A house indistinguishable from the others on the street – that was my first impression: ordinary brick, ordinary curtains, an ordinary front garden. Yet the man who opened the door was greeting anything but an ordinary visitor. I had come for his wife. Weeks of online conversations, shared fantasies, and confidences that had led to this moment.
Roy was my age, his wife Barbara three years younger, both of them well into their eighth decade. He carried his years plainly: a portly frame, a white beard, and the slightly stooped posture of a man who had long since stopped worrying about his years. He ushered me into the living room, where Barbara was standing at the centre.
“Hello, Stan,” she said softly, leaning in to kiss my cheek.
She looked younger than her photos had suggested. Short grey hair framed a face lined by time but brightened by a sweet, disarming smile. Her blue eyes had a mischievous glint, and her figure – full and rounded – struck me as very pleasant.
I was smitten at once. “Hello, Barbara. You’re a beauty.”
She giggled, a sound that belied her age. “Maybe fifty years ago, Stan. Not now.”
“Don’t sell yourself short,” I said, smiling. “I know what I’m looking at.”
I leaned in and brushed a gentle kiss against her lips. She lifted her hand to my cheek, her touch light as a feather, then turned to Roy.
“Let’s have some music. Something soft. And a drink for our guest.”
Roy moved quietly, dropping an LP onto an old record player. As the first notes drifted around the room, Barbara took my hands and placed them on her hips before looping her arms around my shoulders.
“Lights, Roy,” she murmured.
The ceiling lamp clicked off, leaving us in the soft glow of table lamps. Barbara began to sway her hips, her protruding belly rubbing against my tummy as she guided me into a slow dance. Her movements were unhurried and confident, as though she had rehearsed this moment in her mind long before I arrived.
Her head rested against my shoulder. I felt her breath, steady and calm.
“Red or white?” Roy called from the doorway.
“Red, you know what I like,” she answered, her voice barely above a sigh.
I stayed silent, letting him choose for me. Her fingers slipped between the buttons of my shirt, a small, deliberate gesture that carried more meaning than anything spoken aloud. Then she lifted her face, her eyes meeting mine, her lips open and her tongue sliding from side to side in a silent invitation, the quiet certainty of a woman who knew exactly what she wanted.
Our lips met, and her tongue pressed just a little way, and I sucked her whole length in, glueing our mouths together. When I released the vacuum, I felt her thumbs caress the back of my neck.
The clink of glass from the kitchen snapped me back to myself. For a moment, I felt suspended, unable to move forward while Roy was still out there.
Barbara sensed it instantly. She leaned in, her breath warm against my ear. “Take my top off,” she whispered.
My hands found the hem. I lifted slowly; her arms rose gracefully, helping the fabric slide free. When it cleared her shoulders, I let it fall. The cloth drifted down, settling at our feet. I pressed a soft kiss to the bare curve of her shoulder.
Her fingers moved to my shirt, searching for the first button. She fumbled, laughed quietly, then managed it. One by one, she worked her way down. When the last button gave way, she eased the fabric aside and rested her palms against my chest, her touch exploratory, squeezing and pinching my two little teats.
I shrugged out of the sleeves, letting the shirt slip to the floor. She drew closer, her head lowering as though guided by instinct rather than thought. I held her gently, my hands finding her bra’s clasp at her back. With a soft click, her breasts’ prison broke, and then the straps slipped quietly down her arms as I pulled the cups between us until they were free to fall away.
Footsteps approached along the hall. Roy appeared at the edge of my vision, placing two glasses of wine on the table beside a lamp. I shifted toward the wine, more out of reflex than need. Barbara touched my cheek, turning my face back to hers. Her voice was steady, certain. “Later.”
Our fingers intertwined as I drew her close, the warmth of her skin radiating against mine. I followed the delicate curve of her collarbone. Then I let my palms glide downward and savoured the way her breath hitched as I cupped the soft weight of her breasts. Her eyes never wavered from mine as her hands worked to free her skirt’s clasp until it floated to the floor.
A sigh escaped her lips as her fingers found my waistband, trembling slightly as she undid the fastenings one by one. Cool air brushed my skin as my trousers slid away, but her touch was warm and sensual.
Barbara’s palms skimmed my hips before gripping my underpants. I mirrored her, hooking my thumbs beneath the cotton of her knickers, peeling them down slowly, as if exposing something precious.
When we came together again, it was different, bare skin pressed from chest to thigh. Her hands roamed my back, while I traced her soft buttocks and grasped handfuls of flesh, pulling us even tighter in unhurried movements.
Then, swaying her hips, she rolled against me, her body moulded to mine. The sensation was intoxicating – her soft stomach cradling my shaft, each gentle grind sending waves of pleasure coursing through my veins.
Lost in our rhythm, I barely registered the quiet cough. When I turned my head, I saw Roy was in the armchair watching with hooded eyes, his hand moving in slow, absent strokes over his groin. But he couldn’t break the spell between us.
Our bodies swayed in perfect harmony, pulling us inexorably toward the sofa. When Barbara’s calf brushed against the edge, she let her arms slip from my shoulders, then she sank onto the cushions and lay back, seeming totally relaxed, closing her eyes as her head sank onto a loose cushion.
From the start, I had been watching for signs of coercion by Roy, but everything showed her to be a willing partner, and as she relaxed, a beatific smile spread across her face that said everything – she wanted me.
I knelt between her legs – one was draped along the cushions, the other on the carpet – then gently laid my hands on her knees and pulled them apart, opening the space between her thighs.
I knew she wanted to be taken by a stranger. The thought sent shivers running through my body. I wanted to treasure the moment, letting my gaze wander across this seventy-something woman’s features. Her wrinkled face, fleshy neck, and dark, prominent nipples that pointed down from her saggy boobs. Drawn further, I stroked the rolls of flesh below that protruded higher than her flattened breasts, then paused for a moment to savour her reddish pubes and the dark line within.
The source of my arousal was base and animalistic, unconnected with her body. I wanted to fuck her in front of her husband – the man who would watch his wife give herself to another and watch her writhe, screaming through multiple orgasms. I would dominate him by owning his most precious asset: his woman. The law of the jungle played out in a suburban living room.
My hand and fingers explored her, prising open the entrance to her sex. Within, she was wet, and I ran my fingers up, spreading the juice until I felt the hardness of her little bean and circled my finger around the spot. Barbara shuddered at my touch and sighed softly.
I asked her, “Is that nice?”
Her lips hardly moved, but her “Yes” carried weight.
Barbara’s breath hitched as my fingers worked, her hips lifting slightly off the sofa with each slow circle. Her eyelids fluttered open, our eyes connected, and I stared into the abyss of her mind. She bit her lower lip, a faint tremor running through her legs as my touch lingered, teasing.
She was wet – not just damp, but really slick, and when I dragged my fingers up through her folds, I could hear a soft, sticky sound. I couldn’t look away from Barbara’s face, her deep blue eyes, and the way her mouth went slack in one corner, and when I glanced aside, the way her fingers clutched at the sofa as if it were the only thing connecting her to reality.
“Stan…” Her breathy voice was barely more than a whisper. I thought my pressure on her clit was too much, so I loosened my finger, but she shook her head. “No, keep doing that.”
Her hips rolled up against my touch, chasing the pressure as I teased her, my finger tracing circles just where she wanted it. I could see a flush spreading down her chest, her nipples stiff and dark pressed against the mound of her belly. I reached up and rolled one gently between my thumb and forefinger, listening to her whimpers of pleasure.
“Barbara never makes noises like that with me,” Roy murmured. There was something sad about his words. I glanced at him – his breath was coming quicker, his knuckles white where he gripped the arms of his chair – then back at Barbara, slowing my fingers just enough to make her groan.
“Please,” she gasped, her hand fluttering down to cover mine, trying to guide me to where she needed it. “Don’t stop now, not when I’m so close.”
I pressed deeper then, two fingers sliding into her with ease, her body clenching around me instantly. Her kitty pulsed around my fingers, slickness covering my knuckles as I curled them, searching for that spot that would unravel her.
Roy made a strangled sound, his gaze darting between my hand on Barbara’s breast and my fingers working her open thighs as if he couldn’t decide which to watch more closely.
Barbara’s breath came in ragged gasps, her thighs quivering as I quickened my strokes. Her stiff bean under my thumb.
“God, yes, right there,” she sobbed. I leaned down, my mouth hovering near her ear.
“Come for me, Barb,” I whispered and urged her. “Let me make you scream while your husband watches.”
My words sent a fresh shudder through her, while her hips bucked erratically. Roy groaned, his face flushed dark with something between arousal and agony.
A high, keening noise rose from Barbara’s throat as her body tensed and then shattered. Her back arched violently as she came with a harsh cry, her legs clamped around my wrist like a vice.
I could hear Roy’s breathing, shallow and fast, his fingers buried between his thighs like he wanted to work himself but didn’t dare.
I crawled deeper between her thighs, lowered my face against her protruding lips, and pushed my tongue into her wet folds.
She trembled violently as my tongue breached her, and her hips jerked up off the sofa, lifting my head at the same time. The salty taste flooded my mouth as I lapped deeper; her swollen folds pressed against my lips.
Barbara’s moans were half-sobs, her body arched as my tongue found her bean, flicking rapidly. I heard Roy’s breath hitch, and when I glanced up, he was still gripping the chair arms, his gaze locked on the way Barbara’s juices glistened around my mouth and nose. Roy swallowed hard, but he didn’t look away; perhaps he couldn’t.
Barbara shuddered as I sucked her clit into my mouth. Her thighs clamped around my ears as she came again, her kitty pulsing against my tongue with a fresh gush of wetness.
“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” she gasped, her back bowed off the sofa, her toes curled into the carpet.
I lifted my head, looked into her unfocused eyes, decided the time was right, then lifted myself above her body and held her gaze, lowering until I felt my glans touch her entrance. She tensed instinctively, then relaxed as I pushed in. Her kitty was slick and yielding, swallowing me effortlessly as I pressed forward.
Her face creased as I sank deeper, and the stretch pulled a low moan from her throat. Her fingers grasped my arms as her hips lifted to meet me, her body arching off the sofa until I was fully inside her, her breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps against my neck.
Barbara exhaled sharply. “Don’t move yet,” she murmured.
Roy’s chair creaked as he adjusted his position, his hand frantically rubbing his hard through his trousers, the fabric straining visibly with each jerky motion. His breathing came in shallow, uneven gasps – mouth slightly open, eyes glassy as they darted between Barbara’s flushed face and where our bodies were joined. A wet spot darkened the front, the rhythmic squeak of the armchair matching the frantic movement of his hand.
Barbara whimpered beneath me, and her gaze flicked to her husband for a fleeting second before she shut her eyes tight, her fingers digging into my arms. “Roy…” she started, but her voice cracked.
Roy’s hand stilled momentarily, his chest heaving. “I-I want…” he stammered.
‘Want what?’ I wondered. ‘Permission to jerk off while my wife gets properly fucked?’
Roy’s face twisted, embarrassment and arousal at war, but his hand resumed its frantic pace.
Barbara’s eyes flew open as I drove into her – a deep, purposeful stroke that pushed the air from her lungs in a soft ‘oof’.
Roy rocked forward, his hand working furiously at his crotch, his breath coming in short, wet gasps. Barbara’s head thrashed against the sofa cushion, her thighs trembling against my hips, and her heels dug into the small of my back to pull me deeper still.
Barbara’s breathing paused as I angled my hips to hit that sweet spot deep inside her, her mouth falling open in a silent scream before she found her voice, babbling and moaning constantly as her hips jerked erratically to meet my thrusts.
Roy’s breath was coming in ragged pants now, and his hand was working frantically at his straining zipper. The wet spot on his trousers darkened further, his thighs trembling as he finally freed himself, his cock flushed and leaking in his fist. Barbara’s eyes opened at the sound of his ragged moan, her gaze locked onto her husband’s shaking hand as it pumped his length.
I felt my completion start, then Barbara’s body locked around me as my climax surged – her thighs clamping tight and her kitty pulsing in uneven spasms as my release flooded into her with each ragged gasp.
She arched violently off the sofa with a strangled cry, her fingers locked on my arms, her entire body shuddering through her third orgasm triggered by the heat of my sperm inside her.
Across the room, Roy’s hand stuttered on his cock, his hips jerking erratically as he watched my hips grind into his wife’s quivering body. Inwardly, I smiled, thinking, ‘He looks like a man who’s never seen his wife properly fucked before.’
Barbara was struggling to breathe beneath me, so I lifted my trunk on extended arms, still joined at the hips. I smiled a soft “Thank you”, pursing my lips to blow her a kiss, and then enjoyed watching her lips pucker in response.
Roy stumbled forward, his knees buckling slightly as he tore at his trousers until they fell down his legs. Barbara’s eyes widened as he lurched over her, his erection bobbing near her lips. She turned her head slightly, and Roy pressed forward, his thumb smearing his juices across her chin as he guided himself toward her mouth.
“Taste me,” he panted. Barbara hesitated a second, her tongue darting out tentatively to lick the tip of his helmet. Roy shuddered violently, his hips jerking forward involuntarily as her breath wafted over his shaft.
Barbara’s fingers’ grip on my arms tightened – a sign of her nervousness, or perhaps anticipating his next move – but Roy couldn’t wait. He pushed the head of his cock past her lips with a choked groan, ignoring her brief gagging.
Her mouth worked around Roy’s length as he thrust shallowly, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His entire body was trembling, his thighs quaking in front of my face. I felt Barbara’s kitty flutter around my softening cock as Roy’s moans pitched higher.
Barbara’s nose pressed into Roy’s thatch as he bottomed out in her throat. She made a wet, guttural noise around him, her fingers clawing at my arms as Roy came with a strangled cry – his cock pulsing violently down her throat.
She worked around each spurt until Roy pulled back, strings of saliva and cum stretching between his softening cock and her swollen lips.
Something snapped inside me, and I dropped my head, landing my lips over the glistening head of his cock, flicking my tongue around before driving down into Barbara’s mouth, sensing the taste and aroma of three people. Roy groaned, and his shudder went all the way to the tip of his shaft, vibrating between our mouths and tongues.
Barbara coughed weakly, and I lifted off; then she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand before turning her face into the sofa cushion. I pulled out slowly, listening to her snoring and watching my cum leak onto the upholstery in glistening streaks.
Roy’s whisper was intimate and affectionate. “Poor thing, she loves her sex but tires so easily now,” he smiled softly. “You’re welcome to wear my Babs out anytime.”
