11 comments/ 93111 views/ 41 favorites Tasting Salt By: sweetalmondbrown My father, Ted Rose, was the first black head football coach for the university that I attended. That, of course, was excellent news for me for three reasons. One: Free tuition, especially since my dad lead the football team to the championships for the past three years. Two: It was perfect driving distance from home, meaning that I could still get into the good parties without having to deal with the bullshit of dorm-living assholes. And three: Having a dad as a football coach got me into contact with some luscious eye-candy. And I mean the lollipop kind. Speaking of luscious, I wasn't that far from it. At only 5'5'', I carried my extra fifteen pounds proudly. Shit, my extra jiggle only made the boys stare harder, especially since it landed in all the right places. And let me tell you something, my ass could stomp the red carpet in six-inch stilettos as well as them stick-thin model skanks. Tell me, do they ever enjoy a sweet slice of strawberry cheesecake, or maybe a loaded piece of death by chocolate? Honestly. Putting on my silver scoop-necked blouse, I glanced in the mirror at my reflection. Dark blue jeans and black gladiator stilettos completed my outfit and I grinned, finger-combing my waves before opening the door to my room. "Ladies' night," I sang to myself, walking out. "Kiara Rose, I'm getting ready to leave, baby," my father called from the living room. He was going to a conference for the weekend a few towns over, which meant I had the house all to myself for two days. Like I said, ladies' night. "Now, how many of your girlfriends are you having over?" dad asked, setting his bags by the door. "Only three or four, dad, lighten up." I put my hands on my hips. "I am in college, you know. The same you work at, in fact." He nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. "And do you pay the bills?" "This conversation is getting old already," I said, sighing. "That's because we have it every time I leave." He kissed me on the cheek. "Kiara?" "Hmm?" "You better make sure this house is spotless by the time I get back. I don't want a bunch of your girly shit hanging around here." "Gee, thanks dad," I said, rolling my eyes. "Ben Salt is gonna check in on you tomorrow around one." My dad held up his hand before I could complain. "Don't give me shit about it, and don't give him shit when he comes, either. He'll only be here for a few minutes." "Dad, really? I'm twenty fucking years old!" I said, crossing my arms. He raised an eyebrow at me. "Then get your own damn place and you won't have to worry about it, now will you?" I turned my back on him and walked to the kitchen. "Love you!" I heard him call, and then the front door slammed shut as he left. I guess I could have gotten my own place. I had a good paying job at a designer clothing store, and since I'm a bit of stickler about money, I had about five-thousand dollars in my savings account. The thing is, I liked saving my money, I liked not having to worry about bills except for my cell, my gas budget, and my own clothes, and sometimes I liked just being around my dad. I think I'd miss him too much if I moved out right now. "Good thing I only invited a few people over then," I muttered as the doorbell rang. I walked over and opened the front door, a smile growing on my face as two of my best friends walked in, carrying a third between them. "Damn, already? You guys know Ashley can't hold her liquor." Ashley Everly, my beautiful blond bombshell of a friend, who'd only been plastered drunk about twice in her life, and she was a year older than me. Well, technically three times drunk, if you counted this one. Keisha Simon and Lacy Reynolds, cousins, laid her down on my couch and then turned to grin at me. "Girl, that ain't even the best part," Keisha said, grinning at me. "Look at this." Lacy bent down and rummaged through Ashley's purse, her long braids falling in her face. Standing up, she handed me a DVD. "She stole one of her brother's pornos." I stared at the cover, a picture of a black guy doing doggy style on the cover with a brunette. "What the fuck are we supposed to do with this?" I hissed at them. "Watch it, Kiki, what do you think?" Ashley mumbled. She'd been calling me that since I was twelve and she was thirteen. I snorted. "Yeah, you're totally in the mood to be watching a porno. It's only five o'clock in the afternoon, and you're already shitfaced." "Nooooo, I'm not," Ashley said, drawing out the word. She sat up clumsily. "I'm fine." "Of course you are, Ashley." I knelt down in front of her. "And what in the hell possessed you to steal one of Jason's pornos? That's just wrong." "Told you," Lacy said. "Let's go see a movie or something." "Wait, hold up," Keisha said, holding up a finger in classic ghetto-chick style. "I wanna see it. I can take some ideas home to Chris." She snatched the porno from me and walked to the TV to pop it in. "Okay," I said. "Besides the fact that we're getting ready to watch a cheesy porno together, what else is wrong with this picture?" Lacy shrugged, Keisha folded her arms across her chest, and Ashley stared hard at my face as if she was trying to stay focused. "We have no men. This is all estrogen floating around in here." Keisha looked at me, my remote control in her hand. Pressing play, she said, "So?" I rolled my eyes and stood behind the couch while Keisha and Lacy sat on either side of Ashley. Within five minutes of starting the movie, I knew that the four of us were hooked. A classic cover line about a male employee finding out that his attractive female boss was siphoning money from the company they worked at. Either she went to jail, or she agreed to have hot, rough, satisfying sex on her office desk whenever he wanted. Eventually another male employee caught them and threatened them with exposure. Thus, the two-some became an interracial three-some with a very well-endowed black man taking her from behind while the first guy fucked her mouth. The woman's moans were fake, the guys' ejaculations were real, and when it was over, the four of us just sat staring at the screen, our pussies dripping and our clits throbbing. "Shit, Kiki, you were right," Ashley said, quite clearly for a drunk person. "I need to go fuck Ian." "I'll give you a ride," Keisha said. "My kitty's about to pop so let's go." I stared at them, shocked. "Great. And you?" I asked, staring at Lacy. "The precinct let Rob take tonight off," Lacy said, shrugging. "He'll be surprised when I get home." "Right. Thank you, bitches," I said, flinging my arms towards the ceiling as they headed for the door. "I'll just stay here in my horny state while ya'll go home and get the brains fucked out of you." "Where's that toy I got you?" Keisha said. "The one for Christmas last year?" She put Ashley's arm around her shoulder. "I don't want a fucking vibrator, Keisha, I want a man!" "Then go to a fucking club!" she hissed back, walking awkwardly out the door. "I'm 'bout to go home and get me some from my man. And if he even tries to pull the freaky deaky shit he did last time..." Her words droned into silence as she got into her car and left, Lacy pulling out after her. "Well, shit," I muttered. I turned back to the TV, the porno paused on the screen at particularly horrible shot of the women's face as she came for like the billionth time. Curious, I flipped to the home screen and chose a different story, one about a waitress at a bar who decides she's incredibly horny and fucks a guy on a pool table with patrons looking on. The next one starts out with a close up of a white guy getting his dick sucked by a Latina chick, and by the time I get to the fourth and last one, I've come five times by my fingers, still without any relief. I needed to get fucked, and I needed to get fucked soon. I took the DVD and put it back in its case, hiding it in my room until Ashley came to retrieve it. After that, I tried everything I could to get my mind off sex: did the dishes, fed the dog, cleaned the pool, picked up my room—which I haven't done in ages—and even tried watching a movie. I was fine until the sex scene started, then I just turned the TV off and pouted on the couch. "I need a boyfriend," I muttered to myself. It was only around nine, and here I was in party clothes with no one to party with. I ate a disappointing dinner, took a shower, watched a little TV, and then went to bed around midnight. What kind of shit was that? Saturday morning I woke up around nine, but refused to get out of bed until eleven-thirty. My cell had messages from all three of my friends apologizing about ditching me the night before, but I threw it back on my nightstand and headed for the shower. It wasn't until I had been out of the tub for about fifteen minutes that I figured out a solution to my sexual dilemma. I smeared lotion over my body until my skin was satiny smooth, brushed out my long waves, and sprayed a light perfume on my wrists, neck, and the back of my knees (the secret spot that my mother taught me). I wanted to wear something that would be make me easily accessible, but without calling me a slut. In the mirror I looked at my black shorts, turquoise baby doll shirt, and the gladiator stilettos I wore the night before, and grinned. Sexy, chic, and ready to be fucked. Hey, I could be bold when I wanted to. I gave myself a devilish smile and walked to the kitchen, making myself a roast beef sandwich. I drank a little vodka to loosen me up a bit, and then brushed my teeth to hide the smell. Ten minutes till one, the doorbell rang. He was early. Ben Salt was an arena football coach's assistant for the city's team, and also one of my father's best friends. They'd met at a football awards ceremony, and obviously had kicked it off. At twenty-nine years old some might say he was a bit old for me, but hey, age is just a number, right? Sandy brown hair, light gray eyes, and a body built for the field attested to the fact that he wasn't that old...certainly not too old to keep up with me. And the good part was that he was shy. Shy, sweet, and delicious are exactly my type. I went and answered the door, giving him a smile as I welcomed him in. "Hi, Ben," I said, closing the door. "Dad said you'd be stopping by." Standing right in front of him, I watched as he took me in, his eyes stopping for a few milliseconds on my low-cut top. He swallowed and said, "Uh, yeah. Told me to check in on you, making sure you didn't burn the house down or anything." I could feel his eyes on my ass as we stepped towards the kitchen. "Want a beer?" I asked. He gave me a hesitant look. "Are you old enough to drink?" "Legally?" I said, taking two beers out of the fridge. Ben took one. "Put that other one back. You can have juice." Raising an eyebrow, I put the other beer away. "Yes, daddy." He gave me a slight grin and took a swig from the bottle. Sitting on the couch in the living-room, he asked, "So, how yah been?" "Well, the house is still here," I answered slowly, walking after him. "I'm still here, and the place isn't a disaster. As long as my crack friends stay hidden in the bathroom, everything should be okay." Ben chuckled, avoiding my gaze. "Ted told me you might give me a hard time." "I'm twenty years old," I said, the old grudge coming back. "I don't need a baby-sitter." "I know it," he answered. I looked up at his tone of voice, and he averted his eyes again, his cheeks turning red. "Well, so...you look nice," he said hastily, suddenly interested in the bubbles in his beer bottle. "Got a date?" "Not until later," I replied simply. I went to the kitchen and fetched the other beer, then strutted back towards Ben, sitting on the middle cushion next to him. Taking his half empty bottle, I drank the rest of it and handed him the fresh one. He watched as I licked my lips and crossed my legs. Clearing his throat, he said, "Thanks." Poor guy was so nervous, and I almost felt sorry for him. I was practically assaulting him with my body, my behavior, and liquor. Reaching out to lightly touch his thigh, I asked, "Are you okay? You don't look to hot." Ben jumped up, spilling beer all over his groin area. "Fuck," I heard him mutter. Points to him for not ranting and raving about it. "Hold on a sec, I'll get a towel." I jogged towards the linen closet in the hallway by the front door and got two hand towels. Throwing one on the coffee table, I said, "Stay still," then bent down to dry his pants. "Whoah, Kiara, what do you think you're doing?" Ben grabbed my wrists and pulled me up again, his face only inches from mine. I gave him a mock condescending look. "I thought I was drying you off," I answered, jerking my wrists from his grip. Snatching the towel from my hand, he said, "I can do it myself, thanks." I snatched it right back. "It'd be much more fun if I did it." I got up in his face as if to kiss him and he backed away quickly, right into the wall. Before he could react, I knelt down and began dabbing at the wet stain. "What the hell is this?" I asked after a few seconds. I rubbed against what I knew was his erection. "Kiara, stop!" Ben said hoarsely, and I glanced up at him. "I wasn't born yesterday; I know what you're doing." I stood up in front of him and crossed my arms, blocking his way. "So why don't you play along?" "Because!" he said, hands in front of his groin. "Shit, you're Ted's daughter. He'd fucking break my legs!" "Don't underestimate him, Ben. He'd cut off your dick first." "Then why the hell—" "Do you know what I did yesterday?" I asked him, putting my hands on his chest. I could feel how hard and chiseled it was beneath his shirt, and I shivered in excitement. "A few of my friends brought a porno over and forced me to watch it. We all got horny, but while they went home to boyfriends and lovers, I was stuck here by myself with no one to fuck." Ben opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. "Look," I said, moving my hands to his neck. "I have the whole weekend to myself. My father doesn't come home until tomorrow night, which means the house is empty this afternoon, all night, and tomorrow morning." He tried to talk, but I cut him off. "Now, I could just go clubbing, pick up some sleazy shit-head and bring him back here, but..." I kissed him softly, barely touching my lips against his. "I have you right in front of me." For several seconds I could see the war going on in his eyes as he stared down at me. Here I was, thick and horny, easy for the taking. And then there was my father, tall, formidable, and unforgiving. Cautiously, his hands slid around my waist and rested gently on my ass, and I knew that a hard dick had won out over a possible broken one. It always does. Ben squeezed my ass and pressed me into him, his lips sliding over mine. The kiss may have been gentle, but the fire in my pussy roared to life, and it didn't help that his cock was pressing against my thigh, the heat burning through the fabric. I pulled him towards me harder, sucking on his bottom lip. My hands drifted down, undoing his khaki dress pants and moving into his boxers. Breaking the kiss, I pulled away from him with an impressed smile. "And what have we here?" I said quietly, pulling out his partially erect cock. Grabbing it with both hands and rubbing the smooth, dry skin, I looked up into Ben's eyes. "You're packing quite a punch, I see." Ben caressed my cheek, tracing his thumb across my lips. Leaning forward to press his mouth to mine, he murmured softly, "You know, white men got game, too." I laughed, walking away with his cock still in my hand. He was forced to follow me, and I sat on the couch, licking my lips as Ben positioned himself in front of me. "How do you like it, Mr. Salt?" I said, massaging just the head with my right hand, the left planted on his thigh. "Soft and slow, or fast and wet?" "Torture me," he responded softly. I looked up, surprised but delighted; Ben was coming out of his shell! I didn't say anything, only gave him a wink, and then wrapped my lips around his head. I took in more and more of his cock, sucking him in and then pulling him out, my lips sliding across the skin of his dick. My mouth began to water from the taste of him, and pretty soon every time he pulled out, I was slurping to keep from spilling my juice. My pace was slow and deliberate, and after several minutes his first moan came, slipping out from between his lips. "Shiiit," he breathed, looking down at me. I gave him a coy smile, replacing my lips with my hands. "Would you like to fuck my mouth?" "Uh..." he said uncertainly. I grabbed his hands and put them on either side of my head. "Just be gentle," I told him, then opened my mouth around his girth. His fingers threaded themselves into my thick mane, and slowly, he pushed his cock in deep, pulling out when he thought he'd gone far enough. After several thrusts his eyes drifted closed, and I reached beneath his cock to finger his balls. "This is so wrong," he whispered, his need quickening the pace and driving his cock deeper into my throat. "This is so fucking wrong..." He slid all the way out and bent down, claiming my mouth in a hard kiss. "I'm going to fuck you," he said, grabbing my chin and looking me hard in the eye. "I'm going to make you come, but then I have to leave." I grinned at him and stood up. "Do you want some vodka?" I asked. "Please," he said, tucking his cock back in his pants. I poured him a drink, biting my bottom lip as I thought about his dick in my mouth. There's nothing like the feel of hard, delicious cock against the back of your tongue; nothing gets me wetter, and I wanted to fuck him now. "Wanna do it right here?" I asked him, giving a flirtatious smile. I moved his drink and hopped up on the counter. "On the, uh...the counter?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. Nervous men are so cute. "Yeah, why not?" I grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him towards me, my hands sliding around his broad torso and clamping on his butt. "Fuck me, Benjamin Salt," I whispered into his neck, nibbling his ear lobe. "I can't have sex with you on the counter of your father's kitchen," he argued, looking around. "There could be cameras watching." I slid off the counter laughing. Pulling my shorts and panties off, I said, "I think I would know if there were security cameras in here." Ben's gaze watched my thighs as I hopped back onto the counter, the hem of my baby doll shirt fluttering up to expose the ebony, trimmed curls of my pussy. He slid his body between my legs. "You're something, you know that?" he said, tickling his fingers across my skin. "Why? Because I'm a horny black chick willing to fuck you?" "Not that you would know this, but I happen to know lots of women willing to sleep with me. And none of them involve consequences dealing with angry fathers who own several shot guns." "But were not sleeping," I said, pulling his shirt off. "We're fucking. And while that could possibly lead to your violent demise, you're still here." "Because forbidden fruit," Ben said against my lips, "always tastes the sweetest." I undid his pants again and pulled his cock out, still swollen from tasting him. He pulled me to the very edge of the counter and began to slide into me, stretching the opening of my pussy. I groaned against his lips as my cunt began to clamp down on him, protesting his thickness. "This should be fun," Ben whispered, pulling out. The next second he pushed right back in, going further. Every subsequent thrust went deeper until finally he began to fuck me, the friction of his dick building the ache in my pussy. True to his need for me, he pushed my shoulder gently, forcing me to lean back on my elbows. He grabbed my legs and bent them, forcing them apart so that my pussy was fully exposed before his eye. And then he began to pound into me at a slight angle, his lips parted slightly as he breathed, his gaze on my face. "Are you gonna come for me?" he murmured, and at those words, I broke, crying out as my pussy walls tightened possessively on his cock. I arched my upper body and tilted my head back, thrusting my breasts out. His large palm crept beneath my shirt, up my slightly plush tummy to cup one, flexing to press against my studded nipple. Tasting Salt After a few moments my orgasm died away, and I smiled up at Ben, panting slightly. "We should do this in the pool." The triumphant grin he was giving me died, replaced by his initial hesitation. "It's daylight. What if people see?" "People can see us inside, too, if they look in the right places." "In case you didn't notice, Kiara, we're surrounded by four walls." I sighed. "Come on, Ben, think about it. Me, pressed against the side of the pool, your body covering mine, our naughty bits hidden as you fuck me..." His eyes narrowed, and I could tell that I had painted a pretty good picture. "You don't think anyone's gonna notice the weird slapping of the water?" he asked. "Go slow," I said mischievously. "You like being tortured." "The water will be too cold," he tried again. "My dad keeps the pool warmed," I countered. He tried to pull out of me, but I wrapped my legs around his waist and shoved him back in, his protests temporarily ended by our mingled groans. "Why go for a pool fuck when we seem to be having fun right here?" he murmured against my cheek. His lips trailed a ticklish path from my lobe to my neck, right above my pulse, and his teeth scraped my skin firmly as he bit down. "I wanna have sex in fun and exciting places," I said, my eyes closing lazy desire. "Well, people will definitely get excited if someone sees us." He began to fuck me again, moving slowly and I bit my lip, trying to concentrate on our discussion instead of his cock. "It'll be an...adventure...ah, shit you feel good." I leaned back onto my palms and looked down, loving the sight of his white cock, gleaming with my juices, sliding in and out of my sweet, brown cunt. Giving Ben a sexy smile, I tilted my head and said, "We should take a picture of that." He froze, of course, and the look he gave me was practically a glare. "No. Absolutely not." "Relax, Ben. Let's go fuck in the pool." He shoved his cock into me, his thrust causing a bit of pain and exciting my pussy at the same time. Grabbing hold of my upper arms, he shook me gently. "Kiara! Do you know how much trouble I could get into for this? We're not taking pictures of anything, and we're not going to fuck in your pool in broad daylight!" I could tell the smile I gave him exasperated him. "What about later on tonight? It'll be dark and mysterious, and we could turn the pool lights off." "I thought you were going out tonight?" he said, moving his hips again. "Damn," I whispered, not sure if I was referring to his reminder, or the fact that my pussy was already beginning to tighten around his member. "Forgot about that," I said, closing my eyes. My next words were forgotten, too, as Ben began to slam into me. His breathing grew hot and heavy against my neck, and I started to whimper, one of my hands curling tightly into his sandy hair. His magic dick tore into my pussy unforgivingly, tearing down my nerves until they practically screamed as I came. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," I moaned, twisting my body from the overload of pleasure. I could feel my juices leaking between my ass cheeks onto the marble counters. Ben slipped out of me and I looked at his cock, hard, swollen, and swaying in the air in front of him. "That looks painful," I said, running my fingernails lightly across the tight skin. "Not painful," Ben said, looking at me with his gray eyes. "Just...demanding...selfish." "Well, by all means, we should give him what he wants," I said back. I slid off the counter and walked backwards into the livingroom, pulling my shirt off. I unhooked my bra and threw it towards Ben; it smacked his chest and fell to the floor, and I fell with it, landing face-up on the couch. "Oh, Ben, take me!" I cried with a dramatic flair. He gave me a wry smile and climbed between my legs. Using his fingers to spread my slippery labia, he shoved himself inside with a grunt, sliding deep and low into me. He wrapped a hand into my waves, using his other one for balance, then did a few gentle strokes to make sure he was comfortable. "Shit, Ben," I said, liking the feel of this new pressure. "It's not rocket science. Just fuck me already." "Getting tired?" he said, grinding his hips right against my frustrated clit. "Ah...no," I groaned. "But it's hard to come when you're not doing anything." "You complain too much." I inhaled to make a retort, but my breath came out, literally, as a squeal. In one push Ben was thrusting violently, his big dick sinking to the back of my cunt, pulling out, and forcing itself right back in. He pistoned in and out of my sex, my pussy quivering at the sweet friction, and soon my hips were meeting his with as much heat. The sound of our slapping flesh emanated throughout the quiet room and I gripped the cushions of the couch, my throat locking in erotic eagerness. Suddenly, Ben was groaning into my neck, cursing illegibly. His thrusts became rough and erratic, and the next second I could feel him spurting inside of me. His hot release set off my last orgasm, clenching down tightly around his climaxing cock. I ran a hand across the corded muscles of Ben's back, listening to the sound of his breath as it labored, and then calmed, in the hollow of my neck. "That was so good," I said quietly as he lifted his head and looked at me. Ben gave me a small smile, sliding his flaccid sex from my cunt as he sat up beside me. Pulling his pants all the way up his ass, he started, "This should probably remain a one-time thing—" "Stop right there," I said, holding up my hand. "You promised to fuck me in the pool." "No, I didn't." "But you want to." I gave him a cheeky grin. "We both know you want to." "You're busy tonight, and I have things I have to get done." "You know, Ben, this isn't the last out-of-town meeting my dad will have." He hesitated. "Kiara—" I stopped him with a loud sigh. "Why is this so fucking difficult for you?" I complained, arching my back and stretching. Ben dropped his eyes to my round breasts before averting his gaze. "Because your father—" "Is not here," I interjected, looking at my nails. I stood and straddled his lap naked, pressing my tits into his chest. Wrapping my arms around his neck I kissed him softly, slowly, then bit firmly down on his bottom lip before sucking the pain away. "Please?" I asked, giving him a beguiling look. "We'll only do it when he's not here, if it bothers you that much. But you're dick is just too good to be giving up that easily." "Well, thanks," he said, rolling his eyes. But his hands slid lightly up the skin on my back, pushing shivers through my spine. "I might just have to," he whispered softly. "In the pool?" I asked with a hopeful smile. "Only if it's dark." "Deal." I climbed off his lap and collected all my clothes, dressing right in front of him. I heard my cell phone ring on my bedroom nightstand and went to get it, throwing Ben his shirt. "Hi, Dad," I said, entering the livingroom with an evil grin. Ben looked up at me in alarm. "Yeah, he checked in on me. He's still here actually, if you want to talk to him." I ignored his frantic shake of the head and held the phone out to him. "My father would like to speak with you, Ben," I said. He snatched the phone from my hand. "You play dirty," he said in a low tone, and then to my father, "Hey, Coach Rose, how's the convention going?" I sat on the couch next to him, rubbing my hand firmly against his groin. He tried to swat me away, but I only evaded his grasp, undoing his pants to slip his cock out. I knelt between his legs and began to suck on him, pushing his soft cock to the back of my throat. "Ah...yes sir, she's good," Ben said. One of his hands ran through my hair and took hold as I continued to suck him down. "The house is...is still here...and not burned down..." He kind of faltered when I started massaging his balls, and I couldn't help but grin. His hips began thrusting involuntarily, and I slid him out of my mouth to jack him off, watching him. His eyes were closed, but his voice was clear as he answered my father. "Alright...I'll tell her. Tomorrow...around five, right?" He opened his eyes as he looked into mine, and his right hand rested on top of mine, squeezing around his dick. "Yes sir, I'll see you then." He shut the cell phone and threw it on the couch. "You're gonna pay for that," he growled, pulling me up to his lips. I smiled. "I'll cancel my date." Tasting Sarah My wife reminded me again last night. Nothing was said. Sarah simply leant forward, taking some of her weight on her arms. She raised herself from her squatting position on my groin, my spent erection slipping from between the lips of her smooth, exquisitely hairless pussy. Then she moved up my body, until her cunt was right above my open mouth, daring me to taste my own semen as it trickled from her. I licked at her, probing her succulent depths with my tongue, tasting myself, as the bitter sweet memories flooded of the sexually precocious, ripe, luscious Lauren, on her hands and knees, of the other students who had stayed with us, and of the summer nights when the semen seeping from my wife's promiscuous cunt was not my own, but had come, spurting and spewing deep within, from thrusting, more youthful, foreign bodies. My giving Sarah prolonged pleasure with my tongue has been a regular and highly enjoyable part of our love-making long before the temptation that was Lauren. Right from the first time that we went to bed together, I have been going down on Sarah. That first time, to my surprise, her pubis was smooth and silky, as was every inch of my future wife's flawless, milk white flesh. The tumbling, jet black mane of hair that fell around and down her shoulders would have suggested thick curls covering her mons, but it too was pure milk white, and delightfully bare. There was not a single curl to find its way onto my tongue, not even a trace of stubble to graze its surface as I licked around her lips before delving in between them. Apart from that black mane, nowhere it seemed, on her lithe, full breasted body, was there a single follicle of living hair. Her lips barely protruded, delicate pink, and when I parted them the inner flesh was so translucent that tiny veins of blue showed beneath the surface, itself gleaming wet, so wet that a trickle of watery fluid seeped from her to moisten the sheet on which she lay. I lapped at the gathering of liquid within. The taste of her cunt was wonderful. Not just the taste, but the sheer ease with which she exuded her vaginal nectar, slickening her cunt walls, so that penetration, even with the girth and length that I enjoy, was and always has been since, exquisite, unbridled pleasure. Instead of mounting her immediately, I touched the exposed pearl of her clitoris with the tip of my tongue, wet from her own secretions. She shuddered. Her hand moved to my head, gently inviting me to continue what I had begun. I slowly licked, sucked, and lapped at her. I ran my tongue around the edges of her lips. I probed and explored between them. I savoured the fluids she secreted. I bit gently on her mons, wondering at its silky smoothness, how it was that there was no hint of hair ever having grown there. I teased her clitoris, my fingers opening her to expose it, protruding from its hood, as I licked above it and below, on either side, and tentatively, gently, on the nub itself. Sarah moaned. She writhed beneath me. She squirmed and squealed and groaned. She shuddered and shivered. She arched her back, her hands pressing my head to her, then backed away, closing her legs, thighs against the sides of my head, then opening them again, as wide as they would go, inviting me to lick and lap and suck and savour her yet more. When she came, it was serene. There was no crying out, no thrashing of arms or legs, no twisting or turning, nothing as physically climactic. Instead she whimpered, her release resembling not the crashing waves of sea on rocks, but the ripples on a pond when a stone is thrown, undulating softly through her body, her breasts shuddering. Only her eyes evidenced the intensity of her orgasm. For several long minutes they stared, fixed, wide, at the imagined sensual heaven that only she could see, or feel, or know. I waited, as her body trembled, long minutes, until finally she emerged from her private bliss, smiled, and invited me to come inside her now. Soon into our relationship, long before we married, Sarah shared that she rarely manages to reach her orgasm from penetrative sex. She enjoys all of the sensations that fucking brings her, and loves to feel the hardness of a cock inside her. She relishes the knowledge that she is desired, that her body excites, and that her cunt, with its wet secretions and tight walls, can make a man lose all control, and thrust and slam at her until he finds his own release. She adores that moment when she senses that he is about to come, when he pauses momentarily, only to power his cock harder and deeper, and flood her with his semen, spewing it with each thrust, again and again, until he is fully sated. But however good or long or hard, or whatever size, width, or length, Sarah rarely achieves her own orgasm from all that frenzy. Yet just with a tongue, she can find her sexual heaven. Sarah also shared, hesitantly, almost embarrassed to reveal it, that while lying, legs parted, offering herself to be licked and sucked is more than pleasurable, she much prefers to kneel, to lower herself onto an awaiting mouth, to have a man beneath her, paying homage to her cunt, making her feel that she is being worshipped. For my part, nothing is more delicious than lying on my back, with her above me, lapping at her, tasting her, swallowing her sweet secretions as she shudders with pleasure, her slender hands caressing her own full, white breasts, pulling on her thick, pink teats, distending her palm width areoles, the light pink skin so delicate that the blue lines of veins show through the sheen of perspiration. I love to fuck my wife, but first I worship at her smooth, hairless shrine, take her to her trembling release, and only then do I desecrate that shrine, violating it with the thickness of my cock head, stretching it wide, sinking my shaft deep within it, plunging and thrusting at it, defiling and despoiling it with my fucking, and using it as a depositary for my semen, spewing the thick creamy contents of my balls deep inside her sacred place. And when I have come in her, not every time, but once in every while, as she did last night, Sarah will ask me to worship at her shrine again, knowing that I will taste myself, and relive all that has happened because of Lauren. There is a secret behind my wife's smooth, hairless, pubic mound. Four things came together. She started university, with the new found freedom to do as she wished. She was given a credit card by her father. She had visited the National Gallery and seen paintings of the female nude, more voluptuous than modern female youth, not as full breasted as Sarah would have expected, or as she was herself, but significantly, where the pubis was not covered with a needless strip of cloth, there was just a slit, smooth and free of hair. Finally, another student mentioned that she had had laser therapy at a beautician's to remove unwanted hair forever from her legs. Then, Sarah had had fine black hairs kept in trim by daily shaving on her legs,a finder growth that she had just accepted on her arms. After mulling it all over, she had come to a decision, and booked an appointment with a beautician for herself. Armed with her father's credit card, expense had been no object.The appointment had been for arms, legs, underarms and pubis. Even then, she had had to tell the beautician that it was not just to her bikini line that she had wanted the treatment done, but all of it. Later, in the privacy of her student bedroom, she looked each night and morning at her naked self,feeling a secret pride that she had been so daring, baring her slit for ever, rubenesque at eighteen, even if no one else yet knew. Each time she returned for the follow up treatments to catch follicles that had been dormant, or still had some life remaining, she made the same request. Finally no more hair emerged. It was a year, Sarah told me, before she finally gave access to her denuded mons. Not that there had been a shortage of guys wanting to explore those parts that she kept private. At the pubs and clubs that she and her student friends frequented, she was regularly chatted up by guys interested in getting between her legs. Quite why she waited, she was not sure, except that while she was proud of having dared to denude her pubis, she was not so confident about revealing it. Yet no one that she had slept with since has ever complained about the absence of any pubic hair, or indeed of any hair, anywhere on her body, other than her long, thick, silky mane. Her only regret, she told me, was in wasting that year, turning away so many advances for fear of the reaction to her total nudity. At times, I wonder if secretly, my wife is grateful to Lauren, and to me, for giving her the excuse to relive that missing year, a month at a time each summer. Lauren, of course, should never have happened. An octogenarian in Edinburgh suffered a fatal heart attack and Lauren walked into our Brighton flat, her olive skin tanned by the Mediterranean sun, dressed more for her native Montpellier than for England, a bright yellow indian cotton shirt tied beneath full, braless breasts, baring a flat, slender stomach with its naval piercing below her perfectly defined rib-cage, and with denim shorts, scissor cut after they had been bought so high that at the sides her hips were bared almost to the two inch width of her matt black leather belt with its Playboy logo buckle, the under curves of her buttocks exposed as she walked past us and into our lounge, naked to the eye, hardly a thread's thickness of denim between her legs, her wheeled travel case pulled behind her by its extending handle, its zipped denim matching perfectly her shorts, another Playboy logo on its top right corner. Three hours before those never ending nut-brown legs strolled through our hallway, Sarah had called my mobile, apologising, and asking if I minded if one of her students came to stay with us. Ten years after we had married, Sarah was running the summer school for foreign students, held by the college where we both work. Accommodation should have been in the homes of local families. That year, one of those families had withdrawn. It is the butterfly effect. Wings flapping in South America cause winds to blow in England. The wife's father had died unexpectedly. The family were on their way to Scotland to help with all the arrangements that a death and funeral would require. The student who would have stayed with them had nowhere else to go. A stunning, sexually aware, nineteen year old French girl was about to test our marriage beyond its limits. Not knowing this, when Sarah asked if I would mind if a student without accommodation could stay with us, I agreed. A husband must support his wife. Besides, Sarah had inherited a tried and tested programme from her predecessor. The college where she is still Head of Modern Languages, requires her to reverse her role each July. Instead of teaching French and German to English students, she manages a month long summer school teaching English to students from European countries under some kind of European Union grant arrangement, the students living with English families, spending weekday mornings in class learning English grammar, participate in sports for an hour each afternoon, and otherwise enjoy all that an English coastal town has to offer, subject to their being at their hosts for an evening meal, and a curfew of ten thirty every evening. Since Lauren, this European Union funding has facilitated a kind of union that those in Brussels would not approve of, whatever they might themselves do in their hotel rooms, away from wives and families. Not that anything untoward had ever occurred with the summer school. Since eighteen is the minimum age for registration, all the students are legal adults, and the college need not concern itself too much about their care. A home-sick student will be counseled. The consumption of excess alcohol may lead to a warning if the host family expresses concern. Once, the remnants of a spliff was found in a student's bedroom, after the culprit had returned to their home country. Nothing could then be done about it. Hosting a student in our own flat would be no problem. We had a bedroom spare. It would be fine, or so I thought. That was without allowing for the sexual powder keg that sauntered through our door in the delicious but dangerous form of Lauren. It was our first evening meal, and I almost choked on my pasta. Lauren has been totally unfazed at being accommodated with the course director and her husband instead of the family she had expected. She had helped Sarah prepare the welcome meal that my wife had deliberately kept as simple as could be. The college's advice to host families was not to raise expectations with a lavish dinner, but to just provide whatever food the family would normally have. Lauren had sliced the tomatoes and cucumber for the accompanying salad while Sarah looked after the pasta and the carbonara sauce. In the kitchen, and at the table, Lauren chatted animatedly about English and American music and films. She was still wearing the yellow shirt. The cotton, I had realised, was thin enough to let the outlines of her areoles show through, several shades darker than the surrounding tanned flesh. Although Lauren's areoles were not as wide at Sarah's, the thick nipple stubs that pushed out against the cotton more than compensated. Uncorking the wine her parents had sent with her as a present for her hosts, I imagined it poured over those full, ripe breasts, and sucked from those exquisite, cherry sized teats. The balcony of our apartment had caught Lauren's interest. She asked if it faced the sun, and if it was okay to sunbathe there. Sarah said that she was sure the neighbours would not mind. That was when Lauren said that her family was naturist, and asked if that was that a problem. I almost failed to swallow the fusilli that I had left unchewed, distracted from my eating, picturing Lauren sunbathing naked, those breasts bared, pointing to the sun. Exerting maximum self control of my gagging reflex, I used some wine to help the fusilli slide down, leaving my wife to answer Lauren. Sarah glanced at me, then opted to show that we were open minded and not at all as uptight as the English reputation. Of course it would not be a problem. Lauren's casual stroll through the lounge to get a glass of water from the kitchen after our meal, and after showering, told us that her question about nudity had not been just about the balcony. Her family must have been just as relaxed at home as on whatever beach they used. She walked between us and the television news without a towel, nightdress, or even a pair of knickers, nonchalantly naked, displaying those cherry tipped, full firm breasts, and more, apologetic only for the brief disruption to our viewing as she passed between us and the television screen. Like Sarah, Lauren had thick black hair that right then hung wet against her back. Unlike Sarah, she had a copse of thick curls, shaved to the line of the bikini that she clearly never wore, her tan covering every inch of breast, buttock, and pubis, right to her dark, thickly protruding labia, exposed where her curls were trimmed, and visible even from behind as she went through to our kitchen, her slender thighs narrowing at their apex with those dark labia revealed between them. Inevitably, Sarah noticed my distraction from the news. To my surprised relief, she just grinned with amusement. I turned my gaze back to the newscaster, wondering just what it would be like to have daily sightings of Lauren's heavenly body, her full, gravity defying breasts, her thick, nut brown nipples that just asked to be sucked and chewed upon, her delightful globes of buttocks that invited kneading or punishing or both, and her cock teasing nether lips, the same chocolate colouring as her areoles, delicious, hanging folds of flesh made to be parted, penetrated, and ploughed. Sarah asked if I was fine. I said I was. One week later, Lauren was inviting me to fuck her with phraseology that she had not learned in English class. That first night, emerging from the kitchen indifferent to her tanned nakedness, glass of water in her hand, Lauren smiled sweetly at us both as she walked back through the lounge and said good night. In retrospect, it may have been the similarities between Lauren and my wife that led my cock to rule my head. I have always preferred my women slender, but well endowed, and dark haired rather than the blonde of the traditional English rose. To within a fraction of an inch, Sarah and Lauren were the same height as one another, both with their manes of jet black hair, both slender, yet both with full, generous breasts. Lauren, twelve years younger, was more toned, her breasts fractionally firmer. Yet Sarah's breasts remain two of the reasons that I enjoy lying on my back while she straddles me to let me tongue her. Looking up, the view is awesome. Her white thighs are wide apart, her pink lips wet and open, her silky smooth pubic mound curves softly, her stomach is flat, her waist narrow, her ribs are defined beneath taut white skin, her full milk white breasts still defy gravity, forming perfect alabaster globes, her incredibly wide areoles, delicate pink with fine blue veins, have a sheen all their own, and the slightly darker nipple stubs protrude a full half inch proud of those globes of flesh, even before she pulls and twists on them as I lap at her. No panorama on earth could surpass that view, not before Lauren, not since, and none exudes the same bitter sweet taste of carnal pleasure. Both my wife, and the much younger Lauren, have strong faces, full lips, high cheek bones, commanding noses, Sarah's nose is more Romanesque with a defined prominence mid-way down the bridge, compared to Lauren's more even curve. Undoubtedly, Sarah has the greater presence. Lauren's dark olive complexion, with her chocolate areoles and nipples, her copse of black curls and her dark, protruding labia, of course was a tempting contrast with Sarah's hairless, pure white complexion, and the lipless slit that is her entrance. Still, I should have left that tanned, inviting body well alone. My own role at the college is Head of Physical Education. During term time I have a full time role, leading a team of ten staff in total. For the July foreign students' English course, I arrange the hour's sporting programme that takes place each afternoon, taking the basketball myself, three other staff running football, tennis and yoga sessions. Apart from that hour, July was part of my vacation, while Sarah had to spend the full working day liaising with the other teachers of English as a Foreign Language, checking that both students, and families, were happy with their placements, undertaking her own teaching, and preparing for the weekly assessments that led to certification at the end of the four week course. It was Sarah's need to be at the college, liaising with others, for the whole of each day, morning and afternoon, which led to Lauren and myself being in the flat alone, and as a Physical Education professional I could not ignore her request for help with lower back pain following a yoga session she had had with one of my female colleagues. I should of course have covered Lauren with a towel when I found her waiting on her bed, lying on the white duvet cover, stark naked, but for the preceding week I had seen her naked around the flat every day, to and from the bathroom, or the kitchen, or lying on a sun lounger on our balcony. I simply asked her where it hurt, sat beside her, and massaged her soft, bare, dark olive complexioned flesh. I should also have kept my hands to just her lower back, and not allowed them to massage her soft round buttocks, or responded when she moved her legs apart, offering me access to her protruding labia. I should not have slipped my right hand down between those soft, tanned thighs, my thumb finding her wet and welcoming between her labia, my fingers entwining themselves in the lush hair of her pubic bush. Tasting Sarah It was my first encounter with female pubic hair for more than the decade of my marriage. Not since I first slept with Sarah had I been with any other woman. So Lauren's bush had been a total contrast to Sarah's smooth mound, and when she had lifted her buttocks, and gone on her hands and knees, offering herself not silently, but asking me to fuck her, my cock had already been rock hard, and it had been all too easy to level down my track suit bottoms and shorts over my erection, to move behind her, and slide my penis head into her nineteen year young, exquisite cunt. Fucking Lauren became a daily, afternoon delight. We did it in her bedroom, and in the lounge. We did it on her bed. We did it on the sofa. We did it with her lying on her back on the polished wood of the dining table. We did it with her on the floor. We did doggy, missionary, with her on top, and standing against the wall, my hands beneath her buttocks, her legs around my waist, my cock buried deep. Each time she came explosively, and each time I spewed my semen deep within her, reassured that she was on the pill, except that for those two weeks I was not thinking with my head but with my cock, and with just the thought of fucking her again, let alone while I was deep inside her, none of my brain cells warned me of the dangers. My cock ruled. I discovered that in the end, I am just a guy. Lauren was kneeling on the floor, her upper body on the leather seat cushions of our sofa, and I was thrusting hard, deep and rhythmically from behind, when Sarah found us. I turned and saw her standing at the door, a perfect side-on view of her husband's cock hammering student cunt. Having just spent twenty minutes thrusting into our nineteen year old guest's tight wet pussy, I was on the verge of coming. My head registered Sarah's arrival. My cock did not. It failed to take in the situation, or appreciate the inappropriateness of discharging its entire load of semen into another woman while my wife looked on. I felt the contractions, now past the point of holding back. I came, withdrawing only after firing deep into Lauren several times, my wife watching as my come dripped from between Lauren's delightful labia, onto her black curls, and then onto the soft brown leather of the sofa cushion. Within an hour, Lauren's denim Playboy traveling case was packed, and she was wheeling it out of the door, and into the lift. Looking down from the balcony I saw Sarah lift the case into her car boot. She opened the car's rear door for Lauren to climb into the back seat, conveying an unambiguous message in not permitting the recipient of her husband's semen to sit in front beside her. Not only had she made Lauren pack her things, but within that short hour Sarah had made a call to one of the families who were regular hosts each year. Yes, they could understand Lauren wanting to experience her final week with a typical English family. Of course, Stephan had been such a delight to have stay with them, but if my wife felt that their changing students would be beneficial, they would be only too happy to accept a girl instead. Stephan, one of my basketball players each afternoon, six foot two of blonde Germanic youth, arrived another hour later, sports hold-all in one hand. Sarah cooked chicken risotto and we discussed Beyer Munich, Manchester United, and even Barcelona. Sex with Sarah stopped. Not that it had stopped while I was fucking Lauren. Whether it is being active from teaching sports, or just natural testosterone, I can still get hard even just an hour later. Fucking Lauren had not stopped me from making love with Sarah. It was being caught in the act of fucking Lauren that stopped it dead in its tracks, legs tight shut. Sarah turned the other way in bed, and shrugged off my hand when I caressed her shoulder, not just that night, but each and every night that followed. The final Friday of the immersion course each year was Certification Presentation evening. Sixty students were invited, one by one, to receive their completion certificates on stage. It was pure public relations. No student ever failed. Drinks and canapés were served. The students held their own end of course celebrations elsewhere afterwards. The ten thirty curfew still applied. On Saturday morning, they were taken by their families to the station, train to London, then onwards to their homes in whichever country by Eurostar or by plane, so a late night Friday, even after celebrating course completion, was not allowed. Lauren was at the presentation evening. We avoided close proximity, but she gave me a guarded smile from across the college's formal hall, and mouthed something that might have been a thank you. She wore a red sleeveless dress that revealed more of her legs than was decent, and that clung to her braless breasts. Against my will, my cock stirred at the sight. Sarah wore the same black number she wore every year, also sleeveless, and cut to enable her to show off her perfect cleavage. The hem was cut more modestly than Laura's, falling to just above her knees, but she still looked incredible, as always. Having a formal role on stage, calling out the students' names as they came forward, Sarah wore what might have been black tights, although the July evening warmth did not require them. I had not watched her as she dressed, but I knew that my wife had long ago stopped wearing tights. They would be stockings, and they would be held in place by a suspender belt, and the most that she would be wearing with them was a thong. Ever since her teenage visit to the beautician, Sarah has dressed with her sexuality in mind. Watching her, my cock stirred again, forlornly, given that our sex life was not yet even in intensive care, and might not survive the journey. Back in our flat, we ate without Stephan, sitting at either end of the leather sofa where the semen stain still showed, neither of us saying much, the television on. Stephan was out with the rest of the basketball group, and no doubt with some of the yoga and tennis groups as well. It was ten forty five when he got in. Neither of us made an issue of it being fifteen minutes past the curfew. Sarah offered food, and Stephan ate it gratefully, then headed to his room. Instinctively, nothing said, we waited until Stephan had gone to the bathroom and gone back to his room. Sarah turned off the television. She went to our own bedroom. I followed, looking forward to the departure of the students the next morning, and the possibility of attempting to repair the damage caused by my stupidity with Lauren. Sarah had slipped off her shoes in the hall when we got back. As I walked into our bedroom she was easing her dress down her thighs, and stepping out of it, her back to me. I had been right about the stockings and the suspender belt, but wrong about the thong. Only the suspender belt crossed her buttocks. She turned, confirming that all the while that she had been hosting the Presentation Evening, even while she had been on stage, beneath her dress her pubis had been bare. That was a first. It made me wonder if she had been missing me as much as my cock was missing her. Giving me a look I could not read, her left hand moved behind her back, unclipping her bra. Slipping the shoulder straps down, she removed it totally, dropping it beside the bed. That was when she spoke. Her breasts were as beautiful as ever. Her smooth pubis was framed by the black suspender belt, the wide straps of the suspenders, and the tops of her sheer black stockings. Her neat, pink lips protruded slightly from her slit, just visible. They only protruded like that when she was aroused. Seeing them, I wondered if perhaps now that the formalities were over, she might relax, and we might make love, and in doing so make peace. "Would you like to fuck?" she asked, giving me yet more hope that things between us would soon be mended. "I think you know the answer," I said, not yet quite certain whether she was ready to unite again, or was simply reminding me of what I was missing, and why. "First you'll have to use your tongue," she said. I tried not to sound too elated, or too presumptuous, as I agreed. "Then I'll be back," she said, walking to the door. I held my breath until the door was closed, then breathed out in relief as much as for the next intake of air. The week of waiting was at an end. Waiting another few minutes while she used the bathroom was as nothing. I had started to undress, having worn a suit and tie, and I removed the last of my things. I set my bed-side light on dim, turned off the main light, got into bed, and lay on my back, head on my pillow, my left arm to the side, ready to welcome my wife when she returned. Just how long a woman will need when she goes to use the bathroom is unpredictable. I tried not to imagine what she might be doing. She took her time. What seemed like five minutes later, there was no Sarah. I checked the bedside clock, waited another five, this time sure that she would have finished in the bathroom, but still my wife did not return. I got out of bed, went to the door, opened it, saw the bathroom door wide open, no light on, and realisation dawned. I knew where she had gone. Yet needing to confirm what I instinctively already knew, I went silently to the closed door of the spare bedroom. That was when I heard the noise of bed springs, barely audible, but rhythmic. I went back to our room, closed the door, climbed back beneath our duvet, and waited again, this time knowing where Sarah was, and what was happening behind the closed door where our twenty one year old German guest was roomed. Unlike Lauren, Stephan had been discrete around our flat. There had been no casual nakedness. He had worn boxer shorts between his bedroom and the bathroom, and never less than shorts and a tee-shirt at all other times. But I knew what he looked like naked. The college changing rooms are old school, open facilities with benches around the walls and walk in showers. After basketball I would unlock the door, and then turn on the old fashioned showers at the main stop cock just inside the shower stands, while the group would strip, ready to use the open shower space. Stephan was one of several who would be first in line for the steaming water. He had a dense copse of blonde hair from which his cock hung thick and heavy. Whether, fully erect, his cock would be thicker, or longer, than my own, I could not know. As I lay on our bed, waiting for Sarah, my cock was stiff and hard as rock. It had been like that since Sarah had promised what would happen when she came back, even while I had gone to the bathroom door exploring why she had been so long. I had had no sex for the best part of a week. Masturbation had not appealed, not under the circumstances. The prospect of fucking Sarah once again had left me hard, and even the thought of Stephan fucking her had done nothing to affect its stiff rigidity. Two inches above average, my size had never been an issue. Stephan's might or might not be just as large. From what I had seen, it was quite likely. It did not matter. All that mattered was that Sarah was riding, or was being ridden by, our German student. FUCK!! FUCK, FUCK and FUCK!! I had only myself to blame. I had fucked Lauren and now Sarah was letting Stephan fuck her in return. It was so obvious I had been blind not to have seen what she might do. Would do. This was Sarah. Willful, confident, the teenager who had decided that pubic hair was an adornment she did not need. Of course fucking Stephan was all too predictable. What was surprising was that she had not been fucking him every night that he had stayed with us. Instead I had been lulled into a false sense of security, until she had kept me waiting while she had gone into his room, her slit with its pink, pouting lips framed by the suspender belt and stockings, that would have told him all too clearly that it was his to fuck. FUUUCCKKK!! Then I remembered what Sarah had said just as she had left our bedroom. I knew my wife well enough to know that she had meant every last syllable. Sarah did not act impulsively. This was planned. She had waited until the last night of the course. She had kept me starved of sex for the entire week, punishing me but also priming me. She had deliberately undressed in front of me, turning to face me, leaving the room while still wearing her stockings and suspenders so that I would know that she was wearing them when she went to Stephan's room. She had planned what she had said before she left. "First you'll have to use your tongue." It was our special way of loving one another, my lying on my back, her kneeling above me, my taking her to climax with my tongue, reveling in her sweet wetness all the while, lapping and swallowing her secretions, bringing her to the orgasm that she so delighted in, and then letting me make love to her however and in whatever way I wished. This was what she wanted me to do to her when she returned. Except. Except that she was fucking Stephan. Except that in all likelihood, she would let him come in her. No, not in all likelihood. This was Sarah. There was absolutely no room for doubt. She was on the pill, and had gone to his room empty handed. I had seen her lips protruding just that fraction that said that she was aroused. I knew how easily she lubricated, exuding more than enough of her sweet secretions for Stephan's cock to slide inside her right to the base in one easy, thrust. Whether she had climbed onto him, squatted, and impaled herself, or whether she had changed places, lying, her black stocking clad legs splayed, white upper thighs open wide, inviting him between them, allowing him to skewer her, I did not know. One thing I knew, for certain. Stephan's cock would be bare. They would be fucking skin on skin. That was what I had done with Lauren. Sarah had seen us fucking bare, and Sarah would do no less with Stephan. She had seen me come, unable to control my instincts even knowing she was watching. With Sarah standing there, I had emptied myself deep into Lauren's irresistibly delicious cunt. Sarah would let Stephan do the same to her. When she returned to offer me her smooth, hairless, milk white pubis, her cunt would be swimming with Stephan's virile foreign sperm, his German semen spewed from his cock deep into her, his liquid life mingling with her own secretions, ready to slip from her nether lips to my awaiting mouth. "First you'll have to use your tongue." Her final words before she went to him. I squirmed at the thought, but my erection did not subside. I turned, checking the clock. It had been over twenty minutes since I had first checked the time, perhaps twenty five since she had closed the door as she had left. FUUCCKK!! How long does it take for a fit twenty one year old to come? How much does he come? At that age I used to come in gallons. FUUCCKK!! Another five minutes went slowly by. FUUCCKK!! I twisted and turned in the bed. My hard on stayed rigid. FUUCCKK!! Forty minutes. Forty five including the five or so before I checked the clock, when I had assumed that Sarah was in the bathroom, getting ready to come to bed, and not in our German student's bed, getting him ready to come. The handle of the bedroom door turned. It opened. Sarah stepped inside, closing the door behind her. Even in the dimmed light of the bedside lamp her body shone white, and her legs gleamed black. "Are you ready?" she asked. I did not have to ask if he had come inside her. As she parted her legs to squat above me, I could see where semen had already trickled down her inner thigh, leaving a sheen on her perfect, white skin, and staining the black nylon of her stocking top. Time froze. As if in slow motion, Sarah steadied herself with both hands on the top rail of our bed head and began to lower herself towards my mouth. Her labia were thicker now, redder, from the abuse that she had just received. They were slick with her own secretions, and his semen. I could even smell him on her. There was absolutely nothing I could do about the fact that they had already fucked. Even when I had realised what was happening, had heard them through the closed bedroom door, it had been too late to intervene. I might have gone inside and made some kind of scene, but that would not have changed the reality that my wife had gone to another man, inviting him to fuck her, and was already letting him do just that. Nor would it have resolved the chasm that had opened up within our marriage, my own fault, for letting Lauren tempt me to stray with her amazing, nubile body. Nor was there anything that I could about the fact that he had already come inside my wife, at least once, and maybe twice, or that it was deserved. I had no right to complain. I had betrayed Sarah, and she had had every right to do the same to me. My cock was still hard. I was hungry for my wife. The cunt that I adored was right there, offering itself to me, and my hunger made me want to raise my head and lick between those lips that I so love, but in my head the knowledge that this time, it would foreign semen that I would taste, held me back for what seemed like an eternity, as time stopped so completely. "He didn't make me come," Sarah said, as she was waiting. "I kept that for you." Next morning Stephan ate his breakfast quietly, no mention of Beyer Munich, or of anything. I drove him to the station. Neither of us spoke until he was out of the car, had his sports holdall in his hand, and was ready to get his train. I offered him my hand. "It's fine," I said. He took my hand awkwardly, then gave a sheepish grin. "Vielen Danke," he said. "You have a wunderbare wife." "I know," I said. For the next few days, nothing was said, at least not about that night, or about Stephan, or Lauren, or how we each felt about what had taken place. But our love making was not just back. It was better than it had ever been. We fucked like rabbits. We already had a holiday planned for August and so we packed and drove down to the South of France. We always bring a tent, a decent one, large enough to stand in, with its separate bedroom, cooking area, and a table and chairs for eating al fresco in the sun. We went south of Bordeaux, avoiding the Montpellier area for reasons we both knew and understood, but did not mention. Ee did not need to be reminded of Lauren. We had used naturist beaches occasionally on previous holidays, but this time the camp site itself, chosen by Sarah, as well as the adjacent beach, was naturist. Sarah does not tan, but that year we discovered that the freckles that had always adorned her arms and legs in summer sun, can appear anywhere and everywhere, even on her hairless pubic mound, and this English response to the sun made her stand out amongst women with their golden or nut brown tans. Eyes turned. Men gave me envious looks. When we did talk about what had happened, I admitted my own fault without demur. Sarah, to my surprise, accepted some responsibility, for not putting Lauren in her place from the first evening when she walked naked through our lounge to get her glass of water, and also told me that Lauren had admitted she had deliberately lied about her back pain, hoping for the outcome that she had achieved. Sarah also admitted something I had not suspected. Her visit to Stephan's bedroom had indeed been planned. That was to have been my punishment. She wanted me to know that I was not the only one who could make love with someone else. Any time she wanted to, she could find a man who would willingly take her to his bed. She could have any guy on the camp site, if she wanted to. She was with me, only because she chose to be. Tasting Sarah What she had not expected was my response when she had come back to our bed after Stephan had come inside her. She had wanted to punish me, and the see just how far I would go to get her back. Her challenge, to use my tongue on her when she got back, had more of a tease than an condition. She had never expected to get as far as kneeling above me, not with Stephan's semen already trickling from her, let alone that I would actually tongue her out. As far as Sarah was concerned, all she had wanted was for me to realise that she could have other guys if she wanted to, just like the guys eyeing her on the camp site, but she chose to be with me. She would have been happy that night if I had just made love to her, or even just held her, to show that I still loved her. That was all it would have needed. We could have started to move on. Instead she had been amazed that I had wanted her so much that I was prepared to use my mouth on her when she was still fresh from Stephan. That, to her, had sealed the deal. It had also turned her on, so much so that when she had sensed a globule of Stephan's semen slide from her as I was lapping at her, that alone had brought about her climax. She loved me for doing that for her. There was, of course, plenty of opportunity for that to happen again, while we were on holiday. Most of the other campers were in couples, or families, but there were single guys there as well, both on holiday, and working there as lifeguards, waiters, or whatever. Like I said, Sarah's all over freckled tan, and her slim, full breasted figure, got their attention. Only once did it go anywhere. I had gone surfing, leaving Sarah on a lounger. A guy had taken the adjacent lounger when I got back, and was smoothing sun lotion on her back. I took the bottle from his hand, and took his other hand by the wrist, gripping it tightly, and taking it from Sarah's back. "She's my wife," I said. "Fuck off!" He left. Sarah, of course was right. She could have any guy she wanted. But not if she wanted me. A year later, there was no problem with families cancelling. No one died in Scotland. No student had to be housed at the last minute. Instead, Sarah arranged in advance for one of the students to stay with us. A French Moroccan, Michel, from Marseilles, tall, lean, dark olive skinned, and fluid in his movements on the basketball court. For an entire month I was reminded of what had taken place the year before. Sarah could, at any time, decide to visit Michel in our spare bedroom, just as she had Stephan. I knew that Michel would not turn her down. At basketball, Michel was cocky, confident of his skills on court. In the changing room, he was relaxed, unconcerned who saw his cock. I still had to turn on the stop cock for the showers, and saw it often. It was two shades darker than the rest of him, almost black. He shaved, which may have emphasised his size. I never saw his cock erect, but semi-tumescent it was as large as mine erect, and he was circumcised, in keeping with his faith. Any time she wanted it, this cock would love to slide and thrust its way inside my wife. Of course Sarah knew, that just by having this student stay with us, she was reminding me again, punishing me for the year before. She enjoyed it. She clearly liked seeing me watch Michel across the table, or in our lounge, knowing what was going through my mind. She enjoyed it in our bedroom too. Having Michel staying with us, knowing what might happen, I was almost permanently aroused, and needed to unload myself more than ever. In bed was when I punished Sarah for this months long tease, hammering into her to vent my frustration that she was playing with me through Michel's presence in our flat. My wife loved every minute of it. I hated the suspense of not knowing, but loved the effect it had on my desire for her. Right up to Presentation Evening I waited, wondering if she would make a move, beginning to think that it would not happen. Then, that evening, I was putting on my suit while she was dressing, black bra, black suspender belt, black stockings, cleavage revealing black dress, black four inch heels, nothing else. No thong. My heart beat raced, as I wondered if that meant what I thought it meant. Presentation Evening over, Michel back in our flat, in his room, his final night, we went to our own bedroom. Sarah undressed, down to her suspender belt and stockings. "I won't go if you ask me not to," she said. My cock was hard. I could have said no, and given her a fucking that both of us would remember.But something kept me silent. While I waited for Sarah to return, I had some good memories of fucking Lauren, and of sucking Sarah. When she returned, she climbed onto the bed, offering me her cunt. That was two years ago. Last year Sarah chose a Norwegian, barely nineteen, a footballer, Tor, whose cock I never saw, in the flat or in the college changing rooms. As one of the footballers, he used the pavilion changing rooms and not those by the gym. His application said that he intended studying medicine, and his grades from high school to date were excellent. Like me, he is tall, blonde and well built, not unlike Stephan two years before, but with Stephan and with Michel, Sarah was on the pill. This time the month long turmoil and suspense while Tor stayed with us was even greater. This was not just about Sarah going to his bedroom, but the potential consequences if she let him come inside her. Presentation Evening came around,coincidentally just when we knew that Sarah would be at her peak fertility, but yet again she left off her thong. Yet again, she undressed in front of me, right to her stockings and suspender belt, her framed pubis, bare and unprotected. She paused at the door again, not saying anything this time, but giving me time to ask her not to go. I passed on the opportunity, and said nothing, but for the next hour my cock was never as hard as it was then. What would be would be. FUUUCK!! Sarah came back in, closing the door,coming to our bed, her hands casually behind her back, her lower lips protruding red ad glistening. Carefully, she climbed on top, lowered herself, and I prepared myself to taste the semen that would be oozing from her, that would still leave millions of active, healthy, footballing sperm swimming around her fertile womb. The bitterness that time was different. The scent was chemical, not naturally produced. It had been a long time since I had used a condom, but I recognised the smell and taste of spermicide. That was when Sarah brought her right hand from behind her back, holding the used condom, swollen with Norwegian semen. She had brought two condoms with her, just in case, tucked into her suspender belt, and worn there through the Presentation Evening, pressing against her side, reminding her of what she planned to do,later in the evening. We called our son Tor, knowing that even with a condom there had been a risk, but also finding out when we discovered that Sarah was expecting, that conception had actually taken place a month before, in June, and not during the college summer school. Tor was mine, and had started life even before his namesake had taken his turn with Sarah. We have moved to a larger, three bed-roomed flat, so that Tor has his own room, and we still have one spare for friends and relatives, and for the foreign students who shared our flat each summer. The college extended its advertising of the summer school, given increasing competition from other colleges. This year, for the first time, students were recruited from French speaking African countries such as Senegal. Sarah was still feeding Tor, but our student's black male hormones really did not care, and he reminded Sarah of someone she had turned down, way back at university when she first had had her pubic hair removed,and had not yet let a guy take her virginity. My fling with the luscious Lauren has become my wife's excuse to catch up on missed opportunities from her youth, and semen spewed from a black cock tastes pretty much the same. So once a year, my wife offers me her cunt, tasting sweetly bitter and reminding me that she can have any man she wants, that having her should be enough for me, and that I have no need to stray. Every four or five weeks, between summer schools, my wife reminds me as she did last night, not with foreign sperm, but with my own, offered back to my lips after we have made love. Tasting its bitterness I am reminded of Lauren, of Stephan, of Michel, of the other Tor, and now of Senegal, five students who have each in their way added to our marriage. Neither of us has ever said it, but I know that Sarah knows that each time that she tastes bitter, it turns me on, and makes me love her even more. It is no punishment. It has become for me a five star celebration of marriage to an amazing wife.