Becky Flowers is a cocksucking a fucking whore
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That Time I Helped Becky Suck Cock free porn video
What follows probably would never have happened if Becky and I hadn’t started browsing swinging sites together. At first we took the piss. Then we both saw the possibilities.
“Seen anyone that appeals?" I asked.
“Maybe..."
“And would you?” I asked.
“I might... If they were nice.”
“What’s nice, then?”
“You know... our kind of people.”
“What’s our kind of people, then?”
“You know. Stunningly beautiful like me; handsome and hunky like you.”
“Mmm, tall order,” I said, grinning like an idiot.
“Very tall. Do such people exist?” she said
“Doubt it.”
“Shame.”
She smiled, her eyes full of her love as she came to me and kissed me like she did the very fist time
It wasn’t an obsession at first. Every so often we’d pick our way through the photo-ads together. All those people wanting to meet other people and do weird shit with each other. It really opened our eyes. Stuff I had only ever fantasised about was out there; stuff I never dreamed anyone would even consider doing in reality was out there; was commonplace, in fact. Apparently the whole world was up to things I’d always thought shameful
We talked and talked to convince ourselves that we would do it -- reply to an ad, maybe place one ourselves. But it was only ever just a game, a fantasy to stoke up passion.
One night our sex-talk went down the, “ Which of our friends would you most like to have sex with” route. The first time I asked her that question she answered without hesitation, said his name with emphatic certainty: “Mark,” she immediately replied. God, she was so definite about that, kept saying she’d like to do it with Mark, wanted Mark more than any other person.
Why Mark?” I asked.
“Do you really have to ask?“
“Yeah he’s a good looking lad,” I said. “But isn’t he a little young for you.”
“He’s nineteen now. Old enough. And besides, young or not he is absolutely to-die-for gorgeous,”
“Yeah... But it’s Mark.”
“Yeah, that’s the point.”
Though I was taken aback at her candid confession of having the hots for Mark, I could perfectly understand her enthusiasm as he really was an inordinately good-looking guy. Over six foot tall, he had the long limbs you really need to carry big muscles. His surfer boy, shoulder length, dirty blond hair lessened the intimidating mass his muscle-laden body projected. He was five years younger than me at nineteen and three younger than Becky. He worked for one of the big flour milling companies as a driver’s mate, out all day delivering to bakeries. Lugging those giant sacks had left him with a body chiselled by the gods.
He was married to Jean, Becky’s oldest friend. Jean was eight months pregnant and so had no part in what now follows -- much as I would loved to have fucked her, sexy little redhead that she was. And I have to say that nothing sexual had happened between us as couples before the night I am about to write about.
This is what did happen.
It was just after Christmas. Three days before New Year’s Eve, Becky and I went to stay at Mark and Jean’s for two days. We planned to be back for New Year's Eve. A family do.
The four of us spent the evening drinking, chatting and playing Trivial Pursuit. At 11:00 Jean said she was exhausted and was going up to go to bed. Mark went and got us a duvet for the bed-sofa. After making up the bed I was surprised when he poured himself another drink and settled down in the armchair opposite. He obviously wasn’t ready to call it a night.
I’d always enjoyed Mark’s company. He was an intelligent bloke even though just a manual worker. He was well informed and always had something interesting to say wherever conversation might twist and veer. A few years after this happened, his early twenties, he received a small inheritance that meant he could finance his dream. He signed up to uni and studied hard to become a paramedic. Later I heard he went out to Africa with The World Health Organisation. But back then he was just the laddish Mark, a young man trapped in his small town world.
The three of us sat up talking. He’d had a lot to drink. I hadn’t realised just how until he started banging on about how many of the office girls he’d snogged at the work’s Christmas party.
“Lucky them,” Becky said. The hint of envy in her tone obvious.
He looked across at her curiously. “So you think they were lucky, heh?” Mark said, his expression changing from an intoxicated weariness to outright focused interest. He stared at Becky and she stared back. She was daring him, I thought. “You know what babe, it might be your lucky day,” he said. He always called her Babe.
He got up and went through the door and into the hall and a minute later came back holding up a tired looking sprig of mistletoe. He held it up high as if inspecting it for blemishes, while saying, “I knew you were coming, Becky, so I saved this just for you.” Then looking over at me, “You don’t mind, do you, mate? Christmas and all that. Goodwill towards all men -- and women too, of course.”
Becky looked at me, her eyes saying please don’t get all possessive on me now, Martin. And of course, it was what we had discussed, what I had said okay to. But I was still reeling from the shock of how fast things were now moving, wondering where they might end.
She was soon on her feet and moving towards him and smiling shyly. She looked like a young girl about to have her first ever kiss. When she reached him she stood before him perfectly still with her hands clasped together as if she were naked and covering her pussy, looking butter-wouldn’t-melt and little-girl-lost. She actually fluttered her heavily massacred eyelids. I’d never seen her do that before, not even when she was younger and genuinely naive.
And so with his right hand holding the mistletoe above her, he took her in his left arm and pulled her close. God! In stocking feet, quickly on tiptoe, stretching and pressing against him like a slut she-cat on heat. He was nearly eight inches taller than her.
And the way they went at each other! It floored me. It was as if they had both been waiting all their lives for that moment. They kissed, and kissed, and kissed -- and kissed some more.
Eventually, the arm holding the mistletoe slowly lowered and he let the sad cutting fall to the ground. He took her in both arms, his hands going on her hips to slowly lift the hem of her dress, his palms kneading her butt through tights.
Their kiss subsided, and he took her hand and led her to the big armchair directly opposite the one I occupied. He sat down and pulled her down into his lap. She had on a mini-dress and black tights. What a sight when the hem of her dress went high, showing the haze of her new, white thong beneath stretch nylon.
He stroked her legs and sipped his scotch while talking to me about taking up Karate. Classes had just commenced at the local community centre. While he talked I watched hand moving casually up and down Becky’s outer thigh. It was so surreal, as if she were his property, there just for him alone to do with whatever he wanted. She had the side of her face resting against his broad chest and her expression suggested she was as near heaven as is possible to get in this world.
There was something so casual about it all. Even when his hand was up inside her dress seeking access to the inside of her panties via her pantyhose waistband, it all seemed the most natural thing it the world. He manoeuvred under the elastic band of her tights and slowly pushed on down. I could it see it moving under her underwear like it was some small rodent going about its business.
I jut sat there watching her adjust herself to facilitate the passage of his fingers to where it mattered most. In my mind, I conjured the sensation of how her pussy would feel to him, how her underwear would be sodden with her need for him. I could almost actualise for myself the sensation of his fingers sinking into her. I knew just how succulent her warm apple-pie cunt could get
But he never got that far. Suddenly she got up. He tried to pull her back down but she was insistent, pulling away from him, saying “I have to visit the bathroom.” And with that, she hurried off.
It was awkward for a moment for him and I left in silence together. Then he said, “Great girl, your Karen,”
“The best,” I said.
“You okay with... Us -- you know . . .”
“It’s what she wants,” I said.
“How do you know it is?”
“We talk -- you know. Fantasies and stuff.”
“Yeah?” He raised an eyebrow, looked at me as if I had lost the plot completely.
“Yeah”
I could see he wanted me to say it was okay, say, go ahead, fuck my girlfriend:
“And?” he said.
“Up to you now, mate.”
He became thoughtful, got up and put some music on. He lit a cigarette and offered one to me. I took it. We smoked but no longer spoke.
Becky returned. She had taken off her tights. I looked at her bare legs, and so did he. She began to fuss with the blankets on the sofas bed. When she bent over I saw how her thong cut her tightly into her butt.
“I don’t know about you two, but I’m ready for bed,” she said while looking directly at Mark.
She pulled her top over her head and then loosened the top buttons at the front of her denim skirt and let if fall to the ground. She stood for a moment in just her underwear, and I could see her mind debating whether to get completely naked or not. She decided against it and quickly slipped under the duvet. A moment later she re-emerged to toss out her bras and thong.
I quickly got in beside her fully clothed, afraid that if I didn’t Mark would take my place. Under the blankets, I removed my jeans and underpants.
Mark watched us both while he finished his cigarette. Then Becky said. “Mark. You can get in with us too -- if you want to, that is?” She flung back the duvet and said, “This side,” while patting the space by her side with her palm.
And that is exactly what he did -- after getting naked. While I watched him undress I couldn’t help but admire what I saw. His cock had softened to the wilting side of engorged but still looked bulky enough.
His cock had begun softening after the erection he’d obviously had while feeling Becky up earlier. I imagined how once hard again it was gong to be a real a treat for Becky. Then he was under the covers with Becky between himself and me. He began handling her with purpose, turning her away from me so they faced each other, the backs of both his muscular arms squeezing between her back and the front of my body.
Having them in each other's arms and completely naked just inches away felt unreal. In my head, I kept asking myself, what’s happening? why are you going along with this? My head swam with conflict: my cock nearly burst. I pushed down the jealousy and went with the arousal.
I turned on my side to face her and ran my fingers over the expanse of her back and all the way down to her buttocks, fingering her and enjoying the sumptuous curvature of her cheeks. I pressed on to feel the cleave of her fissure enfold my hand, the fleshy pressure as I let them sink further into dumpling softness. I eased on down to her cunt where I encountered something unanticipated.
Mark’s hand was moving about down there. Such a shock. After my initial stall, I let my own hand rest on his, sensed his rhythm as he worked her. I traced his fingers to where they burrowed into Becky’s lovely warm cunt, his knuckles all slippery from her juice. In and out he moved his three bunched fingers; pushed deep and extricated slowly, over and over. Each time they emerged they were more and more slathered in warm, viscous girl-cum.
I let my hand retreat back to her buttocks and went deep between her soft flesh. I loved Becky’s arse so much. She had never objected to me fingering her there, though I had never plucked up the courage to ask her if I could fuck her arse properly.
I spread her flesh and guided my cock between her warm, soft cheeks, where her own perspiration moistened her. The heat of the three of us beneath thick blankets made her sticky with sweat and I slid my cock up and down between her cheeks, occasionally pressing against her pucker. She moaned appreciatively in time to my movements and so knew it was not just Mark who was pleasing her.
Mark had gone down on her, sort of pushed her back onto me so she was on her side at forty-five degrees between us. I sensed how she responded to his tongue on her clit. I sensed her growing close to orgasm; her breathing was fast, she moaned ever louder, letting us both know we had things just as she wanted. I thought of Jean up in bed. I sincerely hoped Jean was sleeping deeply.
She writhed and twisted in pleasure as if attempting to escape from us, moaning out loud, her mind swollen with pleasure, her orgasm total. She had become utterly uninhibited, had abandoned her body to us completely. But it was his name she called out, “Oh God, Mark. Oh-my-fucking-god!”
And then she rolled on over onto her back while breathing hard as if she had just come up for air after a free-dive to record depths. When she regained her breath, she turned her head and looked me in the eyes and I saw her love for me burning there, her complete gratitude to for me allowing this to happen. I leant in and kissed her softly.
Then she was gone from me, pulling back the bed covers and moving her head onto Mark’s chest and then her kissing his nipples one after the other, licking her way down over the rest of his body. I watched as her stretched tongue lapped his abdominal muscles; muscles perfectly defined in the half-light and shadows of one small lamp. His cock became a leashed dog, straining for her as her lips teased him slowly, inch by inch, soon only inches from the very tip.
God, his cock looked huge, bloated to bursting. I had never even seen a grown man’s erection in real life and the sight of it drew me in completely, fascinated me in a way I would never have imagined possible only hours before. I scanned Marks body it was a revelation how pleasing I found his nakedness. Last year’s Spanish tan was pale caramel, and he had a fine down of nearly white blond hairs on his arms and legs but his body was as smooth and hair-free as a girl. In that half-light, his flesh appealed to me as much as any woman’s ever had.
His cock had a unique sheen. I watched Becky take him in her mouth, let her lips travel the length of it, saw it disappear for moments on end, reappear and then vanish again. Mark must have seen the expression on my face because as Karen pleased him he smiled and held my gaze, moaned, “You can -- if you want, Martin. I would like that -- you and Becky.”
I got closer, reached out tentatively and laid my palm on his belly, felt the firm, ribbed, pliancy of his muscles beneath the veneer of flesh. I sent my fingers over his abdomen to the base of his cock while feeling emotions I never thought I could, relishing so completely this experience so new to me. A door was opened, and I tentatively stepped over the threshold.
My finger stroking his balls, then my palm cradling them as Becky licked the tip of his cock. She began rubbing his entire shaft against her cheek, almost rolling it like a pin on pastry, then once more taking it between her lips, occasionally nipping gently.
Between filling her mouth with it, she would moan and tell him, “God, Mark, I love your cock, really love it!”
Then she became aware of how close I was and turned and looked at me and then at his cock. She pushed at it so it was at ninety degrees to his abdomen, her eyes telling me to do it. Finally, she whispered in the sexiest tone I have ever heard her use. “It’s okay, Martin, I know you want to. I don’t mind.”
And so I did. Me, Martin Hartman, sucked a bloke’s cock! Could I have done it if Becky had not been there to lessen the queerness of it all, to make it a part of something more than just guys? Two queers! Who knows, but I sucked and licked, sharing it with Becky. When he ejaculated, I pushed out my tongue like those girls do in porn in in glorious HD, but Becky was fast and greedy. Her mouth over him as he pumped it all out.
Then she sat up and looked at me and we leant into each other and kissed, she passing me what remained. So much of it dribbled from her mouth as we kissed, and I licked it off her chin. It was bland but saline, un-whipped cream laced with an ammonia after-kick. She began to swallow but I wanted more and so licked it from her lips and teeth. The memory of its unique flavour returned over and over during the days that followed. I’d get a hard-on at the thought.
It went no further that night. Mark thought he heard Jean get up and go to the toilet upstairs. He said she would want to know where he was and would maybe come down to see, so he quickly dressed and left us.
Becky gave me a blow job when he’d gone. It did not take long for me to cum.
That was not the end of things. Later that year, when we had moved in a new flat together, Mark started coming over to ours on a Wednesday night, driving the fifty miles just to be with us for two or three hours.
But he never sucked me, and we never kissed or anything. I was just expected to help with the blow-job Becky invariably gave him, and later I’d watch him fuck her, get sloppy seconds when he had done. Eventually, he stopped coming over. Never found out why. An excuse, then another, eventually no word at all.
That was just the start for me and Becky. Two years of mad sex with all and everyone before we finally went our separate ways. We parted on good terms, no acrimony. I did run into her and her husband years later, but that is another story. I’ll write some more about Becky -- stuff before we split. Jeez! I wish I was back there with her.
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