I couldn’t wait for Friday to arrive, finally. Those pairs of treacle tarts would both be getting a proper seeing to at the weekend. My wife had the painters in, so by Saturday morning, my bollocks were like a couple of bowls of dirty dishwater.
I was up bright and early, tackle washed and a splash of Brut 45 behind each ear.
“See you later, duchess,” I said to my wife before checking myself out one last time in the mirror.
My missus replied, “Have a nice morning and don’t bust your trousers again, you melt.”
I arrived at Blondie’s gaff double-quick with a lazy lob, already straining my trousers.
Blondie and Betty were waiting and no doubt both gagging to ride the big fella first.
“Wotcha, they cried in unison, we’ve invited our mate Sticky Vicky along as she needs a portion badly.”
I must admit, Vicky had a face like a chewed-up toffee. What she lacked in looks, she made up for in the tit department. Lovely jubbly, I thought.
“Come on, girls, look lively, who’s first?” I said.
“Me, Me, Me,” 3 voices cried almost pleadingly.
It was time for my superior male brain to get these ladies organised.
“Betty, you get noshing, Vicky, Blondie, get your gums round my plums pronto. Vicky, tits out, and then get some nosh practice in on Blondie.”
Rotation was the key; nobody missed out.
Vicky took a jallop of dirty dish water from my bollocks right in her boat race. I knew the other pair were jealous, but what could I do? Some bird had to be first to cop one.
The orgasm count went up like a cricket scoreboard at Lord’s with England batting. I kept pumping away like a good un as my ladies had the time of their lives. A few occasional hard slaps on the arse made sure none of the ladies got out of hand. Everyone had to wait their turn to ride the Big Dipper.
By 11:00, Blondie’s pubes looked like a drowned ferret, and I’d barely even got warmed up yet.
Sadly, as my beloved West Ham United were playing at home, I wasn’t missing that just for these 3 treacle tarts.
When it was time to bring matters to a conclusion, I lined the ladies up and bent them over Blondie’s sofa for a final potting snooker loopy style.
With six openings to choose from, it was a case of going up and down the line. Bish Bosh, I gave them 20 strokes each before moving to the next lucky lady. Bish Bosh, Betty took a hard brown, then the big fella screwed back right into Blondie’s pink pocket.
The ladies were all over the place, wet as an Easter weekend in Southend and totally gagging for an extra few strokes.
Betty was the first to come from this rear-end onslaught.
“OMG Dickie, you’re fucking incredible. I’m coming again, ohhhhh, grunt, pftttttt. She moaned before wilting into the carpet, totally spent. Sorted!
Next, it was Blondie to buckle under the onslaught of meat and man fat.
“Oh, please let me come, please release me, let me go, for I can’t take it anymore she pleaded, as my mighty balls slapped hard against her salon-tanned arse cheeks. Two down, one to go. Nice!
Vicky was now the last woman standing.
“Keep doing me, my stallion, I can take this all day and maybe even longer.” She grunted and snorted as she bit hard on a cushion.
“Sorry, love, time for me, grub and football,” I said, before giving her one last massive orgasm care of a wash and tickle from my now almost empty ball bags.
And with that, I packed my tackle away. Gave each lady a goodbye kiss before heading home to the luckiest woman on earth, my very own cheese and kisses (Mrs).
As I left, the ladies all said,
“We love you Dicky.”
“Don’t be soppy, mares, and go all mushy on me,” I replied.
“Same time next week, ladies?” I said.
“Oh, yes, please. You can do anything you want to us. You’re the ultimate male, and we all love you.” The trio said with real pleading in their mince pies (eyes).
As I walked home, I felt like the king of Romford. I’d taken on and handled a 3 Jack & Danny (Fanny) job without even breaking a sweat.
Up the Hammers!
