The Presence Of The Past. (LFS) free porn video

She was the last person I expected to see at a swingers' party.

Kerry and I had been anticipating this event for months. Held annually, we regarded it as the highlight of our swinging year. There must have been at least four hundred people present. Our old friends, Pippa and Pearce, both perfectionists to the borders of OCD, had secured the exclusive use of Masterville Hall, a once elegant mansion house recently renovated and converted into the exclusive county hotel you see today.

Drinks in hand, we wandered from room to room eyeing the other guests. No pre-empting the occasion with long schemed plans, tonight we were both going with the flow, waiting to see what the night presented us with. And I must say, we were stuck for choice, there not being a person present who you would refuse. Pippa and Pearce chose carefully, knew who to invite and who not to invite. Both had impeccable taste.

We were considering our options, taking in the atmosphere and measuring people up, when I spotted her at the centre of a small clique that had gathered over by the big leaded window of the main hall, my eyes drawn in her direction by an outbreak of raucous laughter. She was holding a glass of champagne, laughing along with the others.

That first thought: Oh god, Meg!

Megan, that is, my first wife — dead these ten years now.

My blood slipped like ice through my veins as I struggled to comprehend, just stared and stared. How could there be another like her — or at least the person she might have become had she lived.

 Jeez! To see the dead risen was such a brutal blow, the reopening of a near-healed wound. How can I explain it to you? Can a person be nostalgic for a time in their lives that never came to be?  Was it even nostalgia? For a moment time had no meaning and I teetered on the edge of a chasm of pain. And then I was gone, plummeting into an abyss of what-ifs?

But of course, in mere seconds I understood who she was. It was Alice, Meg's then kid sister. And so I stood and watched her from across the room, saw her delight at being the centre of the group's attention, evident in the way her eyes darted from one person to another, a smile of genuine pleasure brightening her face as people flirted with her. It was as if she were holding court, dispensing her favour to those who had gathered about her.

We had been married for only a year when Meg was killed in a road traffic accident, ten years last May. Such a senseless end to an extraordinarily beautiful person. A texting lorry driver on the M6. Her cherished Fiat 500 with no protection had become her shroud. They say it took four hours to cut her mangled corpse free.

Waiting to identify the body, I held to the slim chance of a horrid mistake. And then being led to her, seeing the mortuary slab, her body hidden beneath a white sheet, only her still perfect face left visible, her coup de gras coming from behind

When I first saw her lying there, I could not believe she was dead. It was as if she were sleeping, her stillness nothing extraordinary. I had to stare and stare before I understood there was no rise and fall, no heave and exhale beneath the sheet. My hand went reaching out to feel for her breath, hoping for its cooling chill against my fingertips, that reassurance of life.

But there all I found was stillness, an absence telling of her absence. They had left one hand out for me to hold, her ringed fingers a reminder of our love. When I took it in mine, its mortuary chill left me no doubt.  

She had turned twenty-one only the week before.

By the evening of the party, time had almost healed me.

It's not that I had lost touch with the family. I still met up with her brothers, Karl and Phil a couple of times a year, but it had been ten years since I last saw Alice; that awful day, the day of Meg's funeral.

I'd first met her two years earlier when she was just sixteen. I had immediately thought her the sweetest girl imaginable — not in a sexual way, you must realise, though she was of age. It was her wholesomeness, her girl-next-door simplicity that appealed to me. She had a not quite finished air, a vulnerability that made you want to look out for her, take her under your wing. She was the perfect kid sister anyone would be proud to have.

Even back then, with an age difference of three years between them, just a glance and you would know they were sisters. They had the same long flaxen hair, the same easily sunburned fairness, the same cute, freckle-dashed noses. But a year after I first met her, at seventeen, Alice went all goth. I called it The Day of the Body Snatchers. Overnight, she had become morose and petulant, had grown an attitude, all thanks to her new boyfriend, Callam. She worshipped the creep. She began to hide her beauty under a brutal regime of ridiculous makeup, jet hair dye and mascara.

A month before Meg died we'd helped cart Alice's things over to her student digs in Nottingham, carrying boxes up stairwells deep in fresher's halls. She’d been upset at being parted from Callam who was off to Durham at the other end of the country. Before we abandoned her to her future, she had cried pitiful tears that ran mascara to stain the shoulder of Meg's white blouse.

You might now understand how seeing Alice at the party affected me. It took me at least ten minutes to convince myself that the girl looking so happy and chatting and laughing without care was Alice. I did not want to believe it was really her, but I could not dismiss what my eyes presented me with. A cloned Meg, a living, breathing, three-dimensional fact I could not deny. And then the hardest part of all, the struggling to shake off the head-fuck the reality of that knowledge became.

She was no longer the sulky eighteen-year-old I had waved goodbye to in Nottingham all those years ago. At that time she had been a sarcastic, self-absorbed, pain in the arse. Now I studied her and saw her elegance. All the adolescent props had gone: the feathered mop of dyed black hair was no more; gone too was the thick, soot-black eye-liner, the blood red lips, along with the black lace stockinged arms, those finger bunched outlandish rings.

Her hair was now a salon-crafted sensation, pinned high with ringlets falling all about. A sword and sandals take on Helen of Troy. Her complexion baby-clean, soft and fresh beneath that splash of freckles across her nose I remember so well from her pre-goth days, the ones she shared with Meg. Her bright grey eyes, no longer those of the living dead, brimmed with salacious expectation.

I didn't have to imagine what Alice's reaction would have been all those years ago if I'd told her that in ten years she would be at a swinger’s party. I know for a fact what she would have said: “In your dreams, you sad old perv.” And even though I'm only eight years older than her, back when she thought me ancient, an old fart way past my prime.

Kerry saw me looking over at Alice. “I don’t blame you for staring,” she said, “That girl is gorgeous. Doesn't she remind you of some... Oh, Martin. Oh-fuck!”   

"Do you remember Alice?."

"Oh, sweetheart, we should leave."

"Let me think."

She stared at Alice, speaking as if trying to convince herself of what she saw, "I can't believe how much she looks like Meg — not just a little, she could be her twin sister." And then turning to me, more assuredly, "This must be so awful for you."

Although not a close friend of Meg's, Kerry had gone to the same sixth form college, the same art tutorial, I think it was.

Kerry turned to me, was now watching me, and then on seeing my need, her concern morphing to disbelief: "Martin! I hope you're not thinking what I think you're thinking?"

"It would be a kind of closure."

"The-fuck-it-would! I'll tell you what it would be, shall I? It would be an act of fucking insanity, that's what it would be. I'll phone us a cab."

"No. We've paid too much to be here to just up and leave. I'm going over to say hello."

"Oh no, you're not, mister. And apart from performing harakiri on your sanity, you'll only embarrass the poor girl. There are lots of other lovely people for us to play with."

As we stood undecided, Alice turned and did a quick scan of the room. She saw me staring, and for just a moment our eyes met, became tangled. It was an instance of mutual awareness and saw it in her eyes: that I was a stranger to her.

It was a shock to realise she no longer recognised me. Had I changed that much? I suppose I had. After Meg's death, I'd gone to ruin. The nightly drinking, the takeaways and ready meals. My wakeup call, that final warning at work; the mounting catalogue of silly errors, the serial absenteeism.

I knew I had to get a grip on myself, and so I had joined a gym and worked out every evening. Very soon, beer could not compete with the buzz of lifting weights. After two years of manic training, my twelve stone of flab and bone had become fifteen of muscle-bound testosterone. Weight training gave me purpose, had become an addiction far more potent than alcohol.

Three stone heavier, hair shorn and my facial features now hidden beneath a hipster beard, I could understand why Alice did not recognise me. And besides, ten years is a long, long time at that age. Being eighteen was probably a bad dream she did not want to return to.

A while later I stole another look. Again, she saw me and held my gaze. Longer this time, her eyes narrowing as if trying to place me, perplexity creasing her brow. It was a look that said, who the fuck is that guy who keeps staring? She offered me a weak smile while her eyes suddenly flared with meaning, telling me something I hardly dared believe. Was she coming on to me? And in spite of myself, I grinned back at her like the idiot I knew I might very soon make of myself.

I had passed the test.

I wanted to go over and see how far I could take my anonymity. She would know my voice, surely. I told Kerry: "I'm going over." I took one step... I felt Kerry's hand firmly take my elbow. Fuck, I thought, she is restraining me. Am I a child? And then she took me by hand and led me away. We went to find Pippa and Pearce to ascertain what Alice and her partner were doing at the party.

We found Pippa talking to a young couple, Zach and Trixie. We apologised for interrupting and took her to one side.

"You mean Alice and Mark?" Pippa said without the least hint of curiosity as to why I was asking.

"Yes,  Alice and... Mark, did you say?"

"Do you know Alice?  Lovely girl. Mark wants to watch her being fucked by a hunky guy. He wants to explore that cuckold thing." She  was looking me over as she spoke, concluding with, "Thinking about it now, Martin, you might be exactly what they are looking for."

I thought Kerry's elbow in my ribs was uncalled for. "Don't even think of going there," I heard her hiss through a tight smile.

And that was head-fuck number two, the one that hurt the most: knowing that the Alice was married to some sicko who got his kicks from watching her being fucked by random blokes. Something wasn't right. Call it a bad feeling, a premonition, but it began to feel as if it was not Alice being discussed but my long dead darling wife, that somehow Meg's essence had returned to find me and was now housed in the flesh of her sister.

Double exposure. And so incongruous! Meg would never have gone in for the whole swinging thing. Yeah! Pull the other one I hear you say. But she wouldn't have — I know she wouldn't have. No-way. I promise you.

Pippa returned to her new friends. Kerry turned to me and said, "That's something I'd pay to watch,"

I was distracted, had to ask, "Pay to watch... pay to watch what?"

There was a cruel delight in her eyes as she spoke. "... Saint Meg being fucked by some random guy."

"Someone's taking the piss," I said. "Alice was always such a sweet girl. She is so not like that . . ."

"Have you forgotten how you used to call her 'The Brat'?"

"But the goth thing was just a phase she was going through, all a big act. She was sweet underneath. You should have seen her when she was sixteen."

"For-fuck's-sake, Martin. Get it out of your head. She's not Meg. That woman over there could be the biggest whore this side of Yorkshire for all you know. How long is it since you last saw her?"

"Ten years," I offered weakly.

"People can change a lot in ten years. You've transformed into an idiot in just two hours. God, Martin, what on earth is going on inside that excuse for a brain of yours!"

I ignored that one and continued to articulate my train of thoughts: "It'll be that twat of a partner of hers. Mark... Yes, I remember his name now. Her brother Rob said the family had never taken to him, said he had turned Alice into a proper little Stepford Wife.

I needed a drink. Only scotch would calm my nerves. Single malt, fifteen years. We went through to the bar where I ordered for us both. I swallowed mine in one go. It made me gasp. I ordered another.

We took our drinks back into the main hall, Kerry now watching me as if I were on day-release. She had a questioning pointedness in her eyes when she said, "I know this hard for you because of how much she looks just like Meg, but can't you get it onto your thick skull that that girl is not your darling dead wife!"

I was hardly listening, was again watching Alice, who had once again clocked me staring at her. She leaned into her fella and whispered something while pointing me out, causing him to eye me intently. It was not a warning, more of a trying to make sense of something, an appraising, a considering.

"You're losing it, Martin. For God's sake, get a grip," Kerry said.

I turned to face her. "Of course you're right. I'm ridiculous. It was a moment of madness that has passed." I assumed my best sincerity face, and then I kissed her sweetly.

But the madness had not passed. Memories and longing for Meg were fueling a fire that was fast turning into lust. Meg had been the sweetest girl to make love to. Her cunt was as tight as Kerry's arse after I've fucked her in it. Everything came flooding back: how her body would respond to my touch so exquisitely, our lovemaking like dressage. The memory of it was now beyond piquancy, had become bittersweet, harrowing. I mustered my resolve and turned my back on where Alice stood, feigning a self-composure I no longer possessed.

But when Alice’s partner passed by where we stood, two empty glasses in hand and on his way for a refill, I quickly downed my second whiskey and followed him through to the bar, telling Kerry, "I need another — you okay or do you want a top up?" She drained her drink, and I took her glass. "You keep an eye on Alice for me."

Standing next to Mark while waiting to be served, I turned to him and mentioned that I had heard of his needs and that I was interested in helping out.

There was no look of surprise on his face when he turned to me and said, "Alice might like that," he said while giving me a thorough looking over. "She noticed you staring earlier and pointed you out, so I would definitely say you're in with a chance. I'll put you down as a yes-maybe."

"Why don't I come over and have a word with her."

"You can't do that, mate."

"Why not?"

"She wants tonight's man to have an air of mystery, to be strong and silent, a complete stranger. Whoever gets to have her must take her in hand and ravish her. It's a fantasy of hers — of us both. It's one she's had since she was a teen."

Oh, God!

I did not tell Kerry what Mark had said. I was going to have to make an opportunity to have some time-out from her. Perhaps I could arrange a little something to keep her distracted for an hour or so.

I had a word with Pearce and Pippa.

An hour later, Kerry and I entered the stately bedroom where Pippa and Pearce had, at my prompting, arranged for an intimate soiree to take place. Another young couple I had seen earlier were already present, now standing with Pippa and Pearce looking out of a westerly facing window witnessing the sunset fall over the extensive formal gardens. Their names were Bianca and Toby, a young married couple in their late twenties, he an independent filmmaker, she a fashion photographer. The four were chatting away like old friends.

Pearce was the first to notice us enter the room. He apologised to his guest for breaking off before coming over to greet us. Taking Kerry by the hand, almost whispering, "And now we have a set: the three most beautiful women in the house gathered together in one room," he said, a cheesy grin stretching his mouth. He kissed Kerry on each cheek and then took her hand and led her over to the others for introductions. I stood and watched while in another compartment of my mind I plotted my escape.

"Bianca! Toby! There is someone I would like you both to meet: the sensational Kerry. I've asked her and her husband, Martin," he said, point me out, "to join us."

Kerry and Bianca exchanged greetings, lips against cheeks, and then stepping back to scan and appraise each other, their eyes lingering, expectant. I saw chemistry brewing in long considered glances.  

Another knock on the door and Pearce theatrically calling out, "Enter!"  Three people filed into the room: a small blonde girl who looked hardly out of their teens, a slightly older male, and an exotic looking older girl.

"Ah! And here are Trixie and Zach, and their dear friend Beth," Pearce said as he moved away from the window again to greet the new arrivals. I remembered Trixie and Zach from earlier.

As Mark introduced me, I nodded to each in turn. They smiled almost sheepishly as they returned my greeting, each saying, “hi.”  

Matt went on: “Trixie and Zach, are musicians. You might know their band, Sad Inuendo? Even though they have toured the world, are a sensation on five continents, they are new to all this. Beth is a dear friend and knows the ropes. She is open to anything — aren't you, darling?"

Beth ignored Pearce, her sole interest was the waif-like Trixie. She whispered in the girl's ear, causing her to giggle

Zach looked to be about twenty-four, five-eleven and muscular, with skin smooth and fresh. He glowed with tanned health. His eyes attracted me as a beautiful girl’s eyes might. They were significant, brown and suggestive. The incongruence of his muscularity and his nearly pretty face appealed to me. I found myself excited at the prospect of he and I perhaps sharing the girls.

Ah, the girls!  Trixie was a slip of a thing, her flesh as pale as frosty mornings, hair soft as dandelion fluff. She looked apprehensive, her nervous excitement about to leap a species, become pandemic. She held fast to Beth's arm as if afraid she might be left behind in the wrong part of town. As we all chatted, her eyes continually darted from me to the others, the questioning apprehension of a virgin concubine awaiting the sultan. Her excited timidity touched a masochistic streak that I thought the girl should bloody-well get acquainted with.

Her companion, Beth, a tall and sturdy girl, feisty, dark as an Egyptian queen. She looked an exceptional woman in her exquisitely dark flesh. There was hunger in her eyes, a look that suggested she would be capable of things I could never even begin to imagine. In an instant, I knew that this girl would take no prisoners.

I'd never been to an orgy, and certainly never had to write one up. Where to start. Method, result and conclusion?

The basics I think.

The bed was massive. A four-poster. Kerry and the others had moved away from the window and come over to the where I was now chatting with the three newcomers. We stood in a group as if hoping for admittance to somewhere not yet open, a film premiere or first night. A silence settled among us that seemed like eternity. Everything was way up in the air and we were all waiting to see where the pieces fell. The room became electric with our expectant eyes, everyone looking for clues in the faces of others. Heads turned this way and that, nothing yet decided. The permutations were infinite.

And then Pippa, the beautifully buxom Pippa, took the hand of the diminutive Trixie. It was an abduction, a snatching from Beth. She led her away, manoeuvred her to stand between Kerry and Bianca, saying to the poor girl, "Zach tells me this will be your first time with a woman, is that right, sweetheart?" And then not waiting for the girl's response, she continued, "Well, I think we can do better than just one woman, can't we girls?"

Kerry turned her full attention to Trixie. "Don't worry, babe," she said, reaching out to run her fingers down from the girl's thrice-pierced ear to her dimpled chin, "Us girls will take care of you."

Pippa was behind Trixie and lifting the hem of her dress, bringing the gathered material up while saying, "Arms please, sweetheart."

Trixie did as she was told, lifted her arms to give the dress free passage. When she was free of it, she shook her head, her hair falling back into place while Pippa began to unhook her bras.

The girl stood motionless, had become a mouse discovered by three prowling kitties. To see those lovely mature women reach out and paw the girl was an exquisite sight. I half expected them to knock her onto her back, to pounce on her, worry her with their unsheathed claws.

For a moment I forgot all about my rendezvous with Alice.

Kerry was so close to Trixie that the girl had to crane her neck back to meet her gaze. She had this 'let's get this over quickly' pleading in her eyes. It was a look she might give the organiser of a charity bungee jump before her very first plunge, a questioning, 'why have I agreed to this?' kind of look. A look as if realising that something decided to in a drunken moment of madness had become an inescapable reality.

It was at the pitch of the girl's apprehension that Kerry slowly leaned forward and kissed her softly on the lips. In an instant, I saw all the girl's nervous tension drain from her, just as if a blockage had been removed, made insolvent by the sensation of Kerry's tongue pushing beyond the threshold of her lips.

I turned to my side and saw Beth and Zach watching, open-mouthed, as the three older women eased Trixie down on to the bed. I thought it best to make a start, play my part. And so I went to Beth and took her hands in mine to stand and face each other for a moment. I do so love those first seconds with a new sexual partner, anticipating what their sexual flavour might be, wondering how I might play them. Even though we both knew why we were present, that by just being in the room together we had given ourselves over to whoever else was present, there was still a feeling of trepidation, a nagging uncertainty that this person might still refuse, say, "In your dreams."

And then she was in my arms and we were kissing. Her breasts were firm and unhoused, and she pressed them against me. As our kiss deepened, I lost track of the others, felt myself sinking, losing myself in the most sensuous of moments imaginable.

And as our lovemaking unfolded, all that I knew was that other naked bodies entwined and slid against each other on every side. I have no idea what part Zach and Pearce now played, whether initially they remained on the sidelines and watched the girls with Trixie, or whether joining them, busting apart their lesbian orgy.

I was with Beth for thirty minutes, fucked her good-and-proper. By the time I had done with her the others had melded into a mass of matted hair and sweaty flesh, their limbs snarled and jumbled. I relinquished Beth, saw her taken and absorbed into the tangle of naked bodies, subsumed in an ever-shifting morass of unfettered passion.

Before I dressed and left the room, I stood looking down at Kerry to make sure she did not notice my escape. It took me a moment to single her out among the others. She was beneath Zach, her calves crossed and resting in the small of his back as his hips powered his cock with monotonous, almost clockwork, steadiness. While Zach fucked her, Toby kissed her lips, and from time to time he would move aside for a moment to let Trixie take her turn. I was reassured. I was the last person in Kerry's thoughts. As I slinked out of the room, I thought of Alice, her imminence causing a spring tide of apprehension to surge across the estuary of my mind.

A five-minute dash along twisting passages, up and down flights of stairs, and then more passageways, until I found the room that Mark had eventually sent me word of that I was to meet him at. He was standing outside the door waiting, ready to intercept me. A guy of similar stature to myself stood by his side.

"Where the fuck have you been?" he said as I arrived by the door.

"Never mind that. Who the fuck's this?"

"This is Jason. Alice couldn't choose which of you she preferred, so I said she could have you both."

He was about my age, six-foot and powerfully built, wearing a short-sleeved shirt showing biceps I would kill for. Mark said Jason worked a stunt guy at Elstree, or so Jason claimed. I could well imagine it being the truth. He had this air of invulnerability, a look of no matter what the world might throw at him, it would rebound, fall to the floor and wither.

Mark began prepping us: "Now remember, no talking. Alice wants to be ravished. You will be her demon lovers..." He saw my raised eyebrows, "Sorry, mate, her words, not mine. You both get the idea though, right?"

Oh, I got the idea!

He led us into the room. Alice was all tucked up in bed, appeared as if asleep. With her hair spread over the pillows, the blankets up to her neck, she looked so peaceful, the proper little Sleeping Beauty. I had to push down those images of Meg laid out.

Jason began to undress. I followed his example. Once naked, I stood at the foot of the bed looking at the motionless Alice, no longer so sure how to proceed. My cock was limp until Mark pulled back the covers to reveal the supposedly sleeping Alice's nakedness, then there was an immediate stirring of my cock. I took it in hand and began to gently encourage its growth while watching Jason quickly lie down beside Alice and start to run his fingertips along the line of her jaw, then up from her chin and over her lips, higher still, brushing back strands of hair from her forehead.

I watched her facial muscles' subtle flickers elicited by his touch, like cloud shadows scudding over a rolling landscape seen from on high. When he leaned forward to kiss her, immediately her arm rose, her hand cupping the back of his head and determinedly drawing him deeper into the kiss.

I thought of Mark now sat in the shadows, wondered what kind of man he must be to get his kicks from watching his wife with two men. You see, that entire cuckold thing has never done it for me. I have never understood that sick delight from watching Kerry fucked by other men. Whenever I have seen her beneath another man at parties such as this, there was never that bittersweet poignancy, the one all those happy cuckolds delight in reporting.

I have never experienced that aching arousal morphing to mind incinerating jealousy and back again to arousal. Okay, it might have turned me on to watch her with other men, same as watching any beautiful woman being made love to would, but I never experience an iota of that masochistic mental self-punishment so many hubby-cucks speak and write about.

That is until I watched a guy named Jason slide his hands down the belly of my long-dead wife's kid sister. In those initial moments of her with Jason, Alice became Megan. And then I was on fire with all that cuckold crap. It was a poison that can destroy, bringing on a state of mind that causes men to incite their wives to wanton cruelty. As its toxins raged through my veins my rationally skipped ship. I knew the girl being fucked in front of my eyes was not Megan, but my emotions had a different script, held hands with my grief to brew a potion of pain and lust.

How could I watch this, a thing so so utterly distressing and yet perfect in its erotic piquancy? And so for minutes after minutes, I quietly stood by the bedside and watched the unfolding ravishment of my one true love. I had to endure her willing him on, witness the way her eyes urged him to fuck her harder, her kisses and caresses enflaming the beast of lust and driving him to excess. I could not shake off the certainty that Alice was gone, that it was Meg beneath Jason. My dead wife was urging a stranger to fuck her.

She parted her legs, drawing her knees back, her cunt fully displayed, the rawest of shaven gashes. Kneeling on the mattress, his cock tumid to bursting, its circumcised head so different from my own uncut cock, a purple tulip flower newly unbudded. Moving forward, angled and descending into position, he penetrated her brusquely.

And then he stopped dead only two inches inside her, just the bulb of his cock, merely enfolded. I realised he was savouring her, enjoying that moment of first penetration. There was a stillness in the room, an expectation, but it was a pause for thought that startled her. Her eyes flaring, looking up at him, imploring him to begin. And like locomotive commencing a transcontinental journey, slowly pulling away for a station, so began Jason's interminable and dogged thrusts.

As he found his rhythm, I moved closer to the head of the bed, my cock primed and jutting crane-like over the mattress, its tip intent on Alice's lips. I studied her face again and saw Meg in its contours. Her skin was little more finely lined than Meg's was at twenty-one, but there was no mistaking the beauty that was once hers. I wanted Alice to turn her head to the side and take what I offered her between her lips, but she hardly noticed me, looked only at Jason, much as a devotee might her guru, astonished by his presence.

Jason, his legs and torso stretched out along her like a half-fallen monolith propped by his arms so as not to crash down and crush her, his downward trajectory arrested in freeze-frame, a half toppled standing stone waiting to be raised again. His angled torso was supported by his fore-arms each side of her head, biceps straining, holding him in place while his face looked down from high above as he bestowed her cunt the boon of his cock.

I, too, had gifts to give, and I reached for her chin, rudely turning her to look at my cock, wanting her to acknowledge my size, my need, my urgency. I was desperate for her to give witness to the enormity of its swelling, to see it close up, so blatant in its desire for her. In an instant she understood, parted her lips just enough, their welcoming pouty plumpness sending shivers throughout my body as it passed through them into the recess of her dark, warm mouth, where it was fussed over by her tongue so attentively that I knew my visit was welcomed. I watched her face as she sucked me, the movement in her cheeks betraying the swirl and twist within.

If I had not already spent myself, ejaculated long and plentifully into Beth's cunt, Alice's skill would have undone me in an instant. But on my journey from Beth to Alice through the twists of the house, I had been reset, made a clean slate on which to express my lust.

Her groans of pleasure from sucking me also encouraged Jason, her whimpers, sighs and rodent-calls becoming louder every second, spurring him on to be the best he could be. The power he lent the pace of his rutting was a phenomenon, their lovemaking like plate-tectonics, her body heaving beneath him and buckling like clashing continental shelves.

I watched them making love in a fever of jealousy and lust. It was something I did not want to witness but was compelled to all the same. At one point I had the urge to reach out and grab his bollocks as they banged incessantly against the crack of her arse, pull him from her by them.

 But I stuck it out. My time would come.

 Sensing his approaching climax, she spat my cock from her mouth to say desperate things to keep him on course, words to inspire him, to encourage him to hold out longer, keep it all moving along: "Oh, please, not yet. Please-please-please-please-please-please-please..."

Her mantra was in vain. His final lunge going deep to spill into her core. There was such power behind it that I thought of her deep tissues, bruised, made sore for weeks.

Her legs coming way back, knees angled, heels in the small of his back to hold him fast in place. I saw him exhausted and heavy, spent, lying upon her. And still, she would not free him, held him fast between her thighs, bucked her hips beneath him to extract every last drop. I imagined his withering cock inside her.

Finally, she understood. He had nothing left to give. It was only then that her eyes turned to me.

I kneeled between her legs with my cock fast in my palm. I saw her patiently watching while I positioned myself, her expression of disappointment with Jason had not yet flown her features. I could not marshal my thoughts, move them along. Over and over I repeated to myself, oh, Meg! How could you have let another have you like that?  I realised that if she had lived, Meg would have become just another slut. Yeah, a slut, pretty much like all the other women in my life. I had a talent for drawing them to me.

And so I rubbed the tip of my cock vertically up and down the slit of her sex, Jason's cum slathering it as I gouged away. I watched her face as I worked a little deeper, expecting her to recognise me at any moment, raise the alarm. Busted!

With each pass I made with my cock, I felt her hips responding to me, heaving a little, drawing me in. She was well oiled from Jason's seeping cum, so dense, viscous, What they had brewed together now lubed my cock, fast-tracked penetration. I slipped into her like a chocolate flake into a cone of whipped ice cream. I have never had my woman prepared for me by another man, was never my thing.

There was such ambivalence for me in the sensation of a spunk sodden cunt gripping my cock; a visceral delight beyond comprehension, yet underscored with icky revulsion. And even though Alice was lubricated to saturation, I could still sense her cunt's tightness as it closed about my cock, the welcoming clutch of its walls as her tissues melded with mine. It was as if my flesh were becoming her flesh.

I would make her remember me, my body, my cock — and my eyes; they never left her face, compelled her to attend to me. When her head flopped to the side in approaching exhaustion, I reached and positioned it to look up at me again, holding it in place with one hand. And when her eyes found my eyes, I said her name. It was only whispered, barely a movement of my lips. My hissed, "Meg, Meg, Meg," calling for her to return from an unknowable eternity. For all Mark or Alice knew, it could have been my calling her was the exhale of my speeding breath.

But somehow, it was more than that. It was necromancy, an invocation, a circle of hands calling Meg to come into the circle. I ached for her presence, sought her out in the flicker of Alice's eyes. But all I saw there was apprehension, a dawning understanding that a madman was fucking her. I sensed her need to extricate herself, saw a growing alarm twisting her features, appalled by my irrationality. She no longer wanted to meet my gaze, but I hissed, "Look at me and know me." I thrust hard and saw her eyes roll into the back of their socket. And when they righted themselves, I saw Meg smiling up at me.

Not only her eyes. She was there in the natural sensuality of her body's response to my lovemaking; it was there in the way her hands reached up to stroke my cheeks, her eyes full of the most profound love. And in that moment of seeing, I felt the love she had always had for me, the love I had almost forgotten.

My pummelling hips faltered as a stillness filled the room. I was poised above her, held in place by my propping arms, my cock at utmost extent buried inside her. Her eyes had gravity that would not release me. There was a numinosity in them, a shimmering something that could break your heart.

And then the mouth of Alice speaking words not of her making, "Martin," the hush of another world come to this one. "I never got chance to say goodbye. I've waited so long."

And then it was Meg and I holding each other like in those first few months of our lovemaking all those years ago. We went on to our sides with my cock still deep inside her. But that did not matter now, it was enough to just kiss her, to hold her. I had her back in my arms, could lose myself in once familiar curves, drown in her softness. I was in no doubt it was Meg, it was undeniable in the way she kissed me, the same rhythm of her lips, the same giving of herself utterly to me by their means.

Her passion mounting, just as it used to all those years ago, arriving like an inescapable fate. And then it took hold of her, that passion of the living, lifting me by its energy and carrying me along. Without words but with complete mastery, she urged me to lie on my back, to mount me. It was what she always like the best; to straddle me and fall hard onto my cock.

 She used to tell me, "When I ride you like that, nothing else matters."

My cock an obelisk raised for a dead queen. Her undulating hips took my cock deep, the rasp of her pubes against mine telling me the what pleasure this bodily life can bring. And as her breathing intensified, I am sure on each exhalation I heard her call my name.

She came when I did — a first for me with any woman. It was if she had held back, waited for my time before releasing herself from the mental tether with which she had restrained herself. And in that moment of mutually induced bliss, it was as if my own spirit-soul-essence — call it whatever you want — was one with hers. And then I knew the reason why she had me left behind here in the world, knew how we had shared many lives and would share lives again.

I knew all that in that moment of bliss.

And then she was gone, flown to eternity, back the place where past, present and future have no meaning. Now it was she-as-Alice who toppled from me to lie exhausted on her back. I turned to see if anything of Meg remained but saw only the girl I remembered from all those years ago. There was a dazed uncertainty in her eyes.

Already Jason was with us, eager to take my place between her legs. Alice welcomed him as before, a smile on her face, her own need once again captain of her body. But I knew that my Meg was gone now, the person by my side just a girl I used to know.