28 comments/ 46016 views/ 9 favorites Barbarella By: ukresearcher This rather long tale is a mingling of two essentially true stories with a large dollop of imagination thrown in on top. Despite this there are many who will not care for the content due to the definite cuckoldry theme, some gay male sexual activity (mainly oral) and a very unpleasant dominant male. However, those who persevere might find redeeming features towards the end. In the Middle Ages, Lords of the manor could claim first night rights over any maiden that was wed within the bounds of his fief. Immediately after the wedding celebrations the new bride was delivered to the manor for the pleasure of the lord leaving her groom waiting in frustration until she was returned to him the following day. At this time, chastity was greatly prized so it was customary for the girl to emerge from the manor the next morning clutching a blood stained sheet as proof to the assembled villagers that she had been deflowered. It is understandable that many young betrothed couples jumped the gun, either from natural urges or simply to thwart their evil squire. There is documentary proof that at least one lord took crafty advantage of this practice. If a girl proved to be other than intacto he gave her a choice. She could do the minimum i.e. lie back and think of England in which case her shame would be revealed or she could show a degree of enthusiasm in which case a cockerel would be sacrificed to provide the necessary evidence. Thankfully in these modern times it rarely happens that another man screws a bride before her husband can claim his first marital rights. It is ironic then, in light of the research I have done on the subject that it should have happened to me. Perhaps you would like to hear the story. I was twenty-two at the time that I first met Babs. I live in a coastal fishing cum holiday town and was still then living with my parents. Since leaving school I have worked in the offices of the same firm and am now classed as a senior clerk but without any great responsibility for others. I am average height and build, never had any aptitude for sport but do believe that I am acceptably good looking. My main trouble is shyness. When dancing, at which I am rather good, I can strike up a rapport with girls but successful pick-up lines in other circumstances are a mystery to me. This explains why my favourite pastime is dancing. The trouble is that when I do get a girl it is difficult to get it right with regard to sex. I either push my hand up her leg too quickly and am rejected for being 'too fast,' or I behave like a gentleman for too long and am given the push for being too slow. Even getting further is no guarantee of success. Losing my virginity was a disaster. To start I needed help putting on the condom and then shot my lot the moment that I got inside her. The girl walked out on me straight away saying "Christ, you have got absolutely no idea." My next conquest was kinder – during one long evening she patiently gave me a taste of the joy of sex but then tactfully refused a further date. I did enjoy a three month relationship with a third girl until she said that her real boyfriend was being demobbed from the army but that was all that I had to show for my twenty-two years. Babs frequented the same dance hall as me. I worshipped her from afar for various reasons but it is true to say that never in my wildest dreams did I envision ever having a relationship with her. I know that I spent far more time gazing at her in rapture than in serious pursuit of girls that I might realistically have hopes of capturing. Once I heard a companion call her Barbara. I misheard this as Barbarella and this name was completely fitting for her. She was gorgeous. To my eyes she was perfection but a purist might have claimed that she verged too much towards the voluptuous. The thing was that she was all too happy to display her charms, always dressing in figure clinging low-cut dresses that could be described as micro rather than mini. Babs came from the wrong side of the tracks, as the Americans might say, but where the other females of her crowd had that pinched plain look of bad breeding with only youth to recommend them, Babs was the proverbial exotic flower blooming in a wasteland. This was the other reason that I dare not approach her – the males in her crowd were the roughest imaginable, frequently fighting amongst themselves when they found no other obvious foe. One such gratuitous fight was the means of our introduction. At the start of the aggravation, someone barged into Babs causing to stagger backwards on her exceptionally high heels and I happened to be in position to catch her before she fell and hit the floor. My arms were under hers with my hands cupping her wonderful soft breasts, my face was against hers and I gazed in rapture down into the valley of delight between her tits. God knows how long I froze in that position until she said, "If you have seen everything that there is to see, perhaps you would put me back on my feet." The important point was that she did not say it in a nasty way and when I hastily complied she turned and gave me a quick kiss saying, "Thank you. You saved me from a nasty bump." To my surprise I heard myself saying, "Can I buy you a drink," and was even more surprised when she accepted. By this time everybody was fighting in lumps and, as if under a charm of protection. I escorted her safely between the combatants to the bar. We spent the rest evening talking and afterwards she allowed me to take her home to be rewarded with another chaste kiss outside her door. The big bonus was that she accepted my invitation to the cinema. That date led to another but although I progressed to passionate kissing and a reasonable amount of groping, our dates always terminated outside her front door. There was no reason that she could not have invited me in for I discovered that she lived there alone. She eventually told me that she used to live in South Park, (the towns only sink estate), but her father had disappeared when she was ten. Her mother had a succession of different men friends and then for some reason Babs had left to live with her grandmother in a back-to-back terrace house not far from the docks. Two years ago, the old lady had died leaving house and contents to her granddaughter and since then, Babs had lived there alone. I had been going out with her for nearly six months before Babs invited me into her house and we had full sex for the first time. After that it was pretty regular but, except for rare occasions, I always returned home afterwards instead of staying for the night. This new situation had not been in operation for more than a couple of months before I mentioned marriage but this did instigate a subtle change. I started staying overnight much more often than not but Babs insisted that this did not mean that we were living together. To emphasise the point she would indicate, at what at first seemed random times that I would be returning home instead of spending the night with her. Almost invariably I was unable to see her for the whole of the following day. I could identify no logic to her behaviour because the excuses for not meeting me seemed trivial and it appeared to happen on a roughly fortnightly cycle. I also learned to be prepared to be sent away by a certain restlessness in her manner. The house was a terrace cottage – nothing more. The living room was entered straight off the street and was just big enough to accommodate a small three piece suite with sideboard and a dining table. Off one side there was a small kitchenette in which Babs had had a foldaway shower cubicle installed where a built in cupboard had been. Stairs at the back of the room led up to two bedrooms, one marginally larger than the other. Furniture throughout had been inherited with the house and to my untutored eye seemed as old as the cottage. The large bed in particular was a heavy monstrosity with a thick feather mattress and antique metal springs. As can be imagined it was very noisy, echoing the slightest movement upon it but Babs eased my disquiet by assuring me that the walls were very thick. There was a weird incident, which bothered me for a time, but the pleasure of my girlfriends company soon drove it from my mind. It had followed one of the evenings when I had been suddenly ejected from the house just after ten o'clock. Arriving home, I realised that I had left my briefcase behind, which was an embarrassment as it contained documents that I needed at work. It was too late and too far to walk to walk back so I decided that I could cover the missing papers for one day. The following day, Babs had told me, she was leaving home early and would not be home until extremely late - so the morning after that was my first opportunity to retrieve the briefcase. I got up very early, calculating that I could walk to Bab's cottage, grab the briefcase and walk on to work in nice time. It was a beautiful morning and I strode along, filled with the joy of life and restraining an urge to sing from sheer exuberance. Turning the corner, I was surprised to see Bab's door closing and a male figure walking away from me towards the other end of the street. He looked very tall, rather scruffy, and was wearing a donkey jacket with rolled down wellington boots. I did not see his face but his most significant feature was a pony tail of dirty yellow hair hanging quite a way down his back. My first thought that he must be a beggar or trader working his way down the street but this seemed unlikely as he stopped at no other door. I knocked at the door and Babs answered quickly wearing just a dressing gown. Instead of pleasure at seeing me her face registered shock and she seemed very flustered. "Who was that?" I had to ask. For a moment she seemed lost for words but then she said, "Oh – he was looking for someone that my Granny used to know. I couldn't help him." I told her that I had left my briefcase in the bedroom but was rather disconcerted that she left me standing in the street while fetching it for me. The explanation for the mysterious male seemed very logical but her general behaviour left that temporary feeling of unease. When I first proposed, Babs asked if I realised that she had been with a lot of men. I guessed that she had been around but was not interested in the extent because my mind was fixed on our future together and not on her probably lurid past. We continued to go dancing and although her crowd of friends did not take to me, the dislike was expressed in mockery rather than the violence to which they seemed prone. The news that we were to marry provoked amusement rather than anything else. Many people tried to warn me off of which I will mention only a couple. An old school friend asked confidentially, "Did you know that she has got a shocking reputation?" and a girl next to me at the bar one night told me out of the blue, "You're a bloody fool. I know for a fact that Babs has been with almost every man on the South Park estate." It was like water off a ducks back – whatever the truth, I took the warnings only as evidence of spite and jealousy. Babs worked at a large seafront hotel and the manager did us proud for the wedding. He provided a large room for the reception together with the honeymoon suite for one night at no charge so our only expense was the catering and entertainment. We were married at the registry office and the reception seemed to go better than expected. After the speeches, we circulated and it was very noticeable that her guests and mine were like oil and water. Partly because of this, having satisfied formalities, we split up with each of us moving within our own sphere of influence so to speak. At one point I spotted my new wife against the far wall in conversation with a tall, rough looking bloke in an ill-fitting suit who seemed strangely familiar. He had a very hard face but it was one that I had never seen before so why the sight of him rang a bell was a mystery until he turned sideways – for down his back hung a long pony tail of dirty yellow hair. I wanted to speak to Babs about him but the floor between us was filled with dancers and I had no wish to create a commotion by barging straight across. Consequently, I started working my way round the room but easing my way past guests and thanking well-wishers slowed me until it must have been five minutes before I reached the place where Babs had been. She was no longer there. I quickly checked the places that she might have moved to, my urgency growing as my questing eyes continued to be disappointed. My pace increased until I was almost running, some premonition giving desperation to my search. As a last resort I went up on the balcony and slowly surveyed the room but she had disappeared off the face of the earth. Almost in a daze I came back down and walked round behind the staircase and there, partly concealed behind the profuse foliage of a large potted plant, was a door labelled 'PRIVATE - STAFF ONLY'. I shall never know what instinct caused me to look in there. I pushed the door tentatively expecting it to be locked but it swung open quietly at my touch. Stepping through I pushed it closed behind me because I already knew that the room was not empty. Standing with his back to me was the figure of a man with trousers round his ankles and a pony tail down his back. Babs was there, back against the wall and with her wedding dress rucked up around her waist. Her legs were splayed open on either side of him with ankles curled round behind. He was supporting her weight with hands underneath her thighs and he was pushing himself into her with powerful steady strokes. Babs chin rested on his shoulder and she was hanging on with arms clasped round him. Her face was impassive as she gazed straight at me with black emotionless eyes. My heart was filled with dark despair at the sight and yet, perversely I was incredibly aroused. A couple of years before, after my first two sexual experiences, while walking along the cliffs I had come up a couple screwing. They were unaware of me so I got myself into a good position and watched for almost twenty minutes. Then as now I found watching to be a very erotic experience. Trying for an even better view I had put my weight on a dead branch which snapped like a rifle shot and gave me away. Had not the wrathful Romeo not thought better of pursuing me, due to lacking cover for his lower quarters, then I would have suffered a well deserved beating. I must have stood frozen watching my wife being fucked for a good three minutes and in all that time not a flicker of guilt or shame – or even recognition, crossed her face. His rhythm speeded up, so knowing that he was about to cum, I stepped backwards out of the door and closed it even more quietly behind me. I did not go far, instead positioning myself almost within striking distance, behind the concealing fronds of the plant. After two or three minutes the man emerged and walked quickly in the direction of the lobby. I tracked him at a distance to ensure that he had left the hotel. Returning I was in time to see Babs come out from her trysting place and lock the door behind her. She saw me and walked slowly forward with a look of utter devastation on her face. "I am so terribly sorry," she said. "How could you?" I asked, well aware of the tremor in my voice. "It's not what it seems," she said with a kind of pleading in her eyes. I gave a coarse laugh. "From what I saw there was very little ambiguity." "I mean, it's not as bad as it looks," she said but then shook her head hopelessly. "What am I saying; it's a damn sight worse than it looked." That intrigued me because I could not see how it could possibly be worse. Babs took a forlorn hope from my momentary indecision and said, "I know that our marriage is over but I wish I had the chance to tell you everything. If you know the truth you might not hate me quite so much." Despite the hurt in my heart, the sight of her dejected face streaming with tears touched me. I reached the key to the honeymoon suite out of my pocket and said coldly, "All right. We can talk upstairs for a few minutes before I send all the guests home." In the suite she perched on the end of the bed, gazing at the floor and twisting a small lace handkerchief in her fingers. I waited and eventually prompted, "Well." "His name is Rory and it is not the first time that I have been with him since we have been going out together." I stood up and started walking towards the door. "Save your breath - I don't want to hear anymore." "Wait please - I only let him fuck me downstairs because I was trying to protect you." I went back and sat down facing her fumbling myself a cigarette. She begged one too and then when composed she began, "I lived with Rory for six months. He moved in immediately after my Gran died. It didn't work and I kicked him out because it wasn't fair on me. He would go out on a long fishing trip and when his boat got in it was always a couple of days before he came home to me. He spent the time boozing and blowing all his money on the girls who hang round the docks. With all this he was always broke when I saw him, so I supported him and slept with him until his next voyage." Babs had been looking sincerely into my eyes but not she looked away. "It didn't end there. He kept coming back to sleep with me and I couldn't stop him - you see I wanted it as badly as he did. I must have been with hundreds of men but he is the only one who ever turned me on the way he does. He has a very big cock and I think I was addicted to it because my body had a craving when I didn't see him for too long. What I'm saying that is that he's been coming to see me roughly every two weeks until about a fortnight ago." "The nights that you wouldn't let me stop with you?" She nodded. "I realised that it couldn't continue once we were married. I also knew that if he came knocking at the door asking for sex I would want to open my legs for him. So I made him promise on what we had ever been, that he would never come round to the house. He did promise but he also made me promise that he could shag me one more time. I was going to meet him and do it on my hen night but his boat was late getting back in. Anyway, he turned up at the reception and said that he would come round to the house one last time when you were out of the way so that I could fulfil my part of the bargain. If he came round to the house once, he would do it again and I would not be able to refuse him. So I got hold of the key to that storeroom and took him in there to do it so that he would have no excuse to visit the house again. If only you hadn't come in and found us, I could have put my past behind me." Babs looked at me with eyes filled with bleak despair and in that moment I realised, clearer than ever before, that she truly loved me. Involuntarily, I reached out and rested my hand upon hers as a gesture of comfort. "This does put a different complexion on things," I conceded. "I am hurt that you've been going to bed with this man all this time but I do feel less bitter about what I found you doing downstairs." She gave me a wan smile. "You are a very kind man Stuart and that's one of the reasons why I love you so. I know that I have lost you but if you don't hate me now quite so much, I'll leave here much happier." I still loved her - I always had and I knew that I always would. My mind toyed with the idea of forgiveness and my spirits soared at the prospect of forgetting what I had seen. In one way it was little different to her previous vast experience that I had already accepted. "Is he the only one since we started going out together?" I asked. Babs shook her head. "Rory is the only one since you proposed to me but before that there were others." Barbarella My heat sank again. "How many?" She shrugged her shoulders helplessly. "I don't know - a lot." "Why?" My wife extracted her hand from underneath mine then sat back looking at me with sincerity. "I did not tell you the truth about my early life - I didn't lie but I left a lot unsaid. Note. It has been proved that excessive female promiscuity can often be traced back to sexual under age abuse, early puberty or both. Unfortunately the guidelines of this site make such material unacceptable so the mid part of the paragraph has been removed. They only had to ask - and they always did. I sometimes think that every man that I have ever met finished up fucking me." She paused, asking for another cigarette with her eyes. With one lit up she continued. "I would do it with anybody once - some of the most surprising people can make you feel really good. If I did like doing it with them or if they had a nice prick, I would open my legs for them any time that they wanted a shag. Anyway, when I first started going with you, you were just another boy to me so I still put out for everybody but after about three months I knew you were special and started saying 'No'. I still screwed with what you could call my regulars - I mean, if I had already done it with them and enjoyed it, I could see no harm in doing it again. When you proposed it changed everything, I stopped them all except Rory. I would have stopped him too but my body needed him. He's like a drug. At one point I almost called off the wedding because I didn't think I could manage without his big cock inside me from time to time. But then I realised that I loved you so much that I would rather force myself to do without him than risk losing you." Tears were running down her cheeks unchecked. "I've lost you anyway," she sobbed. I reached out and held her to me until the heaving of her body subsided. "One thing that I don't understand," I said. "If you did it with any man so easily, why did you make me wait six months?" "I didn't make you wait - you never asked." "You mean that I only had to ask - even that first time that I walked you home?" "When you were walking me home, I didn't think you were my type but I expected to go to bed with you, if only as a reward for catching me and stopping my dress getting dirty. You could have fucked me then but if you had we would not be here now - for what that's worth." This puzzled me. "I don't think I understand." "Stuart, you were the first man who didn't expect it. The first one to treat me as a person instead of just a body. I began to realise that you were also generous, kind and understanding. That's when I began to fall in love with you. You have not got a lot between your legs and you haven't much idea what to do with it but that doesn't matter because the men who are good in bed are often the most unpleasant ones around. I decided that I wanted to exchange physical pleasure for happiness and contentment with you." Her words were a double-edged complement. I would happily admit that I was no stud but I had no idea that she found me such a washout in the sex department. "So you don't enjoy being in bed with me at all?" "I didn't say that darling - I love being in bed with you. I love being cuddled and caressed, I love just being held in your arms. Most men can't be bothered with any of that - the most I can look forward to is a quick hard grope before they poke me." The next moment she was in my arms and we were kissing as if our lives depended upon it. Inevitably I pushed her backward onto the bed and the wedding dress got rucked up round her waist for the second time that day. It was fantastic, I couldn't stop and Babs had a large orgasm - it was the first one that I was convinced had not been faked. I think I was aware that a larger penis than mine had been inside her recently but this did not depress me - in fact I'm sure that it only served to increase my ardour. Afterwards I lay sweating and panting by her side and we held hands. When my breathing had almost returned to normal I asked, "Where are your nickers. The absence of this hindrance had been welcome minutes before now I wondered why I had not encountered the garment. The was quite a long pause before Babs said, "They are in my handbag - I used them to dry myself after........" Before she stopped speaking, despite the fact that we had barely stopped making love, my prick was again as stiff as a poker and I threw myself upon her as if I had not had sex for a year. This time lasted longer, although no less frenetic, and my wife's body again reacted in unmistakable fashion to my endeavours. With passion spent we tidied ourselves and returned downstairs straight away to avoid further temptation. For the rest of the evening we circulated amongst both sections of guests with our arms around each other. A lot of this time I had an uncomfortable stiffness in my pants at the knowledge of how naked she was beneath the dress. We screwed another three times during the night and then back home to collect our honeymoon luggage we could not resist a noisy hump on the cottage bed. After one of these sessions Babs lay back contentedly and said, "I think that I have seriously underrated your ability in bed - I have never known you like this." Our flight was delayed for well over two hours and by the time we arrived at our honeymoon destination we were both too tired to think of sex. The trouble was that even when we had settled into the relaxed holiday routine, I failed to regain impetus - it was almost as if I had fucked myself out during that glorious twenty-four hour period. I reverted to the gentle kind of loving that she had said she liked so much but I could not help feeling that Babs was a trifle disappointed. We had rather splashed out on the honeymoon. My parents had given us a decent sum of money as a wedding present. I would have used it to either buy new furniture for the cottage or put in the bank and I rather think that had been my parent's intention as well but Babs wanted to spend it on a honeymoon, pointing out that she had never been abroad before. I resisted initially but when she said she would like to start our married life with two weeks alone with me and away from everyone she had ever known, I quickly capitulated. Ours was one of eight chalets arranged round a circular pool with a bar cum coffee bar in the 12 o'clock position. In the centre was the pool, round the edge a lounging area, then a circle of shrubbery and outside that the chalets. So you see we were one of eight couples and I am afraid that Babs must have ruined the fortnight for the other seven wives. There was topless bathing on the nearby beach but round the pool a full costume was required. Babs complied but it made little difference. I have described her figure so can you imagine her in the briefest of brief bikinis, the thong between her legs was little wider than a shoelace and from the opposite side of the pool she appeared to be completely naked. So seven male spouses of assorted ages spent fourteen days with their tongues hanging out. Babs also made another conquest. This was Pierre, one of our three, poolside waiters. They each worked a six hour shift but whenever Pierre was on duty we were assured of top class service. The other holiday makers would shout, "Pierre, Pierre, I've been calling you for five minutes" but Babs had to do little more than lift an eyebrow to have him before us eager to take an order. He would stand there literally trembling, writing blindly on his pad with eyes fixed either on her breasts or between her legs. He was a nice lad no more than nineteen and going off his beardless face, possibly a year younger. But he was a strapping youth, well muscled and with a glorious golden tan shown off by his 'uniform' of very tiny shorts. Towards the end of the first week when our favourite waiter was unusually at the opposite end of the pool, Babs said casually, "I like Pierre." "I do too," I said. "He certainly gives us exceptional service. I think that he is more than a bit crazy about you." "It's not all one way either," she said. I thought nothing of this because several times my wife had pointed out attractive girls to me and asked 'Do you fancy her?' "Yes," I said thoughtfully, "I suppose that he is rather good looking." "It's not his looks I'm talking about but what he's got in those shorts - I get all hot imagining what is causing that bulge." "I hadn't noticed," I said. Babs laughed. "Come on, you must have done. It looks as if he's got a melon in there." Early in the week I had observed that he did seem a bit misshapen in front and naively assumed that, without pockets, he had a purse or wallet stuffed down there to hold his tips. Now that I thought about it, his bulge always did seem larger when he was at our end of the pool and this was probably not due to perspective. If that bulge was in fact caused by his sexual organ then the size must certainly be impressive. "You fancy him just because of the size of his cock?" "And how," she enthused. "When he stands there taking our order, I get all wet just looking at it." "Supposing that you were here alone?" "I'd pick him up bodily and run into the chalet to have my way with him despite his protests." she said teasingly. "I don't think he would protest too loudly." "Neither do I," Babs agreed with a grin. "You'd really like to do it with him?" "Honey - if I was not married to you, I would fuck him like a shot." "You still can," I said and the words surprised me as much as they did her. "What did you say," she asked gazing at me wide eyed in shock. "If you want to let him fuck you, you can. I don't mind," I repeated slowly. "I don't understand." I did not understand either but as I struggled for a reply, the truth came to me. The sexual urgency and way I felt on our wedding night had been a direct result of seeing her with Rory and I wanted to recreate that situation in a controlled way. When I spoke my reasoning was different. "All the men before I knew you don't count and I can forgive the cheating since because you have not vowed yourself to me. With Rory after the wedding ceremony was different - that was infidelity. But it is only infidelity in if you didn't have my permission and I want to give my permission for what you did retrospectively. This could be just words but if I give permission for you to go with another man now, that would validate the previous occasion." Babs gave me a long serious look but then her eyes began to sparkle mischievously and she grinned. "So how are we going to do it then?" "I don't know yet - get us a couple of drinks while I think." Instantly Pierre was standing before us with Babs licking her lips hungrily, her eyes fixed on his groin. As an independent observer it amused me to note that both were staring obsessively at each others sexual parts, oblivious of the gaze of the other. When we each had a fresh drink in hand my wife said, "Well - are you going to clear off and leave the coast clear for me to seduce him?" "Something like that," I said. "But I am only going to pretend to have left - I want to watch you." That stopped her and she looked at mw quizzically. "It's the object of the exercise," I explained. "I keep getting the picture of you with Rory in front of my eyes and I need to see you with another man to obliterate it." OK - it was madness but many of you would think me mad to have forgiven Babs at all or married her. We discussed my plan, made a few small adjustments and when the time was right, put it into operation. Raising my voice I said, "We have done nothing except lounge around the pool all week when there is so much to see. You promised to go to the ruins with me this afternoon - what has made you change your mind?" On cue Babs replied in a very bored tone, "It's far too hot. In fact it's even too hot for the pool - I'm going to have a long siesta in the chalet this afternoon." Jumping to my feet I shouted, "Do what the hell you like - I'm still going to see the bloody ruins," and so saying I grabbed my jacket and stormed off. I did not storm very far. Once out of sight I cut round behind the chalets until I came to the rear of our own. Earlier I had nipped back to the chalet, opened the bathroom window and left a dining chair below it. Now I used the chair as a step onto the windowsill and once inside, reached out to pull the chair through after me. I then dragged the dressing table to a position where the large mirror would give anyone in the bathroom a perfect view of the bed. I had barely finished my preparations when the sound of the door opening caused me to duck back out of sight. There was initial disappointment at finding my wife had entered alone but she grinned and made a 'thumbs up' sign to where she knew I was hiding. Then she disappeared from view, I heard the suitcase and soon after saw her reflected in the mirror, posing with three chiffon scarves strategically tucked into he bikini top. A matter of moments later there was a knock on the door. When opened, I heard Pierre saying hesitantly, "I heard that you were alone this afternoon Senora. I am actually off duty now but I wondered if there was anything that I can do for you." "I'm sure there is," Babs purred. "Perhaps you would like to step inside." I had an imperfect view of what happened next so some of the following is deduction. Once inside he made an immediate grab for her but Babs evaded his grasp and, pulling one of the chiffon scarves loose, began to do and abbreviated version of 'The dance of the seven veils.' He entered into the spirit of the thing and very soon she had the scarf tied round one of his wrists. This procedure was then repeated with a second scarf. Next she allowed him to grab her tits and once his hands were engaged on a task that they would not easily relinquish, Babs used the third scarf to blindfold him. Now with him willingly almost helpless, by rubbing against him and occasionally squeezing between his legs, Babs urged the youth backward until he was lying on his back in the centre of the bed. With my wife straddling his prone body and following some whispered promises, he eagerly allowed his wrists to be secured to the posts at the top of the bed. At this point, with the first stage complete, she skipped off the far side of the bed and beckoned for me to emerge from hiding and join her. I quietly advanced to the side of the bed and stood looking down. You may expect that by now I would be highly exited at the prospect of my wife having sex with another man in front of me. I suppose that in part that must have been true but my main emotion at that moment was one of humour, of having fun - that this was all a game with the impending sexuality just one element of it. Pierre lay spread-eagled and blindfold, his body already twitching with anticipation. Babs crouched with her breasts brushing his arm and whispered hotly in his ear, "I'm going to make you feel so good," immediately fulfilling the promise by tweaking one of his nipples, almost painfully hard between her thumb and forefinger. His body jerked as if from electricity causing her to giggle with satisfaction. Grinning she signalled that I should duplicate her act. I had intended only to watch but I playfully complied, lightly brushed his as yet unmolested nipple lightly with my finger. The reaction to my touch was even more extreme and I swear that but for the tethers at his wrists, Pierre's whole body must have leapt a foot off the bed. It was hilarious. Moving lower, Babs used her tongue to trace tantalising circles round his naval, causing our victim to squirm, moan softly and move his loins in an involuntary thrusting motion. Her fingers then moved slowly upwards from his knee stopping just short of his groin but still his body arched until resting only on shoulders and feet. When he subsided, obeying orders but having trouble suppressing my mirth, I replicated her action and was rewarded with exactly the same reaction. We were now at the crux of the matter. My wanton wife now leaned forward until her lips were just lightly touching the cloth on the front of his shorts, then she breathed out slowly so that his private parts were bathed in the warm air from her lungs. This was simple distraction for the real object of the exercise had been to unbutton his shorts unnoticed. With all in readiness for the grand unveiling we, (my wife and I), grabbed a leg hole of his shorts each and in one co-ordinated movement, whipped them clear if his legs. Freed from all restraint, his magnificent penis sprang up rigid in all its full rampant glory. I actually took a step back. Possibly at some time I might have seen more meat in one lump but if so it was on a butchers slab. It was unbelievable. Glancing up I saw the same look of disbelief on Babs' face but then she grinned happily and rolled her eyes at me in silent appreciation. There seemed to be almost nervousness as she reached out to grasp it but then, after giving a long sigh, she moved her hand with growing confidence, slowly up and down the shaft several times. It came as a shock when she removed her hand and indicated that it was my turn. With more trepidation than I showed, I reached out and arched my fingers round just below the head. It was burning hot and rock hard. My own cock has a degree of flexibility even when fully erect but I could almost have believed this one to be carved from wood were it not for the myriad tiny vibrations which seemed to pulsate through it. Duty done, I thankfully removed my hand and surreptitiously rubbed the palm down the side of my trousers as I stepped away. It was now Babs show and she went to town on that exceptional cock. She licked round and round the crown and up and down his shaft, she put the head inside her mouth, she squeezed it, she stroked it, she slavered over it and all the time there were more moans emanating from her throat that from the tormented youth on the bed. Eventually she stood up, took a much-needed breath and held out her hand as if to say, 'He's all yours'. Now I had gone along with the game so far but the thought of another mans penis in my mouth was anathema to me, so I shook my head defiantly. My wife's eyes narrowed in warning and she leaned as if to remove the covering from Pierre's eyes. The threat was clear - either I complied with her wishes or she would reveal me as complicit in the assault. Not feeling able to call her bluff, I grasped that gross male member again and leaned forward - but then I cheated. Advancing my head until it effectively blocked her view, I mimed a minimal amount of Phallic stimulation without my lips ever coming into contact with that oversized muscle. Babs was eager to take over again and she had a new trick. During my 'shift' she had removed her bikini top and now she slid his well lubricated prick up and down the valley between her gorgeous tits. This continued with undiminished enthusiasm until our captive Spanish waiter was in a state of ecstasy. Writhing and straining at his bonds he pleaded almost incoherently, "Now, Please now. Release me Senora - let me fuck you. Now. Please , please , please." Knowing that the time was right, Babs moved to the bottom of the bed and deftly removed her lower garment. Then she grinned at me and posed for an instant, on tip-toe, one hand in the air, the other slightly behind her in the traditional nymph style. She looked so very desirable, I could have borne her to the ground and fucked her right there - but I managed restraint because I knew my time would come. She started hitching up the bed with her legs straddling his intending to hump him in the position considered by film makers to be aesthetically pleasing. There was a snag - or rather two snags. The first was akin to cramming a quart into a pint pot - his fat throbbing dong was too wide to go inside her twat easily. His other dimension also caused a problem - it was so long, Babs had difficulty raising herself high enough off the bed to get on top of it. Like a true gentleman, I stepped forward to offer my arm and with that as purchase, she raised herself high enough to wriggle until, inch by inch, he went inside her. Barbarella When full penetration was achieved they paused for a time and then she started moving herself up and down upon him. Soon, with justification, he pleaded to have his blindfold removed so that he could watch. Knowing that my close participation was at an end, I retreated to the bathroom and when I was out of sight, Babs allowed him to regain his sight. I could have watched the reflection of them fucking for less than ten minutes before it came to a sudden end. The combination of friction and being so completely filled caused her to cum and in a chain reaction, the spasmodic contractions of her vaginal muscles in turn triggered him. With a great roar he thrust his loins upward so violently that had her heels not been hooked under the backs of his thighs, she must have been catapulted from the bed. Babs flopped forward upon him and after regaining her breath, reached out to release his wrists. His arms immediately closed around and his hands began exploring. Pierre rolled her over bring himself on top and it was obvious that he intended to leave his dick in situ while it stiffened for a renewed onslaught. Babs guessed too. "Sorry lover, you've got to go," she said trying to push him off. "No matter what my husband said, he never leaves me alone for too long." Her words acted like magic. Pierre was out of the bed and cramming his legs back into the shorts as if the devil was at the door. Without a word of thanks or even mention of a rematch, he exited the premises stage left. With forward planning I had already undressed in the bathroom and now I ran to the bed, eager to occupy the stall which he had just vacated. Before I could mount her, Babs grabbed my dick and looked thoughtfully at it. Even I could see that it seemed little more that half the size of the other mans member. "I suppose that it will have to do," she said but the humour and love in her voice negated the cruelty of the words. To those who read about the above incident askance I ask - 'Have you never watched happily as your wife pleasures herself with a large dildo?' What the hell is the difference? My lovemaking lacked quite the ferocity of our wedding night but it came damn close. While we screwed, Babs enthused about her youthful partner - or rather about his over generous endowment. "It has got to be the biggest dick that I've ever seen," she sighed, "I've certainly never felt so filled before. He even puts Rory in the shade. I know that Rory is nine inches because I have measured him but darling Pierre has got to be well over ten. And he's so much thicker - Rory stretches me but I never had trouble actually getting it inside like I had just now." Every remark inspired me to greater effort. Her cunt was now badly distended and very wet but I had previously learned that going for penetration with my limited size was futile and I had developed a technique of keeping a constant but variable degree of friction upon her clitoris. Whether due to my efforts or from mentally reliving her earlier encounter, Babs had a couple of pretty decent orgasms. Usually I could feel her cum increase the lubrication, but that night her induced internal juices were lost within the squelchy hole into which my cock plunged with uncaring eagerness. I am pleased to report that we had a couple more shags before sleep claimed us, each more or less an instant replay of the first. The next morning by the pool, Pierre looked like the cat that had got the cream, constantly hovering near us and requiring irate shouts to drag him to the opposite end of the pool. He carefully avoided my eyes but kept manoeuvring into positions where he could mouth something to Babs without me seeing. I am ashamed to say that I took a rather sadistic pleasure in frustrating him. My wife was aware of the game and when we were left alone she grinned, "Stop being mean to Pierre. You weren't so unkind to last night." "I just don't want him expecting too much of a good thing," I quipped back. "Well you needn't bother. It's a pity but I am quite capable of letting him know that he has had his ration." The following day our young gigolo disappeared on what turned out to be a five day break and this coincided with a change to cooler or more cloudy weather. Belatedly we started getting round to see the sights and, compensating for our earlier lethargy, we rather over did it. In consequence three nights out of the five we returned to the chalet far too tired to even consider sex. As if by divine intervention, when Pierre returned to duty, so did the sun. On his first night back, (he was now on the evening shift), just the sight of him must have reactivated memories from before, because in bed we caught up on the screwing neglected during the cooler spell. All through the next day, I was aware that this would be our penultimate night but Babs did not seem to have realised this fact. However, shortly after Pierre came on duty and some of the heat was fading out of the sun, she said pensively, "It's almost over." "But we had a good time," I replied trying to sound more cheerful than I felt. "It has been fantastic," she agreed but then added after a pause, "There is just one thing that I regret." With my mind a blank, I enquired what that could be. Babs looked me in the eye and said, "I don't think that we were very kind to Pierre." "I laughed. "Not kind? I reckon that you made all his dreams come true." She shook her head. "It doesn't matter whether he enjoyed it or not - we used him. We treated him as a toy for our own pleasure. As he was tied all the time, apart from his body, I have no idea if he is good in bed or not." I felt a tingle of excitement. "What are you trying to say?" "Nothing - I just regret that we did it that way." Now she was deliberately avoiding my eyes. "You want to fuck him again," I accused. "I would like to - yes, but it's out of the question. We agreed that last time was a one off thing in special circumstances. I just wish that I had released him quicker and let him stay longer. Then I would have known what he can do." "You can have him again if you want. We're still on holiday and those rules still apply." Babs looked at me and smiled. I don't know if she had angled for this but whether or not, her eyes were filled with love, gratitude and the heat of anticipated passion. "Shall I mention it to him when we get our next drink," she wondered, a slight tremor in her voice. I shook my head. "How do you explain me? I can hardly pretend to go sight seeing at this time but I want to be there and I don't want him to know you are doing it with my agreement." My wife's face fell. "Then it's impossible." I grinned and tapped my head to indicate that I was thinking. I mused for a while with her eyes hopefully on me and then said, "Got it - I'm going to get pissed out of my scull." "How will it help for you to get falling down drunk?" "I will only appear to be falling down drunk," I told her, "but I'm pretty sure that our Iberian lothario will try to take advantage of the situation." Ordering our next drinks, I remarked loudly about wanting to celebrate and ordered a double whisky on the side. From then I employed a latent acting talent to put on a convincing display of gradual decent into inebriation. At one point I stood and toasted the other tables and later seemed on the point of falling into the pool before Babs rushed forward to drag me staggering back to my chair. I kept the drinks coming and although consuming some to help the illusion, the bulk was easily disposed of round the roots of a palm behind my chair. My wife made use of Pierre's many duty visits to our table to lick her lips temptingly and gaze soulfully into his eyes. One by one the other couples left the pool until we were the only ones left and the shutters were being dropped. I lay with my ahead on the table amongst the glasses but still able to see Pierre hovering hopefully close by. When Babs asked for his assistance to get me to the chalet he came at the run. They took an arm each and, although I managed a few staggering steps to help them, they had to drag me with trailing feet for most of the way. Once inside I was dumped unceremoniously onto the bed while they engaged immediately in other matters. I had not counted on it being quite so dark and due to the position in which I had been left it was impossible to see a damn thing. Banking on them being too preoccupied to notice, I eased myself so that I could look towards the bottom of the bed, but was rewarded by only the vague outline of them grappling together. Denied visual confirmation of their progress I was forced to depend upon the verbal component and was grateful that both felt a need to provide commentary on what they were doing. To start with it was mainly kissing and then I gathered that they were undressing each other. I heard Pierre say almost with reverence, "They are gorgeous, I didn't get a real chance to feel them before. I want to suck one." Then a short while later Babs' voice thrilled, "God, it's even bigger that I remembered - I've just got to get it in my mouth." It was several minutes later when I heard my wife protest, "No not on the floor. The bed's better - Stuart will never know - he is well out of it. Help me shift him a bit nearer to the edge." The next moment hands were upon me as I was rolled onto my back and eased sideways to make more room for them. My head flopped to the side and through half closed lids I could see Pierre's proud prick swinging about like the jib of a crane uncomfortably close to me face. The enamoured pair now moved round quickly to occupy the space that I had vacated leaving me with the problem that my head was facing in the wrong direction. This was soon solved because, as their combined weight depressed the mattress, I allowed gravity to roll me into the valley with them. I did not actually move far but I had been given the perfect excuse the reverse the position of my head. Also, either due to moonlight outside or simply my eyes becoming accustomed to the darkness, I could see everything with far greater definition than before. The Spaniard was too eager because Babs had to caution him, "Slowly lover or else you're going to split me with that great thing," but not long after she was moaning, "Oh that feels so good." A had a close up view of him pressing her marvellous tits together and greedily sucking the nipples but soon they got down to serious business. My wife's hand wriggled sideways to find mine and for a time she squeezed my fingers as he humped away. When the pace quickened, I was abandoned as her arms went round his neck as, in a reverse of her previous sentiment, she begged, "Fuck me hard. Impale me. Split me in two." Now I must make the first of two desperate confessions. The violence of her orgasm again triggered him and as they clove together in mutual passion, my own cum spurted to make it a three way thing. My only excuse is that my prick was more than stiff, it was painfully constricted from the way I lay and my whole body was being rocked in response to their motion causing friction to my cock. Whatever the reason, I disgraced myself by shooting a load into my pants. The second confession is possibly even worse and I can only use in mitigation the fact that I had possibly imbibed more alcohol than intended. I remember them kissing with him still lying on top of her but then I must have fallen asleep. I awoke in bright sunlight to find that there were still three of us in the bed with me pressed close against a male back. Babs and Pierre lay facing with legs entwined; his face snuggled between her breasts and her hand grasping his cock. Reaching carefully over him I tapped my wife on the shoulder. Sleepily she opened her eyes and I watched them widen in shock at the realisation that I was peering at her past the other man's neck. She shook him roughly saying, "Wake up Pierre, we went to sleep. You have got to go quickly," - I made convincing 'waking up' noises to emphasise her words. The cuckoo in our nest slowly extracted himself from the bed taking care not to rouse me but then put on his shorts and left the chalet with even greater alacrity than before. As I sat up Babs came and sat on the bed, her face wreathed in smiles. "What a terrific night. He had me three times, possibly four. It might even have been more because we seemed to be at it solid, one way and another. What do you think?" "I don't know, I think I lost count," I muttered anxious to conceal my dereliction of duty. "I'm sorry that you didn't get your share," she said apologetically. "Several times I said that it was time for him to go but my heart wasn't in it. I rather thought that you would make some 'coming round' noises to back me up but you didn't. You were very convincing with your drunk act. All those times we had to stop and push you away because you had rolled almost on top of us. If I didn't know better, I would have sworn that you really were unconscious." You will understand that I delayed no longer in collecting at least part of my share. If anything my fervour was increased by the frustration of having sacrificed so much voyeuristic pleasure. The large wet patch on the sheet gave some indication of what I had missed and then, when I had entered her I wondered if being severely stretched for a protracted period might have ruined my wife's lovely cunt forever. After breakfast, sitting again by the pool, I asked, "Now that you have made a fair test - which is better, Rory or Pierre?" "Rory by a long way," she replied without needing to consider. "But ... I thought you said." "Pierre's cock is quite a bit bigger but he hasn't got a lot of finesse where Rory knows so many ways to set a girl on fire. Pierre will get better but at the moment he depends too much on his size. Most women will be more than satisfied with that but I hoped for more. I really did enjoy doing it with him but he was a long way from sending me crazy." "So you would have preferred that Pierre was Rory?" Babs shook her head emphatically. "No I don't. Pierre was sweet and I think that he enhanced our honeymoon but Rory would have ruined it. I don't really like Rory at all - apart from the hold that he has...had on my body, he is mean and unpleasant and I think that he could have a really cruel streak." During the day, on a couple of occasions, Babs said coyly, "I keep thinking about last night - do you fancy going for a lie down?" Our last night was also pretty hectic, without the presence of a third party - during the evening I had sadistically watched Pierre's eagerness diminish as I persisted in ordering relatively soft drinks. While I finished the packing, Babs went to leave gratuities for the waiters at the bar. As we were leaving, Pierre stepped forward from where he had been lurking near the gate. To my surprise he came to me. Grasping my hand he said, "It has been so nice having you - I hope that you will visit us again." Then, turning to Babs he bent gallantly low and kissed her fingers. "Thank you for everything, lovely Senora," he said sincerely - but then, feeling my eyes upon him he mumbled, "- for the tip I mean." When we were arrived home, after eating, Babs sat me on the settee and took my hands in hers. "You are far too trusting and generous for your own good Stuart," she said. "My past life is over and the honeymoon is over. Out married life together begins here now." I just nodded because there was nothing that I could say but I knew that she was gently telling me that I should grant her no more latitude. We fell into a contented routine, work, watching television in the evening and then bed. I am not saying that we had no hectic sessions between the sheets but generally both of us were happy with a gentler kind of loving. One night every week we went to see her old friends or to visit my parents but none of these excursions were without trauma. My parents, particularly my mother, were very dubious about Babs, mainly due to the daring clothes that she continued to wear. One time my mother said loudly to my father within our hearing, "I don't think that girl is any better than she should be. She certainly couldn't show more if she was walking the streets. I don't know why Stuart puts up with it." Meeting my wife's friends was still an ordeal because they invariably made me feel an object of derision. If a man has sexual relations with a woman however casually, always thereafter there is a certain familiarity if only in a glance. I found that there were no males from Babs' side of town without that look in their eye. Some were more forthright, letting me know either by innuendo or explicit crudity that they had known her in the biblical sense. I suffered even from remarks not intended for my ears. I heard one guy say, "I think he's a lucky sod - she gave me the best shag of my life," to which his friend replied, "That's not her only talent - it's well known that nobody gives head like Babs." When, after about six months, Babs suggested that I visit my parents by myself, I quickly agreed attracted by the reciprocal agreement that I would no longer be forced into the company of her one time companions. After a couple of months Babs arrived home much later than usual and explained that she had been for a drink with some old school friends. "I've been thinking it would be nice if I could have a regular girl's night out. Let my hair down a bit." I think that I must have had a dubious look on my face because she quickly added, "You can trust me - I promise that I will behave myself." What could I do but agree? It was some months later when I heard Babs get home earlier than expected - it had just gone nine when usually she was after eleven. I looked up from the television to find that she was not alone for behind her stood a tall hard faced man with a long yellow pony tail. My heart sank but I jumped up prepared to go through the motions of politely offering a welcome. The rough looking stranger just looked at me without emotion, obviously not willing to offer any pleasantry himself. My wife grabbed my arm and pulled me into the kitchen and then turned to face me. Her face looked strange - I would have said 'tense' but it was more than that. "I've brought Rory home. He wants to fuck me," she blurted out. I took a long swallow and asked in an almost steady voice, "Do you want him to?" There was a long pause and then she said slowly, "If you say 'No', I won't do it." Foolishly, ignoring her words, I repeated, "Do you want him to?" Something changed in her eyes and I could not tell if it was relief or regret. At first she just nodded her head and then she said, "Yes.". "Then you can," I heard myself say. A strange look crossed her face - I had never seen it there before and yet it rung a bell. For a moment I was reminded of smokers, flooding out of buildings to mill on the pavement, desperately pulling cigarette packets out of their pockets. But then suddenly I knew exactly where I had seen that expression before. Some months before I had watched a television program where the camera followed a reformed addict through a year of rehabilitation, charting his periods of despondency but showing his determination to succeed. Towards the end he lapsed. The television team followed him to the dealer and back to the house. For a long moment the camera played full on the man's face as he sat at the point of no return, clutching the fix in his hot sticky hand. "Thank you," she said simply with a happy smile. For a moment I experienced a tingle reminiscent of a sensation enjoyed twice on our honeymoon but it quickly died as I realised that this was completely different. Brief though it was Babs must have read the thought because she warned quietly, "Rory does not like being watched." Barbarella "I know," I said, rather too quickly. "I'll clear off somewhere for a while." "Can you give us about two hours?" I nodded mutely, rather shocked by the amount of time she had requested. I had more imagined half an hour - the length of time I believed prostitutes allowed their clients. Without another word I returned to the living room, picking my jacket off a chair back as I went. With complete arrogance and lack of subtlety, Rory was already standing expectantly at the bottom of the stairs. For some reason I had to speak. "I've got to pop out for a bit," I said without looking directly at him. He did not reply and I don't blame him for that. He knew why I was going and I knew why I was going, so why did I need to go through the motions? I drove to a cliff top cat park and halted the car facing the sea. 'Two hours isn't long," I told myself. 'I can easily pass that listening to the radio and watching the boats." I was wrong - I did not even switch on the radio and the time seemed like an eternity during which I chain smoked rapidly through my supply of cigarettes. From the moment of switching off the engine my mind was filled with graphic images of what would be happening back at the house and I was consumed with bitter gut wrenching jealousy. When I discovered Babs in that storeroom at the reception, my emotion had been one of anger at betrayal rather than jealousy and with Pierre in Spain I had felt no jealousy at all. Now I felt real jealousy - the pain of being physically torn apart must surely be less. I waited for the full two hours in the car park, even though I could have legitimately taken account of travelling time and started my return a few minutes earlier. The reason for this was that I had a dread of Rory still being at the house because I honestly did not know how I could face him. I did however drive home with a new determination - I was resolved that this was the end of it and from now on I would insist that my wife remained 100% faithful to me. I entered the house with a degree of trepidation but I need not have worried because Babs was alone. She ran to me to smother my face with kisses and tell me that I was the kindest, most generous and understanding husband in the world. When I was able to step back and look at her my resolution crumbled because her skin glowed, her eyes sparkled and her face had the kind of beatific fulfilment one imagines is borne by angels floating on clouds. As I loved her, how could I possibly deny this kind of pleasure to her for the rest of her life? In bed I felt completely drained with none of the sexually supercharge generated by similar circumstance during our honeymoon. Nevertheless I rolled towards her to be actually relieved when she said softly, "Can we give it a miss tonight darling?" Next day she explained that Rory had tried to persuade her to go to a motel with him but she had refused to do anything behind my back. Apart from those few words nothing more was said about those two missing hours of my life and strangely, I quickly found myself able to dispel the whole thing from my mind. One benefit was that Babs was extra nice to me and I allowed myself to be more obvious in my appreciation of her. It was after eleven o'clock at night the next time that Rory appeared at our door. He was so far from my thoughts that I never considered him as a possible caller while my wife went to answer the knock. She returned to say, "It's Rory again. He wants to sleep with me." This time there was no need to ask her opinion because it was written all over her face. I tried to infer a protest by asking incredulously, "At this time of night?" "He wants to sleep with me. I can make you up a bed on the settee - it's quite comfortable so you should be all right for one night." Babs had rather assumed my agreement but seeing the excitement in her eyes I found it impossible to disappoint her. "You'd better tell him to come in," I said unhappily. After giving her lover the green light, my wife ran upstairs presumable to get the wherewithal to make the enforced exile from my bed less intolerable. Rory entered and stood just inside the door watching me with disinterested eyes. I'm not sure what the civilised code of behaviour is for such situations but I do know that I could not think of a single damn thing to say to the man. Rory seemed to suffer from no such constraint. "A cup of tea would be nice," he said. Like a waiter under orders I went into the kitchen, actually glad of an excuse to leave his presence. I put the kettle on and set up three mugs, adding sugar to all - if the bastard didn't like his sweet then tough luck. I had just removed the tea-bags and added milk when Babs reappeared. "I have got you two blankets, a pillow and a sheet - it looks quite comfy to me," she reported briskly. Then, picking up a mug in both hands she murmured, "I'll take his," stepped forward to peck me on the lips and headed for the stairs with undisguised eagerness. I followed into the room half-hoping for some small word of kindness but she had already gone. I smoked a cigarette while drinking the tea then put out the light, undressed and settled into my lonely pit. With all my will I concentrated on achieving sleep quickly for I knew that once in the arms of Morpheus, the night would pass in a flash leaving me oblivious of its happenings. But then I heard the bed starting to move. I have mentioned that it was a noisy bed at the best of times but during the three prolonged but separate sessions that night it seemed to rock the house. Even when relatively quiet the sound was in my head and I had no difficulty visualised the motion that had generated it. I had thought those two hours parked by the see were intolerable but this was worse. If you are to be cuckolded in your own house which is worst, to be remote and depend purely on imagination, to have soundtrack to enhance the mental vision but no sight or to view everything in the role of spectator? These are certainly three of the circles of hell but which the inner and which the outer, I cannot say. I could hear Babs as well - oh God could I hear Babs. Every time that he made her cum, the shrieks and vocal cries left no ambiguity about what had caused them. But this was different in both quality and quantity from anything I had known. With me, and even with Pierre, she built to a climax of greater or lesser intensity and then subsided. Impaled by this particular penis her orgasms were continuous, one rolling into another, gradually growing like foothills round a mountain. On the lower slopes she was verbal with worship of his prick, or various pleas to fill her with cum and fuck her to death, words that I had heard before if lacking the crude intensity. But when he took her to the peak of passion, it became pure sound, the groan of a soul in torment or the scream of a banshee as she was gripped in an ecstasy beyond my power to imagine. It was an education. Perversely, although increasing the torment it did validate my having allowed her to go with him. Expressing it a noble sentiment - what greater love can a husband show than allow his wife to be fucked out of her mind by another man? In the morning Rory came downstairs very early and left the house, his movement rousing me as he passed my resting-place. Some quarter of an hour later when I had risen and put the kettle on, my wife appeared in her dressing gown. She came straight to me, enclosed me in her arms for a deeply loving kiss. Then she said with total sincerity, "I love you so very, very much." Some time in that first week, Babs suggested that we should do up the spare bedroom up as a guestroom, with a new modern bed and furnishings. Her reasoning was that it would allow us to have my parents or possibly her mother for a visit and if it ever needed converting into a nursery, we would not be starting from scratch. I agreed happily and willingly undertook the redecoration never dreaming that the primary occupant of the room would be me. It was an example of forward planning because of course Rory began to call regularly after that. Babs no longer felt any guilt about her illicit passion but thoughtfully wanted me to be comfortable while she indulged herself, ignoring the fact that the bedroom next door brought me closer to sound of the action. He never turned up more than once a fortnight and often it was three weeks. It was always late in the evening in the middle of the week when his knock came but the nights varied. I never stopped suffering as I lay listening to him with her but I did get used to it. I reckon that you can become accustomed to just about anything when it becomes an established part of life. It is human nature to discount the bad and make the most of consolations. There were consolations because nights after his visits were marked by heightened sexual activity between Babs and me, although I don't know if this was inspired by me working off frustrations or her still basking in residual passion from her time with him. Although as stated I had become almost inured to sharing my wife with our occasional visitor, there was one later occasion when I took it rather hard. It was almost midnight on the last night of the week on which he might turn up making it look certain that this was to be a three week gap. We had spent a loving evening watching a very sexy film and I went upstairs first filled with anticipation of holding her lovely warm naked body in my arms. I had actually pulled back the bedclothes prior to climbing into bed when Babs called happily upstairs, "Rory's here." I had to walk through to the other bedroom resigned to lie in a solitary bed and listen to the other man drink my nectar from her cup of love. I should mention that one of the first things we did on returning from honeymoon was buy a small car using left over holiday money and a bit of savings. It was just a banger but sufficient for our limited needs. Babs and I both worked and every morning I dropped her outside her factory gates before driving on to my own place of employment. Returning at night, I finished fifteen minutes earlier so could be nicely in place to pick up my wife as she left her workplace. Due to the nature of my job, not infrequently there was need for overtime but this seldom required staying on more than a couple of hours. However, this did not disrupt our lives because Babs prepared a meal in my absence - if I was not waiting at the gates she knew to make her own way home, either by bus or on foot. One afternoon I had put in ninety minutes overtime on a rather tricky problem and arrived home with my stomach rumbling in anticipation of the evening meal. Just inside the door, I almost tripped over a large dirty kit bag with yellow waterproof leggings and a pair of wellington boots strapped to the side. "What the hell is this?" I demanded of Babs as she ran quickly to meet me. It's Rory's. He's in a bit of a mess," she told me in a rush. "His trawler was decommissioned last week and now he has been kicked out of his digs because he can't pay the rent. I bumped into him walking home from work and I have said that we will put him up for two or three days." "Where will he sleep?" It was the only thing that interested me. "With me." My heart sank but I knew that I could stand three days. Putting my hand on her arm I said, "Be honest Babs - how long do you really think he will want to stay?" She smiled uneasily, obviously having hoped that it could just drift on. "It won't be longer than a fortnight - that's for certain," she said brightly. "I can't go that long without......you." "Don't be silly, of course you can - it's only two weeks," she laughed. "And anyway, I will make it up to you when he's gone - I always do." My response was stillborn because at that moment, Rory let himself into the house and threw another large kit bag by the side of the first. He sniffed the air, said, "That smells good - I'm famished," then walked over and sat himself down at the dining table. For the first time I noticed that the table was set for three places. I did take note that the redundant fisherman had plonked himself down in my customary place but at that time did not give any great significance to the fact. While dishing out my favourite meal split into three portions, Babs remarked cheerfully, "I've just thought. There was no need for you to hump your stuff over here Rory - if you'd waited, Stuart would have been happy to fetch it for you in the car." Everything is relative and in many ways it was not so bad at the start. I have to say in Rory's favour that he did muck in to the extent that he at least cleared his own plate from the table and took a turn at making tea or coffee for everybody during the evening. As he spent his time either reading the newspaper or watching television, his presence could not be classed as aggravation. In fact, were it not for the fact that he slept with Babs instead of me, he was little different from any normal lodger, albeit one who paid no rent. I also do believe that he genuinely started out looking for work. There were various vague remarks that I built too much on, like, 'Tomorrow he's seeing someone who is setting men on' or 'As soon as someone gives him a job accommodation will stop being a problem'. The most definite was, 'If he is not fixed up by the weekend, he's clearing off to the south coast.' On the Monday morning I got up slightly early filled with the joys of spring at the imminent departure of the unwelcome guest. To my surprise, Babs also appeared before her usual time. She came over, gave me an extra special kiss and then dropped the bombshell. "Rory's mate who got back this weekend says that the south coast ports are decommissioning more trawlers than round here - so Rory has decided to stay on here for a while longer". I kind of slumped back against the wall and I think that my feeling of utter dejection must have been obvious on my face. Babs kissed me again and then slowly sank until she was on her knees at my feet. A heard a zip hiss and the next moment my cock was in her mouth and she was starting to use the Babs magic upon it. It was short but it was beautiful as she literally sucked all the tension out of me. When it was over my legs were kind of wobbly so she led me to sit on a dining chair and moved round behind so that her wonderful soft breasts were pressing against the back of my head. "It can't be for too long so try to hang on my love," she said softly. "You know that I will be good to you whenever I can." Later thinking calmly, I realised that Rory 'had decided' to stay without even going through the motion of asking permission. It was as if a significant moment had passed because from then on everything became worse. Rory became an unashamed passenger and I was relegated to the role of house slave. My wife still looked after the cooking but now I did all the washing up and got up to make all warm drinks during the evening - usually at my tormentors prompting. Eventually he became openly hostile to me. Over a period, from occasional snide remarks, it degenerated until I became the butt of almost constant derogatory remarks slandering my manliness, sexual ability and penis size. You will have realised by now that his stay extended from weeks into months. I managed to let his abuse wash over me and apart from that and other obvious differences; life went on much as it always had. One blessing during the whole ordeal was that Rory always disappeared during the days at weekends. I don't know if he was doing casual labouring or picking up his beer money some other way. Babs and I still went supermarket shopping on Sundays and we both followed our Saturday routine of house cleaning tasks. I kept up my evening visits once a week, (without mentioning my home situation), and my wife had now reverted to accompanying me. We also started going to the cinema a lot where we sat holding hands and at other times just drove somewhere and parked near the sea. During the brief periods of privacy we kissed a lot and although she happily let me grope her, all my entreaties to get in the back seat were resisted. In fact all real sex was out. Babs was terrified of being spotted by someone who would tell tales but she said, "He can't object to me kissing you - you are my husband after all." One Friday, I think it was eight or nine weeks from the start, my wife came into the kitchen where I was washing up. Quite loudly she said, "Rory is broke - can you lend him a tenner to buy drinks in the pub?" After all that had happened, I found myself about put my foot down about this stupid issue. The words, 'Like fuck', were already forming in my mouth when Babs put her fingers over my lips and nodded her head violently. Puzzled I handed over the cash and still did not understand when, after he had left the house, she pulled me upstairs giggling. I was led to my bedroom where Babs stripped off her clothes and jumped onto the bed like schoolgirl. "Come on," she urged happily. "As long as you don't cum inside me he need never know." The following Friday he requested that his loan be rolled up to £20 and I already had the required denomination banknote hopefully to hand. That was the last reference to it being a debt and from then on he took the money as unspoken tribute, not realising that it was gladly given. Although the proscription on leaving tell tale semen inside her cunt remained, I found the sex nothing less than wonderful even though, when the critical moment arrived, I had to pull out and finish either in her mouth or between her tits. One night the inevitable happened and I was too late. Although Babs removed the evidence as best she could Rory was suspicious when in bed with her later. In my bedroom I caught my breath as he harshly accused her of fucking around. "Honest Rory - I'm wet because I'm exited for you. I haven't left the house all evening - Stuart will tell you the same," I heard her reply with utter conviction. It is a measure of how low I was in his opinion that he never even considered me as the possible culprit. When the next eagerly awaited Friday finally arrived, I went after my weekly ration like a greyhound out of the traps but Babs fended me. "I'm sorry love but I daren't do it after last time." I slumped in total despair feeling the tears well up inside me because this was about the only thing that had kept me hanging on. Babs gave a big laugh. Whatever am I thinking of," she said. "You can fuck me the other way - Rory never wants it like that." Backing her words with actions, she rolled over on her stomach and thrust the two soft globes of her buttocks temptingly up at me. This proves my naivety and sexual inexperience for in all the time I had been with Babs I had never considered having sex with her that way. However my need was such that I was willing to seek any port in a storm - but still I had to endure a slight delay while my wife, as an afterthought, ran to the next room for hand cream to use as lubricant. Then, after all that, I had hardly got my dick inside her when it was all over. I don't know if it was tension, the novelty or simply that my wife's anal passage was a better fit for my size of penis and the unaccustomed friction triggered my ejaculation long before I was ready for it. The temptation to give way to tears almost overcame me again but Babs threw her arms around me saying, "It's not the end of the world - that often happens first time. Just take a minute to catch your breath and I'll have it stiff again in a jiffy." True to her word I was soon back on top, happily thrusting away in the traditional manner. After while, at her suggestion, I moved until we were lying side by side fitted together like spoons, content for me to progress matters with long languid strokes. I found lying this way to be far more sensual than conventional intercourse in the missionary position to which I was accustomed. I was more aware of her body and was able to have one hand over her shoulder fondling a breast while the other toyed with her clitoris. I felt that I could go on like that for ever and from my warm happy haze I murmured, "Have you done it a lot this way?" Barbarella Note. Unfortunately this whole paragraph needed to be censored or redacted. After that initial two week period when it became obvious that Rory would be staying on, I started masturbating. Restarted would be a truer description because it was a pastime that I had indulged in with avid dedication since puberty, only stopping the first night that I walked Babs home. I had always been ashamed of my secret vice since the day my father caught me and called it a 'disgusting habit' and probably because of this believed that the act caused 'bad magic'. I found that doing it the night before some occasion special me led to disappointment on the day, so efforts to avoid the curse on something very important provided the only curb to my compulsive tossing off. Although I had given up bed snake bashing on meeting Babs, something unusual occurred on the night before our wedding. That night we slept in separate houses; (Babs explained that it was a marriage tradition but as you know, I later discovered the real reason was so that she could fulfil her bargain with Rory). In the middle of the night I woke from what could only have been a wet dream because it certainly was not a conscious wank. The fact remains that my fingers were wrapped round my dick and my loins were significantly wet and sticky. Nothing will convince me that this was unconnected with my later unhappy discovery in the store-room at the reception. I took to watching my wife and her fisherman friend screwing. That first fortnight, he kept the bedroom door tightly closed and even so the sounds of copulation seemed to reverberate through the house. After that he started to leave the door significantly ajar, I think to rub my nose in the fact that he could give Babs more than I could. Knowing that it is possible to see, I think that it is human nature to take a peep and after the first time, I couldn't stop. I must have spent countless hours standing in the darkness of the landing watching the events on that illuminated bed - they invariably did it with the light on. Earlier I speculated which gave a cuckolded husbanded most grief, imagination or visual knowledge. One answer is that in many ways, seeing is better. For one thing it was mainly fairly conventional sex where my fevered imagination had visualised all kinds of exotic variations. Also, from an objective point of view it could be called almost beautiful. The contrast of his taut tanned leanness with her paler voluptuous softness had a primitive aesthetic appeal and I had to admit that their two bodies moved in unison like two parts of the same well oiled machine. The devastating downside was that I could see from her face, without a shadow of a doubt that my wife had not lied when she said that he had a hold over her body. I have to confess that one night, whilst engaged in this sick voyeuristic activity, I disgraced myself. Then, crawling about on the carpet, guiltily trying to remove evidence of my spilt semen, I had the further humiliation of hearing Rory loudly empty his balls, without worry, into my wife's wet warm welcoming womb. Many might think that I did all right for sex - the Friday evening sodomy sessions, the occasional early morning blow-job, all that kissing and cuddling by the sea front and the solitary satisfaction gained from my hand. However they must take account of the cumulative effect on me of my wife being fucked by another man every single night - and it was every night because even on 'those' days of the month, he kept her mouth pretty busy. It drove me to the edge seeing the woman who I loved with all my heart and who I was convinced also loved me deeply, giving herself to him with enthusiasm and abandon. Perhaps a husband in a similar position but whose wife's participation was involuntary might consider his the worse situation, but I would not agree. From the time it became obvious that Rory intended to stay with us there remained a tenuous hope based on the state that 'he would definitely be moving on when his redundancy came through'. After six months this hope had died for me and I think that Babs had also set some store by this theoretical termination of our unusual household arrangement. I did detect a subtle change when she was in bed with him. She still had mind-blowing orgasms but I felt that they no longer had the joy and exuberance of before and I drew consolation from this. There was also a decrease in their frequency of copulation - it was still every night with frequent double events but triples became a rarity. One morning she got up early and I happily anticipated the feeling of her lips round my prick but she was very glum and for a time uncommunicative. Suddenly she said with feeling, "I hate him, I really do. Not for myself but for what he is doing to you. I wish to hell that he couldn't turn me on so easily." I smiled uneasily, unsure of what to say and this turned her anger against me. "It's all your fault," she accused. "If you hadn't given your permission in the first place, we wouldn't be in this situation now." There was truth in this but she conveniently forgot that her own whorish desires were a not inconsiderable part of the equation. Scientist deliberately test materials applying more and more pressure until they reach breaking point. Some snap explosively but others just go bent. I have never considered myself to be a person of particularly high mettle. Our lodger was also a financial burden, so to save money, I had started taking a packed lunch to work rather than dining in the staff canteen. On a lovely summer day and, feeling claustrophobic about the condition of my life, I decided to go for a drive and eat my sandwiches in the open air. I went past the nearest park guessing that it would be full of summer visitors and drove to a smaller one not far from a council estate. I parked but suffering an urgent call of nature, I left my lunch in the car and headed quickly to the public convenience a short distance inside the gates. There was just one man at the urinal when I entered, thick set, early forties, wearing dark blue overalls and probably a plumber or such. Despite the pressure in my bladder I could not urinate. Now I do occasionally have this problem. If a toilet is packed I am fine but I find that with only one other person I tend to get inhibited, particularly if he is bigger than me. I waited to be alone but he didn't go. Then nature took over and my piss gushed out - it was a long one but when I had finally finished, the stall three along from me was still occupied. I should have just turned and left then but some perverse streak in my nature demanded that he should leave first - so I continued to stand there. It was as if the world had stood still. I began to feel stupid just staring at the wall so had to turn my head to see what the hell he was doing that was taking so long. I was shocked to find that he had tuned himself diagonally to face me, his flie gaped open, his cock was three quarters erect and he was bouncing it up and down on his hand. As I watched, the penis stiffened more as if reacting to my attention. I could not look away and as I gazed at the other mans now fully erect member, I became convinced that it had been up Babs at some undetermined time in the past. It was not that much bigger than mine although considerably fatter. It was also uncut but that fact did not explain the fascination that it held for me. The man changed position and that was sufficient to break the mesmeric spell and allow me to look up at his face. He was giving me an odd looking smile. "Do you want some?" he said. I definitely did not say 'Yes' but I may have nodded. All I know is that when he turned and went into one of the cubicles, I followed him. He stood to one side allowing me to pass, shutting the lock-less door after me, then moving to stand with his back to it. The floor was dry although I cannot say clean. As if I had done this a thousand times before, I knelt in front of him and took his cock into my mouth. I knew with clinical clarity what I was doing but that first time I had no awareness of taste or smell - as if some of my senses had become afflicted with a kind of numbness. Babs had done this to me often enough for me to get a good idea what to do. I thought that I gave a creditable performance but he no doubt recognised me as a beginner - I don't know because he never gave me marks out of ten. When his cum arrived in my mouth, again I had no real sensation of taste but was surprised that it was much less than I had expected. At this point, without a word, he zipped up and left as if having heard some signal that police were entering the park. I had automatically swallowed the spunk without any feeling of nausea but now I leant over the toilet bowl and gave a couple of dry retches for effect. That done, I exited the cubicle and made my way back to the car feeling very satisfied - hell it was more than that - I felt ten feet tall. I was half way through eating my sandwiches before I realised that the gnawing bitter pain in my guts had gone. That pain had been with me constantly, to greater or lesser extent, ever since the night that Rory had first come to the house to 'borrow' Babs for a couple of hours, - had now it had completely disappeared. After that night's sexual circus the pain was back - back with a vengeance, so next day I retraced my steps to the same park. The weather had changed making it a cool wet day. I hung about for my whole lunch hour without seeing a soul and returned to work trembling all over and having forgotten to eat my sandwiches. The next day was Friday so I resolved to stay at work over the lunch period because I had got Babs to look forward to that night. However, as if waking from a dream, I found myself parking the car and taking what was fast becoming a familiar walk. There was one guy not much older than I, standing at the urinal. He was well-built and wearing worn jeans and some kind of zip up jacket. At the sound of me entering, he looked over his shoulder and our eyes met. In that instant, somehow a message must have passed between us because without a word he went in to one of the cubicles with me following. His cock was about eight inches long and had a nice solid feel to it. Like me he was circumcised. The tactile senses, which had abandoned me on that first occasion now, returned with extra acuteness. I found that he had a strong rather gamey smell but I loved the hot velvety feel of his penis skin on my tongue - in fact I loved having that living part of him in my mouth. I was learning the skill quickly because, sensing that he was about to shoot, I backed off to make it last. When he did cum, again I was taken by surprise because this time there was far more than I had expected, so much so that some overflowed my mouth. It may have been imagination but I had a tingling sensation in my tongue as if from aerated spring water, (I have experienced the same sensation on occasion since). This one did not dash off. As I wiped my mouth, he said, "That was good mate, thanks," offering me a cigarette as he spoke. I accepted and after he lit me up, I put my theory to the test. "Do you know a girl called Babs?" I asked. "Everybody knows Babs," he laughed, but then he shook his head and went on, "A real looker that one and she rattles like an old tin can." After that I did it a lot, in fact it became a compulsion. I found it hard to get through weekends and days that I drew a blank plunged me into desperate depression. There were not many such days after the first two or three weeks - there was always at least one waiting for me as if the word had got round. Once as one guy was leaving, another entered the cubicle with his prick sticking out ready to be serviced, before I even had chance to get up off my knees. Apart from that occasion there was often some male hanging about hopefully when I thought that I had sucked my ration of cock for the day. Sometimes I didn't want to do it, either because I did not like the guy or didn't fancy having his dick in my mouth but the thought of getting through the night without having had a cum cocktail to sustain me, meant that I sent no-one away disappointed. But there were times that I enjoyed it immensely and could easily understand why my wife had spent so many years engaged in this activity. It is strange to think that until a few months before, I had only ever seen three erect cocks in my life, Pierre, Rory and of course my own. Since then I have been closely acquainted with dozens, all shapes all sizes - and I have to admit that I like the big ones best. I also used to think that there was only one way to be aroused - a hard penis and a feeling of excitement. I now know of three, each having the common denominator of a painfully stiff prick but with widely differing emotions. When lying with Babs I feel blissful happiness, when It is Rory's long cock embedded inside her I feel bitter sexual jealousy and when I am following someone into a toilet cubicle, my head pounds at the knowledge that I am about to get cum on my tongue. I had only one bad experience. Two big rough types of Rory's ilk, who had obviously been lying in wait, hustled me into a cubicle and then crammed in with me. Both had big pricks and they made me suck them off more than once each. It was an ordeal due to the claustrophobia, the element of coercion and the fact that they kept trying to push their cocks right down my throat. I got back to work nearly an hour late and my jaws ached for the rest of the day. Those two had tried to make me 'deep throat' them and I must make mention of the technique. After some weeks of my lunchtime jaunts I began to consider myself quite good at it and wanted to be able to swallow some of the bigger cocks and give the complete blow -job. Babs claimed that she was adept at this but of course my dick wasn't long enough for her to demonstrate on me. I tried to deep throat for a time without success but then gave up because, having a choking fit in the middle of giving head, hardly enhances the effect. Then one day, I was really enjoying sucking a long really beautiful penis when it slipped quite naturally right down my throat. I really thought that I had cracked it and with the next big one, I tried the plunge with complete confidence only to finish spewing my heart up on the floor. Some time later another cock slipped down my gullet, again when I was getting particular pleasure from the activity but that time I took it as being due to the situation and not because I had suddenly discovered the technique. It depends on the penis, circumference rather than length and possibly also a lot on enthusiasm. This second occasion happened with someone a few years younger than me. As I was heading back to my car, he emerged from some trees and came over to me. "I've got to ask - do you know a girl called Babs?" he said. I shook my head. "Why do you want to know?" "Because you give head exactly like she does. It's uncanny - back there for a moment I thought that it was her." I did not speak but he kept walking alongside me and then suddenly started explained, "She has sucked me off twice but years apart. The first time was at school - Babs used to go in the bike shed at break times and she always had a line of kids waiting their turn. No matter how many there were Babs made you feel as if you were the only one - even then she had her own special technique." He lapsed into silence so I prompted, "You said that she sucked you off twice?" "Years later I spent a night at her place near the docks. That night she also gave me the best fuck of my life - well more than one if you must know, that girl just couldn't get enough of it." "Why didn't you see her again?" "I'd have loved to but I couldn't risk my girl-friend of the time finding out. Anyway, about two years ago Babs married some geek but the last I heard she was shacked up with a hard case off the boats that she has been shagging for years on an off." I would have liked to see him again but felt, possibly illogically, that if I made a date it would be crossing the line into being gay. There was just one other man towards whom I felt similar emotion. This was the day after the two louts had pressured me, so I got out of my car feeling far more nervous than usual. I had gone only a few paces when a smartly dressed middle aged man signalled with a rolled up financial newspaper from where he was sitting on the park wall. As I approached he said, "I don't care much for that place back there. It's a lovely day so how do you fancy a short ride into the country young man?" He led me to a large expensive looking car and we set off along the coast. After a while he turned into a very narrow lane little better than a farm track and eventually pulled over and parked. Thinking back I don't think that a word was exchanged after the initial invitation but now he opened the car boot, handed me a large soft blanket and said with a grin, "I don't see why we shouldn't make ourselves comfortable." He also removed a small picnic basket that he elected to carry himself. I followed him for 100 yards along a faint footpath until it reached the cliff edge. At this point a section of cliff had slipped a few feet. We clambered down some exposed roots, walked a few feet and then climbed up onto an isolated bit of headland using more roots. We were now on a section of cliff enclosed within an impenetrable arc of gorse with the only possible access being the route we had followed. Calmly he began to undress, folding his clothes carefully, then spread the blanket on some soft grass and lay down upon it in the sunshine. I had stood and watched him but now I began to remove my own clothes rather self consciously, studying him as I did so. He was about 45 but obviously took care of himself either through working out or playing squash. It was also easy to see that he got in plenty of nude sun bathing. His prick was limp but looked a good size. As I dropped my shorts on top of the pile he patted the blanket beside him. Looking between his legs it was plain that he liked what he saw - I was already pretty stiff myself, imagining what his cock was going to taste like in my mouth. I crouched between his legs planning how I was going to do it in this new position but he told me not to be selfish, indicating that I should move round into the sixty-nine position. This was the first time that anyone other than Babs had sucked me and with his superb cock in my mouth it was like closing an electrical circuit. I could tell that he was not as good at it as my wife but that didn't matter, I gave him everything that I had got. This was the third time that a penis slipped easily deep into my throat but maybe the position helped. I lost control first but I think that he had been waiting for me because we ejaculated more or less simultaneously. The sensations so overcame me that immediately we had both stopped pumping, all strength went out of my arms and I flopped over sideways with my eyes closed. I was aware that he had scrambled round until both our heads were at the same end and opened my eyes to see his mouth descending towards mine. For an instant I flinched away, (sucking cocks was one thing but kissing a man was another), but then I realised how silly such a distinction was. From the position of his lips I could tell that he was holding some of my cum in his mouth, it was only fair because I was still savouring his. I cannot describe how incredible it felt having a male tongue in my mouth for the first time, particularly as it was soon thickly coated with two brands of spunk. We kissed for a long time, breaking off to take turns sucking each other's nipples. His hands were all over me. When one hand went between my legs I though he was going to play with my testicles but it advanced further and I felt a finger wriggling inside my anus. It felt delightful so I squirmed to encourage him but it had the opposite effect because he took his hand away. To encourage him I opened my legs wider and angled my lower body to give easier access - I couldn't speak with his tongue down my throat. His hand returned and when two then three finger slipped easily inside me I knew that he had applied some lubrication to my back passage. I also knew the reason. Back at the park I had often been asked 'Do you fuck?' but replied that I only did head - this was more due to situation than principle. Now, even if I had been dead against the idea, I was so overcome with passion that, at that moment, he could have done to me any damn thing that he wanted.