever gotten from my unpredictable darling. She raised herself up on her knees, her fingers parted the lips of her cunt; she got, for a moment, a very intense, almost distracted, look on her face .... ... before she put a very literal interpretation on the phrase, "Piss on you!" by doing exactly that! A couple of drops … and then a torrent of warm pee cascaded over my jaw and neck as my Darling emptied her bladder on me. I can't say I was shocked. For reasons not worth going into, I suspected that something like this was going to happen someday, although I HAD expected more forewarning than I got. I opened my lips slightly to taste; hmm, not bad. Certainly not the "Nectar of the Gods" that the Golden Shower aficionados gush (sorry) about, but not bad, either. I, fortunately, was as aware as Jill that urine, unless the owner is suffering from some heinous disease, is sterile, so I didn't have that to worry about. My biggest concern, I suppose, was to keep from drowning and (I think) it was to that end that I opened my mouth after that preliminary, reassuring taste and gulped down her offering .. quite honestly, surprising myself as well as my lovely wife. I reacted as instinctively as she'd acted and we both found it .. interesting, if nothing else. Jill was into her scene now, my wordless acquiescence to her taboo violation tacitly encouraging her to pull out all the stops. Guiding her snatch more directly over my face, she reached down to grab my head and pull it up toward her, saying just, "Clean me!" Closing my eyes, I stuck out my tongue and did exactly that. Jill & Tim's Story Ch. 05 Well ... actually, I did MORE than that. After disposing of a few fragrant drops left over from her impromptu Golden Shower, I started after her clit again -- she's right, I'm a real cunthound, in case you hadn't figured that out by now -- with predictable results, her Bartholean fluids quickly replacing the pee and her hips starting to move in reaction to my tongue-prodding ... until, all of a sudden, she seemed to realize where it was going, said, "Oh, no!", clambered off my chest to, quickly, kneel by my hips and give my still-stiff cock three tremendous sucks before throwing a stocking-clad leg over my body to straddle my hips, to position her juicy pussy over my cock ... and to sink down on it, enveloping my hardness in her hot, swampy warmth, her tight slot clenching tightly around me .. with SUPERB results! Her graceful back was toward me, so that she was facing the wall mirror. I could watch the gleaming roundness of her ass pumping up and down -- each upward move clearly showing my come-glistening joint splitting her -- or could look up into the overhead mirror to see her lovely face set in an expression of intense concentration as she took long, full pussy-strokes on me. There was nothing fancy about her fucking: it was hammer-like blows, her cunt rising up to just short of the point where I'd fall out, then dropping like a piledriver, my full length going all the way up into her. Her outstretched hands resting on top of my thighs gave her all the leverage she needed to screw me at what seemed 50-miles-an-hour, the intent unmistakably to get both our rocks off as rapidly as possible. In fascination -- and with an unbelievable amount of physical pleasure -- I watched and felt her furious pumping, a metronomic pounding that, every couple of minutes, would become hysterically spastic, her child-like cries signaling an orgasm. Then a moment's pause .. and then she'd start all over again. God-only-knows how many times she exploded before the multiple stimuli started getting to me and I felt myself rising toward a peak. As she felt my growing -- and unhideable --excitement, she started chanting, "Yes .. yes, come, Tim, fuck me, fill me, juice, me, fuck, fuck, please, yes, I, oh, now, it, oh, oh, love, you, come, now, yes, yes, YES ...AHHHHHHH!!!!" She shrieked as my hips jutted up to meet her ass, and I shot what felt like a quart of semen into her simultaneously clenching/dilating cunt, my violent orgasm triggering a similar one in her and, for several moments, both of us went hysterical and became lost in a delirium of sensual release, our cries echoing 'joyously off the walls of the red-lit, closed room. Then we rested, waiting till the oxygen-hungry gasping for air subsided before she said, “Oh, God, that was wonderful!" "Yes, it was," I agreed. "Thank you, my darling." My thanks -- which I'd intended as a preamble to asking to be let loose -- were, it seemed, misplaced. With no warning, other than a small giggle, she quickly changed positions and sucked my mingled-juice-laden cock into her hot, busy mouth. My prick was so super-sensitive that I would've screamed -- and loudly, too --had it not been for one little impediment: her pussy. That new position was the classic 69. Her cunt, my own juices as well as hers dripping out of it, was firmly on my pillow-raised mouth, quite effectively muffling and making wordless my near-violent protests. I can’t begin to tell you how extraordinarily extreme are the sensations caused by coming in a good fuck which is immediately followed by a joyously enthusiastic blow job, and the sensations are multiplied when you are only-too-aware that you can't get away from them, that there's absolutely nothing you can do or say that's going to make your lover quit what she's doing! Jill quite obviously had no intentions of stopping or even slowing down. Her blazing-hot mouth had immediately sucked in every inch of my screaming shaft and, as I thrashed helplessly beneath her, her head slowly, steadily, bobbed up and down, each passage bringing her lips -- and ESPECIALLY her damnably-busy tongue -- into contact with every shrieking nerve in my cock, all accompanied by her deftly skilled fingers caressing my balls, gently squeezing and stroking them. My darling knows me (as I've indicated) quite well. After several minutes of utter and absolute hysteria on my part, she again took me past that mysterious and unpredictable borderline between "too good" and "VERY good" and, soon, her steadily-sucking mouth was being fueled by my hungrily-eating mouth, my juices gone from her now, her clitty between my lips as my tongue assaulted it with all the fervor of her tongue on my prick. With two shots already fired from my rifle, the urge -- the ability -- to come was well-submerged, enabling Jill to use her mouth and fingers with no subtlety or concern about me exploding prematurely. The sensations this lack of restraint on her part made possible are indescribable and, for some quite long time, the two of us just lost ourselves in mutual pleasure, giving and taking simultaneously, only our grunts, our moans of pleasure, and the wet, sticky sounds of two busy mouths disturbing the silence of the room. Her skills had managed to resurrect me to the stage where I felt unsatisfied and vaguely unfulfilled when, at one point, she merely (?!?) held my cock quietly between her lips while she shifted her hips to put her pussy more firmly in my mouth, to hunch down with it and, with the aid of my lips and tongue, enjoyed another of her own huge climaxes. As soon as it subsided, she wordlessly hopped off the bed, went to the dresser and got something out of our "toy chest" drawer. All I could do was lay there and pant from both exertion and a certain amount of physical frustration as I watched her red-light-hued ass sway over there and return, whatever it was she'd pulled out of the drawer hidden in her hand. It wasn't until she knelt over my chest that she opened her hand to show me a ball gag. Oh-oh! As its name implies, the centerpiece of this little device is a ball, a red rubber one, about the size of a Ping-Pong ball, with something to fasten it in place; in this case, the "something" was a narrow black patent leather strap with a buckle on it. I didn't fight Jill as she opened my mouth to fit the ball well inside, firmly on top of my tongue, then led the strap around the back of my head to fasten it securely, holding the ball in place, rendering me inarticulate and relatively silent. It would be fair for you to ask why I didn't at least fight her a little or plead or something, no matter how futile such effort might've been. All I can say in response is that I had been close to coming when she’d stopped sucking me, so my sex drive was again cranked up to the point where I’d accept anything that would hasten the process of her triggering my climax, seeing as how I was in no position to do it myself. It was a little like the guy who was seriously injured while doing something stupid: jumping off the Brooklyn Bridge. As the story goes, someone asked him why he did it, and the only answer he could think of was, "Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time." Ditto no fighting the gag. Once Jill had me silenced, she worked on the pillows (soaked as they were) until my head was well-raised and I could, with no effort, look straight down my body at my rigid, ring-locked cock. Having accomplished that, Jill reached into the drawer of the night table and removed her favorite vibrator. I watched in fascination as she moved a chair over to the foot of the bed, plunked her butt into it, raised her feet to the edge of the mattress and, as she stared at my rigidly-restrained form, began playing with her pussy with her machine. While I couldn't see exactly what she was doing to herself, her reaction made it clear that, whatever it was, it felt damn good! In between little sighs and moans, and over the steady buzzing of the vibrator, only the hand caressing her stiff-nippled breasts visible to me, she started another monologue. "Oh, lover!" she hissed, "you look beautiful like that. It makes me feel so good to know that I can do anything with your body I want whenever I want. I love the idea of wearing you out like this, and we're going to do it often. Maybe next time Brenda or Millie will help ... and you won't get any rest at all, one of us on your mouth and one of us on your cock all evening. Or maybe we'll just tie you to the wall and let you watch us eat each other's pussies all night long -- AFTER we jack and suck you off two-or-three times.” A certain catch in her voice made me almost unconsciously realize that, during that last (exciting, I'll admit) speech, she'd come perilously close to climaxing and had temporarily moved the machine to where it still felt good, but couldn't quite hit the right nerves. A momentary pause before she asked me, "Do you know what I’m doing right now?” I shook my head. "I'm sliding the vibrator up into my cunt, that whole big, black machine is starting to fill me up, just like some of the cocks you’ve watched fucking me. I love to get fucked while you watch me, darling .. I like knowing that you get excited watching strange pricks pounding my tunnel and spraying their come all over my insides. "Oh .. I'm sliding it in and out of me, lover, just like a prick, a big, black prick, and it feels SO good! I want you to watch me being fucked by a big, black prick sometime. I want you to watch it slip into me, that big, black, hard cock that's going to come in my little pink pussy, and then I'm going to want you to lick him out of me while I clean his cock off with my mouth and both of us taste his and my come at the same time.” She was, judging from the motion of her arm, screwing herself with the machine now, the effect obvious in the pauses between words and her unsteady breathing, the little "Oh!"s punctuating what she was saying. "You made me what I am, lover, a sex-hungry little slut, and I'm always going to want new people to look at me while I’m playing with myself, want new pussies to eat, new mouths on my cunt, new pricks in my mouth, new cocks to split me in two after I suck them and make them come all over me. "I want to get fucked in the twat and ass, all at the same time. I want to do anything that'll make me feel good and come..! For better or for worse, Tim, darling, you've got a sex machine on your hands!" I could tell she'd been toying with herself -- that is, keeping herself at the edge of orgasm without going over it. I figured she'd pop her rocks before getting on with whatever she had planned .. but I was wrong. Suddenly, she stood up, one hand between her legs holding the vibrator in place. Judging from its length and the fact that it was totally submerged in her, I figured (and she later confirmed) that the busily-vibrating tip of it must've been solidly against her cervix which, she tells me, is a thrill all unto itself. She paused at the foot of the bed to stare at me, somewhat unnervingly, before saying, "This weekend, I want to take some pictures of you trussed up like that. Maybe Lucy will feel like posing with you and I can get some of you coming like that." Don't even try to understand it .. but that was an exciting thought .. and not just because Lucy's only 19-years-old, either. Having given my mind that picture to play with, Jill laid down between my chained-wide legs, laying on her left side toward my right leg, her left arm over my hip propping up the upper part of her torso, her hose-encased legs extended straight and clamped together to hold the still-buzzing vibrator within her. Three deep, exciting slurps of my shaft deep within her hot mouth coated my cock heavily with saliva, then Jill wrapped her remarkably deft fingers around my quivering hardness and began stroking me, just the precisely-right amount of pressure applied to thrill me to the maximum, amplifying the steady up and down movement of her hand. I quickly lost myself in the marvelous sensations she was creating, my breathing stentorian around my gag, words from me unnecessary ... the pleasures she was giving me so intense that I only dimly heard her voice as, between relubricating sucks, she continued her monologue. "I love watching you come, darling, no matter whether I’m making you do it or you're jerking yourself off, or you're getting sucked or fucked and played with by some other woman. You go so out-of-control, you moan and groan so loud .. it’s very exciting. I especially like it when I’m watching you fuck someone like Theo or Lucy, knowing that I can hear you yell at the same time as I watch your pretty balls draw up and squirt your come into them, all the time knowing that I’m going to be able to bury my face in the cunt you’re screwing and eat all your juices out of it. Goddamn!, but her hand felt good! I could feel my excitement rising, fueled by my position, her hand, her mouth, her words ... the obvious fact that the machine busily whirring away in her cunt was taking her up toward the explosion point, too. Jill was not toying with me as she had been with herself: there were no teasing delays, no sidetrips to other erogenous zones to hold off the Magic Moment as long as possible. Her hand, except for those brief moments when more lubricating spit was needed, now moved steadily, quickly, up and down my raw hardness .. to my great delight .. and even greater apprehension. "It's getting to you, isn't it, lover?” A purely rhetorical question, my grunts, groans and thrashing making it abundantly clear that I was in the neighborhood of the proverbial Seventh Heaven. "I'm doing my best to hold off so I can come with you, lover .. because I've got a surprise for you." Surprise, my ass! I knew EXACTLY what she was going to do -- I'd scripted, I realized, this escapade a year before and I goddamn well knew -- on a logical, intellectual level -- what she had planned for my explosion and that it would be pure (albeit heavenly) hell. Emotionally, at that point, though, I was ready for anything, just so long as an orgasm was part of the deal. She coaxed me. "Come on, darling .. explode for me. I want to feel this nice, hard cock swell up in my hand and listen to you yell as your balls squeeze your delicious juices out. Come for me....” all accompanied by her unceasing stroking of my shaft, I couldn't resist all the stimuli .. I tensed, moaned, thrashed, thrust my hips in the air .... Jill knew -- knows -- all my premonitory signals, right down to the last little gasp so, at Just the precisely right moment, her left hand circled around so that her fingers could squeeze and tickle my balls, her soft, hot thrilling lips encased just the head of my rapidly-throbbing cock, her hand intensified both its pressure and the tempo of its strokes .. and I came, Boy!, did I come! As the unbelievably sensational and intense explosions began, Jill's hand kept going, her mouth drawing at my screaming meat like it was a straw, my ejaculate being sucked out of me rather than being allowed to escape on its own .... And then, as those sensations became too intense to tolerate, both of Jill's hands attacked my balls and her fiery-hot mouth engulfed my entire cock, her head beginning to bob repeatedly, her mouth to suck constantly .. and she listened to me screaming wordlessly for mercy behind my gag as I went crazy and was forced through a sensual barrier that, until that moment, I'd thought to be impenetrable. At the fourth explosion, some little time later (although it seemed like forever), I passed out and really carry no memories of the next twelve hours. * * * Jill was very solicitous of me the next day and was more than happy to use her fingers on herself when I proved unable to party. Fortunately, at bedtime, she also proved the condition wasn't permanent. Thank God (an oath she echoes fervently)! -0- IN THE BEGINNING - V Jill "You know," I told Tim a day-or-two later, "I never said, 'Yes.'" "True," he replied, "but you never said 'No,' either." The few days during which that exchange took place are very mixed-up in our memories. We were facing a double deadline: not only was I going back to work soon, but we were going to have three weeks of "vacation" stolen from what little we had left. (I put quotes around "vacation" because it was Frank’s idea of a vacation, not mine .. as usual). The oncoming separation compressed events; things moved so rapidly that, in looking back, neither of us is fully capable of knowing exactly what came when. We were -- are -- so much in love with each other that every moment was/is precious, and we tried to use each one of them to the hilt. Regardless of sequence, these things happened: Tim, as you have no doubt noticed, has a very definite "thing" about high heels and hose; he tells me I'm the only woman he’s ever known who's shared that interest, that most women resent having to put hose on and walk around in the exaggerated way spike heels make necessary. I don't resent it at all; on the contrary, I love them and always have. One of the few happy -- REALLY happy -- days of my adolescence was when I was finally able to put on a garterbelt, stockings, and some heels for the first time and begin wearing them regularly. One of the few areas of real disagreement that Frank and I had was my buying shoes (except for one pair of exercise sandals and one pair of ballet slippers, they’re ALWAYS with heels) at every opportunity. Tim is extremely picky about shoes; as he put it, "I can't explain why, but a pair of women's shoes is either graceful and attractive or it's not.” He and I were both amazed when he went through my extensive shoe collection and found ALL of them acceptable to him -- some more than others, but ALL to his tastes. There was one pair of ankle-straps that Tim particularly liked; in fact, it was the pair I was wearing the night we met for the first time. At one point in those wonderful, short weeks, he had expressed what he called a "fervent desire" to see me in nothing BUT those shoes -- and, of course, a pair of hose. It was on a day we were scheduled to go for a drive that I, all coyness driven out of me by approaching deadlines, decided to give him his wish. When I met him at the door, I was extremely nervous -- and he was confused, although not for long. Wearing a bulky, unsexy old robe of Frank's that fit me like a tent, I nervously attacked Tim the moment he walked in, throwing myself into his arms and kissing him with near-desperation. I was almost crazy with a combination of excitement and frayed nerves, since I’d been sitting around for over an hour waiting to do what I was about to do -- and absolutely amazed at my temerity in getting up the courage to do it in the first place! Finally, our kiss broke, but I kept Tim tightly pulled to me as I said, into his ear, "Tim, darling, you said that .. you said that, if I would ever be willing to let you see me in nothing but my 'hookers' shoes,' you'd promise to keep your hands behind your back. Remember?" I felt him nod. “Well .. I'm going to hold you to your promise. I want you to put them behind your back. I don't want you to .. help me. Will you do that, now?" Again, I felt him nod. You should already know how I feel about his hands, but you should also know, as I explained it to Tim a little later, why I'd made this request. It wasn’t coyness, nor was it not wanting him to touch me (oh, NO!). This was .. this was, for the first little in my life and, thus, in our relationship, to be my conscious, DELIBERATE performance of an overtly lewd act. Let me explain it another way: I wore (wear) short skirts, for starters, because they were comfortable and "in," and continued wearing them because "Frank likes them.” Um-hmm. Tim had raised my T-shirt to caress my breasts, Tim had pulled off my panties and seduced me with his mouth.... Jill & Tim's Story Ch. 06 VI Jill THE QUESTION we're most frequently asked by people who know of (some of) our activities but who are not, themselves, involved in anything like them is, "If you love each other, how can you stand watching each other have sex with other people?" Our answer is this: We can “stand” it, without any strain on either of our parts, simply because we ARE in love with each other. In our definition of Love, part of it is the urge to want to see the person you love enjoying themself, being happy, being thrilled, getting pleasure. "Owning" Tim, or his body, has no place in that concept; not even “owning” his emotions -- or, worse, taking them for granted. Watching Tim enjoying himself -- whether at a concert, in a play, photographing a sunset .. or a naked girl whose pussy he's going to eat enthusiastically just as soon as he takes the last picture on the roll -- and knowing that he's having fun at it makes me feel good because, by my cooperation, if nothing else, I made it possible for him to do it and to enjoy it without guilt or fear of my being pissed about it. He feels the same way about me (which is the only way that particular philosophy works: mutually). Watching me get well-fucked while screaming my joy at the wonderful sensations makes Tim happy that I'm getting pleasure from it -- NOT jealous that my lover-of-the-moment can get my rocks off -- Tim can, too, and knows it, just like I know I can drive him crazy whenever I want . The simple fact is, we both need variety in our lives, in all areas, not just sex .. although, admittedly, that's the place it shows up strongest .. and strangest. Neither of us could survive an environment composed exclusively of our jobs, our home and each other, in a never-ending closed circuit. Our boredom thresholds are too low: we constantly need new faces, new places, new experiences, whether it takes the form of a cocktail party, a play we're in, a new movie .. or the nearby swingers' lounge, where there’s a great opportunity to meet new people with new needs, giving new thrills and faces to classic activities. *** We go to The Club (the aforementioned swingers' lounge) about once a month, sometimes twice; it is, by no means, our every night or every weekend experience. The main part of the crowd in this private membership key club is a bit younger than we are, chronologically, but we can almost always count on meeting at least one couple we like and will take home with us, or get invited to a “party” which, in swinging parlance, is what the “straights” call an orgy. At The Club, the owners know us pretty well (one might even say "intimately"), and will introduce us to new couples who, in the owners' opinion, might be compatible with us. If this doesn't happen, we look around and spot the couple (there’s almost always one) sitting quietly at their table, watching the dancing, the table-hopping .. and obviously neither of them with the courage to initiate any action themselves. When we spot a couple like this, if we like their looks (which judgement has more to do with their "vibes" than how God assembled them), we'll invite ourselves over to their table for a drink and conversation. Almost invariably, they're first-timers; either they've discussed swinging and decided, hesitantly, to see what it's all about, or either-or-both of them has been screwing around on the sly, been discovered at it, and they've decided to bring their urges together, if possible. If these people really seem to like each other, we'll invite them home where, in our red-lit queensize bed, we’ll gently initiate them into the pleasures of same-room swinging. While they're rarely skilled, sexually, there's a keen sense of fulfillment in getting them started off on the right foot in this new lifestyle, especially in getting them over that first, critical hump (sorry about the pun) -- which, almost invariably, comes when Tim drives the female half of the couple into a screaming climax, which sets up a jealousy reaction in her husband. I always try to arrange it so that he's so busy and excited that he really can't either pay too much attention to or get indignant about what Tim's doing for his wife. Frankly, Tim and I have gotten rather skilled at bringing both parties to the same level of excitement at almost the same time, making it a shared experience for them, rather than two separate experiences coincidentally taking place in the same room. For these first-timers, we do most of the "work," using our mouths on them liberally, excitingly, slowly. We generally manage to arrange it so that, for the Grand Finale, the two of them are laying side-by-side, both thoroughly frantic. Tim raises his body over hers and slowly sinks his cock into her (by now) welcoming, well-tongued pussy, while I straddle her husband's hips and lower myself onto his throbbing, well-sucked cock, then lean forward to lay my naked tits on his chest. Then, in our own little fillip, we reach down and put their hands together, encouraging their fingers to intertwine, and gently talk to them, telling them how much we're enjoying them .. and how much we love each other. We encourage them to take pleasure in their partner's enjoyment of what's happening to them. Meanwhile, of course, we're fucking them physically as well as in their minds. Not too far down the road, conversation becomes difficult but, by that time, we've poured our message into their subconsciously sex-receptive minds, so we're free to build ourselves to a peak and screw our brains out with our partners of the evening. We do our best to leave them as limp and satiated as we are ourselves after coming multiple times. Our successes , I'm happy to report, outnumber our failures. *** For no-holds-barred, unrestrained, mindless sensuality, though, we go looking for a party. As information for those of you who've never attended one of these .. although there's a world of variations (hurray!), the format for your average orgy is fairly simple: the livingroom, well-lit, is "neutral ground:" you can be naked or clothed, you might even get -- or give the gentle-but-intimate caress or two but, in the main, overt sexual activities are discouraged in this area. This is for conversation, resting .. and choosing potential partners. As the evening wears on, there’s more and more bare skin on display there (sometimes symbolically cloaked, mock-modestly, in a towel which, for all practical purposes, hides nothing) but the sex isn’t, although the conversations are, understandably, rather unrestrained . But it's in this area that someone will express an interest in being intimate with you for awhile and, if the idea (and the person who's proposed it) strikes your fancy, then the two (or three or four) of you move off to one of the bedrooms. As Tim puts it, "You move from the conversation pit to the passion pit." Since there’s rarely enough bed space to accommodate the number of bodies wanting to occupy it, there are almost always mattresses and/or air mattresses scattered on the floor around the beds, so you pick an unoccupied spot and go for it. (Parenthetically, I should comment that, yes, while most of the girls, as do the men, get totally naked -- except for ankle bracelets, waist chains, pendants and such -- I still wear my hose, usually ... although, in deference to my hosts' furniture and furnishings, I kick my heels off before leaving the livingroom, putting them back on as soon as I return. Wearing my hose -- and, sometimes, my garterbelt or basque, although thigh-highs are more convenient -- has earned me the nickname --affectionate nickname, I hope -- of "Nylon Jill.” Since I’m almost always a minority of one at those times, I feel deliciously conspicuous, walking through the livingroom clad in nothing but my heels and hose, but I love the blatant display, the nice things it does for my legs .. and the caresses it invites in EITHER room!). If you're looking for privacy at a party, forget it .. that is, PHYSICAL privacy: it's just not to be had. Even if the only light in the bedroom is drifting in from the hallway, you can be seen .. and will be. It’s interesting that it's considered very poor form for a guy to take a gal into a bedroom, then close -- or worse, LOCK -- the door; men doing this have been known to be punched out, not for jealousy's sake, but for the safety of the lady involved. Experience has made this a serious breach of orgiastic etiquette. However, there IS emotional privacy. People join you and your partner(s) only by invitation: anyone who fails to observe that custom will be unceremoniously thrown out the front door. They're welcome to sit and watch -- right next to you, if they want -- but no intruding without an invitation. Occasionally, it's all right for them to reach out and touch; if you like it, you keep your mouth shut and enjoy. If you DON'T like it, you quietly, nicely, ask them not to .. and the rules say That's It. Voyeur/exhibitionist that I am, I love it! Again, we’ve developed our own pattern. After a minimal amount of conversation in the livingroom, we quietly doff our clothes and head for the playpens; we're usually one of the first couples back there. We pick our spot, then move into each others arms to kiss, to caress, for me to openly, proudly, suck Tim's cock to near the explosion point before I lay back, open my conspicuously hose-clad legs, and welcome my husband's mouth into my bush. I can't remember it ever failing that someone's come over to watch: sometimes a guy, sometimes a gal, more usually a couple. Being on the noisy end of the climax scale, I tend to draw an audience -- and, as you should know after reading this far, I LOVE an audience! Even in the midst of what Tim is so wonderfully doing to me, I’m aware of our company when they kneel or sit at our side -- my side, actually. Many women, when this happens, close their eyes and try their best to ignore it; perverted wench that I am, I strike up a conversation, even while Tim is busily munching away at my box. If it's a guy, and I like his demeanor, I invite him to stroke my breasts; if he accepts the invitation (no turn-downs to date), I stroke his cock before, usually, pulling him to me to suck it. Somehow, this almost always ends up with me getting well-fucked by the gentleman while Tim either watches or gets involved in something else. If my audience is female, the conversation quickly turns to how good Tim is at what he's doing; naturally, I always give him a shining endorsement. I invite her to try his mouth on for size. Almost always, she accepts, and I'm treated to the sight of my darling lapping her cunt. Occasionally, I’ve gotten a pleasant surprise when the gal has turned down that invitation and, instead, has suggested that I try on HER mouth for comparison purposes! Once, in fact, the gal indicated that she really didn't want to interrupt the pleasure Tim was giving me .. but she'd love to try MY mouth on for size! Well, I didn't find it difficult to accommodate her, and we made quite some picture. me on my back being eaten by Tim, her straddling my face being eaten by me (and that, my friends, is how we came to meet Theo, still one of our dearest friends!). If, as is usually the case, it's a couple, there's some combination of the above. I can't remember it ever working out exactly the same way twice. (Funny: almost always, it's AFTER you've come with your partner that you get around to exchanging first names). For the rest of the evening, it’s kind of catch-as-catch-can, although each of us tries to tryst in the same room that the other's in, even if we're separated by a number of sweating, bonded bodies: we can still hear each other, and we like that. *** Our most fulfilling and interesting sex, though, comes from responses to our swingers magazine ads. Maybe it’s because the ads are so specific, perhaps it's the knowledge on the respondent's part that he/she/they have only one opportunity to state their case, either-or-both reasons amplified by that quirk of human nature that so often allows you to be more candid with a stranger than with a friend .. whatever it is, the people who answer our various ads are usually unbelievably frank about themselves and their desires, the letters always accompanied by photos that range from the just-barely-concealing to blatant livingroom pornography. Those that do nothing for us, we return, anonymously, with a short "Thank you” and all of their enclosures; those we find interesting, we check out by phone to establish they're who they say they are, then respond in kind if it's impossible to meet more-or-less immediately. We usually try for a "social" meeting on neutral ground before we decide to party or not. It is from this river of mail (we have to take at least one evening a week to answer it) that we get our most interesting, frequently surprising adventures .. and some of our dearest friends, with some of the most unusual tastes! Take Greg for instance. Greg's specialty is jacking off, with an audience. Conventional sex, while indulged in by him, takes a definite backseat to making love to his hand while being watched. Tim and I, the first time he came over to our place, stayed clothed, had him undress, sit across from us, and stroke himself until he exploded. Since then, I've photographed him jacking off out in the woods, Tim's photographed him masturbating in our livingroom with me, clothed (although scantily) in each picture, watching him Do His Thing. I have a videotape and a set of photos of Tim and Greg, naked, side by side, BOTH jerking themselves for a watching, dressed Lucy .. and, most recently, Millie used the videotape camera to do a feature of me laying on the livingroom floor, naked except for thigh-highs and heels, fingering myself while Tim, Greg and Eddie stood in a semi-circle around me, playing with themselves and, finally, coming all over my body. I came myself when they started shooting off. (Commented Millie later, "What a waste.” "Speak for yourself," I demurred). Then there's Mark, who "suffers" from what he calls "Crotch-in-Mouth Disease.” Mark, who swears his sex organ must be in his tongue, is never happier than when he has someone's pubes in his mouth, and he doesn't much care if the owner is male, female or undecided. Which means he loves having both of us naked, side-by-side on the bed, while he takes his sweet time moving back and forth between us, eating my cunt and sucking Tim's cock (the only thing I enjoy more than watching a guy blowing Tim is to watch Tim mouthing a dong himself, and I don't even bother trying to figure out why). He makes it last a delightfully long time before he lets us explode, generally me first to that I can bask in that wonderful post-come afterglow as I watch my husband buck and writhe in his orgasm, which Mark swallows hungrily. Lydia .. is a special case, in many ways. To begin with, she is an exception (although not the only one) to our general rule that our playmates either be single, married to each other or, if married to someone who doesn't want to play around, that the "out" partner has made it clear to us that they have no objections to their husband/wife joining us. (Lucy, the 19-year-old, is married to a young Marine who’s overseas for a couple of years; their letters to each other are full of their sexual adventures, even photos of each other in action. I can tell you from experience gained while he was home on leave that he fucks like a marvelous machine. When the Marines made THIS man, they did a good job of it!). Anyway, Lydia is "cheating" on her husband, who's a nice, hard-working, sexually unimaginative guy who provides for his wife and three children in every one except one: in the sack. Actually, even were he not so hide-bound in his moral code, he wouldn't stand a chance with Lydia because she discovered, quite by chance, that she's a "closet lesbian" who's never had a male-induced climax in her life, not even from Tim's skillfully-marauding mouth. Because of the children -- and because, at bottom, her husband's a nice guy -- she stays married and does her best to make him think she’s happy as a lark .. but, every few weeks, she comes over to spend a couple of hours back in the bedroom with me. Tim has been present for a couple of our get-togethers but, because she feels uncomfortable with him there (just by virtue of his being a male, not because they don't get along: they do -- OUT of the bedroom), he usually stays elsewhere in the house until we've worn each other out. One of our favorite couples is Mike and Marilyn. About every six weeks, boredom starts to set in, fueled by their twin offbeat urges. When they come over, we greet them stark naked (well .. you know what I'm wearing..), they sit, have a drink, and enjoy looking at us doing likewise for awhile -- although Tim and I throw in a few kisses and intimate caresses for effect (and fun) -- before they can't stand it anymore. Standing, they undress and move to us where we're sitting on the couch. Kneeling, they use their mouths on us, leisurely, working us slowly to delightful orgasms .. Marilyn eating me, Mike sucking Tim. Once they've gotten us both off, they're so excited themselves that they roll over on the floor and fuck the skin off each other while we watch the fun! There are a number of couples we know who fall into a surprisingly sizeable swinging sub-culture, the "watch and be watched" set. The name means just what it says: for their own reason (which range all over the map), they don’t want to get involved in the final intimacy of changing partners, at least not for intercourse, although foreplay is sometimes on the agenda, but they DO enjoy being an audience and DO enjoy having one themselves. You can imagine the fun we have with THIS group! We have so many wonderful, excitingly DIFFERENT friends! There's Mervyn, my hairdresser, who's delightfully gay and loves partying with Tim. He finds my approval -- my encouragement, even -- of what's going on "..so refreshing!” (in his words) that he not only lets me stay and watch, but even allows me to take pictures and, more recently, shoot videotapes. Mervyn had his first shot at Tim while my darling was not just tied up, but his legs were up, spread, and tied to ring-bolts in the walls! Last week, we re-created that fun night -- only, without telling Tim until it was too late for him to do anything about it, Mervyn brought two of his friends along and they ALL worked Tim over. Wow! Then there’s Nell who, like Tim, is into submission and restraint -- on the receiving end. Nell's husband, Larry, and I have fun cooking up different, frequently sensually frustrating experiences for the two of them. There was the first night we partied together, for instance, when we tied each of their wrists together behind their respective backs, after stripping them in front of each other. Then, as each watched what was happening to the other, I worked Tim up to a fever pitch with my hands and mouth, while Larry used his fingers to get Nell begging for relief. Once we got the two of them worked up to where we wanted them, we told them that any pleasure they got that night would be from each other .. just the way they were. Then Larry and I got comfortable, gave orders, and watched the fun. Another night, we had a number of our friends over but, before they got there, we put Tim and Nell on the bed, Tim's wrists tied together and fastened to the headboard, his ankles together to the footboard. Nell, by his side, had her wrists together and back behind her head like Tim's, but her legs were spread wide, her left ankle tied to Tim's joined ones, her right to the corner of the bed. When our friends showed up, we told them that Nell and Tim were fair game for ANYTHING they wanted to do to them, except unfasten them; it's remarkable what a group of uninhibited sex hounds can do to two people who can’t move an inch in their own defense. Jill & Tim's Story Ch. 07 VII JILL EVERY BOOK should have an ending. That might be very difficult to accomplish in this case, though, because our story is far from over new people, new adventures, new pleasures are always just around the corner. However, in a sense, three things provide a climax of sorts, at least two of them being sufficient to wrap up any loose ends of our life together in your mind, so far as you’re concerned, because those three things represent the culmination of long-held wishes. Wish #1: Under my real name, I’ve become the well-known authoress of a pleasant number of successful books for-and-about pre-teen children. That was my dream for many years and now I’ve made it. This is not important to our story other than to, perhaps, illustrate that getting fucked or sucked is NOT the ONLY thing on our collective minds: Tim is as successful in his field as I’ve become in mine, and there is no rivalry or envy between us, in bed or out. More germane to the subject at hand are the other two dreams. Wish #2: Tim's dream for a long, long time has been to own his own nude-photo-by-mail business. It’s not that he’s so hot to make money from his favorite hobby -- photographing nubile young pussies naked, usually their first time that way in front of a camera -- but the money he can pay is wonderful leverage for getting girls to strip who would otherwise be reluctant to do so, and to dress for his camera just exactly to his (our) rather definite tastes. A hobby that not only finances itself but turns a profit is hard to come by... ...and hard to come W!TH, too but, in this case, the fringe benefits are, surprisingly often, quite fulfilling -- for BOTH of us! * * * Most of our models are either college students, young housewives or divorced waitresses. Besides the fact that large numbers of these girls need fast, extra money, we also prefer them inexperienced, because that seems to be the easiest way to get that young, "fresh" look that we prefer, and which most men think so refreshing: as Tim says, "When they look young and innocent, while being naked and dressed like hookers, it brings out the lecher in every man.” Girls who model professionally, who work as strippers or topless dancers, seem to acquire a "hard," wary, rather bored look very quickly, and that's not what we want at all. Picture, instead, the young girl next door or at the sales counter, in nothing but garterbelt, heels and hose spreading her legs for you, the slight blush of her sweet face setting off her damp-with-excitement pussy, open to your view for the very first time -- THAT'S what we're after! Tim and I always work as a team. Once-or-twice a month, we have the best of our applicants meet us, one at a time, at a luxury hotel or motel, or the fancy house of one of our friends. The girls are always nervous and seem to relax a bit when I tell them I'm there to help them look their best -- and to "chaperone" the session. If they only knew...! Rather than rushing things, we give the girls a few minutes to calm down, to drink some chilled wine, to get to know the two of us and to discuss what we're going to do. We joke and keep it light, the only "heavy" stuff being getting her to sign the Model Release right then. (They get reluctant about it after-the-fact, so you get the signature BEFORE the session .. and give them their fee AFTER the session, but make sure they can see it DURING the session). Once that's taken care of, I take the gal off to the bathroom or another bedroom to get her dressed and made-up. If her husband or live-in boyfriend has come along (unlike most photographers, we DO allow that: surprisingly often, they've been the driving force behind the lady's agreement to strip), he stays with Tim while things are being set up. Ah, young girls today .. most of them have no idea of what a waist-cinch, basque or corset is -- or what it can do for you -- and have only heard of garterbelts, so it's always a case of stripping them down to bare skin and working up from there. My own costume for these sessions is always either a body suit or very thin leotard, sheer-to-the-waist pantyhose, heels, and a wraparound skirt, usually a very short one. As soon as the girl and I are alone, I dispense with the skirt and it stays off for the rest of the session. There are several reasons for this outfit: it's cool, it’s convenient, it helps relax the girls, since it’s one of the perversities of feminine nature to mind less being on display if someone else of your gender is, too. A lady can be extremely reluctant to peel (or, for that matter, to do even more lurid things) in a group, but that attitude will change quickly and radically if another woman does it first. Misery is not the only thing that loves company. Since this book is nothing if not honest, I'll also confess to one more chief reason for my outfit: it's a giant ego-stroke to have a girl younger than you (usually, but not always) compliment you on your body and legs .. and they always do. I love it! Besides, if they HAVE been accompanied by their husband/lover, my near-naked body tends to distract them and take some of the edge off the fact that my husband is getting an eyeful of their wife/girlfriend's naked body. Tim always starts with the lady fully dressed, usually in slit or wraparound skirt and blouse, and peels them down gradually from there until, at the last, they're in nothing but heels, hose, and any of a number of lingerie items that hide nothing. I make sure her hair's always tidy, seams of her hose (when present) straight, makeup fresh, background uncluttered. It’s also become our custom that, at the point where the girl’s nipples come into view for the first time, I rouge them, kneeling down and using the tip of my moistened finger to apply color to the buds and their aureoles. It DOES help photographically .. and I get a kick out of watching them grow stiff and inviting (it never fails), while her breathing deepens. While I'm doing this, I compliment the girl on how "kissable" her breasts look .. and Tim "accidentally" trips the camera shutter to add another low-grade girl-girl intimate contact photo to our Roguish Gallery. We always do two rolls of a girl at this first session, which means that, at the end of roll one, it's back to the dressing room for more wine, a complete stripdown for her and then re-dressing. For my own selfish purposes, I make sure there's a lot of "accidental" body contact; frankly, it's fun watching most of them getting excited -- in most cases, DESPITE themselves (and without really knowing that it's deliberate on my part: having an innocent, pixyish face can be a real asset). By the time we come back out, we’ve reached the "buddy" stage. If the fun-and-games in the dressing room didn't do it, the second roll of film does. By this time, the girls have at least two or three glasses of wine in them, they've been touched, we’ve spoken -- lightly -- of sex in general and Tim and mine's rather unique relationship in particular .. and she’s been erotically naked in front of a not-unattractive man .. with the blessing, encouragement and assistance of the man's wife. I love watching their pussies dilate and get moist as the session goes on. This process accelerates when, a la the nipple-rouging in the first roll, shortly after the panties have been dispensed with in the second roll, Tim asks me to "..part her hair." * * * At this point, the model and I have had a lot of physical contact, with me straightening a leg or seam and such, so the girls really don't regard it as being too far out of the bounds of normality when I reach down to stick a finger in the bottom of their cunt and draw it slowly upward, spreading their pubic hair to allow the soft, glistening inside to show. As you might guess, Tim's shutter has again "accidentally" gone off -- not that the girls ever notice since, a few minutes before this stage, I’ve taken off my body suit or leotard with the statement that “..it's too damn hot in here to be dressed." My own nipples are rouged --and invariably stiff. The poses in this second roll are always explicit, lewd and emphatic, even more than in the first. They get even more-so when Tim tells the girl to "make love" to herself; they always get this startled look on their faces, but my Darling has issued the instruction in such a matter-of-fact way, and the girls are already so randy and excited, that very few of them ever balk. Instead, blushing prettily, they reach down to their furry little cunts and, initially a bit reluctantly, they begin to play with themselves while Tim captures the delightful sight on film while the girls get more .. enthusiastic .. about it. What happens next varies, and part of the fun is that we never really know what’s going to occur, since a lot depends on the vibes the young lady is giving off, the kind of rapport we've all established, whether her husband/lover is there and, if there, how he's taking it all. At the low end of the scale, the girl fingers herself to a nice, satisfying climax, sometimes with the aid of a vibrator and/or dildo that I always make sure is in my "emergency kit;" usually, it's the first time the girl has ever personally encountered either item, and they almost always try them out of curiosity (and some frustration) and end up finding them very fulfilling. At the top end of the scale … name it and I think it's happened at least once, if not oftener. Tim's gotten well-fucked, we’ve done threesomes, either-or-both of us have had the pleasure of burying our faces in their bushes and, a couple of times, I’ve gotten well-sucked-and-fucked by the husband/lover while Tim and their wife/girlfriend watched -- or frolicked themselves. We've made a couple of fairly close friends out of all this, not the least of whom is Lucy. The less-inhibited girls, incidentally, are the ones who get called back for further sessions, where the costumes and settings get even kinkier, particularly in the area of restraint and bondage shots or "lesbian" sessions. All-in-all, our experience has been that mixing sex with business works .. IF you concentrate on the fun part of it and let the profit take care of itself. * * * Oh, dear ... Tim says that, so long as we’re playing "true confessions," I must add one thing. Under a different company name, with a different P.O. Box number (in a neighboring city), I run my OWN nude-photo-by-mail business, only I'm taking and selling photos of guys. My clientele is about half gals, half gays -- not that it makes any difference in the way I shoot the sessions, since I’m intent on showing every part of my model's body, especially balls, cock and buns, just as explicitly as Tim shows off his ladies. In fact, it’s an almost total role reversal between Tim and I in these sessions, with him tending to the guys’ dressing and posing .. and getting their beautiful, beautiful pricks hard while lightly oiling their bodies. By the time I’m into the second roll, Tim is down to very snug briefs and I'm in my leotard or bodysuit costume (with, natch, everything on display through them). Either through my efforts, their own, or Tim's, these guys, by this time, have been kept hard for the biggest part of two hours and they are even randier than the girls are by then. There's an old adage that goes, "A stiff dick has no conscience." Well, it has precious little discretion, either, which is why they ALWAYS select one of the three alternatives we give them to just getting dressed and going home. Choice #1 is to make another $25 over-and-above the fee they've already earned by jerking themselves off all over themselves while I photograph the event; the other two choices pay them an equal amount of money, DO include being photographed .. but #2 is a combination hand-and-mouth job from Tim (he always makes them explode on themselves, which I love watching) and #3 is a blowjob from me. We never know which they're going to choose, but it's ALWAYS one of the three: not one of these nice-looking men have ever refused one of those three alternatives. (Incidentally, the guys rarely bring their wives/girlfriends along for the session -- men are much more self-conscious about their naked bodies than are most women -- but, when they do, their ladies almost always encourage their fellows to indulge in #2 .. definitely something to think about, if you never have before). For the record, the shots showing Tim and I with our models are never included in the sets we sell: we just share them with a few enthusiastically understanding friends. When we get models who want to do hardcore for profit, we pair them up together and shoot them but, for various reasons (mostly legal), we never sell the photos through our own companies. Instead, we sell them to a broker out on the west coast who, in turn, sells them to one-or-another porno factory; these companies are always glad to get them because they're new, fresh faces and bodies, well-photographed, if we DO say so ourselves. Our photo file has not only not cost us anything, but turns a tidy little profit. As they say, it's nice work if you can get it --- and we've got it! * * * That third dream..... We finally managed to find enough people who share our tastes to enable us to organize a group that can meet regularly to indulge their every kinky fantasy -- and get it on film and/or videotape. We have, right now, six couples, including ourselves, who meet every five weeks. Why FIVE weeks? The law of averages says that, out of six women, one of them is almost BOUND to be having her menstrual period at any given time; with our kind of schedule, at least it's not always the same woman. Besides, quite often we luck in and NO one's Flying the Flag. In age, construction, economic backgrounds and professions, our SNF (Saturday Night Frolics) members range all over the map. Otherwise, we're all quite similar: intelligent, either attractive or with the knowledge of how to MAKE ourselves attractive .. voyeuristic, exhibitionistic, easily bored with the same kind of sex with the same person; we have quick and frequently sneaky senses of humor, are either married or are living together with our partners (a Must in order to get an invitation to boogie with our group), love fetishistic lingerie and equipment, and not only love watching our marital partners having sex of all sorts, but want to capture it on film as well as being on the "modeling" end ourselves. To one-degree-or-another, we are all bisexual. We all trust one another implicitly, based on the most concrete of reasons: mutual incriminating photographs that we all have of each other. Most important of all are the "vibes." Before any couple is made aware that the SNF even exists, they party with at least two of our member couples who, if they like the gal and guy, explain the rules, and invite them in (we have a seventh and eighth couple joining us next Saturday night: I can hardly wait). We LIKE each other, as people, not just bodies .. and jealousy has no place in our get-togethers. One other important factor: we all like parties in which there is some structure, at last in the early stages .. a little restraint in building up to the main event. All of us swing with others, with varying results at various times; having sex, as such, is no problem for our members, so we try to keep the SNF's "special," a chance to fully indulge our mutual and otherwise hard-to-satisfy urges with people we like, trust, and know are in no position to criticize us for our tastes, since their own are no more socially acceptable to the "straight" world than are ours. * * * We always start early. Six o'clock, usually meeting at one of our homes, occasionally taking a two-room suite at a nice hotel. Everyone dresses up, the gals taking the opportunity to show off their slit or mini skirts, new heels, see-through blouses, etc. There's booze, but everyone always drinks in moderation because Shakespeare had it right when he said of alcohol, "It provoketh the desire but taketh away the ability.” Grass is allowed, but no other drugs, not even "poppers." There's a lot of kissing, hugging and stroking, but everyone stays dressed and reasonably "cool" during the early stages. Tim and I, by virtue of being the original organizers, as well as seeming to have a flair for this kind of nonsense, are the coordinators, by acclaim. It’s not that we’re any "pushier" than anyone else in the group (we all tend to be raging extroverts, in addition to our other personality traits): they just like the way we do it .. said she, modestly. Once everyone’s arrived (all, predictably, carrying cameras, everything from the instant picture variety to some very expensive and complicated gear) and has had a chance to get a drink, say hello or whatever, we begin. First comes the "set piece," which varies depending on what's available. It could be something as simple as one of our “models” peeling and showing it all as she works herself off with a vibrator or dildo. Sometimes, it’s much more extensive, like the night we brought in a young guy whose trick is sucking his own cock to climax (a rare and enviable talent, we all agreed). When we have such acts -- like the 19-year-old (he said) black boy with one of the biggest cocks I've ever seen, fucking and getting sucked off by his cute 25-year-old Hispanic girlfriend -- it's with the clear understanding that we'll be taking photos of it: $20 a couple goes a long way toward eliminating resistance to that. At other times, it's a film or videotape, either a commercial one that one of our members thinks is particularly good and/or unusual, or one from the collection of Larry, he’s the one usually shooting videotape of us at these get-togethers, and then edits it into highlights. So, failing anything else, we'll watch ourselves at our perverted best at one of our previous soirees. Once-in-a-while, Larry will shoot something special outside our meetings (he has no lack of willing volunteers to star in his productions) that he'll bring along. At our last SNF, it was a tape he'd shot of Jean, a short, wiry, deeply tanned blonde who's a member of our group. Jean, like Tim, is very fond of being put in helplessly exposed situations and, in this tape, it opened on a close shot of her cute, tanned face (looking kind of apprehensive: she hadn't been told what she was in for), then slowly zoomed out to show her shackled spread-eagled to the bed, her petite body decorated only by a narrow gold chain around her waist -- and four white leather belts, two around her wrists, one around each ankle, each of the broad, padded cuffs fastened to a chain which was tightly stretched to the nearest corner of the king-size bed. White patent spike pumps on her feet set off her tan, and emphasized the lewdness of her exposure: with both her head and her cute little ass propped up on pillows, her legs spread to their limit, there was no way for her to hide anything, a condition Larry exploits fully as his camera catalogs her from every angle. A hand reaches into the picture; the camera records Jean jumping as the hand touches her dark, sparse pubic bush and begins to stroke it tightly. It's a small, delicate, white and seemingly knowledgeable hand... ...it's MY hand, as you discover when the camera pulls out even farther. I'm sitting on the side of the bed, dressed only in the top from a very thin, transparent, bright gold set of shorty pajamas, a lacy garterbelt, hose and my always-present high heels. The unseen microphone (handled by Tim, whose bright idea this session was in the first place) hears me ask, "Jean, how many times do you think you can come in one evening?" There's a very wary look on the her face as she hesitantly replies, "I'm not .. sure. Not too many times, because I get too sensitive." Jill & Tim's Story Ch. 07 The camera slowly zooms down to my finger sliding into Jean's very wet gash to begin rubbing her clit as I tell her, "Tonight, we're going for a new record for you .. whether you want to or not." The camera concentrates on my steadily-moving finger as we hear the blonde's shaky voice ask, "How .. many times is that?" My finger slides into her vagina, my thumb coming down on top of her taut clit as I tell her, "Until you've passed out .. twice." Her response is a frightened moan. The tape is tightly edited from that point on, taking portions of the early and middle stages, plus the full climb to climax, of each thing I do to her -- which, for the record, was: finger-fucked her three times, 69'd with her twice, ate her to explosion four times (twice while fingering myself, which Larry's camera documented excitingly), dildo-fucked her with a strap-on twice and, finally, a regular dildo deep in her throbbing cunt, blew her away four times in an unbroken row with a strong vibrator .. right on her clitty. Along the way, of course, I took advantage of the situation to kiss Jean, very wetly and extensively, as well as used my mouth and fingers on her defenseless tits. I enjoyed doing it and showing it, the SNF crowd LOVED watching it .. and Jean slept all the day after the taping. She says she'd like to "return the favor" sometime. Hmm .. I'll have to think about that. It could be a case of “revenge is sweet,” which makes it very tempting, I’ll admit. * * * When the Set Piece is over, we take a short break for the bathroom, fresh drinks (and, quite often, fresh seating arrangements), paying and seeing-off the "paid talent," if any. The crowd is invariably VERY warmed up by this time, their excitement stemming about half from what they've just seen, and half from anticipation of The Game, which is the next item on the agenda. Tim invented The Game, and it's the playing of it that provides the opportunity for most of the group's most inspired picture-taking, since it’s never xactly the same thing twice --and is ALWAYS totally unguessable until it actually happens. Step One is to ceremoniously place into a box a set of marbles, all white except for one red one. The box is taken ceremoniously around the room, each person reaching in to take a marble, without being able to see which they’ve selected. Custom decrees that the marble be held tightly in the fist, still undetermined and unidentified, until everyone's gotten one, the person passing the box getting whichever one is left. At a signal, everyone holds their marble up for all to see, and a certain amount of semi-envious ribaldry is always directed at whoever has the red one. The ribbing is due to the fact that we've never decided whether the member who's been "redballed" should be classed as a "winner" or “loser.” Whichever you’d call it, and whether it’s male or female, the holder of the rubiscent bead groans (usually) in mock despair, gets up, goes to the end of the room where he/she will face everyone and, to the accompaniment of flash guns and camera shutters, strips. If it's a guy, he'll strip to his jewelry; a gal will peel to her jewelry, hose, heels and whatever else she might have accompanying it, like a GB, cinch, long-line bra with hose supports, whatever. Knowing that any of us are liable to get the marble -- and that all the rest of the girls will be dressed likewise -- we ALWAYS "dress" for the occasion. Face it, we would anyway, since it’s a fetish that not all our women share but is universal among our husbands. Besides, a woman dressed with some erotic lingerie looks much sexier in photos as well as in person. We like to think of it as our version of "naked." Having peeled to their "party costume" -- and possibly deliberately hitting a naughty pose or two for the assembled cameras -- the redball holder then reaches blindly into a box full of envelopes. This box is the heart of The Game and deserves some explanation. We had everyone jot down sex acts they’d like to see and photograph and/or do themselves. It came to a sizeable variety of things when we began and, in fact, it’s constantly replenished, both by fresh suggestions and by a recycling of used ones (since they even might be the same as at our last get-together, but the cast is bound to change). The envelopes, each containing just one such act, are sealed, with the "cast of characters" typed neatly on the front like, for instance, "WOMAN A, MAN A, WOMAN B." This, in fact, was exactly the envelope I drew the first Time I got redballed, so let's use that experience as an example of the mechanics of The Game. ! had peeled down to black satin waist cinch, black, seamed cocktail-length hose, and black patent 6-inch spike pumps -- to very vocal approval -- before selecting that envelope. One I’d digested, silently, the assortment of people required, rather than reading out the whole list, all I said was, "I need a man," (which caused one resident wag to proclaim, "Well, you came to the right place for THAT!"), then I looked around the room until finally naming Darryl, a good-looking, well-built guy just a little younger than me. More catcalls as, blushing (he's our "gentle giant"), he got up, came to where I was standing, kissed me, then got undressed. Once he was naked, I handed him the envelope and it was his turn to look around the room, consider his choice, before announcing, "Diedre, please. Then it was her turn to get up, come to us, kiss both of us, and strip to nothing but her heels (Deidre being one of only two of our gals who never wears hose, since she’s got the most flawless, beautifully-tanned legs I've ever seen: hose would be redundant on her or Jean. The rest of us aren't that lucky). Once stripped, Deidre got the envelope. There being no more "names" on the front, she opened it. Had there been more people in the cast list -- and some of these things involve as many as six people -- the process Darryl and I used would’ve been repeated until everyone was “naked” and ready to go. Deidre's only announcement was to say, reading from the upper right-hand corner of the card, "For this one, you can thank Lisa," adding to the lady in question, "Sorry you can't be me, kid." Deidre read the card silently other than that acknowledgement of whose bright idea this was, looked at me unsettlingly strange, passed the card to Darryl who, reading it, grinned, then passed it on to me. Oh, dear. Other than Lisa’s name up in the corner, the card repeated the cast list, then said, "Woman B will kneel and suck Man A's cock until it's hard and throbbing. Woman A will stand next to him, finger her cunt and play with her titties until that point is reached. Then, Woman B will lay back on the floor with her legs spread open, Woman A will kneel between them and eat her pussy while Man A fucks Woman A from a kneeling position from her rear. Continue until at least 2 or the 3 people have come.” I could feel myself blushing as I read this, but it was as much due to excitement as embarrassment. WITHOUT reading the card aloud ("Always keep ‘em guessin'!" is the motto of The Game), I moved across to kiss Deidre -- stroking her nice little tits as I did so -- then moved to Darryl's side to kiss him while Deidre, without hesitation, sank to her knees and sucked his cock into her hot mouth while I slid my finger into my pussy. Darryl's arm encircled me comfortingly as my other hand began taunting, rather harshly, my rouged nipples .. and one of Deidre's hands began lightly stroking my silk-enhanced legs while camera flashes went off all over the room. The three of us gave the crowd several minutes of that --giving everyone a chance to move around and take their shots from several angles, and giving us a wonderful chance to get steamed up -- before Deidre, Darryl’s cock still in her busy mouth, glanced up at me, and I nodded agreement to her tacitly-asked question. She then leaned back on her knees and asked for a throw pillow with the comment, "I want to watch this, too!” The pillow as quickly given to her and, as the rest of us watched (only the three of us knowing what was up), the dark blonde lay back, her head propped up. Slowly, she spread her legs and, in her own contribution to the proceedings, reached down with two dainty fingers to part her lower lips and give us a view of her thoroughly-moistened interior. Having learned to exploit the impact of sexual obscenities coming from my innocent-looking face, I whispered into Darryl’s ear, "Fuck my cunt real good with that gorgeous prick of yours and I'll give you a sucking-off later that you'll never forget!” His arm gave my shoulders a squeeze and he watched as I sank to my knees, bent forward, and buried my face in Diedre’s fragrant bush. Although I was leaning forward on my upper arms over shapely thighs, my alabaster ass was sticking up in the air because I was on my knees, and I groaned in delight as I felt Darryl sliding his big dong into my pussy before grabbing my hips and slowly starting to stroke in and out of me. The three of us were, at one-and-the-same-time, both very aware of our audience and its cameras recording our menage-a-trois from every angle .. and oblivious to them, our senses wrapped up in the pleasure we were bringing to each other. Deidre quickly shot off one orgasm, then another, as I built to mine (it fueled by hers) and Darryl's skilled fucking got faster and harder. Soon, wonderfully, I heard his half-strangled sounds building, and braced myself in delighted anticipation .. and my lips almost sucked Deidre's clit off as Darryl's cock plunged all the way to my navel and began jetting thick spurts of come into my womb, driving me over the edge into wonderland! The three of us bounced and gurgled like crazy people as the marvelous sensations cascaded through our joined bodies .. until finally, regretfully, Darryl sank back on his haunches, which caused me to roll over and hold his wonderful juices in my pussy with one hand as cameras recorded the aftermath... ...which, totally unscripted, involved Deidre rolling over to plant her mouth on my cunt and suck out Darryl’s hot fluids, causing me to noisily come again. Then, as I lay there watching, dazed, she cleaned our combined fluids off Darryl’s cock. My thought was, "Gee, what a nice thing for a woman to do for her husband and his lover.” * * * Not that husbands and wives usually call their spouse up for The Game (although, occasionally, some other member of the cast will call up the Life Partner of one of the other members of the Set Piece group); ordinarily, having your husband or wife taking part in the same Game session, like events the rest of the evening, is somewhat contrary to the general intent of group sex in the first place. But, as the old adage goes, "Rules are made to be broken" and, at our gatherings, we manage to break most of them. In fact, the only rules we DON'T fracture are the Cardinal Rules for Orgies: I. "No, thanks" means "NO!" 2. Don't close doors on your coupling. let alone lock them. 3. You can watch (and. in our peculiar brand of swinging, photograph) anything and anyone you want .. but don't intrude physically unless invited to do so. 4. Drunks are no fun. 3. No displays of jealousy -- save your fights. if any. for after you get home. 4. Be discreet outside the group: if you're not. your reputation might be in jeopardy. Other than those, the sky, as they say, is the limit (if you can find someone who enjoys your particular perversion -- and, at our gatherings, you almost always can). The Game goes a long way towards reducing reluctance to admit to some strange urges; by being "honor-bound" to participate fully, even if what's in the cards isn't exactly their cup of tea (or, in many cases, what they would feel like ADMITTING is their cup of tea), our members quickly lose what few inhibitions they may've had when they first joined us. Among the things we've watched (and photographed) each other doing .... Two "games within The Game." In the first, two gals (one of them the aforementioned Lisa, a tall, leggy, toothily cheerful redhead) sat side-by-side on two chairs, their legs spread, and used vibrators on themselves. In the second, two guys (one of them My Darling, Tim) lay side-by-side on the floor and 69'd each other. In both cases, the person who managed to hold off their climax longer than their partner got their choice of anyone in the room to finish them off in the manner of their choosing. (Let the record show that Tim chose to fuck Rosemary, a petite, cute Mexican girl .. and Lisa asked to have me kneel and suck her to climax, which can be a very lengthy job after you've had a vibrator on your come-button for awhile). We've had 3-women daisy chains -- three luscious bodies laying on their sides in a triangle, each of them eating the pussy of another -- and two guys jacking off simultaneously. ! think the most elaborate grouping so far was when we had five people involved. Larry lay down on his back. Rosemary sucked him and got him hard, then straddled his hips and, facing towards his feet, started fucking him. This was the signal for Toni (a luscious black lady) to kneel over Larry's head, facing away from Rosemary, putting her pussy on Larry's mouth so he could begin eating her while his hands played with her full, beautiful tits and chocolate-cream wide ass. Finally, Tim stepped forward to stand with his feet on each side of Larry's quivering legs and slide his cock into Rosemary's mouth, while Mike did the same up at the other end with Toni. We ALL got some great photos of THAT grouping, including some marvelous closeups! Larry, Tim and Mike weren't much use to us gals for the next hour-or-so but, as you might guess, it didn’t slow us down any! (I keep thinking of a remark attributed to Woody Allen in which he supposedly said that being bisexual “..cuts in half your chances of being lonely on a Saturday night." Cuts in half your chances of staying horny, too). * * * By this time, everyone not involved in The Game is more-than-ready to get down to business themselves: dresses are hanging open or have been discarded entirely, guys are half-or-all naked, and things have started happening of their own in the livingroom and/or bedroom(s). We keep the lights on all over the place --low, but on. As is the case at more conventional group-gropes, they're brighter in the livingroom, but the tacit restrictions against overt sex in the livingroom that exist at other parties don't apply here. People who go to the bedroom do so only for comfort's sake: that's where the beds are. Our members are encouraged to do anything they want, and, the more unusual it is, the better. The whole purpose of the SNF is to get out of our systems the things we can't do at other orgies, at least not with any guarantee that someone won’t complain about it. What a wonderfully free feeling it is to know you can ask anyone you want to do anything you want any way that you want; they might say “no,” but at least they won't be shocked -- and, quite often, they'll come back with an equally entertaining suggestion of their own. The night we showed Larry's videotape of me sending the chained-down Jean over the hurdles time-and-again, her husband peeled her down to the same waistchain-and-heels basics she'd worn in the tape, took her back to one of the bedrooms and tied her down again, exactly the same way she'd been when videotaped. Those walking in to find her helplessly spread out and asking the purpose were told, mock-resignedly, by the "victim," "I guess it’s so anyone can do anything to me they want." They did, very enthusiastically -- and often. Granted, most of the activities are fairly ordinary (as such things go), although there's considerably more bi-stuff --especially male/male -- then you'll find at most, more conventional (??!!??) sex gatherings; the opportunity to try new things, though, can lead to some interesting couplings. I was laying on top of Larry one night, doing almost as much kissing as fucking (our members are rarely in a hurry -- why should they be?) when I realized Max had laid down next to us to watch. Max is in his latter twenties, short and very muscular all over, with dark good looks. Like so many very strong men, Max is very gentle. As you might guess from the way I say that, I like Max. At the same time, on this occasion, Larry and I had a good thing going and, anyway, it's considered tacky to change cocks in mid-fuck .. unless, of course, you're doing a threesome, which we weren’t .. at that exact moment. What I did was reach back and find Max's prick with my hand and pull him up closer to us before giving him a little kiss. Then I said, quietly, “Max, rumor has it that you're a bit of a Greek freak. Is that true?" Max softly replied, "Well, I HAVE been known to hit the wrong hole once-in-a-while; what can you expect from a Polack, anyway?" My hips gently moved on Larry's cock – God!, talk about feeling mellow! -- and I finally asked, "Do you think you could hit the wrong hole on purpose .. and make use of it without killing me or crushing Larry?" I could feel my lover's shaft swelling at the thought of me getting double-fucked. "I've love to try," Max said, kissing me lightly, then he moved away, out of my sight. Larry could see him though, and reached down with his hands to grasp the globes of my ass and spread them apart. The first I knew of exactly what was happening was when a sudden, almost overwhelming warmth suddenly flowed through me as Max laid down on Larry's legs and began "rimming” me, licking my asshole with his tongue. I had a little orgasm right on the spot. It's very difficult for those of us girls who are into Greek to explain its fascination. It is simultaneously uncomfortable, even painful .. but very, very exciting. To have a cock or a dildo up your ass -- especially if you already have something in your pussy -- makes you feel full to bursting, almost like you're dying. I simultaneously dread and dream of sessions where my ass is going to be used like a second cunt. Tim isn't into butt-fucking -- although he frequently sticks the tip of his finger in there while eating me, and frequently licks my asshole, but that's the extent of his nether involvement. I suppose the phrase that best sums it up is the old Masochist's cry. "Oh, it hurts .. but it hurts so GOOD!" Which is why my mind and body were a welter, a swirl of emotion and sensation as Max sandwiched his legs between mine and Larry's, moistened the head of his beautiful cock, and pressed forward against my rectal rosette. Oh, God!, that feeling as my sphincter spread from the slow, persistent pressure of Max's shaft: the head of it felt almost like a red-hot iron as it sank into me in short, fucking motions! There! It's by the first, hardest barrier, the initial penetration, and now Max is letting his weight press his cock down into me to its full length in a gently controlled, unbroken descent. How marvelous, how wonderful! I felt like I was stuffed full of cock from the waist down! I was also, I'm told, babbling almost continuously and hysterically (and, when they could make out words, obscenely, they say), coming almost without pause as Max hit bottom, rested for a moment to give me a chance to adjust to the feel of his seemingly-monumental weapon. As he did so, kissing the back of my neck, Larry kissed my lips, then turned my face toward the door. My darling, Tim, and the delightfully dusky Toni were in the room, watching, Tim with our camera, with which he recorded our Greek gathering. Actually, if you want to know how wrapped up (as it were) I was in what was being done to me .. It's almost impossible to get a truly candid shot of me. I'm such a vain, exhibitionistic, horny little trollop that, even in the middle of getting thoroughly and delightfully screwed out of my mind, if someone's got a camera on me, I’m mindful of the position of my legs, the condition of my hair, making sure my face can be seen. Well .. Tim had already gotten about three shots, with flash, before I knew he and Toni were there (these included one shot of Max's great tongue spearing down between the globes of my ass). Jill & Tim's Story Ch. 07 For me, that is REALLY being involved in what I'm doing! Even more, once knowing Tim and Toni were there (even though I love an audience, ESPECIALLY if it's my hubby), I paid no further attention to them except once, later, when I happened to twist my head in that direction. What I saw was Tim, naked in a chair, Toni (in white garterbelt, white hose and white heels) sprawled at an angle in his lap, her head on his shoulder. They were both watching us do our thing, driving towards our peaks .. as Tim used one hand to play with one of Toni's beautifully big tits, while his other hand skillfully fingerfucked her kinky-curled cunt. Other than those two looks, though, I had no time for them: I was too totally involved in the unbelievably voluptuous feelings created by two marvelous pricks moving within me. Larry's was, due to his position, doing more throbbing than sliding, although my hips, moving in involuntary response to the wonderful sensations, created what he tells me were some world-class feelings in-and-on his shaft. What was REALLY doing the job for both of us was Max fucking my tight ass! There were not only the sensations those uninitiated in this form of fun might expect .. but the bonus of feeling two cocks rubbing against each other through the relatively thin membranes separating them made it almost like having both of them in my cunt! I was wailing and raising delighted hell, actually drooling all over Larry’s shoulder, as the two of them worked me over, those two marvelous monoliths hitting every single sexual nerve I possess, and keeping me continually in orgasm as both Larry and Max began increasing the tempo and force of their twin penetrations. I'm told they heard me all over the house when Max finally shot his load into my bowels .. and the spastic throbbing of his cock mated solidly against Larry's set my lower lover off, REALLY sending me into a wailing, screaming orbit, one from which I was quite some long Time recovering. Absofuckinglutely unforgettable! * * * Lest you think all this is terribly one-sided, in my favor .... It was, I guess, about an hour later, when I’d come back down to earth and then spent some time in the bathroom, that I finally felt refreshed and renewed. More out of curiosity than horniness, I went looking for Tim, and found him in the same bedroom I'd had my great Greeking in earlier. It took only a glance to size up the situation and, since Tim was DEFINITELY occupied, I picked up our camera and recorded the tableau for posterity. When the flash went off, he shifted his eyes to me and winked in greeting, without stopping what was going on. The first thing that was obvious to me was that Toni had gotten her juicy (and delicious) cunt well-eaten while I'd been out of commission. (How can you tell you've been eating too much pussy? Your face looks like a glazed doughnut). Toni was now, in her favorite way, repaying the favor by straddling Tim's hips and, upright, slowly and skillfully fucking him in a manner that she seemed to find as pleasant as did Tim. As for my Darling, he was himself busy: Toni’s husband, Gary, was kneeling, his legs on each side of my hubby's upper chest, his cock in Tim's mouth being sucked. Interesting. Both Gary and Toni smiled at the camera as I got the scene from another angle -- without either of them interrupting what was being done to-and-by my Life's Companion. I set the camera down and watched for a few minutes before quietly asking Toni, “Do you think there's room there for one more?” "Darlin'," she said, her voice sounding just a wee bit strained, "if you can think of something useful to do, you just hop right to it .. ain't nobody gonna complain." So, the first thing I did was kneel next to Toni, turning her face to me for a very long, very tongue-filled kiss (another thing I like about the SNF: at "straighter" sex parties, it seems to be alright for women to eat each other’s pussies, but people feel threatened if they show affection by kissing on the lips; not me, I regard kissing as another sex act) .. while my right hand caressed her ass and my left hand paid gentle tribute to her abundant tits. Toni is one of my favorite people: brash, outspoken, funny, and as close to totally uninhibited as any person I’ve ever known, even more-so than am I (the two of us have been known to do an on-our-sides 69 for as long as an hour, each of us doing our best to try to get the other to beg us to quit). That's among the reasons why we both thoroughly enjoyed it when I started gently probing her asshole with one finger while, on the front side, another finger started pressing her prominent clit .. not that the lowering of my hand left her heaving breasts unattended, of course, since I also lowered my head to draw her tasty nipples, one at a time, into my mouth, there to lustily suck and tongue them. It all had the desired effect: Toni came, paused for a brief rest, then went back to fucking my husband with renewed enthusiasm while I gave her another kiss before moving up the bed to see what I could do for my Darling. Of course, first things first: a nice kiss for/with/from Gary while my left hand reached down to stroke my Darling's slowly moving head, then to slide over and caress Gary’s nice handful of balls. I know my Life's Lover well enough to be aware that, while he enjoys sucking cock -- especially with an enthusiastic and female audience, particularly me -- he has never really developed a fondness for male come in his mouth. Oh, he'll accept it and not do an “Oh, God'., that was terrible!” routine .. but I know he doesn't really enjoy the taste. (He’s a finicky food eater, too, but not near as picky when it comes to eating women, I hope you realize). As for me .. well, I could swallow come every half-hour and be utterly delighted. Yet, I DO love watching my Tim's mouth moving on a male member. Now, how to cater to everyone's dilemma...? ! laid down on my side, one leg bent upward so that Toni -- and Gary, if he chose to -- could get a clear view of my fingers playing with my hirsute snatch. Toni reward me by reaching out briefly to caress one of my hose-adorned legs, her way of letting me know she’d noticed, and appreciated the display. Meanwhile, I leaned forward and gave my Darling a kiss; considering that he had a real mouthful of Gary's prick, it was one of my more interesting kisses .. and the net result was that 1 ended up (as I'd intended) with Gary in my mouth, me hungrily sucking his tasty brown tamale. This didn't let Tim totally off the hook, by any means. Gary's shaft is long enough that, even with my greedy mouth taking all of it I could handle, there was plenty of room for Tim's tongue to lick it .. and, within a couple more minutes, to work downward until he had a mouthful of our friend's Olympic-size balls. When Tim's tongue and lips started working down there, combined with what my mouth was doing to his prick, Gary was forced to throw in the towel. His hips started bucking, the grunts and groans from his mouth grew rapidly in volume and, in just a few, thrilling minutes, he let out a roar and his semen started striking the back of my welcoming throat. As you might expect of me by now, I greedily sucked at him, draining every bit of fluids until he had to remove himself from our twin mouths with an almost unseemly haste. As he slumped down on the edge of the bed, his mangled muscle safely removed from our marauding mouths (I’m getting as bad at alliteration as my Darling), I leaned forward and, with Gary's come gleaming on my lips, shared a long tongue-fucking with Tim. By this Time, Toni, Tim and myself were wound up tighter than an idiot's watch. I didn't even think twice after our kiss: I just quickly rearranged myself so that, in just moments, my nylon-covered knees were on each side of my husband’s head, my pussy firmly on his lips, my own nether lips immediately speared by his tongue before his mouth sucked my clit tightly and that marvelous tongue began flailing the tender tip. Tim's hands began caressing my ass and breasts as -- in my reverse position, my hands on Tim's heaving abdomen -- I unashamedly stared, with lust-clouded eyes, at Toni's kinky-hair cunt corkscrewing up and down on Tim’s beet-red prick Gary, having gotten his breath back, walked over to pick up our camera and record the trio from several angles -- which, with the persistent prodding I was getting from Tim's tongue, inflamed me even more .. and the whole thing got to Toni, too: without stopping her hips’ grinding motion, she looked me straight in the eye as she reached down to cup the undersides of both sizeable breasts and pull them up-and-out in a blatant invitation. I turn down VERY few such invitations, and didn't refuse this one, either. Making sure my cunt was still tightly against my Lover's mouth, I leaned forward even farther and sucked one of Toni's nipples into my mouth, to do to it what my Darling Tim was doing to my clitty. As his hands began mauling my own tits, Toni’s hands caressed my bobbing head for an encouraging moment before sliding downward. Using my shoulders for balance and leverage, her wide hips began moving with a vengeance, her wet, fragrant pussy lunging downward on my Darling's cock. The voluptuous sensations she was giving him transmitted into my body by his mouth on my pussy, returned to Toni by my mouth on her tit .. all faithfully recorded by our camera in Gary's hands. Our triple explosion was a thing of beauty, all of us making primordial, animal-like sounds as the wonders of basic lust fulfilled poured through us in a self-amplifying closed circuit. When the final shockwaves passed through, they left three very happy people behind. Our audience of SIX people (five had walked in unnoticed by us, drawn there by the frantic noises we were making as we reached our triple peaks) were enthralled, too .. and even gave us a round of applause for our efforts . . not to mention other rewards .. later... * * * Even though our dreams have, seemingly, reached their culmination, you can see why we hesitate to say our story is over: who knows who-and-what is going to come (literally, in most cases) into our lives tomorrow? New people, new and even more intense sensations are always just around the corner. Our public lives are both profitable and productive, our private lies satisfying and exciting. We have each other, and enjoy each other's company AND mutual respect. What more could anyone ask? May your life become as fulfilled as ours. Remember: tomorrow carries with it the potential for boundless delight and happiness . . and Tomorrow is ALWAYS just a few short hours away. T&J P Arizona 4/1/92 IN THE BEGINNING – VII TIM It's hard to cover two years in one chapter. Perhaps I should just summarize and then give you the flavor of our growing feelings (and exchange of ideas!). Frank and Jill were gone almost two months. When they got back, I greeted them with the news that I'd taken a job in a city about two hours away. I'd told Jill first, so she could know the rest: I was, simultaneously, leaving my wife and children, and filing for divorce. Frank got the rest of it after I left, and it seemed kind of natural that, since it would not be .. appropriate .. for me to stay at my old house when I came to visit my children, I should stay with them. Well, between getting in earlier in the afternoon than Frank thought I was getting in, and other opportunities taken (sometimes, I could swear he was going out of his way to throw us together), we definitely managed to get to know each other better, and our love flowered. I ate her pussy. She sucked my cock all the way and, while I had confirmation that she had a natural skill, SHE had the sublime surprise of discovering that she both loved doing it AND she loved the taste of come! That was, to her, as close to Heaven as you get (fortunately, as it is to me, too). Then we got another wrench in our plans: my career -- and our livelihood -- demanded that I move a long way away. Except for one occasion during that next year, we were separated. Not chaste, understand: I had my frolics in the feathers with a number of ladies, and she got laid on her desk top at school (by the custodian) late one afternoon. The key here was that we both knew those were temporary: we were permanent. So, it took two years for her to be in a position to tell Frank goodbye, and another eight months before her divorce was final and she got their tangled financial affairs straightened out (with a court order, at that). And then we got married, and you've seen what's happened since. You deserve, I think, a peek at our correspondence, both because you've managed to hold on through this lengthy book, and because we're exhibitionists, especially my lurid -- and, simultaneously, romantic -- wife. * * * My Dearest Jill: I miss you so much that I hurt inside and must cling tightly to my memories -- and my hopes -- in order to get through each day. I discovered a (strange? interesting?) thing when I allowed myself to smell your handkerchief. The odor of your perfume gave me a tingle (that's as good a word as any). but it wasn't between the legs, where you might most expect it to occur. No. the feeling I got was a tight. excited feeling right in the middle of my chest. a sudden breathlessness that almost brought tears to my eyes .. and did bring memories tumbling from my mind. so that I quickly had to put it back into its much-too-prosaic container before the day was lost... I've been going back and re-examining in my mind my feelings .that day I walked into the livingroom stark naked, and the thought that finally came to me was this: for the first time in my life. I have some small inkling of the feelings of a bride when she first allows her new husband to see her body naked, the fear of rejection or embarrassment .. and the rushing feeling of relief and love when approval is. found instead. I can't begin to tell you how thrilling was the look on your face after the first shock passed, and the warmth I felt from your love. gratitude and approval. For that. if nothing else. I thank you. Frankly. I don't think I've felt so nervous about nudity in my life as I felt at that moment. You know, I'm sure, the feeling: I just wanted YOU to know that I now know it, too. I have thought much and often of you kneeling before me, your mouth making love to me in its singularly talented way. I find myself unable to describe my thoughts and feelings at this moment -- except to say that they’re all positive, aesthetically, emotionally and physically. You will NEVER hear me criticize you for anything other than NOT doing that which you think you want to. Be Honest with yourself and your needs and you need never have anything to fear from me.... I don't think you yet appreciate how important is your approval me, collectively and in individual instances. You are and will forever be my favorite model -- and, yet, I can know that you're aware that I will be photographing other women, and that you'll approve, aid and abet me in my hobby. That one item alone is worth a million dollars to me... Back to the day of my Great Unveiling ,. you'll recall that I asked if there was ..anything else I can do for you. You said, “N0.” It occurred to me that my question had been pretty obscure and I couldn't quite verbalize it the way I wanted (I have my bashful moments, too). The thought, you should know -- even if I couldn't say it then -- was that you might want to watch me jerk myself off. As I stroked myself last night in the darkness of early early morning, I imagined me naked, as I was then, sitting in an easy chair, my legs spread, my ass near the edge. You were clothed and sitting on a chair in front of me, close enough to touch me, in fact, but you weren't touching. Instead, with love in your eyes, you were silently encouraging me as one of my hands lightly caressed my tense balls and my other hand slowly squeezed and slid over the hot, hard length of my cock. Your voice occasionally tells me of the beauty you see in me and what I'm doing, the two of us prod each other with verbalized erotic fantasies until, finally, I can hold out no more and, hollering your name, I come, my semen spurting up and out of my cock to fall in thick, profuse globlets all over my shoulders and chest, and you encouragingly murmur, "Yes, yes. .!” Put that on our list of Things To Do -- if it does anything for you... You have no idea how astonished and delighted I am, still, over the discovery that you think I have a lot of off-the-wall ideas worth pursuing and trying. Understand, I don't love you JUST because you approve of my way of thinking and are interested in at least sampling a few things .. but it would've been impossible for me to love you if you didn't think that way. Get the difference? It's a little like you don't love me because I think you have exciting legs and a cute body and face -- but you couldn't love me if I thought you were one of the world's great dogs. . . . I keep having the most vivid. erotic images of you. One I've been playing with the last couple of days -- and which will undoubtedly become part of Our Book -- is one in which, with your agreement, foreknowledge and total cooperation, I tie you to the bed. No, not just spread-eagled. There are cuffs on your wrists which are fastened to ropes running down to the foot-corners of the bed, so your arms are at a comfortable angle. There are two more broad straps, though, fastened to your thighs immediately above your cute, dimpled knees. The ropes on these run to the top of the headboard, one to each corner, pulled snug so that your thighs are raised in the air and pulled back toward you, and your entire cunt and ass are open and totally vulnerable, your omni-present heels dangling in mid-air. You are not gagged, you are not blindfolded. You'll be able to see everything that I do to you and you'll be able to talk or scream: in fact, I've told you that you'll probably end up screaming .. but, fortunately, we're far enough away from neighbors that you can do so without fear of the police showing up at the door. After photographing you from several luridly revealing angles, I set the automatic camera on a tripod at an angle that will show your face and your groin to its unblinking lens, and set a remote trio where I can fire it off at will, without moving from my position at your beautiful ass. And then I start. Once I have you in that position, I take about the next two hours very leisurely working you over. First, I lightly rub your pussy, bringing you just up to the edge of climax, but stopping before you get there. I do this over and over until you're begging me to come. Then I start eating you. For awhile, I repeat the same pattern until, finally, I let you come .. and then make you come again and again and again until you pass out cold. When you reawaken, I fingerfuck you hot again and, when you're juicy and moaning, I take a big, pink, fat dildo and slowly fuck it up into you. I keep it in tight with one hand, and pick up a vibrator, which I out right smack on your tender clit .. and .make you come, screaming, over and over and over until, once more, you lose consciousness. When you awake, having been released, I'm cuddling you. We kiss and silently love for a long while until your hand reaches to stroke me and when I’m hard, you tip me over on my back ,straddle my body to sink my cock into your aching -- pleasantly --lovenest, to begin slowly sliding yourself up and down on me. Midway to our mutual climaxes, you whisper in my ear, "Did you get pictures of ALL of that?" Um-hmm. "000," you say, "I can hardly wait to see them.. and, love, in a month-or-two, will you do it to me again?"