0 comments/ 51616 views/ 2 favorites The Friends of Paul & Sally Ch. 01 By: pandsal Nowadays, watching Sally is complete pleasure. I admit that in the early days I was nervous, wondering whether I would be jealous, wondering whether she would find a larger cock preferable to mine, and a dozen other doubts. I need not have been apprehensive. Sally has always made it clear that I am, and will remain, her number one priority. The people we meet and enjoy add to our relationship; they take nothing away. Moreover, knowing that before the session ends I will fuck the female half of the couple enables me to relax and relish the full extent of Sally's repertoire. Whether with the other woman or the man Sally can be by turns dominant or passive (although passive doesn't truly describe the way she uses her voluptuous abandonment to enhance the pleasure of her partner). Knowing how skilfully she can convey her response with minute variations of position or pressure, how generously she will open her body to every advance, I am constantly thrilled to observe the pleasure she gives and receives. We didn't embark on this lightly. We both have careers to protect in our community, which is relatively small. No contacts within a fifty mile radius was the basic criterion. Also, we wanted intelligent people with a good standard of living, an open mind about sex, and a desire to develop a relationship over time. It took several months to find the first couple, Alan and Trish, that we felt entirely compatible with. The initial meeting was good if inevitably somewhat hesitant and exploratory. Now that Trish has shed her shyness, largely thanks to Sally's subtle encouragement, we have gradually shed virtually every taboo. That began about eighteen months ago. In the meanwhile, we have added two more couples: Selma and Mike, and Linda and Gary. Selma and Mike have been crucial to the success of the group: they run a small, upmarket bed and breakfast which we are able to use if they have a gap in their more formal bookings. As a result, meetings are irregular and infrequent but completely uninhibited when they occur, which adds to the excitement. Sometimes there are only two couples, usually there are more. We ourselves are not always able to be involved. However, there was recently a memorable get-together when all eight of us enjoyed a full weekend. Over the course of the forty-eight hours we managed almost every permutation, whether in pairs or in groups of varying numbers. Inevitably, there had to be periods of rest and recuperation, and it was during one of these that we confessed to being the joint authors of a number of stories published on Literotica. There was a demand to know if the stories were fact or fiction. Of course, most have some basis in our own experience but always heavily disguised out of respect for all concerned, ourselves not least. Would this session feature in the future, we were asked? Possibly, but not certainly. Later, however, Selma said that she and Mike might like to have a story of their own on the site but they didn't really feel capable of getting it down in writing. That view was echoed by the others. After some discussion, Gary suggested that Sally and I might act as ghost writers for them: the idea was that each time we felt the need to pause and recharge our batteries one of the couples would tell their story. Doubtless it would have the desired effect of arousal but would later be polished and published by Sally and me. Here then are the three tales, shaped here and there by us but essentially as they were told in an erotic miasma of half-fulfilled, half-unfinished sex during the intervals in that week-end's activity. Whether the stories are based on truth or are pure fantasy is hard to say, although there is one which we believe has a very plausible ring. They deal, respectively, with role playing, sex with strangers, and incest. Linda and Gary's story. This is a scenario that developed during a series of meetings with another couple we will call Amanda and Barry. Linda's petite girlish figure led to an idea which gave full rein to our shared interest in role playing. It is best set out here as the script for a mini drama. Linda is a nineteen-year old who is about to leave the exclusive girl's school at which she has been a pupil for the last five years. Gary is her father. Amanda plays a teacher at Linda's school, where Barry is the Head Master. The scene is Dr Barry Gordon's study. He sits behind a large desk. Miss Amanda Sutton, a teacher, is in a chair at the side of the desk. Facing them are Linda, dressed in white blouse and navy skirt which ends just above her knees, and Gary Thomas, her father. Dr Gordon: Thank you for taking the time to come in, Mr. Thomas. I'm sure you have many demands on your time, but we felt you should have a personal report on Linda's achievements now that she is about to leave us. Gary: Yes, of course. Thank you. Dr Gordon: We pride ourselves, as you know, on discovering and developing whatever special talents a pupil may have, whether they may be artistic, academic, scientific or whatever. The fees we charge entitle you to expect nothing less. Gary: Yes, I understand that. But Linda isn't very communicative. As far as her mother and I are concerned, she tells us almost nothing about her experiences here. She says she's been happy here and that's about it. Isn't that true, Linda? With a half-smile, Linda nods. Gary looks to Doctor Gordon. Dr Gordon: You knew when you enrolled her that Linda was joining an establishment which is not exactly - shall we say, orthodox in its methods, but it does promise results. Gary: Yes. Dr Gordon: Well, in Linda's case I have to tell you that in most areas her performance has been a little above average but not a great deal. Her University place is secure and she will do well enough. However, I wanted to speak to you personally to tell you about the outstanding special talent which has emerged and which Miss Sutton has been able to encourage and take forward. Would it surprise you, Mr Thomas, to learn that we have an elite Sexual Development group? Gary (after a pause): It would indeed. He looks at Linda who avoids eye contact. Dr Gordon: The elite group varies in the number of its members but, for obvious reasons, it is very limited. I can understand if you find this difficult to take in but I must urge you not to be embarrassed - and please don't rush to judgement. Because Linda has been one of the most accomplished pupils the group has ever produced. Gary: In what way? Dr Gordon: I think it would be best if we let Miss Sutton explain. Perhaps, Amanda, you could begin by telling Mr Thomas how you first discovered Linda's talent. Miss Sutton: To be honest, it wasn't difficult. I was passing through the cloakroom one afternoon when the girls were on recreational activities: hockey, netball, gymnastics for the sporty types, music and art for others. The cloakroom should have been empty but I was surprised to hear quite unmistakable sounds. A girl was masturbating and was obviously close to orgasm. Please understand, this kind of activity isn't unusual in pubescent girls and we always treat it sympathetically. So, not wanting to startle this particular girl, I found a vantage point where I could observe without being seen. The girl, of course, was Linda. And what struck me at once was the complete sensual abandonment, the look of total pleasure on her face. She was sitting on a corner bench, leaning against the wall. Her skirt was around her waist and her knickers were pushed down. Here eyes were on her right hand which was very slowly rubbing her clitoris, not directly on the point but with a finger along each side. The sounds she was making suggested that her orgasm was imminent, but she seemed able to control the feeling, keeping herself on a high. This is a gift you rarely encounter in an experienced mature woman; in a girl it is exceptional. Dr Gordon: I wonder, Linda, if you would care to demonstrate? I would like your father to understand why we have come to admire you so much. Linda does not reply. Dr Gordon: Amanda, perhaps if you were to lock the door to ensure we are not disturbed, then you could give Linda a little assistance. Miss Sutton rises from her chair, turns the key in the study door and returns to stand behind Linda. She reaches round and unbuttons the front of the girl's blouse. Releasing well-formed but not large breasts from a white bra, she gently massages them before murmuring in Linda's ear. For a while Linda does not respond but it becomes apparent that her nipples are hardening under the teacher's subtle touch. Miss Sutton leans forward and kisses the top of Linda's head, then applies her tongue to the girl's ear. Linda sighs softly - from frustration? from desire? the two men cannot tell. But almost involuntarily, it seems, her hands reach for the hem of her skirt. She lifts herself in the chair and pushes the skirt back underneath her, exposing white knickers which she then slides down below her knees. Miss Sutton: Yes, Linda, that's fine. Just relax. Take your time and enjoy. Linda widens her legs. Her right hand searches through downy pubic hair and parts the vagina lips. With her index finger one side of the clitoris and her middle finger the other, she begins a very slow manipulation. Her father has turned his chair to watch closely. His eyes are fastened on the now glistening labia and prominent stalk of the clitoris. Subconsciously, he registers the sound of Dr Gordon opening the zip of his trousers. He is aware of pressure from his own erection. The only other sounds are a steady stream of muted words of encouragement from Miss Sutton and Linda's deep breathing. Miss Sutton (having allowed Linda several minutes of intensely private self-stimulating now begins to work harder on the girl's breasts, kneading and squeezing the orbs, drawing out the engorged nipples): Faster, now, Linda. Show us how you come. Linda (speaking for the first time, almost gasping): I'm not ready. Miss Sutton: You're very close, dear. Do it now. The teacher's grip on her pupil's breasts tightens. Behind the desk, Dr Gordon is stroking the long shaft of his penis. Linda's hand movements quicken until suddenly she closes her eyes, screws up her face and emits a long, deep sigh. Miss Sutton: Excellent, Linda, excellent. The demonstration over, the girl subsides in her chair, momentarily drained by the power of her orgasm. Miss Sutton helps her to return her breasts to her bra, takes a tissue from her pocket and gently cleans the moisture from the vagina lips before returning to her chair at the Head Master's side. Dr Gordon pushes his penis back out of sight. Linda, composure recovered, pulls up her knickers, smoothes down her skirt and sits with her hands in her lap. Dr Gordon: Thank you, Linda. I think we all found that very - stimulating. Mr Thomas? Gary (after a pause): I'm not sure I should admit it ... Dr Gordon: Naturally. But there is no need. Anything said or done here remains between these four walls. So if you wish, we can tell you more about Linda's progress. Gary: Perhaps you should. Dr Gordon: Amanda? Miss Sutton: Well, that day in the cloakroom I thought it best not to intrude. I simply reported what I had seen to Dr Gordon and we agreed that she should be offered a place in the Sexual Development elite group. When the opportunity arose, I told Linda what I had seen, explained that I was not upset and asked her if she would be interested in joining two or three other girls who were receiving special tuition in that area. Gary: Obviously she said yes. Miss Sutton: She was remarkably grown-up about it. She said she knew that sex was going to be important in her life and wanted to enjoy it - make the most of it, were her words. Gary: So what exactly does this elite group do? Miss Sutton: Essentially, it instructs pupils in the full gamut of sexual activity, not least hygiene. They are taught physical exercises to give them exceptional control of vital muscles. Also exercises to adopt a wide range of positions. Clothing, lingerie in particular, is important to the curriculum. We explore bisexuality, exhibitionism and, in one or two unusual cases, the possibilities of bondage and SM. Overall we aim to create an environment in which the girls can investigate fully their personal desires and erotic propensities. No two girls are the same. Gary: And Linda? Miss Sutton: Frankly, Mr Thomas, in my experience she is as gifted as any girl I have taught. And at least one of our former pupils is currently the mistress of a high-ranking cabinet officer. Another has made a career as a television presenter by calculatedly bestowing sexual favours. When Linda leaves us, she will still have a long way to go in reaching emotional maturity, and she will eventually make her own choices. Whether as a wife, as a mistress, or as an independent woman who takes her pleasures where and when she needs them, Linda will derive sexual pleasure unknown to most women. And whoever shares her body will enjoy equally vivid rewards. Gary: I suppose you can understand that I'm find all this a bit hard to take in. Dr Gordon (looks at his watch): I have another appointment in half an hour. If you agree, I suggest we can best conclude this interview with another demonstration. When Gary says nothing, Dr Gordon rises from his chair and motions Miss Sutton to Linda's side. Dr Gordon: For a long while we found one unusual area of reticence in Linda's progress. There will be circumstances in which her partner's - and possibly her own - arousal will be enhanced by the use of the basic language of sex. Our girls are taught that there are times when it helps to call a fuck a fuck. Linda seemed unwilling to embrace that simple requirement. Her refusal became so stubborn that she had to be chastised. And that was how we discovered that spanking was a prime motivation for her. So, if you will, Amanda - a little example, please. Miss Sutton takes Linda's hands and asks her to stand. The teacher then takes the chair herself and motions for the girl to lie across her lap. The skirt is raised and Miss Sutton runs her hands sensuously across the rounded cheeks that stretch the white fabric. She feels between the girls legs. Miss Sutton (to Gary): She hardly needs this - she is still wet from her own efforts, as you've seen. This will bring her to the edge very quickly so, if I start her off, perhaps you would like to join in when I say. Gary nods, not trusting himself to speak. Miss Sutton does nothing for several seconds. Linda begins to squirm on the teacher's lap. Miss Sutton tightens her hold. Linda: Do it, please, Miss Sutton. Hard. I'm ready. The teacher raises her hand and slaps. She pauses. Slaps again. Five times. Miss Sutton: Like that, Linda? Linda: Harder. You know I can take it. Miss Sutton nods to Gary who is standing behind his daughter, out of her sight. Tentatively, he brings his palm down on the thinly-clad bottom. Linda wriggles encouragingly. He slaps again, a little harder. Then harder still. Dr Gordon (who has been watching closely): Is that working for you, Linda? Linda: Yes, sir. It's very good. Dr Gordon: Is your cunt wet? Linda: Yes, sir. Miss Sutton can tell you. Dr Gordon: Do you want more? Linda: Yes, sir. He nods to Gary, a cue that he should resume spanking. Dr Gordon: Would you like something else as well, Linda? Linda: I want to suck your cock, sir. Immediately, the Head Master opens his trousers and reveals a distended member with a large, circumcised, rounded head. After one more slap from Gary, Miss Sutton pushes his hand away and indicates that he should remove his daughter's knickers. When he does so, she widens the girls legs exposing the tight pink bottom opening and the well-lubricated cunt lips. She nods to Gary who at first fails to realise what is being offered to him. He watches fascinated as Linda opens her mouth to accept Dr Gordon's cock. Miss Sutton rests a firm hand on the back of her pupil's head as the older man begins a slow repetition of insertion and withdrawal. Unable to control himself, Gary kneels and begins to lick Linda's bottom, moving down to taste the juice oozing from her cunt. The two men find an equilibrium to which Linda responds with little moans of pleasure. Eventually, there has to be a resolution. Miss Sutton: I think we need to remember the Head's next appointment - but we shouldn't deny ourselves the ultimate pleasure, should we? Dr Gordon (removing his cock from Linda's mouth): That's a hint from Amanda that she is the only one who hasn't yet been on the receiving end of anything. We can do something about that, and I suggest my desk is the place. Releasing Linda, Miss Sutton stands, swiftly steps out of her dress to reveal black underwear and stockings. She lies on the desk top, legs raised. Dr Gordon urges Linda to kneel between them. The girl moves the knickers to one side and starts greedily lapping. Gary follows the Head Master's example and strips. Both men unroll condoms the teacher produces from a desk drawer. Before long, a cry from Miss Sutton announces that Linda's tongue has done its job. Dr Gordon (to Gary): Obviously, there will be a lot for you and your daughter to discuss - perhaps with your wife, too. So I think it would be best now if you take Amanda while I see to Linda. Which, I may say, will be a privilege. Side by side on the desk top the two couples fuck. Miss Sutton's verbal encouragement of Gary finds an echo from Linda, whose vocabulary once released proves to be as extensive as it is imaginative. Perhaps not surprisingly, it is Gary who finishes first, pumping hard into Miss Sutton as his spunk fills the condom. The image at her side of her father fucking her mentor pushes Linda to the limit. She cries out that she needs to come. Dr Gordon instantly withdraws, strips off the condom and shoots a jet of oleaginous cum on to the girl's tits as she massages herself to orgasm. When the next parents arrive shortly afterwards they pass a thoughtful Gary and a smiling Linda on the way out. And that, apart from a little touching up here and there, is the story as told by Linda and Gary. By the end, te whole group was very aroused again and ready to continue the action. Interestingly, Linda was wearing white knickers and responded in a most satisfactory way when Mike put her over his knee. Coincidence? Wish fulfilment? Who can tell? (To be continued) The Friends of Paul & Sally Ch. 02 One thing we agreed on during our periods of rest and discussion was that sex among the eight of us had improved, and was continuing to improve, over time. The more we lost our inhibitions, the more ready we became to articulate personal needs or wishes. Once expressed, the more easily were they fulfilled. It was during this get-together, for example, that Selma confessed for the first time that she and Mike enjoyed anal sex. At first it seemed that she might be offering herself to be sodomised by one of the other men present, but that was not the case - at least, not yet. For the moment, she admitted, she was turned on by the thought of having Mike's cock in her arse while the rest of us watched. We did so with intense interest, noticing how easily a little lubrication with baby oil helped Mike's penetration of the gradually opening orifice. He began carefully, inserting his fairly slim penis to a depth of only a few centimetres before holding the position until Selma murmured that she was ready for more. Several more pauses and renewals followed until he was buried almost to the full length of his shaft. "Good?" he asked. "Very," said Selma, who was kneeling, resting on her elbows, her tits dangling, her distended buttocks in clear view of the rest of us. "Now fuck. But be careful at first." Mike withdrew almost to the tip of his condomless cock (our agreement on condoms was that they did not have to be used with one's own partner). His next movement was gentle but firm, full penetration in one slow thrust. Selma gave a little gasp of pleasure. Encouraged, Mike paused briefly while they both accustomed their bodies to this new conjunction, then he began to accelerate, each jerk of his hips culminating in the slap of flesh on flesh, setting his wife's generous tits swinging to and fro. It seemed inevitable that the delicious warm suction of a narrow anal passage, however well lubricated, would bring about a swift conclusion; but the couple had learned how to prolong the pleasure. Selma, clearly sensing Mike's growing urgency, eased herself forward so that his cock parted company with her arsehole. "Steady, darling," she said. "Control." Mike nodded, inhaled deeply several times, then took his still erect dick in his hand and guided it back into Selma's opening, narrow still but more easily receptive. "Tight," he said, to no-one in particular. "And very nice." He began to fuck again, holding Selma's hips, drawing her on to him. The harmony they had developed was apparent with his growing urgency, seeming as though he sought to impale her more deeply with each forceful entry. After a while, Selma's desire to be watched during this process was clearly having the effect she had anticipated. As her breathing became shallower and faster. she lifted a steadying hand from the bed to massage a distended nipple. Suddenly, she said, "Keep going, darling, if you can. I want to come." With that she took her hand from her breast, reached back between her legs hand and began a swift stimulation of her clitoris. "Say when," Mike grunted. Responding now to the potency of his wife's need, he was able to maintain his rhythm without coming only by dint of intense concentration. The point of no return was imminent for them both. A few moments later Selma cried, "Now, darling, now. I'm almost there." The last words escaped as a deep internal sigh, the clearest indication of a hugely satisfying orgasm. Mike, meanwhile, clung on to her hips, pumping his cock in and out of her arse almost in a frenzy until he, too, embarked on the great release. Briefly, he collapsed on to to his wife's back before recovering himself and withdrawing. As her anus began to contract, a tribute of pearly liquid escaped and dribbled on to the inside of her thighs. It was Sally who took a tissue and wiped away the moisture. She spoke for the six of us who had watched with mounting arousal when she said, "Thank you, both. That was almost as wonderful to watch as it must have been to do." There was mostly agreement that there could hardly have been a plainer example of our earlier belief - that sex can only improve with experience of one's partner. But just as we were about to fall upon each other anew, a contradictory point of view emerged. Alan and Trish argued that there was a unique thrill to be enjoyed from sex with complete strangers. And that led them to the story which we have reconstructed very much as they told it. Alan and Trish's story Trish had been to her favourite - and expensive - lingerie store in Mayfair. She had bought a silk bra and knickers set in a light tan shade that she hoped Alan would approve. It was after she had paid that the assistant handed her the small package and said, with a slight smile, "Thank you, madam. I hope we shall see you again soon. If you ever need any assistance in the fitting room, I would be pleased to help." In that moment, their eyes met and Trish instantly and intuitively read the message. She was as certain as she could be that if she were to return, the assistant would offer more than just professional fitting advice. The experience was new to her. She had not lacked for opportunities to indulge her bisexuality but that had always been with Alan and another couple. Here she had just been offered, if not quite in so many words, sex with a total stranger. And she was undeniably aroused. For a moment, she wondered if she could invent an excuse there and then but, annoyingly, nothing came to mind. When she looked back from the doorway, the girl was nowhere to be seen. Parading her new purchases for Alan's benefit that night, she told him that she had had an interesting encounter when she bought them. "Tell me," he said. "Fuck me," she replied, stepping out of the knickers and lying back on the bed with her legs spread. "Fuck me slowly, and I'll tell you." It was a while before she was able to do so. Before she could begin, Alan filled her mouth with his cock; when that sprang to life, she insisted that he should reciprocate. Cunnilingus was a speciality for them both, a lengthy process of licking and sucking and penetrating with tongue and fingers which invariably brought Trish off as the prelude to a series of orgasms by other means. On this occasion, though, she stopped him when she was almost on the brink. "I want you in me while I tell you,"she said. "Missionary, but deep and not too fast. I want us both to enjoy this." She slid a pillow under her buttocks, raised her knees and opened herself for Alan to enter. After savouring the hardness of him right at the top of her cunt for a few moments she told him what had happened - and what hadn't happened - with the lingerie assistant. "Did you want it?" he asked, provoked into quicker firmer strokes by the vision of his wife being worked on in the lingerie cubicle. "Yes,," said Trish. "I did. I reckon I was pretty wet so I think I wanted it quite a lot. Would you mind?" "Not if you told me all the details afterwards." "I'm sure I would," she said, "if it had this sort of effect on you." No more was said as they concentrated on a fuck that now was so fierce it could not be held at bay. Trish cried out at the climax and a few moments later Alan emptied himself into her welcoming inner depths. Replete, they quickly fell asleep. Nothing more on this subject was said for several weeks but both understood that a new possibility had been entered on the pages of their sexual lexicon, albeit one that awaited practical definition. The opportunity arose, surprisingly, in Budapest. Alan, a high-ranking civil servant (and thus one who had every reason to be circumspect in his sexual adventures), was sent to Hungary for a three-day conference. Knowing from past experience how boring it would be listening to entrenched positions being expounded, translated and rejected, he suggested that Trish should accompany him. By day she could shop, sightsee or just laze by the hotel pool, and at night Alan would have company and a welcome relief from the stultifying atmosphere of the conference. It was on the second night at dinner in the hotel restaurant that Trish put a hand on Alan's arm, leaned towards and said quietly, "I think something very interesting has just happened." Puzzled, Alan raised his eyebrows. "Remember that experience I told you about - when I went shopping a few weeks ago?" It took several seconds before Alan made the connection. "The lingerie assistant?" "Exactly. When you can do it carefully, look over your left shoulder - just don't make it too obvious. There is a woman there with a small balding man." After a brief glance, Alan said, "I see the couple you mean. She looks twenty years younger than him." "Is that a problem? "Anything but. But what are you telling me?" "I'm telling you, darling, that our eyes met and she smiled in the same way that girl did in the shop. She wants what that girl wanted." "Well, it didn't happen then, my dear, and I guess it won't happen now. You can hardly walk over to their table and ask her if she wants to take you to bed, can you?" Trish pondered. "I guess not. But I'm not mistaken." "Just let it be a nice fantasy. Let's go and have a nightcap in the bar and then we'll go up and make our own entertainment." As they left the restaurant, Trish glanced at the woman again and was rewarded with a smile and raised eyebrows. In the bar, she told Alan of the way the woman had briefly allowed the top of her tongue to protrude between her lips. "She would do it, I know, but the trouble is the little bald man." Trish could not have been more wrong. A few moments later, the couple came into the bar and, having seated his companion at a table facing Trish, the man walked over to them and said something in Hungarian. It seemed that he had anticipated not being understood. Instead, he took his hotel key card fromhis pocket and placed it on the table in front of Alan. It bore the name of Sandor Horvath. The room number was 842. When Alan looked up, the man eased back his cuff to show his wristwatch, then spread the fingers of both hands. He touched Alan gently on the shoulder, smiled, picked up the key card and returned to join his partner. The woman looked at Trish and nodded twice. The invitation was unmistakable. "They want us to go to their room in ten minutes, don't they?" said Trish. "And suppose when we get there they relieve us of every penny we have?" "Darling, don't be silly. We know his name and his room number. And as for her, I swear I'm not mistaken." She paused, made up her mind. "Look, we can go to our room first, leave all our cash and credit cards behind. And I might just fancy a quick change of underwear. Black knickers and suspender belt. What do you think?" Any reservations in Alan's mind were overcome by a more basic feeling in his groin. "All right," he said. "But let's be careful." When Alan tapped on the door of room 842 it opened at once, as though there had never been any doubt that the invitation would be accepted. The small bald man made one more attempt to communicate in Hungarian but succeeded only in conveying the information that his partner (wife?) was named Magda. Then he sat on a sofa beside her. Alan and Trish took in an elegantly dressed woman, more pretty than beautiful, with dark hair and eyes, a full, sensuous mouth and generous breasts. There was a brief moment of uncertainty: what should happen next? Magda solved it, rising to indicate that Alan should take her place on the sofa. Even as he was doing so, the woman crossed to Trish and held her at arm's length, appraising her, smiling, nodding and clearly approving. The kiss that followed was spontaneous and prolonged, Trish opening her lips to accept Magda's tongue, then breaking away before reciprocating. The pattern was set. Magda took the lead, but Trish showed herself a willing participant allowing herself to be bent forward at the end of the bed while her skirt was raised to reveal the black knickers, the suspenders and black stockings. Sighing with pleasure, Magda ran her hands over curves that were accentuated by the fabric tightened across them. A small nudge persuaded Trish to widen her stance so that Magda could pursue her exploration. At length, the Hungarian woman, stood back and raised Trish beside her. Slowly, her eyes now fastened upon Trisha's, Magda began to undress. When she had stripped to reveal green bra and panties separated by white flesh from matching hold-up stockings, she stopped and gestured for Trish to follow suit. Another lingering, sensual kiss eventually led them to the bed where Trish in her eagerness pushed up her bra and thrust her breast into her partner's mouth. Soon both were naked, hands and tongues searching each other's every curve and orifice. The common language of pants and sighs was all the communication they needed. Who led and who followed was impossible to tell from one writhing embrace to the next. The atmosphere of unrestrained lust had its effect on the men. Sandor, who had been stroking his cock while watch the women at play, rose and stepped out of his clothes, took Alan to the bed and helped him to strip, too. They both masturbated slowly until at last the women had given each other a series of subtly varied orgasms and lay back to rest. But not for long. Magda made what must have been an admiring comment about Alan's now rampant cock, for Sandor guided her to the Englishman and bent her head to do its work. Then Sandor took charge of Trish. Condoms were produced, seductively rolled into place, clearly signalling that penetration would not be limited to natural partners. The couples fucked side by side, changed partners, changed again, mingled in every combination. At one point Trish was sucking Sandor's cock while he parted the buttocks of his kneeling partner for Alan to apply his tongue to a responsive anus. At the end, Sandor kneaded Magda's tits while Alan drove his cock again and again into her cunt, driven on by the woman's squeals of joy until he could hold back no longer. When he removed the condom, Magda held out her hands to examine the generosity of his spend. The she poured it on to her breasts and indicated that Trish should massage the sticky liquid until - aroused one last time - the Hungarian fingered herself to orgasm. Trish, meanwhile, was kneeling to allow Sandor to reach his climax while mounting her from behind. Courtesy was maintained when Trish and Alan were ushered to first use of the bathroom. And then, dressed again, the couples exchanged handshakes and demure kisses before parting. Back in their own room, Alan conceded that Trish's instinct could not have been more correct. Might it happen again the next night, they wondered. But in the morning when they enquired at reception they were told that Mr and Mrs Horvath had already checked out. The Friends of Paul & Sally Ch. 03 The availability of Mike and Selma's bed-and-breakfast facility over a whole week-end had seemed too good an opportunity to miss. On the Saturday, the agenda was not quite continuous sex but almost. In the evening we finally broke off to bath and change before spending a couple of hours at a local restaurant. Though that was not without incident. Sally confessed afterwards that she had almost been taken unawares by the arrival of a waiter while she was rubbing Alan's exposed cock with a table napkin. Gary was smarter, 'accidentally' dropping a knife and, while crawling under the table to retrieve it, managing to get his hand up the skirt of each of the four women in turn. So the mood of carnality was maintained until we returned. Mike set a video running on the television set in a corner of the lounge, then announced that Gary's exploits under the table had given him an advantage over everyone else: he was the only one who knew what the women were wearing since they had changed. Time, Mike said, to do something about that. Quickly scribbling numbers on four pieces of paper, he invited the ladies to draw lots. Sally drew number one. "What now?" she asked innocently. "Strip, of course," said Mike. "I shall need help," she replied, turning to Selma. "OK," said Mike. But then, to his wife, "No touching. Not yet, anyway." Sally turned her back to allow Selma to release the zip of her midnight blue cocktail dress. I knew, of course, that underneath she wore pale blue french knickers, suspenders and stockings but no bra. A murmur from the other onlookers indicated clear approval of my wife's figure and her choice of underwear. In response, Sally raised her arms and stretched showing off her small pointed breasts with the pale nipples to their best advantage. Alan immediately unzipped himself and took his burgeoning cock in his hand. "Number two," demanded Mike. Linda, always the extrovert, bounced up from her chair, turned, placed her hands on the arms, bent forward and lifted her skirt. At first it appeared that she wore nothing underneath. Further inspection revealed a minute white thong trapped between the cheeks of a nicely rounded arse. I admit that thongs do nothing for me but there was no denying the erotic effect of those pale orbs framed by the dark material of her skirt. Slowly, Linda reached behind her, moved the thong to one side and held her buttocks open. "While we were getting changed," she said, "Gary and I were talking about that little exhibition we had from Selma and Mike. We want to try but I'm afraid it will hurt. You've seen how thick Gary is. Do you think I might I be too narrow?" We all looked at the tiny brown orifice, each, I suppose with our own thoughts. I was imagining feeding my cock in there and no doubt Alan and Mike were having similar thoughts. Selma spoke for the women. "I was the same, dear. Believe me, it takes plenty of lubrication and a lot of patience. Fingers for a while. Don't even try taking his cock until you've had a few sessions just getting loose. You may even find it's not for you, but I doubt it. As you can see," she added. Glancing at the television screen she had noted a large black man and a blonde with bouncing tits displaying every sign of total absorption in a vigorous anal fuck. In the room there was silence apart from the video sound track. Gary had followed Alan's example and was slowly manipulating his lengthening dick; it's girth was as substantial as Linda had suggested. Eventually, Linda broke the spell. Standing and undressing until all that remained was the white thong, she said, "Look, I don't know what's so attractive about two people on television - who probably did that in California ages ago - when you can have the real thing, here and now." With that, she removed the thong, draped it across Mike's face and sat down on the floor at Sally's feet. "Linda's right," said Mike. "There's nothing they can do that we can't do better. We'll treat that as background music and we'll carry on ourselves. Number three." Without saying a word, his wife rose and moved into the centre of the room. Selma, the oldest of the four women, has a voluptuous body that has been well cared for, sumptuous curves but no surplus fat. Her underwear, like Linda's, was white, but the expensive silk garments were subtly more substantial than the flimsy scraps discarded by her predecessor. The knickers unobtrusively supported her buttocks, the bra emphasised the fullness of her breasts. She gave us time to admire her before unfastening the bra and placing it to one side. Her nipples, we knew from previous appraisal, were dark and round. Mike, the lucky partner who could enjoy those delights on a daily basis, did not disguise his admiration but then turned to Trish. "And you must be number four." When we embarked on a cautious search for other couples to enhance our own sex life, Alan and Trish were the first pair with whom we found basic compatibility. Younger than us - they were both just thirty - they were then also beginners. Alan was clearly the instigator but never pushy, always sensitive to the need to carry Trish with him. Trish was interesting. We wondered how someone so shy and timid could have been persuaded to take even the first tentative steps. Only when the reticence was overcome over time did we discover that underneath that softly-spoken, doubtful exterior was a fiercely passionate woman with a seemingly unlimited desire and a remarkable talent for giving and taking physical satisfaction. The paradox remained. She stepped forward almost hesitantly now, the only woman fully clothed in a room where all four men were now masturbating while eyeing her hungrily. Of course, we had all fucked her only a few hours previously, and the women had sampled her sapphic gifts; yet, there was a palpable sense of anticipation as she stood to be inspected. A stranger might have felt that she was reluctant to continue. From previous get-togethers we had learned better. Trish, slim and dark with hair to her shoulders which she occasionally pushed back nervously, wore a black city suit, with a high-collared white blouse, black stockings and high heels. Glasses completed the impression of the efficient secretary with an aloof, do-not-touch air. "Oh God, Trish, please hurry. I want to see, and I know I'm going to want to touch." The demand, quietly spoken but unmistakably urgent, came from Linda whose splayed legs and active fingers displayed glistening labia. With the merest hint of a smile, Trish began to disrobe. The jacket was carefully folded and set aside. The blouse was unfastened, button by tantalising button. When that, too, was removed she contrived to hold it across her breasts for a moment before disclosing a black peephole bra. Her nipples, reddened with lipstick, protruded obscenely. Gary groaned and stopped masturbating, clearly apprehensive of losing control at this early stage. Trish turned full circle for everyone to see, then shed the bra and carefully placed it with the garments she had already taken off. She reached behind her to unzip the skirt, bending and grasping the waistband to prevent it falling to the floor. When she rose and meticulously discarded the skirt there was more than one deep intake of breath. Trish now stood before us in her high heels, black stockings, black garter belt and black crotchless knickers. Deliberately, she leaned back and with both hands drew open the gap between her legs to reveal cunt lips reddened to match her nipples. There was a brief pause before Linda scrambled to kneel between Trish's legs. Her hands clasped Trish's buttocks , pulling her cunt into contact with a voracious tongue. Whether by design or accident, Mike's little game had created a sexual tension that had reached bursting point. In seconds, we were all naked or nearly so. I went to Selma and led her to a sofa where I took my time sliding the white silk knickers down her thighs. She leaned back, widened her legs and gently pulled my head into the warm, musky nest between them. I licked, lapped and probed, felt her bottom rise from the sofa and heard the sigh as she let the orgasm overtake her. She knelt and offered me her cunt from behind. While I rode her, I slipped the middle finger of my left hand into her arsehole, remembering the exhibition she and Mike had put on for us. The finger was accepted and, I think, enjoyed but she gave no sign that she would take my cock there so made no attempt. I suspected that development would be only a matter of time: the next meeting or two even. Perhaps she would prefer to offer that intimacy when there were fewer of us, no queue of men waiting to get into her that way. The issue was unimportant. Refreshed by the break for a bath and a meal, aroused by the controlled build-up, we were all ready to savour the multiple delights that four couples made possible. We did so to the full and into the small hours until, couple by couple - though not always in the partnerships with which we had begun - we retired to our individual bedrooms sated. Until the morning. As it happened, Sally and I had shared a bed. When we woke, I let my hand trace a path from her breast to her vagina. "Would you like to fuck?" I asked. "I'm sure it would be nice, but maybe not a good idea. Better to keep ourselves fresh for whatever the day holds." It was nearly midday before we were all assembled. Instinctively none of us had dressed fully; the women were in fresh underwear - Trish again provocative in red - the men in boxer shorts. Brunch with the Sunday papers was over when Mike enquired, "What does anyone fancy? More like last night?" Alan replied and, as it proved, spoke for us all. "Trish and I talked about it before we got up, and decided to wait. You know - willing spirit, weak flesh." The truth was that we had all been seduced by the idea of a weekend of continuous sex but in practice, bodies had their limitations. Yet we all agreed that before breaking up in the late afternoon we wanted to have one last uninhibited session. The solution came from Sally, who said, "Look, we've agreed that Paul and I will try to put some shape on your stories and get them on Literotica. But so far we haven't heard from Mike and Selma. Why don't we hear their story and, if it's anything like the others we've already had, it should put us in the mood for a final fling." The proposal was quickly agreed, but Mike cut in to say that the story they would like told - and they would certainly like it to be disguised in some way - would be Selma's. He looked at his wife who took some time to consider before beginning. This, then, with certain omissions and one or two imagined embellishments is: .../2 The Friends of Paul & Sally Ch. 03b Selma's story You probably know that I am Mike's second wife. His first marriage to Ellen was dissolved - largely because she didn't share Mike's sexually adventurous nature and objected when he wanted to investigate the scene which gives all of us so much enjoyment. However, they remained on friendly terms, not least in the interests of Ben, their son. My stepson. Not long ago Ellen asked if she could come to lunch because, she said, she had a problem I might be able to help her with, one she didn't want to discuss on the phone. The problem, it transpired, was Ben. He was almost twenty-two and in his last year at University. He was a good student who could expect to get a decent degree, so that was fine. Ellen's problem was Ben's social life. She said he seemed to have few friends, male or female, or certainly none that she knew about. Whenever she asked about girlfriends, he would make a joke and change the subject. All of which had led Ellen to think that Ben might be gay. If he was, she wouldn't mind. She would like him to know that but didn't feel able to raise the subject if he didn't. Did I think I could find out? I had no idea. Ben and I had always been on easy terms when he came to visit Mike, which he did several times a year. Once or twice in Mike's absence I thought I might have caught Ben with an expression that wasn't easy to read; he seemed on the point of saying something but never did. So there was no way I could promise Ellen I could find an answer for her, but I did agree to try. Ellen outlined her thoughts about how I might be given the chance. During the Easter vacation, when Ben usually spent most of his time at home, Ellen had a long-planned holiday which would take her away for three weeks. Could she suggest that Ben came to stay with Mike and me? Of course. He was always welcome. Mike, I knew, would be pleased to have his company for a while and now I was intrigued by the challenge he represented. For the first few days of his stay life was pretty straightforward. Ben spent a lot of time in his room revising for his exams. A couple of times he and Mike played golf. The opportunity arose one day at lunch time. Mike had to go up to London to see our accountants. I drove him to our nearby town, dropped him off, did some shopping and returned in time to have a few words with Molly, the little gem from the village who comes in to clean and change the rooms after the guests have departed. There are just five rooms in an annex we had converted from an old stable block. With no arrivals due until the early evening, I looked into Ben's room and offered to bring him something cold for his lunch while he stayed with his books. I prepared a salad, opened a bottle of white wine - a little treat he always welcomed - and took a tray with two glasses to his room. "Do you mind if I join you for ten minutes?" I asked. "Of course not. I'm afraid there's not much room." He gestured to a table and an armchair covered with textbooks. "It's all right, I can sit on the bed." I poured wine for us both, hoisted myself on to the bed and curled up, legs tucked demurely underneath me. Couldn't have been more decorous. We chatted inconsequentially until I took the chance to ask about life at University. When Ben embarked on an account of lectures, tuition professors and so on, I interrupted. "Sounds much the same as when I went." Time for a slight change of subject. "What about the social side? A bit wild sometimes?" "Of course, there's drinking and boisterousness, that sort of thing, you know. But I steer clear of it." "No girlfriends?" Ben laughed. "Who has time for girlfriends when he has exams coming up?" I smiled, tried not to sound too serious. "Do you mind if I ask you something personal?" "No, I guess not." "Well Mike and I were talking ... " - I thought it best to keep Ellen's name out of the conversation - "... and your father said ... how shall I put it ... that he was surprised you never talk about girlfriends. At your age he claims that he was bedding anything in a skirt. It was a big reason for wanting to get away from home. With your good looks, you shouldn't be short of opportunities." "Perhaps." "But?" He was obviously embarrassed. Our relationship has always been relaxed and friendly; he didn't want to offend but he wasn't sure what to say. I tried to help. "This is the twenty-first Century,Ben, and sex isn't a forbidden topic. I think Mike would like to feel that you are getting your share. With at least some of those willing young ladies looking for experience." "Not really." "Celibacy? Doesn't sound like my student days. And certainly not like your father's." Ben gave a rueful smile. "No, it's not that. I've had some - adventures. But the girls aren't that great." Was this a hint that Ellen's suspicion might have some substance? I stayed silent. After a moment or two, Ben said, "To be honest, I think I could be more interested in older women." Not knowing what to say, I said nothing. Just when it seemed Ben was unwilling to go any further, he said, "There's a lecturer ..." There was another awkward pause, but now my curiosity was aroused. I said, "If you're discreet, there's nothing wrong with a relationship with a lecturer." "Oh, there's no relationship. It's just a fantasy I have - and it makes me think that maybe someone older ..." He tailed off again. "What kind of fantasy?" "Well, she's standing at the lectern, but kind of leaning forward, supporting her weight with her arms. I'm behind her." There was another pause but I wanted to hear the rest. I nodded what I hoped was encouragement. "So I lift her skirt and take down her knickers and ..." Momentarily I closed my eyes, picturing myself at that lectern, imagining Ben behind me, lifting my skirt, caressing my bottom, gripping the waistband of my knickers, slowly sliding them down my thighs, getting me ready. When I opened my eyes, Ben was staring at me. One hand was resting on a prominent bulge at the front of his jeans. Disconcerted, and without thinking, I asked, "How old is she, this lady in your fantasy?" "Quite old. Forty-five maybe." My God, I thought, three years older than me: that's old? I looked at Ben in his t-shirt and jeans, floppy fair hair, pale blue eyes - much, I suppose, as Mike must have appeared at that age. Impulsively, I leaned forward to give him an affectionate peck on the cheek. And that was when things started to happen. Ben half rose from his chair, turned his face so that our mouths met. Instantly, an intended peck on the cheek became a passionate, mouth-open, tongue-thrusting kiss. Was I a willing participant? Well, yes and no. My mind was aware of the minefield we were plunging into, but my body was responding to other signals. This wasn't a seduction - it was spontaneous combustion. Somehow we found ourselves together on the bed. Ben was fumbling at the hem of my skirt but a residue of common sense made me try at least to slow him down. That said, I knew subconsciously I didn't want him to stop. I gripped his wrists and guided him to my breasts, helped him open buttons, pushed up my bra. My hands went behind his head, pulled him into me. His tongue found a nipple and I surrendered. "Slowly, Darling," I murmured. "Don't rush me." If Ben really was nervous and inexperienced, he learned quickly, licking, sucking and nibbling on one side, while teasing and twisting with his fingers. After a while, one hand strayed again to the the hem of my skirt. This time there was no resistance. And that was when the telephone rang. Ben groaned. "Ignore it," he said, "Please, Selma." There was nothing I wanted more than to ignore it, but I thought it would be Mike ringing to say he was on the train coming home and asking to be met at the station. I kissed Ben on the forehead. "I'm sorry, Darling, I can't. But believe me, I'm sorry" I hurried to the phone, straightening my clothes as I went. It wasn't Mike. It was the landlord of the village pub. A couple who had been in for a drink had asked him about local accommodation and he had given them our address. He thought he should let me know they were on the way. In case I was in the bath or anything, he said with a laugh. Or anything, I thought bitterly. When I broke the news to Ben he didn't reply. I knew how he felt and I sympathised. It was how I felt, too. Driving Mike back from the station later that day, I brought him up to date. I had briefly contemplated giving him a severely edited version but he knew that I had planned to take the opportunity to have a conversation with Ben; he wouldn't want a lame, inconclusive report. In any case, this wasn't the way Mike and I lived: openness and confidence in each other had been essential as we had broadened our sexual horizons. At the same time I was aware that this was Mike's son we were discussing, and what had happened - or nearly happened - wasn't something we had foreseen. I shouldn't have been surprised by his response, even and sensible. "Well, to be clinical about it, you didn't actually cross the line - even if it was more by luck than judgement. The real question is where do you go from here. Ben's due to be with us for another ten days. Do you think he'll go into his shell, act as though it never happened?" "It's possible." "The other possibility is that he's had a peep into the promised land and won't find that enough. My guess is that as soon as you left his room and closed the door he had a bloody good wank. Because he has a new fantasy now. Not a lecturer. You. And you've already let him know you could be more than a fantasy." "What do you think I should do?" "Right now, I'm not sure. Whatever we do it has to be right for all three of us. Let's talk about it later." In bed that night, Mike asked me the direct question, but gently, without aggression or accusation. "You would have fucked Ben this afternoon. Could you fuck him tomorrow? Or the next day? If the situation arose?" For the rest of the day I had thought of little else. At dinner Ben and I had mostly avoided each other's eyes. He had said very little but it wasn't hostility or sullenness. I guessed he was as much in turmoil as I was and that made me want to comfort him, put my arm round him. It was easy from there to see where my emotional inclination lay. "I've got to be honest, Mike. This afternoon Ben was desperate for it to happen and so was I. It didn't and that's given us a break. But I don't think it has solved anything. The answer is, if the situation arose I don't think I would be able to stop myself?" "So why don't you? I'll make myself scarce, the rest won't be difficult? What's stopping you?" "Well, you." "But suppose I'm not. Suppose I find this as exciting as you do." He took my hand and put it on his cock. It was rigid. Perhaps I should have anticipated that, but I hadn't. While I adjusted to yet another new situation, I said, "There's also the fact that it's illegal." Mike sighed. "Selma, my dear, you are not seducing a fourteen-year-old. We are three adults. None of us will tell anyone. You're not going to get pregnant." I thought for a while but I knew the decision had been made. "And you're sure it's all right with you." "Yes. And I'll tell you something else." In the darkness, he chuckled. "After what I've seen of Ben in the shower at the golf club, Ellen and I should have named him Big Ben. You might just be in for the experience of a lifetime. And I shall want to know all about it, every last detail. What went where, how long it took, did he try this?" Mike's hands were already at work and I was pleased to respond, to put Ben from my mind for a while and let myself be pleasured by the cleverest, most satisfying cock I knew. But Mike, I sensed, had not forgotten Ben. On the contrary, our sex that night had an urgency and intensity that happened on only the most special of occasions. After I had come for the last time and Mike had withdrawn a finally limp cock from my sopping cunt, he said, "It'll be different with Ben, I'm sure. Enjoy it for it's own sake. And we'll share it afterwards." The next day was awkward and tantalising. Several times it seemed that I might have a chance to get Ben on his own, but something always intervened. When Mike announced at breakfast the following morning that one of his old golf partners had asked him for a game. I knew that he was giving me the opportunity we had discussed. There were still chores to be done and Molly was infuriatingly slow but soon after noon the house was quiet. I went to Ben's room, tapped on the door and went in without waiting for a reply. He looked up from his books, hair flopping over his forehead and my pulse rate quickened. I went and stood behind him and put my hands on his shoulders. I thought it would be easier if we began the conversation without facing each other. "Ben," I said, quietly and trying hard to keep my voice steady, "we need to talk about the other day." "Yes, I know," he said. "I'm sorry. I just got carried away. It shouldn't have happened." I tightened my grip on his shoulders. "Shouldn't it? In the end, weren't you disappointed? Because I was." He turned to look at me. "Do you mean ...?" "Yes, Ben, that's exactly what I mean." "But what about ... " This time I cut him off. "There are lots of what abouts, and don't think I haven't thought about them. But I'm here, aren't I? Only this time," I smiled down at him, "it would be nice if you could just be a bit more patient. The answering machine is on. We have the place to ourselves for a while, so why don't we stop worrying and just enjoy ourselves." "Is that really what you want?" He wasn't by that time expecting me to say no. Instead, I said, "I've been thinking about your lecturer. Why don't we start there? Stand up and let me come to the table. If I move your books I can bend over like this and then - well, it doesn't have to be fantasy any more, does it." Ben needed no further invitation. Resting on my arms, I felt him lift my skirt and fold it over my back. Over my shoulder I said, "You didn't tell me if your fantasy featured black knickers and suspenders but I believe that's what turns on most men. I hope you like them." He didn't seem to know how to reply but his hands were already stroking my bottom, at first tentatively but progressively becoming firmer and more adventurous, a finger probing inside the knicker legs. When he encountered my obvious wetness, he gave a little moan. "Stay like that," he said, "just like that. The knickers and your ... your arse - they're gorgeous." I sensed him step away from me. I heard him peel off his t-shirt and unzip his jeans. When they fell to the floor, he moved forward and gripped my hips, pulling me on to him. Was this his fantasy now, or mine? I knew that I wanted him to fuck me from behind, just the way we were at that moment. But not yet. I needed to know a bit more about his self-control. I didn't want three or four hard drives and then a deflated instrument slipping out of a very unsatisfied cunt. I reached behind me, gripped his cock and turned to face him. "Not yet, Ben," I said. "I meant it when I said we have time." And I had seen for the first time exactly what Mike meant about Big Ben. I'm not exactly inexperienced but this was a weapon of such proportions as I had never encountered, and it stood out from that firm young body with a proud demand. I knelt and took the end between my lips. Ben jerked, pushed forward. "Steady," I said. "We don't want any accidents." As carefully as I could, I licked from his balls, up the underside of his shaft to the already moistening tip. I took some into my mouth and held it there, trying to read Ben's movements and the rhythm of his breathing when things were getting difficult for him. e managed well for longer than I could have expected but eventually I was aware that the suction was having its effect. I released him and stood up. "Come to the bed and undress me. As far as you want. Perhaps you would like to keep the knickers on for a while." "Yes," he said, "I would like that. And the stockings. But ..." "But what?" "Are we going to fuck?" I laughed. "My Dear Ben, of course we are going to fuck, but I keep telling you I don't want it all to be over in five minutes. You need to be prepared. And so do I. I suppose you realise that's no ordinary cock, don't you? I just can't believe the girls at University aren't begging for it." "Actually, no." He was serious again. "The idea seems to appeal but then they worry about it hurting. And I worry about that, too. And somehow, it doesn't work. Not to mention the five minute problem." Suddenly things began to make sense. I said, "Hence the interest in an older woman. Someone who might be able to take you more comfortably." He nodded. I said, "Well, we are about find out. Kneel astride me." We were by now down to the bare minimum. Ben was naked (I had to make him take the time to remove his socks: there's nothing that looks more ridiculous or unsexy than a man fucking while wearing nothing but his socks), I still had my knickers and stockings. The knickers were very wet. I was on my back, Ben was astride my waist. I cupped my tits together with my hands. He understood the invitation and slid his dick between them. "A tit fuck first, Ben," I said. "It's a nice way to start." He rode me slowly. I enjoyed the sensation of that solid muscle sliding through the crevice I made with my hands. My perspiration gave him all the lubrication he needed. And then came the result I had half expected: Ben suddenly increased his speed, gave a cry and shot a great stream of cum on to my chest and the underside of my throat. "Damn, damn, damn," he said. "I've done just what you told me not to and now I've ruined it. I'm sorry, so sorry. It wasn't what I wanted." I smiled at him. "Patience, Ben, and again patience. This is a very nice tribute you've just paid me," I said, reaching for a tissue to wipe myself. "But you're not dealing with one of those timid virgins at University now. I wasn't surprised by what happened - you would have done well to prevent it. But now you will find out what an older woman can really do for you." We lay in each other's arms for maybe fifteen minutes and then, as I had guessed, Ben began to stir against me. I put my hand down and fondled his cock, loving the way its strength and eagerness returned so easily. How wonderful to be a rampant young male. "Now we will fuck," I said, "and you won't have a problem. But maybe I will so come into me with a bit of care. Let's try it like this. Take my knickers off and I'll lie on my back. Put your arms under my knees and keep me wide open. I know it's very basic but we can come to the variations in good time. Just remember not to go too deep or you might hurt me. And for God's sake go slowly - I want to enjoy this and I want to see if a bit of practice won't show us how to get all of that up me." And that was how my husband's son fucked me for the first time. He was marvellous, gentle when necessary, forceful when I asked for it. Once he had discovered how fully lubricated I was with my own juices, how easily he could penetrate me and feel my cunt walls absorbing him, drawing him in, he began to fuck with a fantastic natural instinct, filling me, almost leaving me, then easing in again. And now, with his earlier ejaculation out of the way, he knew he could keep going without danger, just occasionally easing off, smiling down at me for approval while he took deep breaths before starting to ride again. How long we continued I have no idea. I do remember that he asked me to bend over the table again so he could fuck me from behind. It was good even though in that position I couldn't take him all. At the end we were on the bed again, Ben on his back, me riding up and down on that most weapon steadying myself with myself to prevent him driving up into me further than I could take. But in the final wild thrashing I just abandoned myself to the devouring pleasure of it all. "Fuck me, Ben," I remember crying, "fuck me as hard as you like, and come now, shoot it up me. I want it all." And I took it all. The Friends of Paul & Sally Ch. 03b Often I look back on that occasion and the two further opportunities we took before Ben left us, and wonder at myself, a forty-two-year-old, responsible woman giving way to lust for her stepson. But the memory of it remains fresh and thrilling as the day it happened. And, given Mike's loving support and understanding, no harm has come of it. ****************************** When Sally had suggested that listening to Selma's story might put us all in the mood for a final fling, she could not have been more right. Long before Selma had finished, there were hands on cocks, fingers in cunts, groans of half-suppressed desire. And the orgy that followed hasn't been surpassed. At least, not yet.