From Teen Bride To Hot Wife, Part 9: Their First Threesome free porn video

A package for Caroline. It has the Dammartin Manor crest. She takes it through to the back room and sits down in the big armchair, tucking her stockinged feet beneath her bum. She turns the stiff cardboard envelope curiously in her hands while wondering what it might contain. Finally, she decides that there's only one way to find out, and she begins to pick at the flap with her nails. When she has it open, she pulls out a wad of glossy photographs.

Oh, God! Look at these! Her insides twist into a knot. She holds in her hands the images of herself taken by Penny Dammartin that Sunday evening up at the manor house. Now she remembers how Penny had promised her that they would be hers when she had done with them as guides to the portrait she was to paint for Lord Dammartin. Although she remembers only too well posing naked during the thunderstorm, Caroline had nearly forgotten Penny's promise.

She goes through the images methodically, can hardly believe these photographs are of herself. It's as if she is looking at a stranger; one of the girls in her brother's girlie magazine. She remembers how nervous and self-consciousness she has been while undressing under Penny's gaze — through her apprehension does not show in the images.

In the initial shots, her smile is demure, though as the sequence unfolds her eyes lose their uncertainty, eventually wide with anticipation. In the final few posed shots she is more at ease, has acquired an almost radiance. Fairies have dusted her, given her ethereal glamour. But more than this is her barely concealed self-satisfied delight at being the sole focus of Penny Dammartin's lens.

When she has inspected each image, she goes through them all again, now experiencing genuine delight at the way Penny has transformed her into the girl she always wished she could be. Among those prints she remembers posing for are shots she never noticed Penny taking, the camera catching her un-posed, oblivious to the photographer's eye.

In one she is still naked but turned away from the lens and looking out through the leaded panes that overlooked the Italian gardens, stood quite still while watching the storm's unleashed rage. Now as she sits and tries to remember more details of her session with Penny, the image of Medusa's head suddenly revealed by the lightning returns to unsettle her.

The images are soft-focus, made even more so by the light of many extravagantly shaded lamps that lit the room. It is a forgiving light, one that smooths her complexion, her back and buttocks made rosy-hued. Another shot of her stepping back into her dress, her eyes focussed on nowhere at all, her thoughts turned inwards as she tugs the stretching material up over her hips; and another of her attending to the straightening of its elasticated bosom, her expression as if solving some puzzle.

In the evening she shows the images to Joe. "Look at these, Joe. Penny has sent us the photos she took of me that day up at the manor. The ones I told you about, remember. I'd almost forgotten she'd said let me have them when she was done with them. There's a note too. She says the painting is finished and that if I ask Harrison when I'm next up there, she will show it to me. Do you like how she's made me look? I hope the painting is as good as these. Oh, and she sent the negatives too, just like she promised she would."

She hands the prints to Joe. "Wow, Caz, they make you look like a gorgeous model, just like the girls in Razzle."

"Razzle!  Bloody hell, Joe! I was thinking they make me look more of a Playboy kind of girl. But all the same, I wish we could have used one of these for our ad. Look at the one where I'm sitting in the window. That's the one I'd have used — I even fancy myself in that one."

"If only you'd been a twin," Joe says.

"Don't be so disgusting, Joe."

"Shame! Two Carolines. Imagine?"

"I'd rather not, thank you very much. You'd want her as well as me, and then I'd get all jealous."

Mentioning Harrington reminds her of something she had meant to tell Joe:

"You know how Harrington came over when you were in Germany to discuss the party? Well, he said we should get a phone fitted because sometimes they need a girl in a hurry and that I'd get more jobs if we had a phone."

"We can't afford it."

"But just think, Joe, if I get more jobs it will pay for itself."

"I'm still not sure I like the idea of you going up there at all."

"But this is going to set us up for life. We could soon have enough for a deposit on one of those semi-detached houses they're putting up on the new Weston Estate, or even a detached one down Barston way — if we save and save. And then you could play your music as loud as you wanted without having to worry about the neighbours — or have band practice, be a proper garage band. You could do that if we had a detached house."

"It's just a dream, Caz. It's never going to happen."

"We could have enough by next May."

"How could we?"

"I worked it out. If I did one visit a month, we'd have plenty."

"They might get bored of you. Then what?"

"We'll just have to see, won't we."

                                                            ********

It's Saturday afternoon.

Later on, Caroline is going to fetch Dorothy and bring her back home so Joe can meet her. He wants to come too, but Caroline has told him she needs to speak to the girl alone and that he mustn't count his chickens.

 "I know I told you Dorothy thinks you're handsome, but she might want to get to know a bit before she..."  

"But you said you'd found her for us both."

"I'm sure she'll like you when she meets you. She's just an ordinary girl, though. You can't expect her to jump straight into bed with you. She's only ever had one proper boyfriend."

"She did with you."

"No, it wasn't like that. We were friends for ages before anything happened. And it's only been the one time."

"What's the plan then?"

"I thought the three of us could go down the Red Lion for a meal and see how things go. Mum says they've done it up since the last time we went."

"And if she doesn't like me, I suppose you'll have her all to yourself and I'll be left twiddling my thumbs."

"Don't be like that. You'll just have to wait and see. She's a lovely girl, she really is."

"I know: I've seen her photos. It makes me hard thinking of us both being in bed with her."    

           
                                                             ********

A thrill of anticipation courses through Caroline's body as she watches Dorothy getting into the car, and she wonders why no other girl affects her in quite the same way. It's not just her pleasing looks: it's in the way she moves through the world; it's in her smile and laughter. And it's there in the way her eyes sparkle when they are alone together.

Dorothy brings with her to the car her musky scent, and it elicits in Caroline the memory of their lovemaking, their one night together. It floods her body and mind with an aching piquancy, a desire to hold her tightly to squeeze every drop of love from her, and then to undress her and kiss her everywhere. Such thoughts kick-start a tingling between Caroline's legs, and when Dorothy is settled in her seat, she leans over to greet her friend with a kiss. But Dorothy turns quickly away and tells her no, that her mum might be watching from the window.

They chatter about their day at work as they drive along; how much busier it is now that autumn is here. And then about Sandra from the toffee counter who has got herself pregnant by that guy from the Rose and Crown — so everyone says.

"Just imagine," Dorothy says. "Your life over at sixteen."

After a mile, Caroline turns off the main road onto Mere Avenue, which is the road that leads to Mere Country Park, the place where she will talk to Dorothy about the coming evening, about Joe.

There are no other cars in the carpark, but Caroline still drives to the far end to find a bay secluded by shrubbery. She turns off the engine, and for a moment they sit in silence looking out over the lake. The white walls of the sailing club are just about visible through the twilight on the far shore. Geese and swans begin to waddle up on to land in the hope of a feeding.

"It's so hard for me at work seeing you every day and not being able to touch you," Dorothy says.

"It's the same for me too, you know."

They look into each other's eyes, and Caroline is stunned by the intensity with which her friend returns her gaze. Each girl cannot now help but see the need of the other.

"When I look over and see you behind all those handbags and purses, and you send me that smile of yours, all I want to do is come over to you, to hold and kiss you," Caroline says.

"You can kiss me now. That's if you still want to, "Dorothy says.

"Of course I still want to."

 "It's a good job.

"Why?" Caroline asks.

"Because I think I'll explode if you don't kiss me this second."

Their mouths and tongues tentative at first, each assessing the other. And each in her own way wants to put the other at ease and nurture what blooms between them. Kissing Dorothy does not send fire through Caroline's veins like kissing Harrington might; it is more a sharing than a taking or a giving. At this moment she is unable to conceive of ever tiring of kissing this girl, cannot imagine herself being worn down by it like she sometimes is when giving herself to a bloke. Kissing Dorothy is a moment out of time, a thing that leads nowhere, is sufficient in itself.

After they kiss, Caroline says. "I want to ask you something."

"Oh, what is it?" Dorothy says, now attending to her hair in the sun visor's mirror"

"You know how I told you about our swinging ad?" Caroline begins.

"Has it been published yet?"

"It will be soon..."  She hardly knows how to continue. She changes tack: "What I mean is... I want to talk to you about tonight — about Joe."

"It's so sweet the two of you want to take me out. I'm dying to meet Joe. You've told me so much about him."

"It's just that Joe has these expectations... "

"Expectation? What kind of expectation?" Her expression is suddenly severe. It is if she is about to receive a long dreaded terminal prognosis.

Caroline does not know how to proceed. She had expected Dorothy to meet her half-way, to have intuited what tonight might be about. She just stares silently, now lost for words.

A smile blazes across Dorothy's face. "Oh, I'm sorry, Caz." She reaches out and place her palm on Caroline's cheek and looks into her eyes, "You should see your face. Of course, I know what tonight is all about. This is the start of you and Joe looking after me, isn't it?"

It deflates Caroline to realise that Dorothy has teased her. Now she feels transparent and obvious, and almost ashamed that she has schemed self-servingly to lure Dorothy into their bed.

"And that's okay us taking care of you, and you being with us — with both of us like that?" She feels herself blushing and is amazed by her silly embarrassment. She had imagined herself now liberated and bold, beyond her former morality.

"Yes, I am, unless that bloke in your holiday photos isn't Joe at all."

" — because if you don't want to, I wouldn't be cross with you. You'll always be my friend."  

They kiss again. There is hunger in their kissing from this talk of Joe and bed. Caroline puts her guilt aside and as they kiss she cannot help but feel pleased with herself for having pulled this off. Mainly for Joe of course. How glad it will make him when he is undressing another girl at long last. And as Caroline continues to kiss her friend, she thinks how three is such an unsymmetrical number. She begins to plan how she will divide her attention.

The sound of tyres on asphalt. They quickly break from kissing.

"Will you tell him that I've agreed?" Dorothy says.

A smile breaks over Caroline's face. "I don't think I will. It won't hurt to let him suffer a bit longer."

"Oh, Caroline! Poor Joe."

They look into each other's eyes and smile smiles full of plots and girlish craftiness. Two sets of shining eyes bursting with beauty's guile gaze back at each other.

                                                       ********

 The Red Lion. It's a while since their last visit. His Dad's fiftieth. The brewery has renovated the place since then. Now it's all faux-victorian with the dark red damask flock wallpaper on every wall and densely patterned Axminster carpet that blends against the wall's ruddy hue. The mock oil-lamp light fittings that line the walls are hardly up to the job of illuminating the place, their twilight hardly seeping into the room. The beer pump handles behind the bar are dummies that dish out carbonated lager. This is retro nineteen-seventy-five style — though the word was not yet currency back then.

Over their meal, Caroline watches Joe as he tries to engage Dorothy in conversation. His eyes won't let her be, are rife with longing for her. He's asking her about her taste in music. What bands does she like?  Before answering, Dorothy takes the cherry on a stick from her Babycham and raises it to her lips. It matches her lip gloss, freshly applied before leaving Joe and Caroline's house. She lets it hover for a moment before popping it into her mouth, her eyes unabashedly fixing on Joe as she swallows.

She feigns interest in her scampi and chips, pushing bits of food about on her plate without bothering to skewer and lift. Her words are off-hand. She doesn't really have favourites. Bowie, perhaps — Elton John, too, she adds as an afterthought. To Caroline, it is obvious Dorothy has no intention of deepening the conversation about music in the way Joe wants her to. She will not give him a chance to name drop the bright young bands yet to be discovered by the masses who he has already pinned and mounted in his mind to impress his bandmate.

Joe does not know that when Dorothy was with her ex, Tommy, they would perform together at the local folk club, she singing and Tommy on guitar. Their set was mainly covers, Sandy Denny, Pentangle, but sometimes they would slip in a number they had composed themselves. She does not mention this to Joe, even though she knows he plays guitar in a band. She wants to continue the game she and Caroline have hatched between them, the one where Joe is kept guessing about the evening's outcome.

But when the subject changes she finds it hard to curb herself. Joe has asked her what she is reading. The Dice Man by Luke Rhinehart, she says. He is pleased with himself, how smart to have lured her with book talk. Now she speaks with increasing animation as he nods his encouragement, occasionally asking a question himself, one he thinks will make him seem intelligent.

He appears genuinely interested as she talks about "Dice Living", and how our egos shouldn't get in the way of the things we want to do, and that we should put aside what is expected of us by other people. Using the dice for decision making opens us to new possibilities, leads us to consider things we would not usually think of doing. The options contained in a dice throw enable you to strike out on previously unconsidered trails in life. That's the message she got from the book, she says.

 She explains to him the theory about "Dice-Living", says he should try it one weekend. And even though he continues to nod in agreement, to Caroline, Joe's eyes fail to hide his underlying salacious interest.

It's to Caroline that Dorothy turns when Joe finally runs out of questions to ask her about the book. The two girls chat about clothes and decide on a shopping trip to Manchester. They have the latest fashions in the boutiques off Piccadilly, Caroline says, stuff that will never be seen in their backwater of a town until three years too late.

Joe goes to the bar.

"I can't keep this up much longer," Dorothy says."I forgot myself when he got me talking about dice. I wasn't boring you was I?"

"Not at all. I'm sold on the book already. You'll have to lend it to me. But please, Dotty, keep him guessing a while longer. I want him to be gagging for it by the time we get home."

"But he's like a little boy who thinks Christmas has been cancelled. And I really do like him, Caz. I keep wanting to reach out and stroke those arms of his. He's really fit — and it's such a long while since I've been with a bloke."

"You really do like him?"

"Of course. How could I not like Joe?"

"I was so worried you wouldn't, that you might just be going along with it for my sake."

"Don't be silly. I don't do things just please someone else. Not even for you, my darling Caroline, " she says, hamming it up.

"What number was Joe and me on your dice?"

"Six of course."

"The one you wanted?"

"When a person goes to the Dice, there is no prefered outcome, though number one was to stay at home and watch telly with Mum."

"So you really did throw the dice about tonight."

"Don't be daft. It's just a book."

"So you are still okay with . . . what we said — with Joe."

"Of course. As I said, he's lovely." There is a moment of silence as they try to read each other before Dorothy's eyes focus, now insisting on an honest answer from Caroline: "And what about you, Caz. You genuinely don't mind seeing him with me?"

"Do you think I would want you here if I did?  Nothing excites me more than thinking of us all being together."

                                                              ********

They have drunk more than intended and so have phoned for a taxi. Joe says he will cycle back to get the car tomorrow afternoon. More likely he will phone his brother and beg a lift.

In the cab, Dorothy sits between the couple. Joe is still not sure where he stands with Dorothy, cannot tell if he's "in there". But five Babychams have loosened Dorothy's resolve, and as the cab slides through a city night awash in neon and sodium, the motion of the vehicle lulls her. She rests head against his upper arm, which instantly goes up and around her shoulders. Soon she is snuggling deep into his protective warmth.

"You're a lovely bloke, Joe," she says, her words as secrets let slip into the night, spoke more to herself than to him. She reaches for his free hand, takes it and enfolds it between her warm palms, her hands encasing it like a prize hard-won and precious; a thing long coveted, attained at last.

Then they are kissing, his tongue sliding unchecked inside her mouth. His ardour takes her breath away, confounds her. But she does not try to break from him to gulp in new air. She breathes fast through her nose and feels its chill fill her nostrils as she draws it deep into her lungs. Joe's hair is shoulder length, and as their two heads come together, their hanging hair merges like drawn curtains so that Caroline cannot see the reckless way they engage each other's tongues.

 She reaches out and brushes hair in handfuls from both their faces so she can watch them kiss. When she sees the fervency that locks them to each other, she is ambushed by a stab of jealousy. It hits her like a rising wave, breaking cold to leave a body shock that stuns her thoughts.

She pushes down this newly exposed rawness, rationalises what she witnesses in an attempt to stall the rage she feels might soon erupt. She tells herself don't be so stupid, Caz; he loves you, not her. You and Joe are forever. This is just sex.

Another deep breath. It's okay, it really is. There now, all better. How silly of you.

His fumbling hand undoes the button of Dorothy's Wranglers, soon slipping into the tightness of the denim that cuts her crotch. It goes down between her garments and flesh, flat as a flounder to find a home inside the silkiness of her knickers, moist and warm. Her pubic hairs are more abundant than Caroline's, almost wire-wool, he thinks.

He cannot angle his hand to penetrate her adequately, even with crooked fingers. And though her legs are now wide for him, he makes do with his finger on her clit, his palm cupping the pudge of her mons. They will be home soon, he tells himself, and then he will have it all. He savours this moment. The beginning is his favourite part; that sheer intensity of first coming together.

The cab pulls up outside their small garden terraced house, and Joe is quickly out of his door and waiting hand outstretched for Dorothy, now following in some disorder. Disorientated from booze and the kissing, she almost falls as she alights. He quickly has her, supports her for a moment and then ushers her urgently through the front gate and takes her behind the screen of privets of their postage stamp front garden while Caroline pays the cabbie.

He props Dorothy against the brickwork, and they begin to kiss like teenagers at the end of a first date. His hand swallow dives into her knickers. It goes deep and touches bottom.

Caroline pays the cabbie and tells him to keep the change, not from generosity but because she is anxious to get inside.

The cab driver thanks her. And then his eyes turn suggestively lewd as he says, "I think your friend has her hands full with him. If you get bored of playing gooseberry, call the office and ask for Jerry. I'll be over in a tick." He winks as he finishes speaking.

He's a bit of a lout, she thinks, but still, half-way good looking. He might do at a push — if she were desperate. She smiles sweetly. You never know when you might need a cab.

"See you later, sweetheart," he calls to her as she turns away and heads to her front door.

She slips the key into the lock and goes inside. It is a moment before she realises they have not followed her into the house. She goes back out, sees how his hand goes deep into the lucky dip of Dorothy's jeans as he continues to kiss her. She watches almost in disbelief the spectacle they have become.

Finally: "For Christ's sake, Joe, bring her inside."

Dorothy says she has to freshen up. She goes up to the bathroom while Joe begins messing in the pull-down cabinet of their Scrieber wall unit clumsily trying to fix them all drinks. He tells Caroline to get ice from the kitchen.

"I think we've all had enough," she tells him.

"One more won't hurt," he says.

She had wanted to make this special for him but knows that if he drinks any more the whole night will be ruined.

"No, Joe. Let's go upstairs now. You have two girls all to yourself. You don't need any more drink."

The word "two girls" has the desired effect. He follows Caroline up the stairs like a child at Christmas.

Joe sits on the edge of the bed watching Caroline sat on the dresser stool taking off her boots.

"I take it you like her, then?" Caroline asks.

"She's great. Where is she? She's taking her time."

"She's freshening-up."

Dorothy appears at the bedroom door."Hey there, Joey. Remember me?"

Joe looks up, startled by Dorothy's sudden appearance. She goes to him and sits on his knee and wraps her arms around his neck initiating a kiss that rekindles his desire, the passion lost during their mere minutes apart.

 Caroline decides to let them have some space — for a while at least. Joe deserves a little one to one time with his new lover. After her own adventures, her greedy nights with Harrison, and the others, she decides it is only right that he should be alone with Dorothy.

She goes to the bathroom.

When she gets back they are both naked in bed. Their clothes scattered on the carpet are mingled together just as their owner's limbs now are. The pair pay Caroline no attention, are lost in their lovemaking. She stands at the foot of the bed watching. She considers removing her clothes and joining them, but decides that to do so at this point would be an intrusion.

She is at a loss. This is not what she had planned for the three of them. She leaves the room and goes downstairs and pours herself the drink she told Joe they would not need. She swills the gin around the glass, and the ice cubes clink. With a jolt of disappointment, she realises she is nearly jealous. Get a grip Caz. She downs her gin in one gulp leaving the ice cubes to melt in their glass in the empty room.

Back in the bedroom, the sheets are drawn back to reveal Joe fucking Dorothy. The sight is almost an affront to Caroline's sensibility, beyond her mind's articulation. It is a wake-up call that will determine what she and Joe mean to each other. She breathes in deeply and steels herself before going over to the bed and sitting down on the edge of the mattress near the headboard. The redolence of Dorothy's musk has infused the air about the bed. She must tell the girl not to use so much.

Sitting at the bed-edge side-on, she studies Dorothy's face and wonders what thoughts fly through her mind as Joe's cock pushes deep into her. She watches how he draws himself up and pauses as if to gather some inner dynamic power to lend heft to his thrust. And in that moment of anticipation, Dorothy's hands cradle his cheeks, her eyes calling him to give his all. One stupendous lunge expells all air from her lungs in a beast-like grunt.

As Joe fucks her, the girl's emotions are revealed to Caroline only in a muted palette of facial expression too subtle to give labels. Her long dark lashes are silhouettes against her high, pale cheeks; her eyes flicker beneath shadowed lids like a dreamer's. Caroline is drawn to softly kiss each eyelid, lets her tongue taste the greasy blue shadowing. Nor can she resist the call of Dorothy's lips. She kisses lightly before pulling back to watch the girl's response, smiling self-satisfied when she sees those lips pucker demanding to be kissed again.

She has never seen lips as sensuous, especially when sex-engorged as they are now. They have an intense appeal tonight from her knowing that Joe has lavished them with his kissing. The thought of his and her lips  — and now seeing how they beg for her own lips— infuses her with visceral arousal. She can hardly contain herself.

As Caroline watches, she comes to understand the depth of absorption with each other that their lovemaking engenders. She decides that to impose herself on them at this moment would be selfish, the breaking of the spell they have woven for each other. She studies the girl's face again, sees the continuing flicker of her eyes beneath closed lids, the hardly noticed dilation of her nostrils, and the patina of perspiration on her brow.

Caroline becomes mesmerised by the subtlest facial clues. She sweeps aside the strands of sweat-matted hair which adheres to Dorothy's forehead, re-arranging the ungovernable strands now caking to her cheeks. She wants to see Dorothy's face fully revealed, still hoping for insights into the girl's inner reality as she takes all that Joe's cock gives her.

"Do you like my Joey's cock, Dotty?" Caroline whispers, her lips as close to Dorothy's ear as can be without contact, her tone all playful sweetness. But a moan of pleasure is all the answer Caroline receives in reply. "Please tell me how he makes you feel when he's deep inside you," she almost begs.

Dorothy attempts to speak the words that Caroline wants to hear. But they are not words her mouth produces, more the ramblings of someone lost to fever. Dorothy is far away, her sole pleasure Joe's cock as it thrusts and retreats through her cock-enfolding tissues. Her thoughts are no more, forfeited for the sake of this passion stoked by Joe's cock and how it is driven by the slab of his masculinity. Caroline as voyeur hears only the unintelligible sounds of a girl lost to the spreading sexual conflagration that threatens to consume her.

She watches the rise and fall of her husband's haunches, rests her hands across them and feels their clenching, their dynamism. She assesses the energy expended when he thrust his hips that powers his cock that fills her cunt. She runs her palm the length of his back and senses the muscles at work there, the way they shift, tense and flex subcutaneously. She squeezes his shoulders, feels their breadth and capability, runs both hands down each arm, the arms that have him jacked high above Dorothy as he looks down at her face, now utterly lost to the euphoria of their lovemaking.

Joe pushes himself to exceed himself as if regarding Dorothy as some interminable athletic event he must complete; a marathon, or triathlon — or more a hurdle dash now as his pace becomes frantic. By sight and touch, Caroline appraises her husband's familiar flesh now made unfamiliar, turned into a spectacle by the girl beneath him. His arms are the foundation of his lovemaking. They support every bodily part now conflated in the giving and taking of pleasure.

She repeats each anatomical instance to herself as her hands take stock: shoulders, biceps, triceps, forearm, wrist, palm and fingers. Back again to his shoulder blades, feels the tension and the load they bear. She wants to dig with her nails, curl them behind the plate of bone that lies just below the veneer of skin and muscle.

It is as if he has wrestled Dorothy down and pinned her in place on the bed to do her damage, to run her through and put an end to her. But this girl is not going to just lie down and take it. Her legs either side of his torso begin to rise, her inner thighs squeezing his flanks, her knees way back. The calf of her left leg crosses the shin of her right, and now locked together they come crashing into the small of his back.

Her heel-balls as spurs dig into his spine urging him to thrust harder, to send his cock deeper. Now passion-welded, the coming and going of his cock becomes relentless. Up and down he rises, faster and faster, until his balls buffet the curl and crack of her arse, his cock head buffetting her innermost depths.

Watching their lovemaking thrills Caroline. "Oh Joey, do you like her? Didn't I say how sweet she is?  Is she sweet enough for you, Joey? Feel how wet she is, how much you excite her?

Caroline cannot just sit and watch: the voyeur's role is not for her. Her need to be fucked has escaped its cage. She wants to pull her husband from this usurper and take him back, make him her one and only again. She reaches between their tightly pressed bodies until she feels his cock sliding past her fingertips as it enters and exits Dorothy's cunt — how slathered their skin is between their clashing abdomens, slippery with passions foment. The brew of Dorothy's cunt smears her fingers and she draws her hand away and puts lust's contamination to her lips, tastes their lover's concoction curiously with a tentative tongue. Then she fills her mouth with three fingers and sucks them clean.

And for Dorothy, being fucked by Joe is like coming home from exile. It is nearly six months since she last had a man, her Tommy, though in their last months together his passion for sex had decreased in proportion to his need to know her every move. Now as Joe fucks her, her body becomes a void which Joe fills with his cock, its heavy implacability igniting her every sense. She has become a shell of bones and flesh that his cock bequeaths new life to.

Caroline still clothed stands up to undress. She raises the hem of her dress as she reaches up for the waistband of tights. A change of sound from the lovers on the bed draw her eyes again, and she sees Joe's arse a mallet of flesh pounding. How deep will he peg her? Immediately Caroline wants to be close again, to be as close as close can be when he cums. And so she returns to the bed still clothed and places one palm on his buttocks to again relish the power they contain. She is in awe at their machine-like reliability, amazed by the heft that drives his thrusts.

She sends her hand sideways into the crack of his buttocks and eases it back and forth its entire length — just as Lady Dammartin had once done to her. He is drenched with sweat, all sticky and warm between his clenching cheeks. She senses how her touch excites him further, feels the involuntary tensing and releasing of his muscles.

She adjusts her hand to find that spot, the one tight and resistant. She knows her nails will hurt at first, but only for a second. It will be worth it. He will thank her. He groans when she breaks the seal, more so when her one finger is to the knuckle. And when he cums, it is as if he is emptying himself, body and soul, their lovemaking the emetic that has purged him of his lust.

He rolls from Dorothy exhausted. She turns on her side to kiss him, whispers a thank you and kisses him again. She turns to Caroline, is shocked to see her still clothed.

"You're still dressed."

"I didn't want to miss a moment; your lovemaking entranced me. "

"Come on, Caz,"  Joe says.

Caroline stands up and once more begins to undress, pleased now that both pairs of eyes are focused on her alone. She reaches behind herself to undo her dress, but the zip is snagged. She fumbles ineptly.

Dorothy jumps up to help, says, "Here, let me."

It is like before: Dorothy behind Caroline, naked and undressing her. When Caroline's dress and bras are gone, Dorothy's breasts cushion against her bare back while her palms lift up each of Caroline's breasts to relish their softly packaged density.

Watching the two girls from the bed, his spent cock limp between his legs, Joe desperately wills it to life again. The sight of his wife and Dorothy is a thing he has long fantasised about, a scenario that has been the fuel of his wanking ever since he first saw Dorothy's Polaroid shots. His hand goes to his cock and he begins to massage himself, frantic to coax a resurrection.

Dorothy is beside him again. She has assumed the position, lies flat on her back, legs wide apart, awaiting the attention of Caroline's tongue, who now lingers for a moment at the foot of the bed, her eyes focused on Dorothy's cunt. She notices how her husband's semen blisters from Dorothy's pussy, becoming a viscous, glistening rivulet flowing to down to the rent in her butt cheeks.

She reaches out with curious fingers to sample the stew that their fucking has concocted, feels how unctuous it is on her fingers, this brew of Cupid's own mayonnaise. She lifts her hand and watches her thumb slide over her index and forefinger, back and forth, before letting her tongue clean it all away.

And then she is down like a pearl diver, her tongue sent trawling. She knows this ocean bed and quickly finds the pearl as liquid that she seeks. She has always loved the taste of Joe's cum, but this mixed-dish that trickles from Dorothy is a rarity that exceeds all her expectation. Her tongue laps greedily, savouring what she scoops into her mouth. Gulp after gulp, down it goes.

And when she surfaces, it is Joe she wants to kiss and bequeath back a little of that part of himself he has given to Dorothy. He accepts her kiss with an absurd hunger, takes and swallows the little she passes to him.

Dorothy watches and wants to be fed too. And so down Caroline goes again. There is no end to this cunt's bounty. When Caroline surfaces again, Dorothy grimaces as she accepts before swallowing. Then says: "Again."

And so it continues, Caroline diving to harvest cum with her lips, surfacing to feed them both in turn. With each icky kiss, Joe's excitement ratchets up a notch. Caroline senses he will soon be ready to fuck her. A good job too; she is beside herself with her need for cock.

And it is almost back online, just needs that extra something to make it viable for fucking. "Help me to get him hard," Caroline says to Dorothy.

He has always wanted to have two girls mouthing his cock. Tonight is his dream realised as the pair take turns breathing life into its flaccid loll. Carole goes first using all her skill and determination to rouse him to fulfil her need. But it is only when Dorothy takes him deep into her pretty mouth that his full erection abruptly blooms.

Even though it is at last fully primed, the two girls continue to lavish his cock with all the skill their mouths and tongues can bring to bear. They work as if they have mastered this art form after weeks of rehearsal. When Caroline's tongue tip circles his cock-top, Dorothy is down lower, maybe licking his balls, sometimes the stretch of his perineum.

As their mouths travel up and down his cock, their tongues meet in passing, and they break from him to kiss each other. Then it is back to the matter in hand,  Caroline going her way, Dorothy hers.

Dorothy has the head now and takes it deep. She sucks hard, a toke she cannot inhale, and then moves aside for Caroline. And so they continue for nearly a minute, passing his cock to and fro between their mouths.

Caroline judges he is ready. She straddles him, not reverse-cowgirl like with Colin, this time facing her man, looking down on him prostrate beneath her. Although his cock is now sufficient, she senses there is a danger of it failing, of it slipping back into dormancy. She struggles to penetrate herself, has to hold it in position for launching. She takes a breath and lets her weight take her down over him. As she feared, she feels his passion slipping away from her. And then Dorothy joins the ride, straddles his chest, her pussy is still seeping their mingled cum.

The presence of Dorothy's legs arching his torso causes Joe's cock to stiffen, becoming pole-rigid in the depths of Caroline's cunt. It now gives her flesh focus, a centre to work from, a new confidence that he will sustain her body's rise and fall. And as she begins, she embraces Dorothy, kissing her deeply, pushing herself breast to breast with her.

 Caroline's hips grow insistent, plunge and soar. And when she is down low, at the nadir of her descent, she sends her crotch vertically along his abdomen to graze her clit over the rasping wire of his hairs, his cock angled improbably inside her. She does not hold back, grunts and gives torque to her undulations.

She rides him hard, but her motion is fluid. This is Joe's favourite position, its niceties mastered in their early days together. It is a routine she has rehearsed over and over, perfection now attained. Dorothy remains her support, her foundation, as she rises and falls, so that she can fuck with gusto, mill Joe's cock long and hard. And all the time she fucks him, she continues to kiss Dorothy. Their colliding breasts are pressed flat together, have become misshapen by pressure, and down below their two cunts are leaching desire, slathering him with their carnal tincture.

Joe's hands grasp the sides of Dorothy's hips, and Caroline places her own hands over their backs to feel how his knuckles tense, how his fingers clutch. Dorothy's hands settle on Caroline's hips, and the two girls become locked in mutual support, each sustaining the other on their journey to orgasm.

Completion looms when Dorothy reaches down between Caroline's legs and lets her fingers pinpoint the bud of her clitoris. Caroline reaches to reciprocate, still straddling Joe. It is almost as if the two girls dance, his torso the stage, approaching and retreating from each other as their hips propel them apart and bring them back to each other.

She is tiring now. She leans heavily against Dorothy, her cheek resting on her shoulder. She is drenched in sweat, her hair matting against her cheeks and forehead. Becoming breathless from this marathon, she is hardly able to continue. But Dorothy's fingers have brought her to the edge of orgasm, and now as the sweep of bliss starts to wash over her she calls out loud and gives herself over to its self-dissolving intensity. The muscles of her cunt in a paroxysm of crushing spasms grip Joe's cock in a constrictor's death grip.

When the bliss has washed over her and passed away, her mind and body are sated. Even so, she continues to rock back and forth. Running on empty now, drained. Her flesh cored, she feels herself unwinding, coming to stillness. His cock is still massive inside her and she can hardly move to disengage herself. She attempts to ease herself up, using Dorothy's shoulders to take her weight. She rises just enough, and It falls from her iron-hard to hover jib like the length of his abdomen.

And when she is free of it and lies exhausted by his side, the batton of Joe's cock is handed to Dorothy, who grips and places it to accept her pussy as she manoeuvres to straddle him. She pauses for a second, one final adjustment before her weight falls, her cunt plummeting to welcome him into her lush, comfortable darkness. He fills her absolutely, and a gasp of relieved fulfilment flies from between her lips, followed by a groan of pleasure from Joe as her snug cunt accommodates the length of him. He is to the hilt, her mons hard against his groin.

He has her to himself again, the novelty of her hardly-known flesh moving him inexorably towards his second orgasm. Caroline lies on her side, propping her head on her arm, watching. She senses his approaching climax and becomes envious that Dorothy has brought him to it so quickly, an end her marathon grind failed to achieve. When he cums, he calls out her name, swears at his undoing: "Oh, God, Dorothy! Oh-fuck!"

Afterwards, they lie each side of him with their night-chilled breasts pressing against his ribs. He relishes their sumptuous softness, his encasement between their curves. He would be happy to die right now; the monumental femininity of these two beautiful bodies would ease his passing.

It is time to sleep. Caroline lifts herself to kiss Joe's lips before allowing herself to fall into her dreamer's world. And for a moment he is her Joe again. She whispers, "I love you." He returns her kiss, whispers, "Me too," and then he turns from her, his duty done. His intent is only Dorothy now, and he kisses her while easing her onto her back.

Caroline is betrayed by Joe's rekindled passion, his tongue and lips already on campaign in the territory of Dorothy's body. Down his head goes kissing every inch of her flesh as it marches to the redoubt between her legs. When he begins to lap her cunt, Dorothy opens her eyes and turns her head sideways to check on Caroline.

When she sees the wince of hurt that flickers over Caroline's features, she mimes a desperate apology, though she is too far gone in arousal to break from Joe now. No sound escapes Dorothy's lips, but Caroline understands their mime, her, "Sorry."  

There is little comfort for Caroline in her friend's contrition, though she knows it is not the girl's fault that Joe is a self-centred bastard. She turns away and tries to shut out the sounds of their lovemaking, but there is no escape. She rises quickly, slips on her silky nightie and goes downstairs.

The taxi firm business card is not hard to find.  She stares at the number printed in magenta. Fuck it. She will do it — or is this just spite. Joe must still love her.  She is torn for a moment. Another gin, without ice this time, just to clear her mind. What-the-fuck! She is Caroline.

She goes into the hall and sits at the foot of the stairs, puts on and zips up her knee-length boots. And then she stands and slips her maxi-coat over her nightie. It is heavy and black and lined with satin that chills her bare arms. When she walks, the bottom sometimes brushes the ground.

As she steps out into the night, she tries to recall his name. Was it Jerry, or maybe Jeremy? She will have to ask. The phone box is only a minute's walk away.