1 comments/ 122018 views/ 3 favorites Friday Night - Saturday Morning By: Jack Gates Daddy, don't spare me I want what you have to give. This is the follow on of, 'Mummy has left us Daddy, don't cry!' It was daylight when I opened my eyes so it must be a new day. I stretched and remembered where I was. 'Good morning Daughter, I would love a cup of tea, a feel first. You smell lovely and horny!' 'Daddy! Don't finger me there I have not been to the loo yet!' 'Well, you will park this delicious bum against my morning erection.' 'I am still sore there from the fucking you gave me last night. You will have to take it easy with me today if you want me to do it for your friends.' Patti my Lovely Daughter, you take after your Mum for liking the cock and you certainly love my cock up your bum.' 'It feels nasty, dirty some times. I try to empty my bowels, but it is not enough. I read in a sexy magazine that a woman washed her asshole out every time she was expecting to get it up her ass. Where can I get one? I think it is called a douche, Daddy.' 'Your Mum had one she kept in a shoe box in the airing cupboard, she might have taken it with her though. Go and see if it's still there. Wash out and come back to bed otherwise I'm going to trip myself up getting out of bed, Patti.' I was surprised to see that the box was still there. I had found it before but did not have a clue what it was for. There was also a note in the box from my Mum. 'Patti Love. Use this, you will find it a must for what you have ahead of you. Just fit it to the taps and sit on the loo and put it down between your legs before turning on the taps. Hot first then cold and adjust to suit yourself. Fill up you bum or pussy and then let the water go. Keep doing it until you are clean. There is Vaseline in the medicine cabinet to replace the natural lubrication. You will need it with your Dad and the Friday night crowd. Good luck, Darling. God Bless and have fun, even if you have to pretend. Beware of the bondage situation! Mum.' What was she on about? The bondage situation? I used the douche and found it not only exciting but refreshing too. I made up my mind to be a douche addict. 'Oh! There you are Sweetheart, I was going to start without you. Did you find the douche?' 'Yes, Daddy.' 'Use it alright?' 'Yes, thanks. What is the bondage situation?' 'How come you know about that?' I handed him the note. 'Mummy left me this note.' He read it and smiled condescendingly at me. I was now in bed with him and wrapped in his warm arms. His strong hands gripping my taut buttocks and his hard cock trapped between our bodies. 'When the card school started, Patti, your Mum was apprehensive in joining in the capers that the boys and myself had planned for her. We had to forcibly strip her and tie her to this bed..' 'You raped her?' 'Yes, you could say we did that to her. We all had her pussy then turned her over so that we each could bugger her.' 'If I say no tonight is that what you will do to me? Tie me to this bed and rape me? You will all take my clothes off and manhandle me? Maul me? Assault my body? That's a gang-bang! Isn't it?' 'Give me your hand.' I gave it to him and he leaned over me and forced my hand over near the bedpost. He put his hand underneath the pillow and pulled out a noosed rope which he quickly looped my wrist and pulled it tight. Then he got off the bed taking my other wrist with him so he could noose that one to the other post. I trembled and felt my pussy juicing. Next he went under the mattress and pulled out some more rope with a webbed stirrup on it and he bent my leg and pulled it up and back and he put my foot through it until it was holding my ankle up . He did the same to my other leg until I was naked and trussed up like a chicken. Problem was I was already plucked. 'Oh Daddy! Don't be rough with me, remember tonight!' 'You talk too much.' He reached under the pillow and came out with a pair of knickers I knew were not mine.' 'They are not mine, Daddy!' 'No they are a pair your Mum left in the bed the day she left here.' He forced them into my mouth. 'Think I will leave you here all day and let the lads find you like this tonight, Patti. Serve you right if I did. I have a good mind to phone them up, all ten of the group and invite them to take part in your initiation.' I shook my head violently from side to side. He laughed and left me and went down stairs. I heard the extension bell ring on the bedside phone and immediately went into panic mode. I wrestled with my bonds but all I did was tighten them. My mouth was filling with saliva and the taste of Mummy's knickers was getting overwhelming. If this was a foretaste of what was to happen to me later, no wonder my Mummy left home. She had left me here, tasting her pussy juices in my mouth, knowing full well what was going to happen to me. Had she left her knickers in the bed on purpose? She must have known what Daddy would do with them! She had been tied to this bed too. How many times? How many times did Daddy intend to tie me down to it. I closed my eyes and saw a row of hard cocks standing in a queue at my bedside. Would they hurt me? Whip me? ………….. He's coming back up the stairs. 'Its okay, Love! I was phoning the Dairy. The milkman didn't leave us any milk this morning. They will bring it round later. I managed to get a pint from Janet next door. She's nice, definitely up for it. I can see me slipping her a length of my you-can't-bend-it one of these fine days. She asked where you was and I said that you were tied up at the moment.' My Dad is real funny at times. The bed was getting wet underneath me. When I'm turned on my pussy secretes gallons of my body fluids. My knickers are always wet and smelly. I was really steamy and hot, just now. His cock had gone soft and I was a wee bit crestfallen I wanted it hard and in me. He freed me and we went downstairs for breakfast, sitting naked at the breakfast table. We talked about everyday things, just like normal families do. There was a knock at the front door and my dad slipped into his shorts and went to the door bare footed. I panicked when he let the gasman into read the meter. I just sat there naked and mortified as the guy read the meter in the pantry. He winked at me as he left. The front of his trousers bulging as if he was packing a spare meter. (or two) My Dad came back in minus his pants with a fantastic hard-on. He pulled me up from the table, turned me to face the sink and he skewered my pussy with a fierce hard thrust which almost rattled my teeth. I fucked him back! I was that hot! 'Oh Daddy! Yes! Now I am living! This is what I want! Fuck me, Daddy! Fuck me good! Right up me…Oh! Yes - Yes - Yes!' 'That gasman was a bit of an entertainer! He asked me how I trained my wife to behave like you do? What was my secret?' By this time he was behind me with his hands cupping my breasts. I craned my neck over to allow him to kiss my ear and my neck. I shivered when his tongue entered my ear. I was defenceless, he made me so randy, so quickly! I had started to wash the breakfast dishes, but now I was lost within my Daddy. He was now the Master of my soul. I was surprised when he suddenly said, 'I have to go out and leave you home alone. I have some business to attend to and may not be back until the back of six this evening. Have a mooch around, things you will find will amuse you. Have a bath about five and have a good soak and get yourself loosened up for later. Do not dress, Stay as you are just now. I will bring in drinks and snacks for you to serve to our guests. Change the bed linen and place the ropes on top of the pillows so our guests will know they are there to use on you and to remind you to be submissive.' 'Yes Daddy. I will do all that. I won't let you down.' 'You had better not!' The threat in his voice made me tremble and a bubble of juice to leak from my vagina. It trickled down my thigh as he walked out of the kitchen and upstairs to dress. I absently put my fingers down there to check the obvious and back to my mouth to taste myself. Closing my eyes I could still feel him inside me. I went for a shower and checked my body for bruising in the full length mirror. There were love bites on my breasts and around my pussy and anus. I used a moisturising cream, massaging my tits and of course turning myself on again. 'Mooch around.' He had said. I started in Daddy's bedroom. There were four drawers in the divan. They were brim full with books, magazines, bondage equipment, dildos, two strap-on cocks. Even flavoured lubricants. There must have been twenty porn videos in one drawer plus several CDs, mostly anal. Some BDSM. Just the pictures on the jackets were enough to frighten me to death. At lunchtime I drove into town and treated myself to a slap up meal, The last Supper, as it were. My mind was constantly on the evening. I left a wet seat for someone else to sit on. I got some groceries and some KY Jelly from the supermarket. The cashier gave me a wicked eye when she checked through eight tubes of it. When I got home I made up the bed the way Daddy wanted it and placed two tubes and the knickers I was wearing under the pillow with the ropes neatly coiled on top of the pillows. I was already naked and excited and there was still three hours to go. I lay on the bed and fell into an exhausted sleep. Daddy had not let me sleep to well during the night. I woke up with a start! There was someone leaning over me. A penis inches from my mouth. It miffed like a cheddar cheese store. It wasn't my Daddy My wrist was being tied to the bed. The cock pressed against my lips and I gasped and it rolled into my mouth over my tongue and I gulped as it hit my throat. He stayed on me while some one else secured my other wrist. More ankles were lifting my legs. Fingers brushed my pussy. I must have slept for four hours! I had no idea how many men were in the room. I could smell cigarette smoke and another smell mixing with it which I could not recognise. I guessed some kind of an opiate. The cock was fucking my mouth and my saliva glands were working full time as each thrust was forcing its way deeper into my throat. I wanted to be sick, but fear of drowning kept it down. 'Peter, my daughters cunt is vacant unless you fancy Vic's asshole more.' 'You have to admit he does have a nice ass, Sammy.' It was strange to hear someone using my Dad's Christian name. There was more weight on the bed and fingers in my pussy. And a thick cock-head pressuring its way into my vagina. I moaned around the mouthful of cock as my spine was jarred with the inward ramming prick into my ready wet cunt. My thighs were being gripped painfully tight. I hate to be bruised there, it makes it that obvious that I have been fucked. One guy told me, 'I knew you were a cert fuck because of the finger marks on your legs.' There was now another guy in the room sitting naked and playing with a very thick cock. I was trying to remember his name. He was a favourite of my Mums. She had him in her bedroom when Daddy was away, the way I heard her moaning and swearing at him, it seemed he knew how to use the thing he was now waving at me when he saw me eye-balling him. Vic's cock was long, thin with a thick mushroom head which was starting to gush sperm into my mouth which made me go for it with deep throated suctioning to drain his bollocks dry. He tried to pull away, but I gripped his cock with my teeth and he yelped and slapped my head hard enough for me to see stars. 'You bitch! I will take a whip to you for that!' I laughed at him and pretended to bite his cock off. He got off me so I was able to fill my lings with air. Lionel got off his chair and came across to me. I recalled his name as he got up. That cock of his looked huge now! 'You are so like your Mother. I hope you can suck cock like she can. I will miss her. Great ass fuck too! Think yourself highly honoured we have not turned a card yet. You are some Honey, no mistake.' He turned away from me and spoke to my Daddy., 'Is it not time we gave your girl the triple, Sam? We may get a game of cards then.' 'Don't tell me, you want her asshole, yes?' Daddy started to release my bonds. I massaged my wrists to get the blood to circulate as soon as I was free. They pulled me off the bed and all four men started to handle me, fingering and probing me all over and then they started to push me backwards and forwards between them. As each one captured me. They either slapped my ass or my pussy or my tits, usually fingering one of my holes. They all tongue kissed me, which I was not fussy for, but I knew better not risking a protest. Vic was very fierce with slapping my ass, aiming continually at my anal button. My juices were running from me because I was getting off on the pain. Vic broke away and went and lay across the bed laying back and holding his long cock up wards. 'Get astride Vic and impale your cunt with his cock. Do it! Now!' It was Daddy barking at me as if he was mad at me. My bladder started to leak, just a spurt. I wanted to go to the loo. It had been about five hours since I had been to the loo last. I straddled Vic and took his cock into my hand and guided it into my self and as I dropped down onto its long length I squirted some more pee, this time onto his loins. I was expecting him to scream at me. Just the opposite happened he rammed his dick fully up me and I moaned with passion as he wrapped his long arms around me and pulled my breasts tightly down to his hairy chest. He kissed me and sucked my tongue to the root into his mouth. His prick was longer than my Dads. He hit a spot inside me which made me cum, a feeling which scared me stiff. My bladder was in a lot of danger now. I knew Lionel's thick cock would take up a lot of space inside me and leave less room for my bladder. Some one was lubricating my asshole. I looked round quickly to see it was my Daddy I smiled at him, but he still seemed angry with me. Did he know I was peeing myself? He had told me to have a bath and prepare for this evening and I hadn't. I had not obeyed him. My bladder would have been empty otherwise. Daddy moved away and I felt Lionel's thick egg shaped knob start to bludgeon my arse hole. The pressure steadily built up until it became painful and I screamed into Vic's mouth as the big knob suddenly ripped into my ass. I rammed my own body forward trying to get away, but Vic held me tighter. Lionel's fingers tightened on my hips and he mercilessly forced his cock all the way into my rectum. Vic moaned too. He must have felt Lionel's prick in along side his own. The lunge caused me to micturate some more. Vic must be laying in a pool of my urine by now. I had put on a rubber sheet when I had made the bed so it would pool and not escape. I had forgotten about Peter until he suddenly mounted the bed and offered his stubby fat cock to my mouth. It was shaped like a butt plug! I had seen tow in the drawers below us. There were advertising pictures of them in the magazines otherwise I did not know where they were. I was going to insert one before the guys came. Gradually the two guys started to fuck me un unison and I had to open my mouth real wide to take Pete's cock. I managed and the feelings started. The heat inside me and the belly tremors. My nipples were that hard, they hurt! My hips felt as if they were developing uncontrollable kick fever. There was no way I could control my bladder now, so I let it go and it triggered off Vic's ejaculation because he suddenly screamed out he was cumming and that I was pissing on him! And he whooped and he hollered as if he had never cum before in his whole life. I cant describe my feeling as my head was spinning and I felt faint. Lionel started to fuck me faster with Vic out of the game and he must have been hitting a chain reaction onto my G-spot because something exploded within me and I must have passed out. Poor Peter, I don't know if he came or not. I came to sitting in a chair on my own. The bed had been stripped and I heard the men playing cards and talking down stairs. I managed to make the bathroom and I ran the bath and settled down into the lovely hot water. My thoughts you know where. All in all it had been an unforgettable experience. Would I do it again, I know with the situation I was in I had no choice. But if I did have, I would. I would have no fear. Physically I was no worse off. I would probably feel sore Saturday morning. I think all women should try it just once as it is a fantasy and it's nice when it comes true. So nice! Jack Friday Night, Saturday Morning {Author's note: this story follows immediately on from An American Friday In London. It stands alone, but is enjoyed a lot better after the first one.) Kathy and I have just enjoyed a moment of extreme intimacy. Not bad, given that five hours ago she was just a (pretty) face in a City bar. But I can see that already, as she comes down from such a powerful cum, the doubts are seeping in. Not surprising - she thought her Friday night would be spent drinking with her friends, not bent double in a luxury Docklands flat with a strange American woman lapping hungrily at her ass. “You okay, hon?” I ask. The concern is meant to be fake, to keep things going, but I'd have to admit that, unexpectedly, I do care how she's feeling. “Yes.” She doesn't look like she means it. But I've learnt in my six months here that you can ask the English almost anything (“how did it feel to lose both your legs?”) and they'll almost always reply “fine”, “okay”, “alright”. At first I found this stoicism a little irritating, but now I've come to appreciate it, as opposed to the life story, complete with gory details, I'd get back home. Kathy is kneeling between my legs, topless, her creamy breasts reminding me how much more there is I want to do. I mustn't get this wrong. Her sense of discomfort may be increased by the rather inelegant way her skirt is bunched around her waist, and her knickers and pantyhose pulled down to her knees. It's how I want it, how I love it, but in the throes of what is, literally, an anticlimax, it may not be too comfortable for her. “Why don't you freshen up, sweetie?” I ask. “There's fresh towels and a spare robe in the bathroom.” She nods, tugs her skirt down, hikes her underwear up, and heads off. It's a relief she's left her blouse behind. If she'd taken that there's every chance she'll come out fully dressed, all set for getting a cab straight home. As it is, unless she chooses to come out half naked, she'll have to use the robe. I've still got a chance. A part of me is annoyed she's so upset. She hasn't actually done anything, for christ's sake, apart from remove (some of) her clothes. I've put all the hard work in, including providing my own orgasm. All she's had to do, quite nice you might think, is spread her cheeks for my pleasure. And hers, given the power of her orgasm. But getting angry wouldn't work. (“How dare you not be happy! Stop being so silly and lick me out now!”) So I think about how delicious she is, how much she got out of the time we've had so far, and how we can both enjoy the rest of the night. She comes back in, wrapped in a white robe. Still no sign of a smile. I ask her to sit beside me on the sofa. She does, but a respectable distance away. Oh dear. “Do you want to talk?” I ask kindly. I'm never normally this good at sympathy. I must really want some more action. She mumbles a bit, then manages “I'm not like this, you know.” “Sure you're not. None of us are.” She gives me a slightly contemptuous look, unimpressed by what she takes as my sophistry. I take it as a good sign she's showing some fight. “I mean,” I continue, “that I'm not a lesbian, just like you, and I'm not a pervert, just like you. But I think we're both people who like to feel good. What's wrong with that?” She remains unconvinced. How can I recapture the mood we had before? “Tell me about your evening, Kathy. At least let me understand how you feel.” Hopefully by describing to me what's happened, she can get back into it. I look at her tanned ankle, a warm contrast to the white toweling of the robe. I want to stroke my hand over the curve of her ankle bone, up, up, under the robe, and feel her wet sex. Failure is not an option. She searches for the right words to begin with. “I've had a pig of a week. Year, really. I was up for it tonight.” She pauses, confused. “Going out, that is. Getting drunk. I never in a million years thought this would happen.” “Then some strange yank starts talking to you at the bar?” “Yes. I did think for a second 'is she chatting me up?', but then I put it down to you being lonely.” “And American.” She laughs. Excellent. “Alright. And American. I'm from Liverpool, you know?” I know. “When Americans find out they always ask 'Do you know The Beatles?' Like one of them isn't dead and the other three aren't old enough to be my grandfather, living in mansions a very long way from the Mersey. You don't get that from any other country. At least you didn't ask that.” No, I got you to strip and licked your asshole instead. A lot less wearing. “Then what?” I ask. “Then, I enjoyed talking to you. I think we all did.” “Did you think I was trying to pull you?” “I wondered. Not most of the time, but sometimes. It did feel a bit odd the way you kept talking to me.” “Nice?” She pauses. “To be talked to, yes. To be chatted up? I was flattered, I suppose. God, I never imagined for a second we'd ever do anything.” “What about coming here?” I can see the recollection gives her a little pleasure. She gives a guilty little laugh. “I thought you were trying to pull me a bit more.” “Was that good or bad?” “I came here, didn't I?” “So did it turn you on?” She looks at her lap, but she's smiling. Things are going well. Where the robe joins at the top, I can see an inch or so of her cleavage. I've seen it all, of course, but it's nice to have it under wraps again. Like it's happening all over again. “I'll admit to a little buzz at the idea,” she says. “I never meant to do a thing, but it was nice to know it was happening.” “And when we were here?” “When we were on the balcony, I knew you were going to kiss me. I mean, the whole set up here, it's pretty overwhelming.” “Did you want me to kiss you?” Both of us are whispering now, the tone of our voices a little lower. It's as if the same chemical that is causing my pussy to flood is affecting our voice boxes too. I can only pray it's having the same effect on Kathy's sex. “I didn't mind,” she replies. “It felt like it would be the right thing.” “And after?” Now we're getting to the heart of it. I'm very excited to hear how she felt during our rather unusual encounter. “I hadn't expected much to happen, if I expected anything. Maybe just a lot of kissing, and a bit of groping. I don't know.” “When I asked you to strip?” “That was…strange. I got so turned on. But I was terrified. I think I thought you knew what you were doing, you knew it would be good.” Somehow, without either of us apparently moving, we are both a lot closer on the sofa. I feel sure Kathy isn't getting her cab home just yet. “What about…after that?” I ask, almost breathless. I've never heard the other side before. “When you asked me to show you my bum, you know, really show you it, I was so embarrassed. I mean, it's not what I'd have expected, even if I'd been pulled, er, normally.” “It's been a long day?” I am desperate for as much detail as possible. “Right. I really did think my bum might have been…dirty.” “It wasn't honey, it was beautiful. Perfect. Did you only feel embarrassed?” Again, she pauses. “No. That was extraordinary. As I pulled my cheeks apart for you, I got so wet. I was really starting to burn. I could feel my heart racing. And I was thinking - sorry about this - 'yeah, look at it, bitch, look at it, smell it, smell my dirty bum.' I'm not into that sort of stuff at all. You know, shit and stuff.” “Nor am I,” I reply. Her openness has really affected me. “What I am into, is a beautiful young woman,” right now everything tells me Kathy is the most beautiful woman I've known, “literally opening herself up for me, inviting me into her most private, secret realm, knowing how sordid it might be. I don't know why, but for me it's the most beautiful loving.” We look at each other. Those beautiful green eyes. And then we are kissing. No hesitation, no tension, just a deep passionate contact. Kathy pulls back. At first I am worried she has changed her mind, yet again, but the look on her face tells me she has other ideas. “Would you like me to do you?” she asks. “You know, properly.” There it is again, that impish smile. This isn't part of the plan. Suggestions from the other person never are. I don't care. “How old are you Kathy?” She isn't fazed by my question. “Twenty-two.” “I'd love you to.” She kneels in front of me, and slips the robe onto the floor. A moment ago I thought she was the most beautiful woman I've known, but that image pales into the vision before me. Long straight blonde hair, sparkling green eyes, a warm coffee tan, creamy breasts and the same contrasting paleness where she'd wear bikini bottoms. I haven't seen her crotch before, and my eyes are drawn to the fuzzy mid-brown triangle nestling where her legs meet. She sees the direction my eyes have taken, and opens her legs wider, inviting me to stare as much as I want. I can see the moisture on her lips. “Strip for me, Sam,” she says, parroting my own words from earlier. “Show me your beautiful body.” I fumble with the buttons of my blouse, so desperate to get it off. (So that's why they fumble!) Then my bra, the straps slipping off my shoulder and my nipples suddenly pointing at Kathy's face. She leans forward and takes one in her mouth, lightly sucking and almost chewing it. This wouldn't be part of my routine, but it's driving me crazy. What an aperitif for the main act. I draw her face to my other breast, to cool and moisten the need I feel there. She is loving and attentive, but then draws back. “Take the skirt off.” Another departure from my routine, but what catches me is the confidence in her voice. It's as if she's waited all her life to issue these orders. The fastenings at the side of my skirt are quickly undone, I lift my butt, and slip $500 worth of Armani skirt into a heap on the floor. On Fridays I like to wear a garter belt. It's uncomfortable yes, and sometimes it's visible, but it's part of the uniform and it usually feels right. Right now, in only my lower underwear and heels, I feel like a queen. “Take your knickers off Sam.” Kathy's Liverpool accent sounds stronger. Rougher. I sense I'm enjoying being dominated by this young northerner. “Show me your cunt.” My panties are pale gray Calvin Klein. (I have no problem mixing designer labels). Although the crotch is stuck to my quim with moisture, they quickly join the skirt on the floor. I open my legs at about 60 degrees to show Kathy my sex. She is interested, her eyes unashamedly taking in the sight. It thrills me, knowing that a few hours ago she hadn't even thought of such a thing, and now she's enjoying it like an old pro. “Lift your knees up, Sam,” she says. “Right up, to your tits. Show me your bum.” I pull my knees up to my chest until they are brushing against my hard nipples. In doing so, of course, my ass cheeks are pulled wide and flattened, leaving my asshole naked and exposed. Kathy moves in, a little bit. A little blink suggests to me that, while she is showing confidence, inside she is crossing some difficult bridges. Her face is now two or three inches from my asshole. I feel extraordinarily open, yet also supremely, almost totally, erotic. “Tell me about your day,” Kathy says. For half a second I think about mentioning how the Dornus deal went down, but think better of it. She's a lovely brave girl, and I want to help her all the way. “Got up at six-thirty,” I say. “Shower, that sort of thing. DLR to Bank. At my desk by seven-forty-five.” I'm finding this difficult. As for Kathy, it's been a long day, and I'm beginning to feel very self-conscious about my personal hygiene. Part of me wants to rush off to the shower, but the other part is relishing Kathy's closeness to my tired body. “You've been to the loo?” So much for English beating around the bush. The loo, which I think comes from Waterloo. (A famous English victory against the French, if you don't know. Of course they had to have help from someone, on that occasion, ironically, the Germans). Water-loo. The WC, lavatory, but not the bathroom. Yes, I've been to the loo. Always before I leave for work, but that doesn't count because I shower after. Then? Definitely, but I can't think when. It isn't the kind of incident that sticks in your mind. Not until now, anyway. “A couple of times,” I croak. The tension is getting to me a bit. “I'm sure. You know, that kind of going to the loo.” It's funny how with my knees against my tits and a face inches from my asshole my confident conversational ability has dried up and I have turned into one of what I previously thought of as my victims. “I know,” Kathy says. Her eyes are fixed on my stretched little hole. I am dying to ask “what can you see? what can you smell?” but I can't. I just can't. Kathy is rocking a little, and I see she has slipped her left hand between her legs. Her frigging is gentle, controlled. It is a slightly bizarre thought, but I am struck by how confident my twenty-two year old lover seems to be now. I am dying for some contact with my ass, my pussy, anything. Kathy licks her lips, a swift trace of her tongue. “Your bum is beautiful, Sam,” she says, and pokes her tongue out, straining, oh so slowly, towards my ass. Either she is drawing it out for erotic reasons or she is summoning up the courage. Then, bliss, contact. A soft wet brush against the tightness of my crater. I am normally quiet during sex but I let out a deep groan. She continues to tease my asshole and it almost tickles. The sensation is of the exquisite kind that I want to last forever, but also want to build into a climax as quickly as possible. Then I see that sweet tanned face move closer still, and Kathy's lips provide a fuller, more definite contact with my ass. She is quite urgent now, her tongue pressing against the firm muscle of my anus, seeking the area of least resistance. It feels as if she is licking me clean, and my mind encounters the dilemma Kathy mentioned to me. At least part of me is mortified at what I'm letting her do (or what she's letting me do?) but the other, overwhelming, part revels in the depravity. What was it? I repeat Kathy's words back to her. “Smell it,” I say. I can't bear to call her 'bitch'. “Smell it. Taste it. Taste my dirty bum.” Her free thumb moves up to my clit. I jump at the contact. Not surprisingly she is pretty awkward, a thumb and fingers rubbing across my button. But it multiplies the shock waves running through me. I look in the mirror. I look truly obscene. My heels pointing to the ceiling, my body almost folded double, this is not a Sam I've ever seen before. I like her. She's exciting. More beautiful is Kathy, her head pressed tight between my open cheeks, her honey body rocking as her hand works her cunt. And then she starts to climax, her breath heaving and her hand making slow tortured movements across her sex. I am thrilled that the experience of my ass has brought her to this. I am normally slow to climax when touched by another (which is why I like to do myself first), but the sight of Kathy's orgasm, and the sensation of her tongue moving frantically in my asshole, begins my own eruption. It is an electric feeling, and as every inch of my body strains it feels as if Kathy and I are united, through the tender delicate link of her mouth and my asshole. Kathy lifts her head. She is grinning furiously, the last thing I expected. I let my legs drop, aching from their confinement. She leans across my body. I know what she wants. The dirty kiss, something which I have possibly enjoyed in the past as the final humiliation. But the tables are reversed, and I don't feel humiliated, I feel hungry. Our lips meet, and my tongue is straight inside, searching every corner of her mouth, letting her know how passionately we share our dark taste. Eventually we part. She is still smiling. I look at the cream of her breasts, breasts I haven't even held, let alone loved. I look at the clock. Two a.m. We have only been lovers a couple of hours, and at one time I would have thought that Kathy and I had fully explored the depths of our intimacy. Something tells me that times have changed, and that this young, apparently innocent, woman, may take me to new levels. The End (for now) Friday Night, Saturday Morning It's Friday night and I'm sitting in the conservatory, watching the repeats of the earlier Superleague game. It's after midnight, and the girls are in bed. I can hear what's going on in their bedroom via the baby alarm; they're seven and nine, but their bedroom is at the front of the house and the conservatory at the back, so we still use the baby alarm. Karen's out. She's doing the rounds of the pubs with her workmates, celebrating one of the lasses coming back to work after childbirth with a drinking session in Durham city centre. I'm not really baby sitting; the girls are too old for that. I'm just having a beer and watching the sports channels. It's a dad's equivalent of multi tasking, with the silence of the girls bedroom as a kind of empty soundtrack. It's like meditation, listening to silence and interpreting it as signals that everything's OK. It's not far off half-time in the game when I hear Karen come in. She comes in the front door, at the diagonally opposite corner of the house to the conservatory, and heads straight into the kitchen. I'm bored enough with the rugby to go across to meet her, through the office and the dining room. She's standing at the worktop, mixing sparkling mineral water and apple juice in a glass. She doesn't look that drunk. Tipsy maybe, but not falling down drunk. Her lipstick has gone, and if she'd been more sober I'd have made a joke of that, but not tonight. Her hair is tousled out of its normal feathered bob, not in a 'through a hedge backwards' kind of way, but in a way that's not usual for Karen. She looks like she's had an energetic night. I've seen her spend five minutes using the vanity mirror in the car to put her hair right after a walk round Tesco's, so maybe energetic isn't the right word. Then I notice the mark. It's a white stain on the front of her trousers. They're trousers she's incredibly fond of; a soft cheesecloth like material, but brown so that they're not so see through. The stain's the shape and size of a teaspoon, the handle part running down towards the thigh. Instinctively, in that pattern matching way that our brains work, I know it's a man made stain, evidence that she's been with a guy. What to do? I could ignore it, but I'm angry and miserable at the same time. We haven't had sex in two weeks, and we haven't had good sex in months. It's been a bone of contention between us. Karen's become nervous and fretful in bed; the girls will hear, or she has to be up for work, or it's the wrong time, or a hundred other reasons. None of them are the root cause. The root cause is we've stopped trying. Why've we stopped trying? Because it's easier than arguing. Because arguments about different tastes or how we feel about each other scare us both. I have my tastes in sex, and Karen feels they're too different to what she wants. It's not a frequent argument; it's been too fraught when we've had the argument to repeat the experience. That doesn't mean the argument has gone away; we both fear the intensity of the argument and what it might say about a relationship we both enjoy. Nothing about those arguments made me think that Karen would cheat on me though. I tried to laugh it off, to make clear I'd seen the stain but thought nothing of it. She took one look down and ran out of the room; by the time I'd followed her upstairs she'd bolted the bedroom door. I was pissed off, at myself as well as at her. Did I mishandle the situation? I didn't make a fuss, didn't stamp and shout, just went downstairs to the conservatory and watched the rest of the rugby. Not much else I could do. Not without waking the girls. So I watched rugby, set the alarm on my phone and tried to sleep with a sofa cushion for a pillow. It wasn't the pillow that kept me half awake; it was the reality of a relationship that we both liked too much to give up on while not wanting to give up enough of ourselves to make it work. I needed the alarm set because I'd promised to drop the girls at their grandmother's house at half seven on Saturday morning. They were going to spend the weekend at Haggerston Castle; all we had to do was drop them off and let gran take over. After four hours of fitful tossing and turning on the conservatory sofa I managed to get the girls up, dressed and to their gran's on time. If she noticed that I was a little dishevelled I think Gran assumed I was suffering from drink. She's not always thought the best of me. I stopped on the way home and bought a paper. It gave me more time to wonder what on earth I'd say to Karen when I arrived. I'm not in the paper reading habit, not since the web happened. I stood in front of the rack and tried to work out which paper summed me up. Guardian? Daily Mail? I settled for the Journal, complete with a weighty property supplement in full colour. I did ask myself what Karen would be feeling or if she'd have anything to say to me, but mainly I used the time to think about how I felt, and what our marriage said about me. She was in the kitchen when I arrived, dressed in her gym gear; grey sweatpants, a yellow tee shirt with a round neck and thick leg warmers above her trainers. Her hair was pinned back by steel hair grips, away from her face, tight around her ears. If I had to guess I'd have said she hadn't had a good night's sleep either. She was making toast and coffee, and took an extra mug out of the cupboard when I came in. It seemed natural for me to sit down on a stool and wait for her to decide to speak. So I sat and waited while she fussed with the coffee pot, meticulously wrapping a paper towel around it, depressing the plunger slowly and methodically. It was a study in precision and tidiness. She put the mug in front of me without any eye contact, and went back to stand on the other side of the island unit, as if she was putting space between us. I waited. I didn't figure there was anything to be gained by making the running. Better to let her start the conversation. She started to speak, paused and then started again. "I'm not going to argue or have to defend myself..." I took a swig of coffee, wondered if I'd conjured the bitter flavour out of my subconscious, then put the cup down and picked my words. "That wasn't what I had in mind." "So what did you have in mind?" The stress on 'did' suggested she genuinely didn't know. "You were the one who seemed upset last night Karen, not me. I'm just keen to see you be happy..." "So why did you have to comment about it? Why couldn't you just ignore it?" If you think about it, feeling bitter is a strange expression. We don't say we feel sweet when it's something we like; so why do we say we feel bitter? Probably because you can taste the bitterness that comes to your mind at times like this. There was nothing wrong with the coffee. It's bile and inner hurt that burns in your throat with the flavour of stomach acid. "It only has to be ignored if it's a bad thing. What if it's not a bad thing?" Karen looked away again, as if the answer was outside the kitchen window. "If I did something wrong, it's because something's wrong in our marriage. If I didn't do something wrong, then I didn't know it was okay to do it and that means something's wrong..." I smiled at her. I couldn't help it. "You call me complicated..." She screwed up her face, angry and yet unable to hold the mood. "Don't take the piss. I don't know what's going on..." I had to bite down on a retort. A sharp retort that seemed natural but which didn't reflect my mood. "I don't know what happened Karen, but I know that I don't want to argue." She shook her head. "It's like you don't care." I thought long and hard about all the arguments, the rows about how I talked too much about emotions, desires, planning and preparing for the best possible outcomes for us, for our family. She always said it was as if I'd brought my work methods home. I can't help it; I manage projects for a living, projects that fail if you try to skip steps or act on instinct. I've got away with the line about the job choosing me because of how I am at my last three job interviews. It's clichéd stuff, but it has a basis in reality. "No, I care a lot, but maybe not in the way you expect..." She started to snap, but lowered her voice. "So what do you feel?" "I could turn it around Kaz. How do you feel? Did you get what you want?" She laughed at me. "Do you think I wanted him to come on my trousers?" We both laughed and a crack appeared in the ice. "You must have turned him on too much." "Maybe he was getting turned on by Anji getting shagged from behind by his mate..." "Were you?" "What?" "Turned on by watching Anji getting shagged..." She's angry that I've even asked, but I feel I've got the right to persist. "Go on Karen, tell the truth - did you enjoy it?" I don't want to look as if I'm standing up and pacing, but that's how it feels. I'm acting on instinct and haven't felt so nervous since Bryony and Alison were born. Since Karen seems nervous as well I go over to her to try and reassure her. She flinches, but accepts my hands on her waist. I realise she's genuinely nervous of me, which given that I don't know what to do next is comical in its own way. My voice seems not my own. 'It's not my fault you're upset. I'm not the one who went out last night. Just tell me what happened.' I can feel the tension in her stomach muscles changing. She's moved her hips back into line and is standing with her back straighter. It feels more natural. "I don't like talking about sex.." I gently squeeze her waist with my hands. I'm reminding her that it's me who's there. "You don't have a choice now Kaz. Talk about it or lose my trust." I didn't mean that to sound as threatening as it did but once it's said it's as if she gives in a little. "Some of the girls had gone home. Me and Anji went to the Tavern. It was just some guys, students I think..." Anji's one of Karen's workmates who doesn't fit in to the usual conformist pattern of bank staff. She's got long dark hair that fits with her goth look, and a sense of humour you don't expect to find behind a bank counter. I've fantasized about her. There's a playfulness in her smile and her manner that leads you astray, that makes thoughts of her naked seem the logical next step. When we bumped into her in the marketplace one day last summer she was wearing a tee shirt that had the words 'I'm up here' emblazoned across her tits. You can understand why. I squeezed Kaz's tummy again, letting my hands rest under her tee shirt on the waistband of her joggers. She went on. "It was just a laugh at first, teasing these young lads. They looked like rugby players or rowers. Anji knew about the alley by the market..." I slipped my hand up under her shirt and cupped her boob through her bra. She started to resist with her right arm but I pulled it away. She stiffened and we wrestled for a moment, until she realised that both her wrists fitted within my right hand. I didn't twist or force her wrists, just held her hands behind her back while I pulled her bra down below her breasts. "Any time you think you can say no to me Kaz, just remember what you did last night, and your little tantrum when you came in..." The threatening tone surprised me again. Of all the competing voices in my head this one was the surprise. The angry voice that wanted to rage at her I expected. The cold dismissive voice that wanted to push her away sounded just like the voice I'd used when I split up with Carly Reynolds in my first year at university. The angry petulant voice reminded me of being thirteen and not getting a birthday present I wanted. But this voice was new to me, thrilling as well as satisfying. Cupping her breasts in my hands, feeling her nipples stiffen between my fingers I realised that her reaction was unexpected too. There was no resistance, no complaints, just acceptance. The voice was coming naturally to me, as if I knew that it would be lost if I tried to force it. 'There's more of the story to tell Kaz...' Eleven years of marriage and I'd never realised her nipples could stretch so much when they were stiff. Eleven years of not knowing that she would bend forward when I pressed against her. She was hesitant again, but continued when I squeezed my arms tighter around her. 'Anji was so confident, so quick. We'd been out there for no more than a couple of minutes and she had him in her mouth, then it was on with the condom and she was bent over facing the wall, letting him have her.' I used my hands on her hips to move Kaz so my hard-on was between the cheeks of her arse. By the way she moved she could feel it even through the layers of my jeans and her joggers. Pushing my left hand under the waistband of her joggers at the front provoked her to press back against me; squeezing her breast harder with my right hand got her talking again. 'They guy I was with was clumsy, his mate knew what to do to Anji but mine wasn't sure, even when...' She paused as I used my hand to pull her thong aside, but the wetness I found suggested I hadn't gone too far. 'Even when I got his cock out he couldn't make his mind up, and I was thinking I couldn't just bend over like Anji and then I felt him coming and I was stood there watching.' I pressed harder with my finger between her pussy lips, opening her up. 'So you couldn't just bend over like Anji...' She shook her head, uncertain in her passivity but also unmoving. Don't ask me how, but I knew what to do. Left hand out of her joggers, twist her so she was square on to the island unit then use my left hand at the scruff of her neck to bend her over the unit, twisting her tee shirt into a restraint. It felt ungainly, pushing her pants and knickers down, freeing my cock from my jeans,standing on the crotch of her trousers to get them below her knees so I could get her thighs far enough apart to push my cock into her. It was an easy position once I was past that initial stage though, one arm straight, holding her down, the other positioning her thighs to accommodate me.'So come on Kaz, what did Anji do when you were watching her being fucked?' I eased the pressure on her neck enough to move her head. 'Don't make me Jon, please...' I pulled my cock out of her, slapped each arse cheek hard, as if I'd been doing it every day of our marriage, then got my hand under her hips so I could guide her back onto my cock. She let out a breath, and swore. It was a new experience for me, to be able to make her react to my cock. I did it again, and felt harder and stronger as it got the same reaction again. 'She was telling him to fuck her, to make her cum like a slut...' I could picture it all so clearly. I'd wanked over Anji in my head, kneeling on a bed and offering me her pussy. In those fantasies she was always the opposite of Kaz; where Kaz was quiet, almost passive, fantasy Anji was noisy. In real life Karen was noisy. Noises I hadn't heard since before the children were born. Noises that made me want to slam my cock into her harder, to make her cry out louder. When I stopped pushing, just used my hands on her body, her hips, her arse, she wriggled and whimpered. No assertion from her, no attempt to avoid my touch, just an inviting calmness that made me want to make her react. So I acted. I used the fingers of my right hand to stroke her clit, wet the thumb of my left hand in her pussy juices then slipped it into her arse, and resumed fucking her. Hard, long strokes, using the time when I was pulling my cock out of her to let my fingers work on her. She started to make guttural noises, choking coughing noises that sounded like words she refused to let out. I pulled my cock back out, took my hands away, slapped her arse hard. 'Say it Kaz. Say it.' 'Please Jon...' Another slap on her arse, leaving a clear red handprint. 'Just fuck me Jon, I love, you, just fuck me....' So I did. In about a minute I was coming, but she'd beaten me to it. I dug my hands into her skin as I shook and came. I bent forward, tried to catch my breath, and started to mutter, disconnecte dwords that I'm not sure belonged to me but that sounded true as soon as I said them. 'I'm going to fuck yo like this again...' And even as the last of my cum trickled out of my cock, she made it pulse. 'I know Jon, I know...'