In our last story “Farewell To Lovers,” we shared laughter-filled evenings and teary goodbyes with our dear friends Mikki and James before they moved to their charming Farmhouse across the country.
Bobbie had finished his intensive training for the promotion. He was now a Leading Hand with a new anchor and first stripe on the left arm of his navy uniform. And had been drafted back to the cold stone buildings of Plymouth barracks to await his ship assignment. Our move loomed just twelve weeks away.
Mikki and James had departed on a rainy Monday morning, their car disappearing from sight. That night I sobbed into my pillow until dawn broke through our bedroom curtains. Bobbie stroked my hair with his fingers, whispering reassurances though I could hear the crack in his voice. By Tuesday, my eyes swollen and red-rimmed, I told Bobbie I needed solitude and retreated to the spare room. With hindsight, it was like building a wall between us when we needed each other most.
I called in sick, unable to face the fluorescent lights and sympathetic glances at the office—so unlike me, as I’d always found comfort in the rhythmic clicking of keyboards and friendly banter by the coffee machine. In the spare room, I buried my face in the unwashed pillowcase, desperately inhaling the fading scent of Mikki’s jasmine perfume. The wardrobe doors hung open, empty except for a forgotten silk scarf. Oliver’s little bed with its plaid cushion was gone from the corner, leaving only an indentation in the carpet. Each absence was a fresh wound.
Every night for three days, I cried myself into exhausted sleep, my throat raw and eyes burning. Adding to my misery was the knowledge that I was hurting my devoted husband, who ate dinner alone at our kitchen table. After my third night of self-imposed exile, something had to give. Once again, Bobbie became my lifeline—in desperation, he called Jacky, his voice trembling as he described my spiral of grief.
She appeared at our doorstep Friday morning, a box of my favourite cinnamon pastries in hand. Over steaming mugs of coffee, she gently explained Bobbie’s worried call.
With wisdom in her emerald eyes, Jacky brought reason to my sorrow, reminding me of moonlit barbecues and Christmas mornings spent with Mikki and James. Then she asked the question that pierced my fog of sadness: “Would you rather never have known Mikki and be spared this pain?” She leaned forward, squeezing my hand. “Or is it better to carry these golden memories, even with the ache they bring?”
The weight on my chest lightened as I brewed fresh coffee in our chipped blue pot. Together, we stripped the sheets from the spare bed, opened windows to let in the early summer breeze, and cleaned the room from top to bottom. “This is just a spare bedroom now,” I declared, running my fingers along the freshly dusted windowsill. “Mikki and Oliver have their beautiful new home and garden to enjoy.” For the first time in days, I felt my lips form a genuine smile.
As Jacky gathered her umbrella to leave, I embraced her, breathing in her familiar scent of vanilla and rain. In that moment, as sunlight broke through the clouds outside, I realised there would be life beyond this loss. Something in the warmth of her hug and kisses told me Jacky and I would share countless more coffee mornings, and passionate evenings in the years to come.
The telephone’s familiar trill echoed as I dialed Mikki’s number. James was at work, and her mother was tending to Oliver. As we conversed, it emerged that, much like me Mikki had been sad at our parting. It was Sandra, her mother, who had spoken sense into her. There was a shared comfort in knowing our emotions aligned. Our conversation meandered for what felt like hours, each of us gradually rediscovering our cheerful selves.
Buoyed by Jacky’s visit and Mikki’s chat, my mind drifted to the realm of sex, or rather, the lack thereof. Nearly a week had passed without any affection, an unusual drought. I found myself reminiscing about my first threesome, a night when Mikki was away on a training course, leaving me to tend to both guys. The intoxicating sensation of having two men and their hardened cocks all to myself was a memory that still sent shivers down my spine.
Since then, I’d experienced encounters with two or more partners simultaneously, though those moments always involved others, never quite recapturing that initial thrill. My arousal began to build, a slow burn that demanded attention. I indulged in a luxurious bath, the scent of lavender filling the air as I meticulously styled my hair and applied my makeup. Slipping into my finest stockings and suspenders, I positioned myself on the kitchen table, legs spread invitingly, knowing that Bobbie could walk in at any moment.
The sound of the front door creaking open signaled his arrival. “Bobbie, I’ve got something for you to eat in the kitchen,” I called out, my voice laced with anticipation. The expression on his face was priceless—a mix of surprise and raw desire. Dropping his bag, he knelt before me, his face buried between my thighs, exactly where I needed him. His skilled tongue and fingers worked their magic, teasing and stroking my sopping wetness into a frenzy. He knew me well, sucking my clitoris while two fingers explored my inner walls, his other hand pinching my aching nipples until they throbbed with pleasure. The sensations built, electric and intense, until I gripped the table’s edge, my body convulsing as I climaxed so hard that the world went dark for a moment.
When I came to, Bobbie was gently cleaning me with a damp cloth, his touch tender and caring. Standing on trembling legs, I undid his belt, pulling his trousers and underwear down to reveal his hardened cock. Pushing him to sit on the table, I took him into my mouth, the salty taste of his pre-cum mixing with the scent of his arousal. I worked him slowly, taking more of him with each movement, until I could feel his entire length in my throat.
Coming up for air, I saw Bobbie’s face, flushed and smiling. Returning to my task, I sucked his shaft, my tongue rubbing against him as I gently stroked. He began to thrust gently into my mouth, the rhythm building as I felt him tense. Slipping a finger into his ass, I stroked his prostate, a trick I’d read about but never tried until now. The effect was immediate; he erupted like a volcano, filling my mouth with his warm seed. I swallowed, savouring every drop as I continued to stroke him, never breaking contact until I was sure I had taken it all.
Standing up, I kissed him deeply, then donned my apron and began preparing dinner. After Bobbie showered, we sat down to a well-deserved meal and a glass of wine. We cleaned up together, him drying as I washed, and once everything was tidy, we undressed and slipped into bed.
Bobbie asked what I had done to him, confessing he had never come so hard before. I told him about the article Mikki had left, how I wanted to try something new, and how he had never produced so much cum before. Straddling him, I eased onto his cock, feeling him hit all the right spots. We made love slowly, savoring every moment, every touch. Later, I drifted off to sleep, content with the world and filled with the warmth of my caring husband and the lingering sensation of our shared pleasure.
I awoke to the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the salty scent of crisp bacon. Bobbie stood in the doorway, balancing a wooden breakfast tray laden with steaming mugs, glistening orange juice, and thick-cut bacon nestled between slices of golden toast. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he leaned down to kiss me, his lips warm against mine. “We’ll both miss them terribly,” he whispered against my hair, “but we always knew they’d spread their wings someday. Let’s celebrate their new beginning instead.” The mattress dipped as he settled beside me, sunlight streaming through the half-drawn curtains.
Between bites of perfectly crunchy sandwich, I confessed my recent fantasies about our past threesomes with James—how the memory of their hands exploring my body simultaneously still made my skin tingle with electricity. “I’d love to experience that again,” I murmured, watching his expression carefully.
Bobbie’s lips curved into that mischievous smile I adored, “just once?” He said, his voice dropping an octave as he traced circles on my thigh. “I’ll sort something for next weekend.”
The promise hung between us, igniting a weekend of passionate reconnection. We barely left our bedroom, exploring each other with renewed hunger. I surrendered completely to him, welcoming him into every intimate hole filled with creamy cum. Sunday afternoon, as golden light bathed our tangled sheets, I whispered a special request. His response was magnificent—marking me with his warm cum that pooled across my flushed skin like abstract art. I savoured the last traces of him on my tongue before he descended between my thighs, his talented mouth bringing me to a shuddering, toe-curling climax that left me breathless and complete. It was exactly the healing intimacy I needed with my extraordinary husband.
Friday evening, Bobbie’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he told me to prepare for Saturday’s special guest. I spent hours the next day perfecting every detail—styling my hair in loose waves, applying makeup that accentuated my features, and selecting my most alluring lingerie. The black lace stockings clung to my thighs beneath a flowing summer dress that revealed just enough to tease.
At eight o’clock, the doorbell’s chime sent anticipation coursing through me. Our visitor was everything I’d imagined physically—tall with dark features and undeniable attractiveness. Yet as the evening progressed, disappointment settled in my chest. Despite his adequate endowment, he approached our encounter with mechanical detachment. He barely acknowledged my presence beyond what was necessary, treating the experience like a transaction rather than the passionate exchange I’d craved. After his climax, he dressed swiftly, muttered thanks, and departed, leaving me frustrated and unsatisfied.
Later, I took matters into my own hands, coaxing Bobbie’s cock back to harness with my mouth before he tenderly brought me to two intense orgasms. As we lay intertwined afterward with two men’s cum running down my thighs, I confessed my disappointment.
Bobbie nodded, admitting he’d felt the same disconnection, though he recognized my experience had been particularly unfulfilling. With a gentle kiss to my forehead, he promised to arrange something better with another guy. This time talking to him beforehand to make sure he would fully partake next weekend.
In the languid glow of a Saturday evening, I began my preparations once again, each movement deliberate, each thought lingering on the promise of contentment that the night might bring. The stage was set, the atmosphere perfect.
Sam, with his easy smile and attentive manner, took his time, engaging with both of us. His physique was impressive, and his cock, a generous ten inches, was a delightful bonus, reminiscent of one of my favorite dildos. Bobbie, equally endowed at eight and a half inches, was no less impressive. They moved with a synchronous rhythm, swapping positions, exploring different angles and depths. I was a symphony of sensation, constantly filled with two hard cocks, each thrust echoing through me like a primal drumbeat.
They coaxed two intense climaxes from me, each one a crescendo of pleasure that left me gasping. When it was their turn, Sam drove deep into my pussy, his cock throbbing as he released his creamy cum into me. I was on all fours, Bobbie’s cock in my mouth, Sam still buried inside me. Bobbie tensed, a growl escaping his lips as he held my head, filling my mouth with his warm, salty cum. I sucked him dry, swallowing every last drop, only then allowing Sam’s cock to slide out of my pussy, claiming it with my mouth, cleaning off the cocktail of our combined juices. Finally, I was fulfilled.
We sat there, unclothed and unashamed, our bodies glistening with sweat, as we talked and drank. Sam’s words were a soft caress, telling me I was wonderful, one of the best shags he’d had. He confessed it was his first threesome, and it had far exceeded his expectations. He asked if I enjoyed it, if there was anything else I would have liked.
I kissed him, thanking him for the compliments. Then, with a smile, I told him what I wanted. I wanted him to stay the night, to fuck me more. I wanted more of that big cock.
In bed, I asked Sam if he’d ever tried anal. He had, once, but his girlfriend at the time hadn’t liked it, so they stopped. He never got the full experience. Tonight, he was in luck. I loved being fucked in the ass.
I took out some lube, coating his cock until it glistened. Straddling him, I lowered myself onto his length, the tip of his cock pressing against my puckered hole. Slowly, I worked him inside me, inch by throbbing inch, until I felt his balls against me. I rode him, the sensation of his cock in my ass sending waves of pleasure through me.
After a while, I moved to all fours, grinding against his cock. I lined him up and told him to stick it up my bum. Sam lasted longer this time, building up speed as I rubbed my clit, wanting us to come together. With a few final thrusts, he buried himself deep, emptying his seed into my bowels. As I shuddered through another climax.
Bobbie had been watching, stroking his cock until it was fully hard. He pushed me onto my back, putting my legs over his shoulders, and slid his cock into my waiting pussy. We were both so worked up, it didn’t take long for him to fill me with his cum, triggering my third climax of the night.
Through it all, Sam watched, mesmerised, stroking his cock. I could tell he was close, so I wrapped my lips around his length, feeling him stroke himself into my mouth. Not long after, he gave me another creamy mess to swallow. I was in heaven, every hole filled, every desire sated.
It was getting late, so I told Sam he could stay the night. He could take the spare room, or if he didn’t mind sharing, he could join us in my bed. He chose correctly, and I found myself sandwiched between two gorgeous men, drifting off to sleep, happy and content, last weekend’s failure a distant memory.
As Bobbie prepared breakfast, the sizzle of bacon providing our morning soundtrack, I straddled Sam, riding his thick, veined shaft until he gripped my hips and filled me with hot, pulsing cum.
We convinced Sam to extend his visit, taking him to our favorite club where neon lights played across glistening bodies of the exotic dancers. After several drinks, we followed our weekend ritual of sharing steaming containers of fragrant Chinese takeaway. After my sweet and sour chicken, I stood, letting my silk robe fall to the floor. Taking their warm hands in mine, I led them to our bedroom where Egyptian cotton sheets awaited our tangled limbs. They took turns pleasuring me with fingers, tongues and cocks until I suggested something more adventurous. Sam’s eyes widened as I guided him into my slick pussy while Bobbie eased his well-lubed cock into my ass, stretching me deliciously between them. Sam groaned at the tight friction as they established a rhythm that had me crying out with each synchronised thrust. They swapped each taking a turn in arse and pussy.
On Monday morning, Bobbie and Sam dressed in their uniforms, preparing to return to the barracks. Before Sam left, I pressed my lips to his ear, whispering that my body would welcome him anytime. Over our final weeks in Fareham, his visits became our most treasured ritual.
I settled onto a worn leather stool beside Bobbie at our favourite pub, the low hum of conversation and the rich scent of aged oak surrounding us. He’d gone to the bar for another round when two striking women in flowing summer dresses drifted up to our table. One—tall, with honey-blonde hair cascading over her shoulders—smiled and asked if she might join us. The chatter of nearby patrons stilled as they whispered our names: word had spread that Mikki and James had moved away, and that Bobbie and I were open to new adventures. The blonde introduced herself as Mandy, then nodded toward her friend. Vicky had dark curls and eyes that glinted with mischief. “Straight to the point,” Mandy said, leaning forward, her perfume sweet and intoxicating. “We’ve heard you two know how to have fun. My husband, Paul, and I would love to invite you over for a little evening of… swapping.”
Vicky added, with a playful tilt of her head, that she and her husband Allen were just as eager.
When Bobbie returned with our pints, I filled him in on the invitation. He raised an eyebrow but grinned—he was definitely up for a double adventure.
“What about their husbands?” he asked. “Where are they?” Mandy nodded toward the polished counter: “Mine’s the one in the navy sweater; Vicky’s in the cap next to him. They’re both sailors, just like you.” She winked, as if she’d known all our secrets.
Moments later, Vicky reappeared with Allen and Paul in tow. Warm handshakes and quick introductions flew around the table. I collected both couples’ phone numbers and turned to Mandy. “Saturday,” I said, “what time shall we arrive?” She traced an address into my notebook and smiled.
“Let’s meet at seven, dine at seven-thirty, then see where the night takes us.”
Vicky squeezed my hand and I promised to call soon. With polite goodbyes, they drifted away into the evening crowd, leaving Bobbie and me buzzing with excitement.
All Saturday I preened: a long soak in lavender-scented bath foam, careful styling of my curls, then lingerie—lace-trimmed bra, matching panties, sheer stockings—and a curve-hugging dress that unbuttoned teasingly down the front. When evening arrived, we pulled up to a cozy brick house bathed in warm light. Mandy greeted us at the door in a silky dress, ushering us in while Paul poured chilled wine. The dining table was set with flickering candles and a feast of roasted vegetables, tender chicken and buttery mashed potatoes, each bite bursting with flavour.
After dinner I suggested we move to the living room to get comfortable—maybe shed a few layers. Mandy paused for a moment, then said softly, “Actually, we prefer separate bedrooms tonight.” She hesitated, glanced at me, and admitted she wasn’t interested in women. With a polite smile she took Bobbie’s hand and led him down the hall. I followed Paul into a cozy spare room illuminated by a single bedside lamp.
Once the door clicked shut, I unbuttoned my dress inch by inch, letting the silky fabric pool at my feet to reveal the lace and mesh of my lingerie. Paul’s breath caught as he took in the sight of my stocking-clad legs. He stepped closer, his fingertips grazing my waist. I slipped off my bra and the final barrier—my lace panties—and whispered, “Do you like what you see?” He pressed me against him, lips finding mine in a slow, searing kiss. His hands roamed over my curves, and I began to tug at his shirt, revealing the hard lines of his chest. Soon he stood before me in white boxer briefs. I eased them down, unveiling his eager hard cock, and guided him onto the edge of the bed.
I closed my eyes as the cool air brushed my skin, then lowered my mouth to him. I tasted him—warm, salty—and took him deeper, sliding him past my lips until I felt him touch the back of my throat. Every pulse, every subtle tremor of his body, sent shivers of excitement through me. When he pulled back, breathless, I reached for my suspender clasp, but he shook his head with a grin. “Keep the stockings on,” he murmured. I smiled—there was nothing I loved more than their silky caress—and slipped back onto the mattress.
Paul knelt between my thighs, his tongue tracing wet paths across my sensitive flesh. I arched my hips, pressing closer, my stockinged legs gliding against the sheets. A soft moan rose in my throat as his skilled tongue found every tender spot. Suddenly, from the next room, I heard Mandy join Bobbie’s deeper voice in a breathy duet. The sound ignited something fiery inside me. Paul’s lips parted, and he whispered, “May I?” I nodded, heart pounding.
He hovered at my entrance, brushing me with the tip of his cock, teasing me inch by inch. Then, with deliberate slowness, he slid inside. The stretch, the warmth, the smooth give of his body—it was exquisite. We moved together in a steady rhythm, soft gasps and muffled moans mingling in the dimly lit room. I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him close as he thrust deeper, each movement building toward release.
When he asked if he could come inside me, I felt my own orgasm rising and urged him on. He found his peak with a guttural groan, and I felt the warm surge of his cum fill me. The waves of pleasure that crashed through my body sent me over the edge in an ecstatic climax. My vision blurred with satisfaction as he collapsed beside me, breathing heavily.
Later, as we dressed, Paul thanked me with a shy smile. “Most women don’t want the stockings left on,” he confessed. “But I loved it.” I slipped into my dress once more, smoothing out the fabric, while he retrieved the wine bottle from the nightstand.
Downstairs, Mandy and Bobbie waited with polite smiles. Mandy thanked us for a wonderful evening—and before long, they were ushering us to the door. In the car on the drive home, I admitted I’d enjoyed Paul’s company immensely, but I felt a pang of disappointment that I never saw Bobbie fucking Mandy—and that I hadn’t had a chance to explore a bit with her myself.
Bobbie nodded in understanding. “Next time,” he said gently, “let’s talk more about what we each want, so no one leaves the party wanting.” I leaned back against the seat, already anticipating our next adventure.
Sunday morning, I called Vicky before our usual club outing. “I’m curious what you and Allen are comfortable with,” I asked, twirling the phone cord around my finger. Her voice brightened immediately.
“We’re quite adventurous,” she said. “Same room, separate rooms—whatever feels right in the moment.” She paused, then added with a hint of shyness, “I experimented with a girlfriend before I met Allen. I’d love to explore that again…with you.”
My pulse quickened. “Perfect,” I replied, suggesting they pack an overnight bag. Just in case.
Later at the club, as the strippers writhed on stage, I leaned close to Bobbie’s ear and outlined our weekend plans. His eyes darkened with anticipation. We clinked glasses, Saturday suddenly feeling very far away.
In the heart of Saturday evening, the kitchen was a bustling tableau of Mexican delights. The air was thick with the scent of chilli-laden nachos, dolloped with cooling sour cream and guacamole, while chicken enchiladas bubbled in the oven and golden wedges crisped in the fryer. Bobbie, my partner in crime, stirred a ruby-red jug of sangria, the ice cubes clinking against the glass like tiny bells. The doorbell chimed, and Bobbie, wiping his hands on a tea towel, went to greet our guests. I, meantime, lounged in the living room, drinks at the ready.
Vicky swept in, a vision in a black dress that hugged her curves like a second skin, her long black curls cascading down her back, accentuating her striking features. She was a sight to behold, and Allen, in his neat top and jeans, was not far behind in his own brand of charm The room was filled with a palpable energy, a warmth that had nothing to do with the heating.
I ferried the food through the serving hatch, and Bobbie, ever the diligent host, replenished the sangria. Vicky complimented the meal, her eyes sparkling with genuine delight as she proclaimed it a first for her. Later, ensconced on the settee, I leaned in, my lips meeting her cheek. She turned, and I found her lips, soft and yielding, in a long, tender kiss. She whispered against my mouth, “I’ve missed that.” Then, standing, she presented me with her back, a silent request.
I drew down the zip, the metallic purr echoing in the quiet room. She was stunning, a vision in purple lace, her bra and panties set a feast for the eyes. “Purple is my favorite color,” I murmured, my voice thick. She grasped my top, and in one fluid motion, it was gone, tossed aside like a rag. My skirt followed suit, and we were a tangle of limbs, exploring each other’s bodies with a fervor that was almost desperate.
Her breasts were soft, her nipples swollen buds against my tongue. I trailed down, inhaling her scent, a heady mix of perfume and desire. I parted her legs, my mouth brushing against her thighs, inching closer to my prize. She was already wet, her folds slick and tasting of heaven.
After a while, she stood, guiding me to sit. She kissed me, her hands stroking my breasts before she buried her head between my thighs. Her tongue found my sensitive bud, a teaser of what was to come. Behind us, the guys were stripped, their hands working their cocks as they watched, enthralled.
I approached Allen, his hand falling away as I grasped him, my fingers wrapping around his length. I closed my mouth around the bulbous head, lowering my lips, taking more of him in. To my side, Vicky mirrored my actions, Bobbie’s cock disappearing into her mouth, a smile playing on his lips.
When the guys were ready, we pushed them onto the settee, Vicky and I straddling them, sliding down their poles. We kissed, our tongues dancing as we rode the guys, our bodies moving in sync. After a while, we switched, taking our own husbands’ cocks. As the guys neared their climax, Vicky and I positioned ourselves over each arm of the settee.
“Fuck me hard from behind,” I commanded Allen, his cock lining up against my folds. With one thrust, he was fully in, his hips slapping against my ass. I watched as Bobbie mirrored his actions with Vicky, the room filled with the sound of flesh meeting flesh. This was what I loved, the same place, watching each other’s husbands fuck another wife.
As Allen neared his climax, he began to pull out. “Don’t you dare,” I growled, “I want all your cum inside me.” With a few final thrusts, he tensed, his seed spilling deep inside me. I rubbed my clit, joining him in a climax that left me breathless. As I looked up, Vicky wore a smile of pure contentment, Bobbie’s cock withdrawing from her. The night was a symphony of desire, a feast for the senses, and we were the willing participants in this dance of decadence.
As the guys reclined with sangria, Vicky and I entwined into a sixty-nine on the plush carpet. I savored her glistening folds, still slick with Bobbie’s essence, my tongue tracing lazy figure-eights across her swollen pearl. Her mouth mirrored my movements perfectly, her silky hair cascading across my thighs. We devoured each other hungrily, the taste of salt and sweetness mingling as we cleaned away every trace of our earlier escapades.
I slid first one, then two fingers into her velvet heat, curling them to find that perfect spot. She trembled beneath me, her hips rising desperately against my mouth. When I captured her sensitive bud between my teeth, applying the gentlest pressure, she shattered—her release flooding my waiting lips with honeyed nectar.
As her breathing steadied, she returned to her delicious task, her talented fingers stretching me open while her tongue danced across my center. My climax built like a gathering storm, finally breaking in waves of pulsing pleasure that left me gasping her name.
While our men fetched fresh drinks, I whispered my invitation for them to spend the night, adding with a wink that she could have Bobbie all to herself until morning.
Her eyes sparkled mischievously as she replied, “Only because you’re dying for another fuck with Allen.” When our partners returned, Vicky declared between sips of sangria that this was, without question, the most exquisite swap they’d experienced.
Rising gracefully, I took Vicky’s hand and guided her to Bobbie, joining their fingers together like a silent ceremony. “She’s all yours tonight,” I murmured to him, my lips curving into a knowing smile. “Enjoy every moment.”
I led Allen to my candlelit bedroom, our clothes already scattered like breadcrumbs in the lounge. His impressive arousal stood proudly against his flat stomach, veins mapping its considerable length. We needed no preliminaries—just the slow, deliberate joining of bodies as he entered me in missionary, my legs hoisted high against his shoulders. We moved together unhurriedly his cock pulsing on my inner walls, savouring each languid thrust, his eyes never leaving mine until we crested together in a perfect, shuddering release his hot cum filling me again.
Dawn filtered through gauzy curtains when I woke, stretching luxuriously against Allen’s warm body. His morning erection pressed insistently against my back, thick and inviting. Thirsting for him, I slid down between his legs, taking him deep into my throat until he erupted with a hoarse cry, filling my mouth with his warm, salty cream.
Over steaming coffee and buttery croissants, we exchanged tales of our nocturnal adventures, laughing intimately. I proposed our usual Sunday ritual—the exclusive members’ club followed by spicy Chinese takeaway and perhaps more delicious diversions afterward.
Vicky’s crimson-painted lips curved into a smile as she explained they couldn’t stay another night but had the entire day to enjoy. Her fingers traced my wrist suggestively as she added, “And I’m certainly not leaving without tasting that delectable pussy of yours one more time.”
While the guys ventured out for a stroll, Vicky and I retreated to the bathroom for a shower—an intimate interlude just between us girls. Steam billowed around our glistening bodies as hot water cascaded over our curves. I worked lavender-scented body wash into a rich lather across her shoulders, watching suds slide down the elegant arch of her spine. She pressed her back against my breasts, her wet hair clinging to her neck like dark seaweed. My fingers traced the swell of her magnificent breasts, teasing her rosy nipples to stiff peaks while my other hand slipped between her thighs, finding her slick entrance. The rhythmic pulsing of the shower jets matched my movements as I ground myself against the firm roundness of her buttocks, my own need building with each thrust of my fingers inside her velvet heat. Her hand covered mine, pressing my fingers deeper as her body tensed, then shuddered violently, her climax washing over her like the water streaming down our intertwined bodies.
I steadied her trembling form until the aftershocks subsided. With renewed hunger in her eyes, she spun me around, pinning me against the cool tile wall. Droplets sparkled on her eyelashes as she knelt before me, her tongue finding my swollen center with unerring precision. I clutched the chrome safety rail, my knuckles white with tension as waves of pleasure radiated outward from her skilled ministrations. When my release finally came, it left me boneless and gasping, my legs quivering like jelly.
Later, wrapped in plush Egyptian cotton towels, we tumbled onto the bed, exchanging languid kisses until we heard our men return. We dressed quickly—I chose a clingy crimson dress that highlighted my cleavage, while Vicky slipped into a midnight-blue number that hugged her curves perfectly. The exclusive club awaited us with its renowned dancers, opulent velvet furnishings, and attentive staff who remembered our preferred drinks. Vicky’s eyes widened at the caliber of the performances, her lips parted in appreciation as she perched at the edge of her seat throughout each sensual routine. As twilight deepened, we ladies departed for home, leaving the men to collect our favourite spicy Chinese dishes. We uncorked a bottle of crisp Pinot Grigio, arranged plates on the dining table, and awaited our feast with anticipation. Once the last morsel had been savoured and the final drop of wine consumed, a meaningful glance between us signalled that playtime would commence anew.
We shed our clothes with practiced ease, formality having dissolved hours ago. Vicky and I locked eyes before our lips met in a passionate kiss, our tongues dancing as the men watched with undisguised hunger. We arranged ourselves in what had become my favorite configuration—our bodies forming a perfect oval as we settled into sixty-nine position on the plush carpet. From this vantage point, I had an unobstructed view of Bobbie’s thick shaft disappearing into Vicky’s glistening folds, her pink flesh stretching to accommodate him. Occasionally, I’d extend my tongue to caress his length or guide him back to her entrance, tasting the mingled essence of their arousal. Meanwhile, Vicky performed the same service below me, her hot breath sending shivers across my sensitive skin each time Allen withdrew.
When our men could hold back no longer, they tensed in unison, flooding our depths with warm pulses of release. Without shifting position, Vicky and I eagerly lapped at each other, cleaning away every trace of our lovers’ cum while building toward our own crescendo. My thighs trembled against her cheeks as waves of pleasure radiated outward from her skilled tongue, my own mouth never ceasing its delicious work between her legs. We shuddered together in perfect synchrony, our cries of ecstasy muffled against each other’s flesh.
“That was incredible,” Vicky panted, her face glistening with evidence of our shared pleasure. “First time in that position—definitely won’t be the last.” She stretched languidly before asking if they might use our shower before their journey home.
While they freshened up, Bobbie and I wrapped ourselves in silk robes, clearing away wine glasses washing up and rearranging cushions in comfortable silence. Vicky emerged looking radiant despite her apologetic smile, explaining that Monday morning commitments necessitated their departure. “We’ll absolutely connect again before your move,” she promised, squeezing my hand with meaningful intensity.
Later, nestled against Bobbie’s warm chest, we reflected on our recent adventures—the disappointing threesome, the stark contrast between our experiences with different couples. “Apart from Mikki and James,” I murmured, tracing patterns on his skin, “Vicky and Allen were by far our best connection.” We agreed that future encounters would require more thorough discussion beforehand rather than impulsive decisions. That our most fulfilling experiences involved being in the same room with equal participation, and female intimacy.
“Quality over quantity,” Bobbie whispered, kissing my forehead.
Sealing our pact, I slid beneath the covers, taking his velvety length between my lips. I savored the familiar taste, swirling my tongue around his swelling crown until he hardened completely. Looking up through my lashes, I whispered, “Make love to me, Bobbie.”
He entered me with exquisite slowness, our bodies remembering their perfect fit. Each gentle thrust reaffirmed our connection, transcending the weekend’s explorations. We moved together unhurriedly, savoring the intimacy that belonged to us alone, until we drifted into contented sleep, limbs entwined.
I thoroughly enjoyed these last four adventures. My cock count has gone from twenty-three to twenty-seven cocks and from seven women to eight pussies.
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The upcoming story sees Carol trying two new pussies, saying goodbye to a friend and his big cock. And a little foursome with lots of sexy fun.
