Gretchen Lovewell - 1 free porn video

It all started with my husband Richard’s crazy idea for a family Christmas photo. He fancies himself as a photographer – he has a lot of equipment, anyway – and for some reason, he wanted to get a photo of us in running gear. I’m a serious runner, I qualified for and ran the Boston Marathon, whereas Richard is a modest runner and only does the occasional 5k. But he’s always been proud of my athletic prowess.

I’m Gretchen Lovewell, 26 years old, and just out of law school. I’m a new associate in corporate law at Brewster Bailey Hamilton LLC, Counselors-at-Law, one of the biggest law firms in town. I have bright red hair and very blue eyes, with the lean musculature of a committed runner. I work out very hard to maintain my perfectly sculpted abs, traps, and delts, and have little fat except for a rounded-but-tight ass and firm breasts. Men who like athletic women often tell me that I’m attractive. Richard is of medium height, a bit chubby and balding.

So here we were on Dorran Meadow, a wide flat expanse of low scrub on the ridgeline of the hilly city park. I was on my knees on a blanket, with our small baby propped up on my thighs, swathed in blankets. We were parked in the upper parking lot that abutted the meadow. It was late afternoon in December and an early dusk was falling. While it was a bit chilly, it was warmer than usual for December. I was wearing nothing but my Boston Marathon sports bra with the Boston Athletic Association logo above one breast, colorful tights and running shoes. Richard wore a T-shirt emblazoned front and back with “Turkey Trot 5-K”.

 “Hold still, Gretchen,” Richard was saying. “I’m almost done setting up the timer and light filters. We’ll get a great shot for our family Christmas card.”

“Richard, I’m freezing my butt off here,” I complained. I was born and raised in Germany, so even though my English is excellent, I have a slight foreign accent. “You said this would take five minutes. We’ve already been out for fifteen minutes and you haven’t even set up the camera yet. Thank God I decided to dress Junior warmly.”

“Just a little while longer, darling,” Richard said. “You can’t tell the temperature in the photos, and it will look so good to have you in your Boston Marathon gear!”

“Then we should have taken the photos indoors!” I said, my tone belligerent.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a man come running up the steep trail from the lower parking lot. He had generated a lot of heat, for his running jacket was now tied around his waist and he wore Lycra – a T-shirt and tights, both emblazoned with Boston Marathon logos. He came pounding up to the top of climb and on to the trail toward us. From the far side of the meadow, the first thing I saw was his hard, firmly muscled body. His Lycra T-shirt clung to him, revealing his well-defined abs, chest and biceps.

The man came up behind Richard on the trail and stopped as my husband continued to fuss over the camera. He looked into my big blue eyes and immediately discerned my spark of interest. To my dismay, this encouraged him and he dropped his eyes to stare at my breasts. My nipples are quite long, and had stiffened to their full length in the cold. They poked very clearly through my sports bra. As I was breast-feeding, they were now disproportionately thick and my breasts were fuller and rounder than normal.

He was staring at my breasts so obviously that I flushed. The cold was getting to him – he put on his running jacket and zipped it up. Then he pulled out his phone and typed something into it.

I was hugging myself against the cold, when my phone buzzed. I reached into my Fendi handbag for it, and tapped it open. I saw a text with an identifier picture of the man and his name – ‘Jack Grierson’.

Jack: Hi Gretchen, I’m Jack. When did you run Boston?

When I saw the text, I looked at Jack in surprise, growing even more embarrassed as his eyes ranged over me even more suggestively, lingering on my crotch and belly.

My phone buzzed again.

Jack: You’ve got beautiful breasts. Your nipples are incredible, standing up so stiff.

I colored more deeply, but now I was more angry than embarrassed. I rapidly typed into my phone with both thumbs.

Me: F U.

Jack: That’s what I want to do – fuck you.

Me: You’re bad.

Jack: That I am.

I hesitated.

“Richard, hurry up now,” I said to my husband.

“I’m almost ready, dear,” Richard said.

Jack: I can’t see a panty line under your tights. Are you wearing panties?

Me: You’re a prick.

Jack: You’re gorgeous. And smart too. I love it when you talk dirty.

There was an attachment, and my curiosity led me to tap it open. It had my official law firm website with my picture, dressed in a dark business suit with an Hermes scarf knotted around my neck. It listed that I am German by birth. It also listed the year of my college and law degrees, indicating my age. It also had details of my phone and Richard’s phone with a picture of him in a business suit as well as his e-card “Richard Pappo, Principal, Pappo Consulting”.

My eyes went wide when I saw all this information, wondering what kind of spyware he was using to get it all. I crossed my arms over my breasts. Just then Richard completed his camera set up and came over to my side.

“Uncross your arms, darling,” Richard said. “The camera will start shooting in ten seconds. You need to hold Junior.”

I obeyed Richard and he kneeled next to me. We all  looked into the camera. As the camera began to shoot, Richard noticed Jack who was unhurriedly undressing me with his eyes. I hoped Richard would make Jack go away, and when the camera finished its first round of shots, I was gratified when my husband rose angrily.

“Look here, sir, you have to business staring at us like this. Please keep going down the trail.”

“I wasn’t staring at you,” said Jack, smiling. “I’m not into men.”

“Well, move along, now.”

“It’s a public park,” said Jack. “I have every right to be here.”

Jack locked eyes with Richard, who looked away quickly.

“Suit yourself,” said Richard. Then he dropped his voice to a whisper and said, “Bastard.”

“What did you say?” asked Jack.

“Nothing,” said Richard. He went back to setting up the camera for the second set of shots.

Seeing Richard so dominated, I felt my heart beat faster. I did not know if it was disappointment, fear, anger or something else. I picked up my phone.

Me: You’re a bully!

Jack: I’m not a bully. I like looking at you – you’re a sexy. Why should I leave?

Me: Because I’m someone else’s wife!

Jack: I ran Boston – we have that in common.

Me: So did thousands of others!

Jack: What do you have in common with your husband? He’s not a serious runner like you.

Me: He just wants to love me and make me happy! And he does, all the time.

Jack: I just want to fuck you and make you cum. And I will, many times.

I could not believe I was carrying on like this. But somehow, I could not stop. It was so naughty, texting with Jack like this in full view of my husband.

Me: Well, you can keep hoping, you’ll just be frustrated.

Jack: Will I? Then why is there a spot on the crotch of your tights?

My immediate reaction was to look down. I knew that this banter and Jack’s bold stares had made me feel a bit warm down there. And my tights were pale blue with white splotches, so I was worried.

Me: There’s no spot!
Jack: I can see it from here. Feel it with your hand.

I hesitated and then touched the crotch of my tights. Sure enough, there was a tiny spot of wetness. I colored again.

Jack: See? I told you.

“OK, dear, we’re ready for the second and last set,” said Richard.

He came and kneeled by me again and the camera when through its shooting routine. Jack stared at me and I looked away from the camera at him from time to time.

Jack waited while my husband packed his camera and I picked up the baby. We headed back to our car in the upper parking lot. I could feel his eyes on my straight back and on my chiseled shoulder blades separated by the Lycra strip of my sports bra. I was conscious as never before of the roll of my round buttocks under my tights. I wished I was wearing panties.

I settled the baby in the car and I got into the back, wrapping myself in a robe to change out of my running clothes.

Jack: Don’t put on panties when you change out of your running clothes.

Me: Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t. But you’ll never know.

Jack: Nach Hause gehen? (Going home?)

Me: How do you know I speak German?

Jack: I’m interested in you. Sag mir. (Tell me)

Me: No, out for dinner to celebrate our Christmas photos.

Jack: Where?

Me: Get lost, you prick!

*

Richard drove our small Mercedes to our rowhouse in an upscale neighborhood of the city.  He got out of the car with the baby bassinet and entered the house, but I remained in the car, as it was we were getting late for our dinner reservation. I twisted in my seat and looked down our quiet residential street. My blood ran cold, for Jack was at the end of the street, leaning on a brand-new Jaguar.

A few minutes later, Richard emerged without our baby, and assured me that the babysitter had everything under control as he started the car. We drove to the restaurant where we had a reservation, Cinque, a fashionable Italian place. We parked in the lot, walked in, and hurried to the podium. Richard identified himself and mentioned our reservation. The hostess looked us up on her iPad.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said to my husband. “Your reservation was for twenty minutes ago. We had to give your table away. We have no tables for two right now.”

“I told you that you were taking too long over the damn photos!” I snapped furiously. “Now you’ve lost our table!”

“How long is the wait?” Richard asked.

“About an hour, sir.”

“But I did have a reservation!”

I mouthed, “Moron!”

“I’m sorry, sir,” the hostess repeated. She turned to look over Richard’s shoulder and we saw Jack. Richard looked thunderstruck. Even though I was half expecting him, I was surprised by his audacity. “Do you have a reservation, sir?”

“No,” said Jack easily. “I’m with these folks here. Jack Grierson.”

Richard looked at Jack, shocked.

“No, you’re not– ” he began.

“Do you have anything that would seat three?” asked Jack, cutting him off. As the hostess checked her list, Jack unobtrusively slipped her a sheaf of twenties. “A table for four would do just as well.”

The hostess made a show of running her finger up and down her list, while she counted the sheaf of bills Jack had given her. When she realized how much he had given her, disbelief showed in her eyes.

“I have a table for four just opening up,” she said. “Do you want to be seated?”

“No– ” began Richard.

“Yes, that would be great,” I said, smiling at the hostess and cutting my husband off again.

“Follow me,” said the hostess, picking up a set of menus.

Jack leaned forward and I heard him whispering to hostess, “A booth if you have one.”

As the hostess began to walk away, Richard hissed at me, “What are you doing?”

“Hol uns einen Tisch,” I said. (Getting us a table.) I lapsed into German, even though I knew my husband did not understand it. But I was very irritated with his ineptitude – we Germans value punctuality above all.

I wore a white chiffon semi-diaphanous blouse over a blue silk bra with black lace trim and straps, and a short, black, very tight skirt. I had changed into strappy black slippers with high spike heels and carried my Fendi handbag. Jack followed me, nimbly outmaneuvering my husband, who moved awkwardly. Again, I could feel Jack’s eyes on my ass, so I swung my hips provocatively as I walked on my high heels. I could feel my buttocks moving with delicious sensuality. Jack pulled out his phone as we walked down the restaurant corridor toward an interior room.

Jack: So, are you wearing panties?

I had my phone in my hand and texted right back.

Me: Was denken sie? (What do you think?)

Jack: I think you are.

Me: You’re guessing.

Jack: Your ass looks delicious. I want to go down on my knees and bury my face between your butt cheeks.

Me: Asshole.

Jack: That’s where I want to put my tongue.

The hostess showed us to our table. Jack smiled when he saw that she had given us a booth with high backs by a window. I slid into the inside on one bench and Jack sat facing me. Richard sat beside me, glowering. The waitress came by, gave us our menus and recited the specials. The busboy filled our water glasses. Jack ordered a very expensive bottle of Pinot Noir saying, “Don’t worry, it’s all on me.”

We had barely begun perusing the menus when I felt a sockless foot on the inside of my calf. I kept my eyes on the menu, moved my leg, but confined between the window and Richard, I could not avoid Jack.

“So, do you run, Richard?” asked Jack.

Jack’s toes ran further up my leg, caressing the inside of my knee.

“No,” said Richard, sipping his water. “Running is boring. I prefer more exciting pastimes.”

Jack’s toes went higher, even as I squirmed in my seat. I put my hand under the table to try and dislodge his foot, but his leg was far stronger than my hand and he kept pushing upward.

“Exciting, huh, Richard?” said Jack. “Like what?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me,” said Jack.

His toes were now high on the inside of my thigh. I knew his object and my mind told me that I must resist. But the feeling was his foot was not unpleasant and I did not discourage him as actively as I could have. I found that I had created a warm snugness between my thighs for his foot.

“Skydiving,” said Richard with a touch of bravado.

“Really!” said Jack, sounding impressed. “How many jumps have you done?”

“I done five–” Richard began, but then he looked over at me and paused.

“Richard hasn’t been up in a plane yet,” I said, my tone sharp. I didn’t know which made me more annoyed, my husband’s exaggeration of his exploits or Jack’s sexual aggression.

“I’ve done all five classes,” said Richard, sounding petulant at my interruption. “I’m scheduled to go up any day now.”

“Tandem, with an instructor,” I said.

“Really, Gretchen!” said Richard angrily. “You really don’t have to keep butting into the conversation. All you do is run, you’re too chicken to even try something filled with risk like skydiving.”

“What do you think of skydiving, Mr. Grierson?” I asked, my tone syrupy sweet. “Have you tried it?”

“No,” said Jack, and a smirk came to Richard’s face.

“Is it something you want to do?” I persisted.

“No,” repeated Jack. “I did my share of jumps when I was in the army. Many were under enemy fire. I have no desire to do any more.”           

“You served in combat?” I asked.

“Yes,” said Jack.

There was a brief silence, but Jack did not elaborate. Richard’s expression went pale. I felt a grudging respect.

“You speak German?” I asked to fill the silence.

“Yes, I was based in Germany,” said Jack. “Ich habe nie einen Deutschen mit einem Nachnamen wie Lovewell getroffen.” (I have never met a German with a last name like Lovewell.)

“What did you say?” asked Richard, interrupting loudly. “What does it mean?”

“My German name was Liebegut,” I said, ignoring my husband’s outburst. “I changed it to the English translation when I enrolled in law school here.”

The waitress arrived with the wine. She poured a small portion and offered it, saying, “Who’s going to taste it?”

“The lady will do the honors,” said Jack, indicating me.

“No, no,” I said. “I’m breast-feeding, I can’t let the baby have alcohol.”

“That’s OK,” said Jack. “You don’t have to drink, just approve the wine.”

The waitress handed me the wineglass before I could say anything. Just as I sipped the wine, Jack pushed his foot hard and I felt the hardness of his big toe on my pussy. My panties prevented full penetration, but the thin silk offered scant protection against his incursion. I gasped and coughed as I felt his big toe touch me intimately. I coughed again as he ran his toenail over my vulva and then my clitoris through the silk. His ministrations drew more moisture from me, and I felt my panties grow damp along my slit.

“Are you OK, dear?” asked Richard.

“Fine, fine,” I gasped. “Just swallowed the wine the wrong way.”

“Here, drink some water,” Richard said.

I set down the wineglass and took the water glass that he offered me.

“Is the wine OK?” asked the waitress.

“Fine, fine,” I said.

The waitress looked doubtful, but she set the wine bottle down and left. Jack used his big toe dexterously to slide the crotch of my panties aside. The skin of his big toe touched the flesh of my crotch, and he felt my smooth pubic down, trimmed to a narrow line along my slit. I was soft and furry down there, not crinkly like most women.

I involuntarily squeezed my thighs even tighter together, making it easier for him to push his foot into the tight space. The very extremely illicit nature what Jack was doing to me had me in a dither of excitement, especially with my husband sitting right beside me! He felt my clit without its silk panty shield, and it was slippery wet. Then, just as I drank the water, he pushed his big toe into me. My tight warmth encased his toe and he felt the wetness in my pussy.

I spluttered and spewed out water through my mouth and nose, making a puddle on to the table cloth.

“What’s the matter, dear?” asked Richard, clearly worried.

“Just … just … coughing …,” I stammered.

“What can I do, darling?” he said, rubbing my back.

“Nothing, nothing, I’ll be …. fine ….”

I tried to keep from gasping, for Jack was twisting his big toe in my tight pussy. Each time his toenail ran over my clit, I felt a spasm and my hands held the table edge tighter. I grew wetter with each turn of Jack’s toe.

“I think Gretchen might have caught a bit of a sore throat from being so cold out there on Dorran Meadow,” said Jack. “There’s a drugstore on the next block, why don’t you get her some throat lozenges?”

“Shall I do that, dear?” Richard asked me.

“No, no, …, I’ll be fine …” I protested. I tried to keep my voice normal, but could not avoid sounding breathy. “Don’t leave me, … please.”

But then Jack pushed his toe harder, embedding its full length in me. I coughed again and put my hand over my mouth to disguise the small scream that rose up my throat.

“I’m going to get some lozenges,” said Richard firmly. “I’ll be right back.”

He rose and quickly walked out.

*

As soon as he was out of sight, Jack went down under the table. He forced my legs apart and put his head between my thighs.

“Don’t, Jack!” I hissed, as loudly as I dared. I did not want to draw any attention, for I was not sure how brazen Jack would be.

But Jack’s face was already in my crotch. My panties were blue silk with black lace hip straps and trim, matching my bra. They were soaking wet. He ran his thumbs along the pubic down of my vulva and he speared my clitoris with the tip of his tongue. I was breathing so heavily now that I was sure that everyone at the surrounding tables could hear me. My hands were in his hair and I made a show of trying to disengage myself, but I was not trying too hard. I was rising toward a climax and the lure of the release inhibited my attempts at pushing him away.

“Omigod! MEIN GOTT!! Don’t do this to me!” My voice was low, but my tone was plaintive.

Jack teased me, withdrawing his tongue, and then sticking it out suddenly to stab my clitoris. Each time he drew a hissing gasp from me. I mumbled in a low monotone that rose and fell, begging him to stop and urging him on at the same time.

“Omigod! GOTT IN HIMMEL!! No! NO!! Please! Please!! Don’t do this to me! Yes! YES!!”

As he kept teasing me, my breathing became more desperate. I arched my back and rotated my hips, pushing my crotch into his face as I tried to bring myself off in spite of him.

“OMIGOD! Please stop! Don’t stop! Ooohh!! Just make me cum!!”

Then he relented and put his lips around my clitoris, simultaneously pushing his fore- and middle fingers deep into my pussy. He sucked hard on my clit as he used his fingers like a piston in my pussy. It took just a few thrusts with his fingers before I came.

It was the hardest orgasm I could remember. I arched my back spasmodically, pulled his head deeper into my crotch and put a cloth napkin in my mouth to stifle my cries. I was able to keep myself down to guttural grunts, going “Uhhh! MUGHHH!! UHUH-UHUH!! NGOLUH!! NHGAH!!”

I heard myself making sounds unlike any I had made before. My pussy’s contractions were so hard that I was sure Jack felt them on his fingers.

Finally, I slumped back in my seat, drained in the afterglow of my orgasm. Jack rose between my legs and let his fingers trace out my thick nipples and kneaded my breasts. My nipples were so hard and erect that the two thin layers of my chiffon blouse and blue silk bra could not pretend to conceal them. I had cum so hard that the pressure had caused me to leak milk into my bra. It had seeped through the thin bra to create damp blotches on my white blouse.

“You’re a fucking animal, Grierson,” I said.

“I’m as hard as a rock, Gretchen,” he said. “I’ve got to fuck you.”

“No!” I said. “Get back in your seat! I think I see Richard!”

Jack slid back under the table and just managed to seat himself as Richard returned with a sheet of lozenges.

“You’re looking ill, dear,” Richard said worriedly. He put a hand on my forehead. “You’re warm! And you’ve got a sheen of sweat on you!”

“It’s nothing,” I stammered. “It’s just that the restaurant is overheated.”

“Nonsense! It’s quite cool in here.” He leaned over and whispered in my ear. “I don’t want to embarrass you, but you’ve leaked milk. It’s soaked through your bra and wet your blouse.”

“I know!” I replied in a normal voice, my tone snippy. “I told you I wanted to feed the baby before we came to dinner.”

“How old is the baby?” asked Jack.

“He’s six months,” I said. “I’ve wanted to wean him for some time now, but Richard wants to keep me lactating.”

“You like mother’s milk, eh, Richard?” asked Jack, with a smile.

“Really, Gretchen –”

“Maybe Gretchen is a bit excited,” said Jack, with meaning look at the wet blotches on my blouse. “Maybe it was all those photos you took.”

“You are really intruding into our marriage,” said Richard resentfully. “And you’re talking about my wife in a despicable manner.”

“Am I?” Jack turned to me. “What do you think?”

I was saved from answering by the waitress, who came to take our order.

*

We ordered and there was a strained silence as we waited for our food. The wine was gone, and Jack ordered a second bottle. The wine glasses were large, and he poured over a third of the bottle for Richard. By the time the food came, the second bottle was nearly gone. We ate in silence, and Richard continued to drink, his expression surly.

My pussy was sopping wet from my orgasm. I knew my skirt and the cushion of the bench I was sitting on were damp. The smell of my sex hung in the air, but it was overlain with the rich smell of my mother’s milk. I could see from Richard’s expression that he smelled something and I hoped it was just my milk. But his tense expression seemed to indicate that he suspected something. I saw Jack run his tongue around his mouth, savoring my sexual juices.

Richard continued to voice his concerns that I was unwell and kept asking me about it every few minutes. My wet panties were beginning to make me uncomfortable and I was soon exasperated with his constant repetition.

“I’m fine, Richard!” I exploded at him after he asked for the third time.

“I’m just worried about you,” he said, sounding hurt.

“I’m fine! Let it go!”

Richard looked miffed. He looked away from me and did not say anything more. He guzzled what was left in his wine glass and filled it again, emptying the bottle. Jack signaled the waitress, pointing at the wine bottle. She nodded.

“I need to go to the restroom,” I said.

“Are you –”

“Nein, du Idiot! For the last time, I’m not ill. I just need to go to the restroom.” (No, you idiot!)

I got up and dropped my napkin on the incriminating patch of wetness where I had been sitting. Richard stood up to let me slide out from the table. Jack pulled out his phone and it rang almost immediately.

“I need to take this,” he said.

He emptied the last of the bottle in Richard’s glass before rising to leave the table with the phone on his ear. The waitress arrived with the third wine bottle just as he stood up. He put a hand on her waist and whispered in her ear, “Get a fourth bottle after this one.”

“It’s very expensive wine, sir,” the waitress whispered back.

“Here, run a tab on my credit card.” Jack pushed a credit card into her apron pocket, shoving his hand quickly and hard into her crotch. As I turned to leave, she gasped, and Jack followed me without looking back at her.

I quickly turned the corner toward the sign for the toilets, out of Richard’s sight. I entered a darkened interior corridor – at the end, there was a door marked with female pictogram. The first I realized of Jack’s pursuit was his hand on my rump.

“What the–” I began.

“Do you really need to use the restroom?” he whispered in my ear.

“Not really, but my panties are wet and uncomfortable,” I whispered back.

“Take them off here,” he whispered. “So much more exciting.”

“No, no, I couldn’t–”

But Jack had already pushed me up against the wall by the door, with his hand up my short skirt. His fingers found the waistband of my panties. He jerked them down in a move that was as smooth as it was sudden. I found my panties around my knees and felt them sliding down to my calves to pool around my ankles.

“My God!” I breathed.

“Lift your feet,” he whispered before bending down to scoop them up. He moved quicker than me, and my panty thong caught on one of my tall heels. I fell into his arms as he rose with his prize in his hand. He put my wet panties first to his nose, inhaled deeply, and then put them on my nose murmuring, “You taste heavenly, Gretchen.”

I could not remember wetting my panties like this before, and certainly had never had my own sexual juices thrust into my nose. I could not decide how to describe it, sweet and sour at the same time. Jack had arm around me and I realized he was holding me very tight. His male smell was intense, slightly sour from the dried sweat of his run. I became aware of something large pressing on to my side through my blouse – it was his cock!

“You’ve got a huge hardon, Grierson,” I hissed.

“Of course, Gretchen. I’ve been hard ever since I saw you in your sports bra and tights.”

“What kind of a beast are you? You’ve got me acting crazy–”

“Not crazy, Gretchen. You’re a woman, I’m a man, this is what we’re meant to do to each other.”

“How could you make me cum at the table like that? Right in the middle of a crowded restaurant!”

“You have to let yourself go.”

“Omigod!” I hissed looking over Jack’s shoulder. “Our waitress is coming down the corridor!”

Instead of releasing me, Jack grasped the back of my neck, and kissed me. He forced his thick tongue into my mouth and sealed my lips with his. My own tongue fought back, lithe and quick. I felt his breath in my mouth, in my nose. His other hand was at the small of my back and he ground his hard manhood on me. The waitress approached closer, staring at us, and I closed my eyes to avoid her. I lost myself to Jack’s hard body and his tongue in my mouth.

He broke off the kiss, and I opened my eyes, relieved to find that the waitress was no longer there. His lips traced down my throat, his tongue leaving electric traces on my skin.

“What are you doing to me, you monster?” I whispered.

Jack’s tongue traced down further, past my thin metal choker necklace, to the seams of my blouse. He unbuttoned my blouse so fast that I could not have stopped him if I had tried. His tongue slid over the upper swells of my breasts, leaving light lines of saliva. Then his nose was in my tight cleavage, and he pulled down the wet cups of my blue silk bra, exposing my meaty nipples. My nipples are as dark red as my hair, and even as I watched, a tiny droplet of rich, white mother’s milk oozed out of each one.

“Your husband likes to suckle your nipples, doesn’t he?” Jack murmured. “He wants you to keep lactating.”

“Yes,” I breathed, the word coming out in a gasp as Jack’s lips fastened around one of my nipples and began suckling. My hands were on his head, my fingers laced in his thick pepper-and-salt hair.

Jack’s tongue worked my nipple and kneaded my breast as he suckled, milking and exciting me at the same time. I felt the stream of my milk flowing out of me and the stimulation of my sensitive, erogenous nipples renewed my sensual excitement. The flow of yet another of my fluids into Jack’s mouth – mother’s milk from my breasts after the sexual secretions from my pussy – was carnal, erotic. It was so unlike sex with Richard, which was just tedious.

“This is so wrong.” My whisper came out as a low moan. “So wrong. So very wrong. But it feels so good!”

Jack moved to my other nipple and was equally thorough, suckling, kneading, stimulating. And then he was done. Traces of my milk marked his face from his lips down his chin. I wiped my milk off his face with my hand. I looked down at my slightly less full breasts. My nipples had never been this hard. They were almost painful.

“I want to fuck you now, Gretchen,” Jack said. His normal voice sounded unusually loud after all our whispering.

“No, no, don’t fuck me,” I murmured, a kneejerk, automatic response. My mind was in a whirl and I went on. “Where are my panties?”

“In my pocket. Come on.”

He took me by the arm and steered me out past the bar.

“Ich bin fast nackt, du Schläger!” I protested. (I’m almost naked, you brute!)

I desperately held my unbuttoned blouse together with both hands, my forearms covering my breasts. I felt my hardened nipples through the thin chiffon, for my bra cups were still pulled down. Several men looked after us curiously, but no one stopped us. Jack guided me to the front door, past the hostess who also looked at us with wide eyes, and out the front door into the parking lot.

“It’s cold out here, Grierson!” I said.

“You won’t be cold long, Gretchen,” he assured me.

*

Jack shepherded me around the back of the restaurant. There was a back patio with French windows that looked into the main dining room. The patio was probably used for outside service in the warmer months, but now the stone floor was empty. The furniture was stacked up along one side.

Jack led me to the French windows and moved along them, peering in. There were heavy drapes on the inside, but there were gaps through which we could see into the dining room. He found one where we could see right into the booth were Richard was sitting, barely five feet away.

My blouse hung open, my bra cups pulled down, and with the cold my nipples were even harder than before.

“Richard is right there!” I said. “And my tits are freezing!”

“You just need to get some circulation going, Gretchen,” said Jack, his voice soothing. “Just look at Richard while I fuck you.”

I heard a zipper, and then realized my short skirt was being rucked up around my waist. I felt the warmth and hardness of his manhood on my buttock. He grasped the back of my neck with one hand and bent me forward. His other hand traced the contours of my defined abs, before settling on the swell of my belly. He got me into the precise position he wanted me.

“No, no, no!” I wailed, as I sensed the touch of his cock. But I moved pliantly to help him position me – my actions contradicted my words.

In what seemed like the same moment, I felt his cockhead spread my pussy lips wider than any man had ever spread me before. My taut, warm pussy stretched to accommodate his huge organ – gripping him so tightly that I stripped back his foreskin.

“JESUS GOD!” I expostulated. “You’re huge!”

Jack was not patient. He pushed his enormous length into me with one powerful thrust, letting out a grunt of satisfaction as he did so. The shock of his sudden and massive penetration dredged up a primitive sound that I didn’t know existed.

“NGAHH!!” I yelped.

No man had ever been so deep in me before. Watching my husband as my innermost recesses were violated intensified the shock. Richard was pouring himself another glass from the fourth bottle of wine, his head bent forward, his expression vacant.

“SOO DEEP! YOU’RE IN SO DEEP!!!” I moaned.

“Steady, Gretchen,” said Jack. “Breathe.”

He drew back and thrust his full length into me again. And again.

“OOGL!!” I squealed. “OOOGAH!!”

Jack began to fuck me hard, quickly getting a solid rhythm. Each thrust went home with a wet smack as his mount struck my round buttocks. Each time he withdrew, I felt as though my insides were being pulled out.

My hands were on the heavy double-glazed glass of the French windows, my breasts jounced with his powerful piston action. He could see them reflected in the glass. He could also see my reflection, my expression growing increasingly wild. But my eyes remained focused on my husband just on the other side of the glass.

“OOOGL!! NGAHH!! OOGH!! Mein Gott!! OMIGOD!! DON’T MAKE ME!! PLEASE DON’T MAKE ME!! AAGH!! AAHN!!”

I was crying out quite loudly now and my breath was steaming up the glass. I was sweating and my body grew slippery in his grasp. I was sure he knew it would not take much to make me cum, and also that he knew how to push me over the edge. But he seemed to be enjoying fucking me, and kept thrusting into me with long strokes. Immediately after each withdrawal, he slammed his full length back into me.

I was acting like a cavewoman, twenty thousand years of civilization stripped away. I was just a pure instinctive female animal responding to his forceful maleness. My husband, the competing male just in front of my eyes, completed the prehistoric scenario. Jack reveled in his conquest, for I was a prize female and he was taking me, forcing himself into me. But now I was responding to him, rotating my hips, grinding my pussy lips on him, all the while staring at my cuckolded husband.

My eyes were watering, my nose was running, I as drooling as I continued to moan, gasp, and cry out. My warm, tight pussy was steadily leaking my sexual fluids that dribbled on to the stone floor of the patio. My nipples oozed a thin, milky discharge. But none of this registered with me. My entire consciousness was focused on the center of my womanhood: my pussy, my womb, my clitoris, mated with the essence of his manhood, hard and hot. My pussy gripped his cock so tightly that I felt his heavy pulsing heartbeat through his cock deep inside me.

I interspersed words with wordless cries, so loud that some faint sounds filtered through the double-glazed glass. Some diners cocked their heads and seemed to be asking each other what they were hearing.

“I CAN’T, JACK!!” I cried, using his name for the first time. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO ME?! OOOHH!! OOOGGL!! PLEASE!! PLEASE!!!”

Jack slid his hand from my belly down to my crotch and his fingers expertly manipulated my clit. My cries rose in pitch and I immediately began to cum, bucking and rearing, hips rotating wildly. My tight pussy was spasmed with wringing contractions. Each contraction began by squeezing his cockhead buried deep inside me, and radiated out along my vaginal walls, gripping him like a vice. No sooner had one contraction run through me than the next began. As my orgasm finally began to wind down, I felt like I was boneless, completely drained, incapable of standing. Jack held my sweat covered athletic body gently, caressing my breasts and nipples.

Slowly I became mindful of Richard looking straight at us.

“Richard!” I gasped. “He’s looking right at us!”

“He’s in the light, we’re in darkness,” said Jack calmly. “We can see him clearly, but all he can see out here are shadows.”

“He’s seeing you’re fucking me!”

“He may see someone fucking someone,” said Jack. “But he’s probably too drunk to recognize even that now.”

The waitress had come by to check on Richard in the midst of my wild cumming and she had followed his look to the French window. And she’d come closer to investigate. She’d seen Jack fucking me. Her expression at the strength of my orgasm was one of envy.

I slowly became mindful that Jack’s cock was still deep inside me, throbbing like a huge engine idling.

“Jack! You’re still hard! What –”

He pulled out of me, leaving me feeling like there was a void in me.

“My legs are shaking, Jack –”

“Don’t worry, you won’t have to stand now.”

He turned me around and lifted me up with hands under my round buttocks. He carefully positioned my pussy lips on his rampant cockhead, now coated with my sexual fluids. I put my arms around his neck and Jack rested my back on the glass. With one motion, he lowered me, letting my weight drive him into me and covered my lips with his, pushing his thick tongue into my mouth. The double penetration, especially with my clit rammed into his mount, brought up a scream, but it was smothered in his mouth.

“MMMFFGGH!! UUMMMFFGH!!”

My choked cries drove him on and he began to fuck me hard again. My firm breasts were squeezed against his hard chest, my nipples indenting his flesh like pebbles. He rammed my buttocks against the glass with each piledriving thrust. One hand was on the back of my neck, holding my face steady, while the other was at the small of my back, gripping my bunched-up skirt like a leash around my waist. He kept his tongue deep in my mouth, stifling my cries.

My arousal was already so extreme that I could not last long, and neither could he. I began to cum again, as hard as before, my pussy a silken clamp. He exploded, and I felt the first copious gush of his musky ejaculate deep inside me. He kept pounding me, and pumped three more spurts into me before he was done, grunting as he did so.

He leaned on me, one hand on the glass, the other still holding me up by my bunched-up skirt that was now no more than a waistband. We were both spent, covered with sweat, clothes sodden, but still high from the intensity of our sexual climax.

“I’m going to pass out!” I whispered into his shoulder.

“I’m a little faint too,” confessed Jack, as his cock began to slowly deflate in my pussy. “Let’s take a moment.”

“I’m not cold now,” I whispered. “In fact, I’m still sweating. How can you fuck like that? You’re a satyr!”

“I’ve got a lot of testosterone,” said Jack.

*

We adjusted our clothes to regain some semblance of normalcy. I set my black bra straps on my shoulders, pulled up my blue silk bra cups and plumped my breasts under them to snug them on. I ran my fingers through my damp hair, using my reflection in the glass as I tried to comb it. Then I buttoned up my blouse, now so damp that it was see-through. As I smoothed my skirt down, I realized that Jack’s viscous semen was oozing out of me. It was slowly seeping down my inner thighs.

“My God, Jack, you must have driven a liter of your semen into me,” I complained. “I have to go to the ladies’ and clean up.”

“Good idea,” he said.

“Give me back my panties.”

“No,” said Jack, smiling. “I’ll keep them. To remember you by.”

“You want me to prance around with no panties in public,” I muttered, but Jack did not respond.

We walked back around and re-entered the restaurant. As we passed the hostess, Jack said we were returning to our table. I went into the ladies’, locked myself in a stall, and used half a roll of toilet paper in an attempt to clean Jack out of me. But there was so much of him so deep in me, that each time I thought I was done, more milky semen oozed out of me. Finally, I gave up and walked back to our table, feeling the gooey fluid slowly leaking out of my pussy and trickling on to my inner thighs.

Richard was very drunk. Jack had managed to get him to stand up with an arm draped around his neck. Holding Richard with one hand, he was signing the waitress’s iPad with the other to pay the bill.

I walked up quickly and picked up my purse, but Jack waved me away saying, “I told you it’s on me.”

He turned to the waitress and slipped her some currency bills.

“Thank you, dear,” he said. “Your service was great.”

The waitress looked from Jack to Gretchen and back again, coloring.

“Thank you, sir,” she said. “Merry Christmas.”

“Call me if you want more service during the holidays,” said Jack, pulling a card out of his jacket pocket and giving it to the waitress. Then he put his other arm around my waist and went on, “A Merry Christmas to us all.”

With that, he steered us, husband and wife, out of the restaurant. He settled Richard in the passenger seat of our Mercedes and clipped on his seatbelt before coming around to my window on the driver’s side.

“You made me behave like a slut,” I said.

“Did I?” Jack cocked an eyebrow.

“Will you do it again?”

“If you want,” he said.

“I’ve had some hard periods since the baby was born,” I said. “I’m ovulating right now and you came inside me like a gusher. My OB/GYN said I could get pregnant, even though I’m breastfeeding.”

“I have a high sperm count,” said Jack. “Do a pregnancy test in a few weeks and call me.”

“Monster!” I exclaimed. Then I went on a soft voice. “Mein Monster.” (My monster.)

*

My phone rang as we drove home. When I answered it, our babysitter’s voice came through the speakers.

“The baby is up, Mrs. Lovewell and won’t stop crying,” she said. “I’ve tried holding him and rocking him, but nothing seems to help. I think he’s hungry.”

“We’re on our way home,” I said. “Just keep holding him till we get there.”

The call woke Richard, who stared ahead vacuously.

“There was a couple fucking on the patio outside the restaurant,” he slurred, his head lolling on the headrest. “Wasn’t it disgusting?”

“You mentioned it to me at the time,” I said cautiously. “But I couldn’t see exactly what they were doing. Anyway, it’s not our business.”

“They were fucking,” repeated Richard with drunken certitude. “I thought the woman had dark red hair like yours. I told you, didn’t I?”

“Yes, yes, you told me,” I said. “I was right there with you in the restaurant, wasn’t I?”

“Yes, I think you were,” mumbled Richard, and fell back asleep.

I felt Jack’s gooey semen continue to ooze out of me. My skirt was already wet, but now it leached through the fabric to the leather driver’s seat of the Mercedes. Its musky smell was strong and brought my wild orgasms back to mind. My pussy clenched reflexively as I looked over at my cuckolded husband. I wondered if he smelled it, but he continued to sleep fitfully.

The babysitter had to help me manhandle Richard upstairs into bed. After she left, I fed the baby with my depleted breasts and managed to rock him to sleep on my belly.

Richard woke in the late morning with a fearful hangover, grateful that it was a Saturday. He came down to find me in the kitchen with the baby in my arms.

“I feel like hell,” he said.

“Zu viel trinken hat nur ein Ende,” I said tartly.

“I hate it when you talk German,” he said, voice rising.

“Drinking too much has only one end,” I translated. “We’ve been married two years, you could have learned.”

He went to the coffee maker and poured himself a cup. He gulped some black coffee and belched.

“I thought I saw a couple fucking outside the restaurant yesterday,” he said, remembering. “I think the woman had dark red hair like yours.”

“You told me to look,” I said, my voice a bit tense. “But I couldn’t see much. You were so drunk, you probably imagined more than you saw.”

“Maybe,” said Richard. “It was a miserable evening. After I had everything planned so well! That creep, Jack Grierson, ruined it for us.”

“Maybe he did,” I said. “But you couldn’t even get us to the restaurant on time.”

Jack Grierson speaks German, I thought. He has a nice accent.

*