Looking at my reflection in the tall mirror, I can’t help but giggle at the absurdity. A sixty-nine‑year-old woman dressed as a mediaeval wench — or rather, the modern fantasy of one. My plain, dark blue bodice and skirt are paired with a ruffled cream blouse, far finer than anything a real wench could have afforded. Still, I rather like the way the neckline lifts my décolletage. The men will approve, I’m sure.
Michael’s voice breaks my reverie. “Dora, they’re here.” With a quick glance around, I snatch up my bag and hurry down the stairs. At the door, he greets me with a kiss on the cheek and a playful pat on my derriere.
“You look every inch the desirable wench, my dear.”
“And you, Michael, are the very picture of a toff.” He looks good enough to eat: immaculate in his dinner jacket, crisp white shirt with a wing collar, bow tie perfectly knotted, and black patent shoes gleaming like mirrors.
He doesn’t see the broad grin that spreads across my face as he closes the door behind us. To be desired at my age feels like a rare gift, but to be wanted by two men is almost beyond belief.
Beyond the gate, the taxi waits, its engine purring softly. The back door hangs open, and Nigel leans out, beckoning me inside. I squeeze in beside him and glance across to his wife, who greets me with a silent smile.
Her costume is striking: a maid’s outfit with a scandalously short black skirt attached to a bib front. Her legs are sheathed in black hose; whether they are tights or stockings, I cannot decide. A white blouse trimmed with lace and a tiny lace cap perched on her dark hair. The ensemble is bold and undeniably flattering. Compared to her, I feel dowdy, though she is around fifteen years younger than I.
Michael slips into the front seat, fastens his belt, and we are off. The driver needs no guidance; he lives just three houses down from the village hall, our destination.
A sudden touch on my thigh draws my gaze downward. Nigel’s hand is stroking me, sliding from my knee upward until his fingers press firmly at the very top. The sensation is intimate, undeniably pleasant. I glance left and see his other hand resting in the same place on Penny’s leg. He is incorrigible, but after our indulgences following dinner last week, it was hardly unexpected.
The memory of our lovemaking lingers: his body pressed to mine, waves of pleasure rising and breaking until the final crescendo, when I surrendered utterly, lost in a storm of ecstasy.
I lay with him through the night, and at dawn I slipped away, leaving him unaware of my rising. Crossing the landing, I entered our bedroom to find Michael and Penny entwined, deep in unbroken slumber.
What does it mean? Where are we drifting? Nigel’s fingers kneading my thigh in the taxi are not the end but the overture to our evening. The hop in the hall awaits; dancing with one, then the other, their bodies pressing against me during the slow numbers, their whispers brushing my ear. And Penny, how does she fit into this puzzle?
._.
The evening has been brilliant, but now I find myself on the garden path, arms wrapped around Penny, the two of us clinging for balance against the alcohol, giggling like teenagers. Michael, after several fumbling attempts, finally slides the key into the lock and opens the front door. The men step aside, letting Penny and me stumble in together to collapse onto the living room sofa.
Nigel drops into an armchair, while Michael heads straight to the drinks cabinet. Without a word, he pours two tumblers of single malt and two of port, handing the latter to us and one of the whiskies to Nigel.
I sip carefully, savouring the warmth of the ruby liquid as it slides down my throat. Then music fills the room; Michael has chosen his favourite album, the one I picked after dinner: The Carpenters.
Karen’s voice rises, gravelly yet tender, and Penny joins in harmony. Then she pulls me to my feet, and we move together in the centre of the room. Not quite a dance, more a slow rotation, her arms looped behind my head, my hands resting on her hips.
She presses gently, tilting my face toward hers, and I sense what is coming. Our lips meet, her tongue slipping into my mouth. It has been over a year since my Brighton adventures, and I feel I am ready to love Penny, just as I once loved Terri.
I let my hand drift slowly down her thigh, pausing at the hem of her skirt before tracing upward again, the fabric lifting with the motion. My fingers linger against the smooth line of her stockings, then slip past their edge to brush against bare skin. The question flickers in my mind, ‘Hold-ups?’ but it vanishes as her breath mingles with mine in a deepening kiss. Higher and higher, I edge, until the skirt’s waistband blocks my path.
I pull back, smiling against her lips. “Naughty girl,” I murmur, “stepping out knickerless.”
She leans closer until our lips touch, her words a whisper that sends a shiver through me, “For you, Dora. Just for you.”
I murmur against Penny’s lips, “Your husband’s right there.”
She bites my lower lip playfully, her breath warm with the port wine, before whispering, “And Michael.”
Karen Carpenter croons ‘Close to You’, her voice a backdrop to our play. Nigel, meanwhile, whisky glass in hand, tilts his head in the armchair, his expression unreadable. Michael, near the cabinet, adjusts his cufflinks, but his gaze on me never wavers.
Nigel chuckles. “I thought we’d have some fun tonight,” he says, “but I didn’t expect you two to begin without us.”
Penny giggles into my mouth, pressing closer, her eyes flicking toward her husband. Michael stands still, and tugs at his bow tie until its clip slides out.
“I think Michael’s jealous,” she teases. Her words are aimed at Nigel, but I can see Michael watching her closely.
Nigel stands, and his hand slides into Penny’s hair, tugging her head. “Look at you, wanton woman.”
Michael’s tie drops to the floor, his shirt half-undone. Muttering under his breath, he steps forward, seizes my waist and pulls me away from Penny. The movement confuses me, and we tumble onto the sofa. Somehow, I find myself draped over his knees, staring at the floor.
Penny’s laughter rings above me, and Nigel muses, “Well, it looks like Michael’s finally got her sorted.”
My wench dress rides up, exposing my thighs, and the bodice strains taut over my boobs. Penny steps closer, and her stocking-covered feet brush against my outstretched fingers.
Michael’s palm, flat on my back, anchors me firmly, while Penny kneels, her lips brushing my ear. “Lucky girl,” she murmurs, her tone half-mocking, half-sweet as her fingers toy with my bodice’s zipper. “Wanted by all of us.”
The first tug at the zipper makes me gasp as the bodice loosens. Michael’s knee shifts beneath my hips, tilting me further forward, and I stretch my arms out, touching the floor to support my weight.
I feel a soft touch on my leg and twist my head to see Penny’s hands at the exact moment she grasps my dress and pulls it towards my body. As the bunched fabric rises high against my back, she releases it, and I watch it drift down, settling into a soft heap that veils the sight of my bare legs.
Penny’s soft exhale is followed by Nigel’s trembling voice, “Oh, they are beautiful. I love white satin panties. Please, Michael, can I stroke her?”
“All yours.”
Then hands slide across my buttocks, kneading and stroking. They are not gentle; they are just hungry, playing with my flesh like dough. I find it strange being a possession — someone to be used, not worthy of being asked.
Penny crawls close to me, and I crane around, puckering my lips, waiting for her gentle touch, wanting her tongue to probe my waiting mouth. She leans in, her lips parted, and I feel the tip of her tongue touch mine. Our kiss deepens,
I lose myself in her; sensual feelings run through my pussy, pleasure mounts, until the sharp crack of palm against skin splits the air, pain hot across my left cheek. Then the same on the right, repeating, a half-minute drumming of my buttocks. Each strike jangles my nerve endings more; I feel the heat building in my flesh. The stinging, pleasurable at first, becomes almost unbearable, but between my thighs, intense sexual feelings pulse through my pussy.
Penny pulls away with a smirk and sits on her haunches, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as Nigel’s fingers dig into her shoulder. His belt buckle clicks. “You know the rules.”
Penny strokes his wrist reverently as the leather slides free and coils in his grip.
She replies to him quietly, “Nigel, I know the rules,” then crawls away and lies her upper body on the spare sofa cushion. Her arm stretches towards me, fingers in the air, seeking my grasp. I lift my arm from the floor, twining my fingers with hers, while Michael’s fingers trace paths beneath my panties across my reddened backside.
Nigel lifts the hem of Penny’s little skirt, exposing her pale, bare buttocks. He raises his arm, and the belt whistles through the air, the first strike landing with a wet thwack across Penny’s cheeks. She gasps, her fingers tightening around mine briefly, her breath controlled through clenched teeth. Nigel murmurs, “Count, darling,” and Penny whimpers, “One.”
“You’re next,” Michael murmurs. My stomach tightens with anticipation.
The belt cracks again — thwack — and Penny’s whole body jerks, her choked “Two!” muffled against the cushion. Nigel’s breathing grows ragged, his free hand fumbling at his fly. “Pen, you take it so sweetly,” he groans, punctuating the words with another swing.
Penny’s fingers spasm in mine; her knuckles whiten, and she sobs, “Three.”
“Are you wet?” Michael asks me, fingers slipping under satin to find proof. I shudder as he answers his own question, “Oh, yes.”
The sensation of his fingers slipping inside my lips sends shivers along my spine. I judder when he finds my engorged clit.
Another harsh thwack, and Penny’s gasp turns into a sobbed “Four!” Her legs kick involuntarily, but Nigel pins her down with his palm pressed between her shoulder blades.
The belt clatters to the floor as he releases his trousers with one hand. “I can’t wait anymore.”
Michael’s fingers curl inside me, crooked just enough to find my sensitive spot and make my thighs shake. “Watch them,” he orders, and I lift my head towards Penny as Nigel pushes into her.
Her long groan is muffled by the cushion, her fingers clawing at the fabric. Michael chuckles in my ear. “That’ll be you soon.”
The belt lies discarded on the rug. The noise of wet slaps of flesh is accompanied by Penny’s whimpers.
Michael withdraws his fingers, glossy with me, and smears them across my lips. “Taste,” he demands. I do, licking just as Nigel seizes Penny’s hair to pull her head back. Her fingers lose their grip on my hand, and I drop my arm to share support with my other, tiring limb.
Penny’s moan rises, then is cut off when Nigel’s hand clamps over her mouth. “Quiet, or I’ll really gag you,” he warns. She grunts frantically, her fingers flailing into nothing now that I’m too far away to hold.
Nigel’s pounding suddenly stops, and he stiffens and lets out a long groan as he shoots into her. He collapses atop Penny before rolling off, leaving her lying limp against the cushion. I can see her thighs trembling and the vivid welts across her pale skin. Nigel sits on the floor and props himself against the sofa’s arm. “You’re a marvel,” he sighs, patting her flank as if she were a prize animal.
Michael strokes my bottom, whispering, “It’s your turn now, sweet Dora.”
Nigel watches from his place on the floor, lazily fingering the belt looped beside him. “Shall we test her limits?” he asks Michael, who responds with a grin.
Penny whimpers softly into the cushion, her body still twitching from the aftershocks of Nigel’s rough handling. I swallow hard as Michael nudges my thighs apart with his knee, his fingers tracing the damp fabric clinging to me. “You’re ready,” he murmurs, slowly pulling my panties aside.
Nigel leans forward, belt dangling from his fingers. “Bend her over the armrest,” he suggests. Michael obliges, guiding me until my ribs press against the sofa. He stands beside me, his palm across my lower back, pinning me in place.
Penny shifts weakly, her breath still uneven. “You’ll like it,” she whispers, her fingers brushing my wrist before retreating. The reassurance feels hollow when I see her eyes switch to the belt in Nigel’s grip.
Michael’s hand leaves my back to unbutton his trousers with deliberate slowness. “Open wider,” he instructs, nudging my legs apart with a foot. His cock brushes against my inner thigh; already hard, already leaking.
Nigel swings the belt in slow arcs, the leather just close enough for me to feel the disturbance against my skin. “Count for us, Dora,” he says. “Unless you’d prefer Penny to do it for you?”
Penny whimpers a protest into the cushion, but it’s drowned out by the sharp crack as the belt lands diagonally across my backside. Fire blooms under my skin. “One,” I gasp.
Michael’s fingers dig into my hips as he thrusts into me without warning, groaning in lust, then withdraws as Nigel’s second swing lands with a loud thwack, “Two.”
My voice breaks as pain and pleasure twist together, my nails scrabbling against the sofa. Penny’s fingers reach toward mine but fall short, her cheek pressed to the cushion in exhausted surrender.
Nigel’s belt snaps again. “Three!”
My knees buckle, but Michael holds me upright, continuing his slow, relentless thrusting, alternating with the belt’s sting. “Look at her,” he grunts, forcing my head toward Penny.
Her eyes flutter open, glassy with tears, her lips mouthing “breathe” at me.
Michael thrusts, withdraws, and then, thwack, “F-four!”
The pain forces a long sob from my lungs, “Please, Nigel, no more.”
Nigel drops the belt with a clatter. “She’s yours; take her hard.”
Michael obliges with a brutal thrust of his hips. His grip digging into my hips is punishing, and each thrust jolts me against the sofa’s armrest. “Come for me,” he growls, pounding hard and fast.
The orgasm rips through me, and Michael fucks on, ignoring my trembling body, before he jerks and shoots inside me. The heat inside feels good, and when he withdraws, the cool sensation of him dribbling running down my thighs makes a distinct contrast with the stinging welts above.
Michael whispers in my ear. “You took that well,” he says, thumb brushing my lips. His voice drops lower. “Next time, we’ll see how many more you count before you break.”
Penny whines as Nigel pushes her onto the floor, “Crawl to him, Pen. It’s your turn to clean up,” he tells her, nudging her face toward Michael’s softening cock. Her tongue darts out obediently, licking away the mess as Michael groans softly.
Nigel chuckles. “We’ve all come, except poor Penny. So, it’s time for you two to finish what you started.”
Penny’s head jerks up from Michael’s lap, her lips glistening. “No, we’re exhausted,” she starts, but Nigel grabs a wrist, and pins it behind her back, forcing her to double over.
“Do it,” he orders, nudging her face toward my thighs.
I hesitate, my arm extended to her, fingers trembling on her cheek, as I part my thighs. Penny whimpers and leans in, her tongue tentative against my swollen flesh.
Nigel’s chuckle curls around us. “Taste him in her,” he murmurs, reaching beneath her body, twisting Penny’s nipples until she pushes against me. Her lips seal tight, sucking in earnest, her hands gripping my hips tightly. Each flick sends sparks up my spine.
Michael leans back, watching with satisfaction. “Easy,” he orders Penny, “make her wait.” She whines but obeys, dragging her tongue slowly from top to bottom until my thighs tremble.
Nigel grabs her hair, forcing her face deeper. “Swallow it all,” he growls. Penny’s breath wafts over my mound, her fingers digging into my hips as she works.
My voice sounds distant and unreal. “Come on, Pen, make me cum.”
I watch Penny’s eyelashes flutter, her mouth pressing deep inside my pussy. Her tongue circles faster, chasing my pleasure to earn her own.
Michael watches, lazily stroking himself back to hardness. “Tell her how close you are,” he murmurs.
I moan the words, “Almost, Pen, just like that.”
My orgasm comes suddenly, but she doesn’t pull away, still lapping at my clit while shudders of delight wrack my body. She only stops when Nigel drags her away. “You’re a filthy little maid.”
I watch as Nigel pulls Penny up onto the other end of the sofa, while Michael gently prods me onto the floor. Now it is my turn, and I crawl, looking deep into the cleft between her open legs.
Penny’s hands grasp the soft globes of her boobs as Nigel drags her hips to the edge of the cushion. “Go on,” he urges me, “she’s wet and waiting.”
I press my tongue inside her folds, tasting her and Nigel’s lingering fluids. Penny gasps and jerks, her thighs gripping my head. “Oh. Oh God,” she whimpers, her fingers in my hair, holding me close.
My tongue senses her hard clit, and I press in, flicking along her shaft. Penny cries out, her hips bucking against my mouth.
Michael kneels behind me, his hands sliding up my bare thighs. “Keep licking, Dora; make her come,” he murmurs.
My world is bound by her thighs shaking violently, pressing on my ears, and her pussy leaking her thick juice into my open mouth. My tongue aches with the effort of arousing her clit. Penny’s fingers twist in my hair. “Oh fuck, please, more just there.”
Nigel grins and leans down to whisper in Penny’s ear, “Take your reward, my love,” accompanying the words by pinching her nipple hard enough to make her shriek. Her body arches off the sofa as she orgasms, wetness smeared across my chin as she twists and rolls in ecstasy.
I peer up at her, eyes squeezed shut as tremors continue to wrack her whole body. With one hand on each of her knees, I wait patiently. There is silence, the CD finished, and stillness, though I sense Nigel beside me, enjoying watching his wife’s body in its long orgasm. Finally, she subsides and opens her eyes. I smile broadly, drop my face back between her sticky thighs and wiggle my tongue over her clit again.
Her hands press down on my head, forcing me deeper and deeper. I shake my head side-to-side, savouring the way her hips jerk when I hit that sweet spot — until suddenly her thighs clamp around my head as her moans break into a keening wail while warmth pulses against my chin. It is like drowning, my mouth and nose overflowing with wetness.
My juices are oozing from my pussy, trickling down my thigh. Meanwhile, I try desperately to hold my contact on Penny’s clit, but overcome with coughing and choking, I wrench myself away to sit up, watching a jet of amber liquid arcing from her body.
Slowly, I pull myself up onto the sofa, sitting beside her for a few seconds until I lean in and kiss her lips, forcing my tongue inside, giving Penny a taste of her own essence. Her arms lift to encircle me, and for a while, we become joined as one.
Our reverie is disturbed when Nigel’s whispers break the spell, “Oh, my God, Pen. You have never squirted like that, ever.”
I look at him, not understanding. “Squirt?”
“It is quite rare; she loses control over her bladder, and bingo.”
Clarity dawns. “You mean she pissed over me?”
Penny looks mortified and grasps my hands. “I’m so sorry, Dora; I can’t help it.”
I glance at Nigel, his expression that of a mischievous schoolboy caught in the act, then back to Penny’s anguished face. A giggle escapes me, and with a smirk, I say, “Oh, don’t worry; I enjoyed it. You can do it again, Penny. It’s the mark of a job well done.”
Still holding both her hands, I meet her eyes, knowing this couple will be woven into our lives. My voice softens: “Would you like to stay with us tonight? We could have a shower and a nightcap before bed.” I pause for a moment, pointing at our soiled costumes, before continuing, “and I can put these in the wash.”
Penny’s lips part to reply, but Nigel cuts in with a grin: “So, who’s sleeping with whom? Shall we draw lots?”
I tilt my head toward him. “Not tonight, Nigel. I want to be with Michael.”
From the side comes a quiet, steady answer: “I agree, love. I want to be with you.”
._.
Later, in our bedroom, I curl into Michael’s side, my head nestled in the crook of his shoulder, one arm draped across his chest, fingers idly twining through his soft curls of grey. To lie beside the man I love feels like the simplest, most profound joy. He shifts just enough to flick the bedside switch — an almost imperceptible click — and the room slips into darkness.
Sleep begins to take me, but the hush is broken by a steady thump-thump-thump of the spare room’s bedhead against our shared wall. The absurd rhythm shatters the calm, and we collapse into muffled laughter, clutching at each other as we try, and fail, to swallow the sounds of our mirth.
