Does Your Husband Know? free porn video
“Guess who I’ve just befriended,” my wife said.
She was lying naked on the bed, resting on one elbow, the laptop in front of her. She’d logged on to Lush while she was waiting for me.
“Who?” I said, moving towards the bed, bollock naked myself.
“Emily from next door.”
“No way,” I said, moving across the room and coming to rest on the edge of the bed, so that I could see the screen myself.
“Yes way,” Cynthia said. Normally I call her Cyn, because the abbreviation is so very apt. “Look!”
I looked as my wife clicked, bringing up a picture to full size.
“It can’t be her,” I said. But I had to admit that if it wasn’t, the odds were she had a twin sister. Cyn and I had seen Emily like this a number of times, in the deckchair in next door’s garden, in a yellow patterned bikini, long, ash-blonde hair sweeping over her shoulders and huge dark glasses obscuring her eyes and upper face. There was a house in the background, which if it wasn’t the neighbours’ was so uncannily similar it was just plain spooky.
“Are there any more pictures?” I asked.
“Why? Have you go the hots for her?” Cyn asked, but with no hint of jealousy. I adjusted my position so that I could play with her hair and the nape of her neck as she brought up other pictures; a pair of big breasts with rock hard nipples, a hand inside a pair of panties, a slightly awkward picture of the woman from behind on all fours obviously taken with the aid of a mirror, then a close up of a pussy with two fingers inside.
“Do you think George has taken these?” I asked. George was Emily’s husband. “Always assuming it is Emily.”
“Not likely,” Cyn said. “From the look of them, I’d say Emily’s taken them herself.”
“You’re sure it is her?”
“She’s written a new story,” Cyn said. “Do you want to hear it?”
“Of course.”
“Then get down between my thighs.”
This was a regular game for us; reading stories from Lush out loud. If they were written from a male perspective, I would read them, and if from a female perspective, Cyn would do the honours. This one being a first person narrative by a woman (possibly even Emily from next door), my wife would read, while I teased her pussy with my fingers and my mouth.
Actually, Emily’s (always assuming they were Emily’s) stories were a big hit with us. We’d read all of them, some of them more than once. Often Cyn wouldn’t be able to contain herself, and would climax mid story, and then again at the end. All of the stories were categorized as reluctance, hardcore, or came very close to belonging in those categories. The new one was a reluctance story, in which the narrator found herself alone in the office at night (for reasons which were never fully explained), was suddenly interrupted by a security guard, who refused to believe she worked there, found herself handcuffed with his hand up her skirt, and felt compelled to submit to his lustful designs.
It took Cyn half an hour to read the story, by which time she was dripping wet. “Anyone would think you wanted to be apprehended like that,” I observed, eyeing the wet patch on the bedclothes as I twisted three fingers inside my wife’s over-heated pleasure cove.
“Shut up and fuck me as hard as you fucking can!” Cynthia ordered.
I was in no mood to disobey.
The question of whether or not the woman Cyn had befriended on Lush really was our next door neighbour continued to preoccupy us. Well, Cynthia had been convinced from the start, but she had to admit that she could be wrong. By the time a week had passed, I think we were both pretty much of the mind that it was indeed Emily; we couldn’t see how such similarities could be a coincidence.
On two occasions that week, Emily and I drove off to work at about the same time. We said hello as we unlocked our respective cars, and as I looked at her in her officewear, I couldn’t help but think of those pictures; of her big knockers, her hand down her knickers, her fingers inside herself (always assuming it was her). But above all I thought of her stories as I drove to work. It amused me. There she was, all done up to make a professional impression, and underneath it all she had all these ideas about being fucked senseless by big-cocked bastards who were after nothing more than some willing slut to use to their own ends – I mean that’s what her stories amounted to, pretty much.
I said as much to Cyn. It made her laugh. “I bet you wouldn’t object to getting your own bit of meat between her big knockers,” she said.
There was no point in denying it. I didn’t call my wife Cyn for nothing. We’d not exactly been exclusive in our married life, though most adventures involving other people had involved the both of us. We were underneath the covers, and a long fingernail scratched its way up my leg as Cyn spoke. It lingered for a while on my balls before touching the root of my cock. Then fingers gripped me, Cyn’s hand beginning to work, to pump my shaft. “Has the thought of Emily’s big knockers given you a hard-on?” my wife teased. “You know, we should definitely try to found out if it really is Emily.”
“Oh, I think we know,” I said, by now as convinced as Cyn had been all along.
“Yes,” my wife said. “But, you know, one hundred percent rock solid certain.”
Cyn has a wicked mind, allied to a willingness to act on it. I was intrigued. “And how do you propose to go about it?”
“Never you mind,” my wife said. “But since I’m feeling charitable, I’ll let you lay there and think of Emily’s big tits while I get you off.”
The days went by. Then, one day when I came home from work, Cyn was standing in the kitchen, looking like a wet dream in knee-high black boots and a black leather skirt, between which was a stretch of sheer silver on both legs. On top, my wife was sporting a tight, light green sweater, which was one of my favourites, because of the way it made her breasts look like they were made to be fondled.
“So who’s the lucky man?” I said, a quip which was rewarded with the kind of smile capable of provoking an instant erection. Cyn had set the laptop up on the kitchen island. I could see that she’d logged onto Lush, and that she had Emily’s (because it was her, it had to be) profile page showing.
“George is out,” my wife said. “And Emily’s on Lush.” She sounded very excited by this.
I looked out, at next door, curtains drawn against the remote possibility of prying eyes. “Are you going to poke her?” I asked.
This caused my wife to laugh hysterically. “Oh no,” she spluttered at last. “With a bit of luck you’re the one who’ll be poking her.”
I thought she was joking, but I should have known my wicked Cyn better than that. Suddenly she had the cordless phone in her hand. I didn’t hear much of the conversation, I was still stunned by what my wife had just said, that she appeared to be serious about it.
It took a couple of minutes, then the doorbell rang. Cyn went to open it. “Come in, Emily!” I heard her say in her best welcoming voice.
“Hello, Cynthia,” came Emily’s slightly bewildered voice. “What is it you want to show me?”
“Let’s go through to the kitchen,” Cyn said.
If Cyn and I weren’t best friends with the neighbours, we were friendly enough with them; enough for there to be nothing strange about Cyn asking Emily over. Clearly my wife had been cryptic enough for Emily to be at a disadvantage. She and I exchanged greetings as Cynthia wandered over to the laptop. Emily obviously wasn’t paying much attention to the computer, because she seemed unsuspecting right up until Cynthia said, “We were hoping you’d satisfy our curiosity. This is you, isn’t it?” She tapped on the computer, bringing up the picture of Emily sunbathing in the garden, in her yellow bikini and the big sunglasses.
I watched Emily closely. There was shock in her eyes, a reddening of her cheeks, a tension in her limbs, but she didn’t confirm or deny anything, perhaps hoping to defuse the situation. “What is this?” she said.
Knowing my wife as I did, I knew she didn’t expect me to remain silent or inactive. I slid my arm along the kitchen top, attracting Emily’s attention. “Does your husband know?” I asked.
“Know what?” Emily asked. Everything about her body language and the way she could hardly get the words out bore witness to Cyn’s initial intuition being right, but clearly Emily was hoping to bluff things out.
“That you write kinky stories in your spare time,” my wife said. “We’re big fans, you know. My favourite’s the one with the three burglars. Such brutes!”
Emily stood there, still a bit shell-shocked, eyes folding inwards as she tried to think on her feet.
“Does George know?” I persisted, coming round to join Cynthia. Being able to read her like a book, I could see what a wicked mood she was in, so I tapped on the computer, making the image shift to the one of Emily’s big tits with the big, swollen nipples. “Lovely knockers,” I said. “And judging by the comments, you’ve got quite a fan club.”
To my surprise, this was all it took for Emily’s façade to crack. “George doesn’t know,” she breathed. “He mustn’t know.” She shifted uncomfortably, looking at us with pleading eyes.
“Oh, Emily!” my wife exclaimed. “How very wicked of you!”
“Please don’t tell George!” Emily exclaimed. “Please, please…”
“Oh, Emily!” my wife said again, putting an arm around the woman’s shoulders. “Why would we do that? It would spoil all the fun!”
“The fun?”
“We love your stories!” Cyn said enthusiastically. She reached out and tapped on the computer, making the image of Emily with her hand down her knickers appear. “And your pictures. Rob gets such a hard-on looking at them. He makes me do such naughty things while he’s looking at them.”
Emily started and took a step back, but instinctively her eyes went to my crotch, where I indeed did have a big bulge. Well, I’d fantasized about Emily after all, admittedly in her workwear, the black stockings and bottom hugging skirt, but she still looked pretty fine in her blue and red dress and bare legs. My wife was, as you’ll appreciate, far from jealous, but I moved round anyway to reach out and squeeze Cyn’s bum in full view of Emily. “Well, they are really hot, those pictures. Thanks for that, Emily!”
The woman looked extremely embarrassed. “Perhaps I should delete them,” she mumbled, more for her own sake, it seemed, than for ours.
“Oh no, don’t do that!” Cyn exclaimed. “They’re so great!” She paused, as if she was thinking. “And you’d miss all those kinky comments from your fan club. Maybe we could help you out instead.”
“Help me out?”
“Yes!” Cynthia cried. “Rob’s great with a camera. That way you wouldn’t have to take selfies. You could pose properly.”
Emily tried to take a step back, but she was already up against the kitchen island. “Look, I’m glad you like the stories and the pictures and everything, but I really have to go. George will be home soon.”
“Oh yes, George,” Cyn said. She turned to me. “I wonder what he’d think if he found out about all this?” I could read the wickedness in her eyes with no trouble whatsoever.
“Yes, I wonder,” I said.
“No!” Emily exclaimed. “George mustn’t find out! Never!”
“Don’t worry, Emily,” I said, trying for conciliatory as I moved towards her. “We don’t want to land you in it.” Again Emily tried to move, but by now I was sandwiching her between the kitchen island and my own body. She couldn’t fail to feel the way my erection was throbbing.
“What is it you want?” she breathed.
“The same thing you do, Emily?”
Emily inched sideways as she said, “And what is it you think I want?”
“We’ve read the stories, Emily,” my wife said. “We know what you want.”
“Those,” Emily said. She shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “Those are just… I don’t know where they came from. They don’t mean anything.”
“Well they came from somewhere,” Cyn said. “Everything’s a fantasy until you try it.”
Emily pulled up. This seemed to strike a nerve, but out loud she said, “Who says I want to try anything? I like writing, trying out different characters… situations…”
“Which just happen to include a fair bit of extremely rough sex,” I observed.
“Look, Emily,” said. “I really have to go. George…”
“Who of course we’d never tell about any of this,” I said.
“Never,” Cyn agreed.
“You mustn’t,” Emily breathed. “You wouldn’t, would you?”
“Of course not,” Cyn said.
“Good,” Emily said, sounding suddenly more determined. “Look, I’m glad you like the stories…”
“Humour us, Em,” my wife interrupted.
“What?”
“Read a passage from one of your stories out loud, for us.”
I watched Emily closely. It was hard to tell what she was thinking or feeling. Out loud she said, “If I do, will you let me go?”
This was interesting. After all, it wasn’t as if we were holding her captive or anything. Emily could easily storm out of the house whenever she felt like it. Cyn didn’t answer, but turned to the computer, tapping on it, bringing up one of Emily’s stories. “Here you are,” she said.
Emily hesitated, then she moved back across to the computer. “You want me to read that?” she exclaimed.
“Humour us, Em,” my wife said softly.
The woman blushed visibly, but for whatever reason, she leaned in to get a better look at the screen.
Cyn had chosen well. It was one of Emily’s hardcore stories, about a night with three men in a hotel room. My wife had scrolled down to where there was a bit of action. It was absolutely delicious hearing Emily read her own story out loud, about how she was pulled and pushed this way and that, having the men use her mouth and fuck her vigorously from behind. She stuttered a great deal, partly from embarrassment, but perhaps also because she could hardly remain unaware of how Cyn moved round behind me and unzipped me, finally bringing my throbbing erection out in the open.
When she reached the point in the story where she was astride one of the men, while the other dribbled saliva on her anus in preparation for a spot of double penetration, Emily fell silent.
Cyn filled in the silence. “See, Emily, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” She giggled. “Not like Robbie here. We both get so very horny reading your stories.”
Emily turned away from the screen to look at us, her eyes immediately drawn to Cyn’s hand, fingers clasped around my stiff cock, tugging gently.
“Aren’t you flattered that your stories get Rob so hard?” Cyn asked.
“And the pictures,” I said. “Don’t forget the pictures.”
This seemed to embarrass Emily even more. She made an effort to avert her eyes, not looking at us as she said, “Can I go now?”
No-one was stopping her, yet she still dithered hesitantly.
Cyn kept on moving her hand. “Don’t you think Rob’s got a lovely big cock, Emily? Don’t you want to feel how hard your stories make him?”
“What?” Emily exclaimed again. “What do you think…? I mean, I write stories, I admit that, but it doesn’t mean I want to...”
Her eyes had returned to my cock, to Cyn’s jobbing hand. There was an impasse, Emily staying rooted to the spot, even though she could easily leave at any time. I was wondering what the best thing to do was when Cyn let go of my erection. She took my hand instead, leading me towards Emily.
The woman took a step back, but then we were right up close to her. Cyn grabbed her wrist. I felt Emily’s fingers against the tip of my cock.
Then the woman snatched her hand away. “What kind of woman do you think I am?” she breathed, but her voice bled her words dry of conviction.
“Come on, Em,” Cynthia cajoled. “It wasn’t so bad, was it? Not for someone who writes stories about being gangbanged by…”
“That means nothing,” Emily said. “I’m a married woman.”
“Ah, yes,” I said. “George who mustn’t be told.”
“He mustn’t know,” Emily breathed. “About any of this. Anything. George…”
At that moment the doorbell rang. We all fell silent, but I had an intuition. I stuffed my cock back in my trousers as I made my way to the window to peer out. The man himself was standing on the doorstep. “Speak of the devil,” I said.
Turning, I could see the panic on Emily’s face. As the doorbell rang a second time, I said, “Don’t worry. I’ll handle this.”
“Please don’t tell!” Emily blurted. “About anything! George mustn’t know! I’d do anything to keep him from knowing!”
This was interesting, I thought, closing the kitchen door behind me. The woman was virtually blackmailing herself. Did it mean anything, and if so what?
Outside, George was still in his work suit, looking a little confused. “Er, I was wondering if Emily was over here,” he said. “Only, her car’s home, but she’s not.”
“She’s upstairs with Cynthia,” I said. “I don’t know what’s going on exactly. Woman stuff, I imagine.”
George nodded. “Yes, I imagine so.”
“I could fetch her for you,” I offered.
“No, no,” George decided. “I didn’t want her for anything important; I was just wondering where she was.”
“Of course,” I said.
The man began to turn, then said, “I thought we might… Tell her there’ll be a nice cheese platter waiting.” This was typical of George, as nice a man as he was. The man worked in cheese, seemed obsessed by the stuff. I swear he could turn any topic of conversation into a discussion of cheese; the weather, robotic engineering, spherical trigonometry. No doubt George imagined world peace could be achieved through companionable indulgence in a bit of Red Leicester.
“I’ll do that,” I said.
On my way back to the kitchen, I decided the time had come to step things up. George’s appearance and Emily’s words were spurring me to action. There was no time to waste.
I opened the kitchen door and said, “Right, Emily, I’ve shown you mine; it’s time for you to show me yours.”
I had no idea what the two women had been doing or saying, but they were standing by the computer. Emily looked shocked; my wife looked amused.
“What… What do you mean?” Emily asked.
“I’ve held my side of the bargain,” I said. “I sent George packing without the slightest hint of anything. You said you’d do anything…”
Emily took a step forward, away from the kitchen island. “That was just… something I said,” she breathed.
I stopped a couple of yards in front of her. “Yes,” I said. “You did say it.” Then to my wife, “Cyn, pull her knickers down.”
Cynthia, who was just behind Emily wasted no time in getting her hands up Emily’s dress, hitching it up to show me where she’d wrestled the woman’s panties down to mid-thigh, and more importantly…
“Nice bush,” I said. “George likes it hairy, does he?”
“George,” Emily breathed. “I have to go. George is home.” But as she spoke, Cynthia slipped the straps of the dress over Emily’s shoulders, the garment dropping to the floor before a full, navy blue bra was quickly unhooked. Suddenly the wife next door was standing in our kitchen, completely naked save for sandals and the knickers that sat incongruously at half thigh.
“Fucking ace tits,” I said, enjoying the look of acute embarrassment.
“We could take some great pictures of you for your profile page,” Cynthia said.
“Like that, do you, Emily?” I filled in. “The idea of your fan club wanking over your big tits?”
Presumably there was no answer to this, because Emily just stood there, as if paralysed. I took the opportunity to unzip, bringing my cock out into the open again. I’m sure I need hardly mention that I was back to full strength as I took the few steps necessary to come right up to Emily. “Shall we try this again?” I said.
“Try what?” Emily’s words were almost lost in inhalation.
I grabbed her wrist. “Your hand, my cock,” I said, pulling her hand to me. Once again I felt her fingers against my shaft, and I held her tight, making sure she kept her hand in place.
“What is it you want?” she breathed.
“Come on, Emily,” I said. “Don’t play the innocent with us. Those stories of yours… You know what they’re all about. Deep down there’s a side to you that’s a raving slut, isn’t there?”
Behind Emily I could see my wife smiling happily. She was really enjoying this. Emily looked at me, with apprehension rather than fear. “I’m not a slut,” she said, but her fingers were moving slowly as I held her wrist in a firm grip.
“Whatever,” I said. “Now get those fingers round me properly.”
“Will you let me go if I…”
“If you what?”
Emily stared at the floor. “If I make you… ejaculate.”
“You could have left ages ago if you’d really wanted to,” I observed, feeling a tremendous rush as the woman’s fingers did indeed close round my shaft. I released my hold on her wrist.
“What would George say if he knew what you were doing right now?” Cyn chimed in as Emily’s hand began working up and down.
The movement stopped. “George mustn’t know,” Emily said, wide-eyed. “He just mustn’t.”
I tapped on her wrist, and Emily’s hand began moving again, up and down, up and down. “Know what?” I said. “That you fantasize about having your holes abused by brutal studs with huge cocks?”
“Please don’t say such things,” Emily said, as I continued to enjoy the sensation of her hand pumping my cock slowly, not to mention the look of shame and embarrassment on her face.
“Why not?” Cynthia said. “It’s what you want, isn’t it?” She had her wicked face on as she looked at me, hands coming round to squeeze Emily’s breasts. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Emily. It’s totally hot. After we’ve read your stories, Robbie fucks me so hard.” I watched a hand slide down Emily’s front. “I bet your pussy gets so very overheated when you’re writing your stories.” Her finger was sliding through Emily’s pubic hair. I watched enthralled as it teased the woman’s labia. “Imagining those huge cocks punishing your tight little vagina.”
“They’re just stories…” Emily tried again, but her fingers were gripping me a little tighter as her hand continued to move slowly up and down, up and down.
“You can say that all you like,” I told her, “but you know as well as we do that what you really want is to be treated like a fuck doll who has no say in what happens to her.”
Emily’s hand came away from my cock. “You mustn’t say such things. George… I need to get back to George.”
“Of course you do,” Cynthia said in a consoling voice. Her hands came away from Emily. Instead she was moving round, going down on her haunches. I held my cock out, and my wife’s lips clamped themselves over it for a brief moment. Then she turned to look up at Emily. “Robbie’s cock is so delicious,” she said. “Are you sure you don’t want a taste?”
“I need to…” Emily stuttered.
“You need to make good on your promise,” I told her, grabbing her wrist and moving her hand back to my cock.
“Promise?” Her hand began moving again.
“About doing anything. Have you already forgotten?” I said, this time moving my free hand up between her thighs. Her legs weren’t that far apart, but far enough for me to be able to work two fingers inside her folds and probe her entrance. Hardly any pressure was necessary to make her yield, and I was delighted to discover that whatever front Emily was putting on was at odds with the slippery suction inside.
“It was something I said in the heat of the moment,” Emily tried. “George…”
Her hand was still moving, as I wriggled my fingers inside her; digging, excavating. “George is a lucky man to have a wife with such a tight, moist cunt,” I told her. “I hope he appreciates it.”
The look on Emily’s face was priceless. Her fingers tightened round my cock. I kept on digging, aroused by her seepage, watching her face intently. Her expression revealed nothing, but she was definitely growing wetter. I lowered my eyes to her full breasts, where her areolae were like twice-baked biscuits topped with small nuts.
“I have to go,” Emily breathed. “Look, I’ll… help you to… ejaculate, but then I have to go.”
I wrenched my fingers from her, pushing her back as I did so, pinning her up against the kitchen island. Her hand stop moving, but she still kept her fingers round my cock. Emily’s chest heaved as she stood there, seemingly stunned by this sudden turn of events. “If you’re so keen to go,” I said, “you’d better give me what I want double quick.”
“What do you want?” Emily breathed.
“The same thing you do,” I said, grabbing hold of her knickers to pull them further down. Cyn, who had stood by, no doubt enjoying the show, helped me out, pulling the panties right the way down to Emily’s ankles. “I want to fuck you like the raving slut you really are, the way the men in your stories do.”
“They’re just stories,” Emily said breathlessly, staring at the floor.
“Bollocks to that,” I snarled, grabbing a leg and lifting. Cyn untangled the panties from Emily’s foot as I got my arm under the woman’s thigh up and pushed up against her. My wife obligingly took charge of my cock, pushing it into Emily’s labia, rubbing the bulb against her entrance. The thrill of being one hard thrust away from having my cock buried inside the next door neighbour was exquisite. “You really want it up you, don’t you?” I said.
Emily breathed heavily. “I’m married,” she protested. “George… is waiting for me.”
“That doesn’t really answer the question, does it?” I said.
I felt Cyn’s hand on my arse. “Do it!” she urged eagerly. “Fuck her! Fuck her hard the way she gets it in her stories. Use her like a slut, the way she wants it!”
“They don’t mean anything. They’re just st…” Emily gasped out loud as I did it; thrust up inside her, using more force than the situation required. Her warm, moist vagina was more welcoming than her demeanour suggested. Holding her leg in place, I grabbed a fully fleshed buttock with my other hand.
Fucking her as hard as I could in this particular position, I watched her face, checking for signs. Her eyes looked to be glazing over. Though she would probably never say as much, this was probably as close as she’d come to actually experiencing the things she’d written about. There was the odd gasp from her, but nothing more, as if she was intent on not giving us the pleasure of witnessing her pleasure; but she was certainly oozing pussy juice.
Next to me Cyn was getting busy. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her strip off her skirt and pull her knickers down, revealing stocking tops and the mound with its carefully trimmed landing strip. Then my filthy, darling wife planted her legs apart, took Emily’s hand and began rubbing it against her pussy. “Oh!” she moaned. “Stick your fingers inside me, Em! It makes me so horny watching Rob fuck you!”
The shock in Emily’s eyes was indescribable. I clutched her at her bum, digging my nails into her. “Oh I’ve got a better idea,” I said, removing my hand from Emily’s buttock to pat the kitchen island. “Hop up!”
I pulled out of Emily as Cyn, with a gleam in her eye, hoisted herself onto the kitchen top and spread her legs. I spun Emily around and positioned her in front of Cyn. “Bend over!” I told her. “Get stuck in.”
Emily just stood there. “But I’ve never…” she gasped.
“Never eaten pussy?” I said. “No, you’re too much of a cock-obsessed little trollop for that.” There was a slight wobble as I slapped her bum. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you all the cock you want.” I gave her another slap. “Now get licking!”
Still Emily stood there, as Cyn held herself open, smiling, waiting with her glistening pussy on display. “Will you let me go if I do?” Emily asked. “Only George…”
“Sod George,” I snarled, administering a new slap. “Get your fucking face in my wife’s cunt, you slut.”
Now Emily did bend over and I wasted no time in shoving my cock into her, frankly, audibly moist pussy. Cyn had her hands on the back of the woman’s head, forcing her face into her drooling snatch. This was a much better position for me, allowing me to plunge my cock deep inside the next door neighbour. I made sure every stroke was as hard and as deep as possible, and to my delight Emily grunted with every stroke too. From here on in she could act as reluctant as she liked, but it was perfectly obvious that she was seriously worked up herself.
“Oh yes!” Cyn cried. “Fucking pound that pussy, darling! That’s so hot! Fuck her like a beast!”
I could hardly go any faster or harder, but I redoubled my efforts all the same, panting hard, the exertion like running a race. “East pussy, you slut!” I urged. “Give Cyn what she wants!”
Emily grunted, but there was nothing she could do to speak words we would understand. “Oh yeah!” Cyn cried. “Stick your tongue inside me!”
I slowed down a little to administer a series of slaps to Emily’s well-rounded arse. “Do it, slut! Tongue-fuck that pussy, and make no mistake, you’ll be tasting cock too before you know it. You like that, don’t you, Em?”
“Why ask?” Cyn breathed. “You know she does! All those stories where she’s made to suck cock after cock.” Her hand went to her clit, rubbing vigorously. “Deeper!” she cried. “Get your tongue deeper inside my cunt!” Emily grunted some more as Cyn grabbed strands of hair and pushed hard on the back of the woman’s head. “Fuck her, Rob! Fucking fuck her fucking cunt! Give it to her!”
I love it that my wife has such a dirty mouth, and thus encouraged, I managed to find a higher gear, slamming my cock into Emily so hard I was half afraid I might do myself an injury. It didn’t escape my notice that Emily was extremely wet by now – so wet that there was conspicuous squelching and sloshing.
“Fucking fuck that cunt!” Cyn screamed. “Harder! Fuck her harder! Give the fucking slut what she deserves!” Her eyes were closing and opening, and she was wriggling eagerly on the surface. I went on fucking and fucking, giving Emily the odd slap, knowing it would only turn Cyn on all the more. I also knew that the closer she gets to cumming, the dirtier my wife’s mouth becomes, so it was only a matter of time.
“Do you like eating pussy?” my wife cried, her hands holding Emily in a firm grip. “Make a change from all those cocks you imagine being rammed down your throat, you dirty little tart?” She tilted her head back. “Aaaaaaaah! Oh yes! Fucking eat me out you dirty little slut! Fucking tongue me till I cum! Take that fucking cock from behind and fucking taste my cunt juice, you cock and cunt sucking fucking whore!”
This was some tirade, and I knew Cyn’s climax was imminent. So it proved, as she rubbed her clit with Emily’s tongue still lodged inside her. I was forced to stop my own thrusting, with Cyn’s orgasm more than enough to tip me over the edge. Emily grunted, then began twisting her head. Cynthia released her. There were splashes of wet on the kitchen surface and on the floor, and when I moved round to look, I could see splashes on Emily’s face too, on top of the smear from where she’d been forced in between my wife’s thighs.
“Please,” Emily gasped. “I have to go. George will be wondering where I’ve got to.”
“Ah yes,” I said. “George. I wonder what George would say if he knew what you’ve just done, Emily?”
“No!” Emily exclaimed. “George mustn’t know about this! George mustn’t know about anything!” I resisted the urge to laugh. The words combined with Emily’s face all smeared with pussy juice were a sight to behold. “You won’t tell him, will you?”
I didn’t answer her, at least not directly. “Get down here,” I said, pointing at the floor directly in front of me. “Suck my knob like you do it in those fantasies of yours! The ones George mustn’t find out about.”
Apparently the slightest hint that George might find something out was enough to make Emily comply, even though no actual threat was made. She looked at me with that expression that wasn’t quite decipherable and sank to her haunches.
Cynthia jumped down from the kitchen island in a flash, ending up behind Emily. She grabbed the sides of the woman’s head. “Open your mouth, Em! Take it like you do in your stories! Go on, fuck her face, Rob! I wanna see you stuff her mouth full!”
My darling wife was obviously well worked up by all this, but someone had to behave responsibly. After all, there was no evidence that Emily had any kind of experience that would prepare her for what Cyn was proposing.
So I rubbed my swollen cock head under the woman’s chin. “What about it, Em? We’ve read the stories. All those men shoving their cocks down your throat. How deep can you really take it?” When she didn’t answer, I slapped my cock against her cheek. “Come on, Em. Open your mouth for me!”
Emily looked up at me with glazed eyes and that delicious smear of pussy juice on her face. “If I suck you off, will you let me go home?”
Hearing her say those words sent my pulse racing. “Try it and see,” I said.
Cyn was still holding the woman’s head, pushing her forwards. Slowly, Emily’s lips parted. I took aim, but didn’t thrust, letting Cynthia push Emily onto me, lips closing, moist tongue caressing the underside of my cock.
My wife seemed to have calmed down just a little, enough to ease next door’s wife on to me. Bit by bit, more and more of my shaft disappeared, until Emily whined and twisted her head. Cyn let go of her, allowing her to pull her head off me. I reached down to grab at Emily’s tits, pinching her nipples. She gasped out loud. “Looks like you could do with some practice,” I said. “Get back down there! Show us you have the makings of a proper cocksucker, not just some pretend whore in your own head!”
My cock was right in front of Emily’s mouth. When she opened it, I got the feeling she was going to say something, but then she leaned in to take the throbbing gristle in her mouth again. I rolled her stiff nipples between my fingers, seeing how Cyn was getting in position behind Emily to get her hand up between the woman’s thighs.
I allowed Emily to set the pace for a little while before letting go of her tits, placing one hand on the back of her head and taking command a little more. I kept a careful watch on her, not wanting to disturb the experience of enjoying her succulent mouth by causing her to break off. There was something in her eyes now, some hint that the deep depravity of her stories was breaking through her carefully controlled appearance.
Looking further down I could see Cyn’s fingers rubbing Emily’s pussy. One finger disappeared, then two, then suddenly my wife had three fingers inside Emily, who gasped enticingly on my cock. Cyn twisted her hand, twisting those fingers inside Emily, and suddenly a fourth was in there. Emily gave a wobble along with a new gasp. I put my hands on her shoulders to steady her, thrusting my cock forward as I did so.
I’d taken her by surprise. Em twisted her head, freeing herself. A dribble of saliva crept out of her mouth. “What are you doing?” she gasped.
“Isn’t that obvious?” Cyn replied, sounding quite nasty as her hand twisted and twisted. “We’re treating you like the little slut you crave to be…”
“I don’t…” Em began.
“Your cunt says otherwise,” Cyn told her. “Fuck, you’re wet, you little slut.”
“I’m not a slut!” Emily said, but her eyes were betraying her.
I put my hands back on her head. “You’re neglecting your duties, you dirty little cocksucker,” I told her. “Get back down there!” Emily complied, opening her mouth for me to feed her. I shoved my cock back in her mouth. She coughed and spluttered instantly. “You’ve got to better than that,” I told her.
Emily’s eyes closed as more drool slid over her bottom lip. Cyn twisted her hand hard, the sound of natural lubrication making its way up to me. “Fuck her mouth,” Cyn told me, breathless excitement animating every word. “Fuck her mouth like it’s her filthy cunt!”
Enflamed by my wife’s words, I grabbed Emily’s head again and shoved my cock roughly back into her gasping mouth. Emily recoiled, wobbled and toppled over onto the floor, the fall softened slightly by Cyn before she ended up on her back.
“Please let me…” she began.
“You can go when we’re fucking well finished with you, dirty slut,” I told her.
“No!” Emily gasped, eyes burning with shame and depravity. “Please let me… Please make me cum!”
This was too good to be true. I looked down at her, stiff nipples, soiled face and slick cunt. Then I looked at Cyn, who was looking as depraved as I ever saw her. She was too horny to care what happened now, just as I was, and from the look of her, that applied to Emily too.
“You can fucking well make yourself cum,” I snarled. “While I fuck you.”
I was on top of her in a flash, pulling her legs up, somehow getting them onto my shoulders as I drove my cock into her. “Go on,” I panted, thrusting as hard as I could. “Rub yourself while I dick your horny fucking slime pit, you dirty fake whore!”
Emily’s mouth was open. She was moaning loudly as her hand slid down to her clit.
“Oh yeah!” Cyn exclaimed, moving across to straddle Emily’s head, facing me. “Dick her, Rob! Fuck that filthy cunt so hard!” Her hands reached out and she pulled on Emily’s nipples, stretching her tits. I leaned forward, nibbling on whatever bit of boob I could get my teeth into while I really got stuck into her pussy, pounding her as hard as I could.
Everything was a frenzy of loud liquid squelching and debauched moaning. Even with Cyn grinding down on Emily’s face, the woman managed loud, excited gasps. Her fingers were working hard against her clit as I banged and banged and banged into her. My wife changed her grip on Emily’s breasts, holding them at the base, squeezing hard. I slapped the woman across her rock hard nipples, remembering that had happened a number of times in her stories. She hardly reacted, except for her gasps to become whines and moans, even as my wife’s pussy pushed down hard on her mouth.
I was fucking Emily so hard I thought I might have a heart attack, now grabbing the top of a breast with my lips and biting in to her. I could feel her hand working beneath me just as I could feel her grow ever tighter. The fact is, she seemed to grow tighter with every hard thrust. Before I knew it, she was so tight I was almost surprised there was room for my cock in her at all.
Then her body gave the most enormous jerk. I kept on fucking, her hand kept on moving, and she was basically screaming straight into Cyn’s cunt. There was another spasm, then another. My wife climbed off, moving to one side on her knees, her hand between her legs as she rubbed herself vigorously.
Emily spasmed again, wailing out loud, “I’m cumming! I’m cumming! I’m cumming so hard!” as if this wasn’t patently obvious. That would be my fate too, in a matter of seconds.
I continued thrusting, right up to the edge of ejaculation, then I pulled my cock out of her, giving a few brisk tugs. “Oh yeah!” Cyn exclaimed. “Do it, Rob! Cum all over the filthy slut!”
I hardly needed the encouragement. A huge jet of sperm flew out of me. Breathing heavily, Emily hardly reacted, except to close her eyes as my high pressure pump mechanism forced the sperm all the way up to her face.
“Fuck that’s hot!” Cyn gasped. Then she screamed, “Do it! Do it! Make the filthy slut drown in your cum!”
It almost seemed as if that might be possible. The stuff was gushing out of me as I emptied my balls all over post-orgasmic Emily, Cyn was wailing out loud, cumming with her hand between her thighs, watching as her husband fired the last of his sperm all over the wife next door.
Emily lay there blinking at us, huge ropes of sperm running from her face all the way down across her boobs and right the way down to the pool of cum that had collected in her belly-button. “I have to go,” she breathed.
“Yes,” Cyn said wickedly. “George will be wondering where you’ve got to.”
“George mustn’t know anything. Anything at all,” Emily said, with a sudden sharpness to her voice. “Do you promise?”
“If you don’t want George to know,” I said, “you’d better get cleaned up. You know where the facilities are.”
I might have added that Cyn and I were hardly keen for George to know how we’d just treated his wife, but it seemed like fun to maintain the illusion that we might tell him. I don’t know how she explained her long absence to George, but I can’t say I care much.
You’d think that things might have been a bit awkward between ourselves and Emily after that, but whenever I met her out by the garage in the morning as we drove off to work in our separate cars, she said hello just as she always had, but now she gave a curious little smile afterwards that suggested she was far from traumatised by what had happened.
In fact a week afterwards, she published a new story. Circumstances in it were very different from events at our house, but there were passages that Cyn and I easily recognized as being at the very least inspired by what had happened. Not only that, but she posted a very telling picture on my wife’s wall.
“Do you think it’s her way of saying she wants a repeat?” Cynthia asked, having cum twice while reading the story, with my face between her thighs. “I’m sure I could invent an excuse to get her to come over.”
I smiled at her. “You know,” I said, “I’ve got a better idea.”
“Oh yes, what’s that?”
“George was telling me he’ll be away at a cheese conference the week after next. What do you say we go over and keep Emily company? It’s two or three nights George will be away.”
Cyn smiled at me, her face fuller with sin than ever. “Oh darling!” she exclaimed. “You have the best ideas!”
She was lying naked on the bed, resting on one elbow, the laptop in front of her. She’d logged on to Lush while she was waiting for me.
“Who?” I said, moving towards the bed, bollock naked myself.
“Emily from next door.”
“No way,” I said, moving across the room and coming to rest on the edge of the bed, so that I could see the screen myself.
“Yes way,” Cynthia said. Normally I call her Cyn, because the abbreviation is so very apt. “Look!”
I looked as my wife clicked, bringing up a picture to full size.
“It can’t be her,” I said. But I had to admit that if it wasn’t, the odds were she had a twin sister. Cyn and I had seen Emily like this a number of times, in the deckchair in next door’s garden, in a yellow patterned bikini, long, ash-blonde hair sweeping over her shoulders and huge dark glasses obscuring her eyes and upper face. There was a house in the background, which if it wasn’t the neighbours’ was so uncannily similar it was just plain spooky.
“Are there any more pictures?” I asked.
“Why? Have you go the hots for her?” Cyn asked, but with no hint of jealousy. I adjusted my position so that I could play with her hair and the nape of her neck as she brought up other pictures; a pair of big breasts with rock hard nipples, a hand inside a pair of panties, a slightly awkward picture of the woman from behind on all fours obviously taken with the aid of a mirror, then a close up of a pussy with two fingers inside.
“Do you think George has taken these?” I asked. George was Emily’s husband. “Always assuming it is Emily.”
“Not likely,” Cyn said. “From the look of them, I’d say Emily’s taken them herself.”
“You’re sure it is her?”
“She’s written a new story,” Cyn said. “Do you want to hear it?”
“Of course.”
“Then get down between my thighs.”
This was a regular game for us; reading stories from Lush out loud. If they were written from a male perspective, I would read them, and if from a female perspective, Cyn would do the honours. This one being a first person narrative by a woman (possibly even Emily from next door), my wife would read, while I teased her pussy with my fingers and my mouth.
Actually, Emily’s (always assuming they were Emily’s) stories were a big hit with us. We’d read all of them, some of them more than once. Often Cyn wouldn’t be able to contain herself, and would climax mid story, and then again at the end. All of the stories were categorized as reluctance, hardcore, or came very close to belonging in those categories. The new one was a reluctance story, in which the narrator found herself alone in the office at night (for reasons which were never fully explained), was suddenly interrupted by a security guard, who refused to believe she worked there, found herself handcuffed with his hand up her skirt, and felt compelled to submit to his lustful designs.
It took Cyn half an hour to read the story, by which time she was dripping wet. “Anyone would think you wanted to be apprehended like that,” I observed, eyeing the wet patch on the bedclothes as I twisted three fingers inside my wife’s over-heated pleasure cove.
“Shut up and fuck me as hard as you fucking can!” Cynthia ordered.
I was in no mood to disobey.
The question of whether or not the woman Cyn had befriended on Lush really was our next door neighbour continued to preoccupy us. Well, Cynthia had been convinced from the start, but she had to admit that she could be wrong. By the time a week had passed, I think we were both pretty much of the mind that it was indeed Emily; we couldn’t see how such similarities could be a coincidence.
On two occasions that week, Emily and I drove off to work at about the same time. We said hello as we unlocked our respective cars, and as I looked at her in her officewear, I couldn’t help but think of those pictures; of her big knockers, her hand down her knickers, her fingers inside herself (always assuming it was her). But above all I thought of her stories as I drove to work. It amused me. There she was, all done up to make a professional impression, and underneath it all she had all these ideas about being fucked senseless by big-cocked bastards who were after nothing more than some willing slut to use to their own ends – I mean that’s what her stories amounted to, pretty much.
I said as much to Cyn. It made her laugh. “I bet you wouldn’t object to getting your own bit of meat between her big knockers,” she said.
There was no point in denying it. I didn’t call my wife Cyn for nothing. We’d not exactly been exclusive in our married life, though most adventures involving other people had involved the both of us. We were underneath the covers, and a long fingernail scratched its way up my leg as Cyn spoke. It lingered for a while on my balls before touching the root of my cock. Then fingers gripped me, Cyn’s hand beginning to work, to pump my shaft. “Has the thought of Emily’s big knockers given you a hard-on?” my wife teased. “You know, we should definitely try to found out if it really is Emily.”
“Oh, I think we know,” I said, by now as convinced as Cyn had been all along.
“Yes,” my wife said. “But, you know, one hundred percent rock solid certain.”
Cyn has a wicked mind, allied to a willingness to act on it. I was intrigued. “And how do you propose to go about it?”
“Never you mind,” my wife said. “But since I’m feeling charitable, I’ll let you lay there and think of Emily’s big tits while I get you off.”
The days went by. Then, one day when I came home from work, Cyn was standing in the kitchen, looking like a wet dream in knee-high black boots and a black leather skirt, between which was a stretch of sheer silver on both legs. On top, my wife was sporting a tight, light green sweater, which was one of my favourites, because of the way it made her breasts look like they were made to be fondled.
“So who’s the lucky man?” I said, a quip which was rewarded with the kind of smile capable of provoking an instant erection. Cyn had set the laptop up on the kitchen island. I could see that she’d logged onto Lush, and that she had Emily’s (because it was her, it had to be) profile page showing.
“George is out,” my wife said. “And Emily’s on Lush.” She sounded very excited by this.
I looked out, at next door, curtains drawn against the remote possibility of prying eyes. “Are you going to poke her?” I asked.
This caused my wife to laugh hysterically. “Oh no,” she spluttered at last. “With a bit of luck you’re the one who’ll be poking her.”
I thought she was joking, but I should have known my wicked Cyn better than that. Suddenly she had the cordless phone in her hand. I didn’t hear much of the conversation, I was still stunned by what my wife had just said, that she appeared to be serious about it.
It took a couple of minutes, then the doorbell rang. Cyn went to open it. “Come in, Emily!” I heard her say in her best welcoming voice.
“Hello, Cynthia,” came Emily’s slightly bewildered voice. “What is it you want to show me?”
“Let’s go through to the kitchen,” Cyn said.
If Cyn and I weren’t best friends with the neighbours, we were friendly enough with them; enough for there to be nothing strange about Cyn asking Emily over. Clearly my wife had been cryptic enough for Emily to be at a disadvantage. She and I exchanged greetings as Cynthia wandered over to the laptop. Emily obviously wasn’t paying much attention to the computer, because she seemed unsuspecting right up until Cynthia said, “We were hoping you’d satisfy our curiosity. This is you, isn’t it?” She tapped on the computer, bringing up the picture of Emily sunbathing in the garden, in her yellow bikini and the big sunglasses.
I watched Emily closely. There was shock in her eyes, a reddening of her cheeks, a tension in her limbs, but she didn’t confirm or deny anything, perhaps hoping to defuse the situation. “What is this?” she said.
Knowing my wife as I did, I knew she didn’t expect me to remain silent or inactive. I slid my arm along the kitchen top, attracting Emily’s attention. “Does your husband know?” I asked.
“Know what?” Emily asked. Everything about her body language and the way she could hardly get the words out bore witness to Cyn’s initial intuition being right, but clearly Emily was hoping to bluff things out.
“That you write kinky stories in your spare time,” my wife said. “We’re big fans, you know. My favourite’s the one with the three burglars. Such brutes!”
Emily stood there, still a bit shell-shocked, eyes folding inwards as she tried to think on her feet.
“Does George know?” I persisted, coming round to join Cynthia. Being able to read her like a book, I could see what a wicked mood she was in, so I tapped on the computer, making the image shift to the one of Emily’s big tits with the big, swollen nipples. “Lovely knockers,” I said. “And judging by the comments, you’ve got quite a fan club.”
To my surprise, this was all it took for Emily’s façade to crack. “George doesn’t know,” she breathed. “He mustn’t know.” She shifted uncomfortably, looking at us with pleading eyes.
“Oh, Emily!” my wife exclaimed. “How very wicked of you!”
“Please don’t tell George!” Emily exclaimed. “Please, please…”
“Oh, Emily!” my wife said again, putting an arm around the woman’s shoulders. “Why would we do that? It would spoil all the fun!”
“The fun?”
“We love your stories!” Cyn said enthusiastically. She reached out and tapped on the computer, making the image of Emily with her hand down her knickers appear. “And your pictures. Rob gets such a hard-on looking at them. He makes me do such naughty things while he’s looking at them.”
Emily started and took a step back, but instinctively her eyes went to my crotch, where I indeed did have a big bulge. Well, I’d fantasized about Emily after all, admittedly in her workwear, the black stockings and bottom hugging skirt, but she still looked pretty fine in her blue and red dress and bare legs. My wife was, as you’ll appreciate, far from jealous, but I moved round anyway to reach out and squeeze Cyn’s bum in full view of Emily. “Well, they are really hot, those pictures. Thanks for that, Emily!”
The woman looked extremely embarrassed. “Perhaps I should delete them,” she mumbled, more for her own sake, it seemed, than for ours.
“Oh no, don’t do that!” Cyn exclaimed. “They’re so great!” She paused, as if she was thinking. “And you’d miss all those kinky comments from your fan club. Maybe we could help you out instead.”
“Help me out?”
“Yes!” Cynthia cried. “Rob’s great with a camera. That way you wouldn’t have to take selfies. You could pose properly.”
Emily tried to take a step back, but she was already up against the kitchen island. “Look, I’m glad you like the stories and the pictures and everything, but I really have to go. George will be home soon.”
“Oh yes, George,” Cyn said. She turned to me. “I wonder what he’d think if he found out about all this?” I could read the wickedness in her eyes with no trouble whatsoever.
“Yes, I wonder,” I said.
“No!” Emily exclaimed. “George mustn’t find out! Never!”
“Don’t worry, Emily,” I said, trying for conciliatory as I moved towards her. “We don’t want to land you in it.” Again Emily tried to move, but by now I was sandwiching her between the kitchen island and my own body. She couldn’t fail to feel the way my erection was throbbing.
“What is it you want?” she breathed.
“The same thing you do, Emily?”
Emily inched sideways as she said, “And what is it you think I want?”
“We’ve read the stories, Emily,” my wife said. “We know what you want.”
“Those,” Emily said. She shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “Those are just… I don’t know where they came from. They don’t mean anything.”
“Well they came from somewhere,” Cyn said. “Everything’s a fantasy until you try it.”
Emily pulled up. This seemed to strike a nerve, but out loud she said, “Who says I want to try anything? I like writing, trying out different characters… situations…”
“Which just happen to include a fair bit of extremely rough sex,” I observed.
“Look, Emily,” said. “I really have to go. George…”
“Who of course we’d never tell about any of this,” I said.
“Never,” Cyn agreed.
“You mustn’t,” Emily breathed. “You wouldn’t, would you?”
“Of course not,” Cyn said.
“Good,” Emily said, sounding suddenly more determined. “Look, I’m glad you like the stories…”
“Humour us, Em,” my wife interrupted.
“What?”
“Read a passage from one of your stories out loud, for us.”
I watched Emily closely. It was hard to tell what she was thinking or feeling. Out loud she said, “If I do, will you let me go?”
This was interesting. After all, it wasn’t as if we were holding her captive or anything. Emily could easily storm out of the house whenever she felt like it. Cyn didn’t answer, but turned to the computer, tapping on it, bringing up one of Emily’s stories. “Here you are,” she said.
Emily hesitated, then she moved back across to the computer. “You want me to read that?” she exclaimed.
“Humour us, Em,” my wife said softly.
The woman blushed visibly, but for whatever reason, she leaned in to get a better look at the screen.
Cyn had chosen well. It was one of Emily’s hardcore stories, about a night with three men in a hotel room. My wife had scrolled down to where there was a bit of action. It was absolutely delicious hearing Emily read her own story out loud, about how she was pulled and pushed this way and that, having the men use her mouth and fuck her vigorously from behind. She stuttered a great deal, partly from embarrassment, but perhaps also because she could hardly remain unaware of how Cyn moved round behind me and unzipped me, finally bringing my throbbing erection out in the open.
When she reached the point in the story where she was astride one of the men, while the other dribbled saliva on her anus in preparation for a spot of double penetration, Emily fell silent.
Cyn filled in the silence. “See, Emily, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” She giggled. “Not like Robbie here. We both get so very horny reading your stories.”
Emily turned away from the screen to look at us, her eyes immediately drawn to Cyn’s hand, fingers clasped around my stiff cock, tugging gently.
“Aren’t you flattered that your stories get Rob so hard?” Cyn asked.
“And the pictures,” I said. “Don’t forget the pictures.”
This seemed to embarrass Emily even more. She made an effort to avert her eyes, not looking at us as she said, “Can I go now?”
No-one was stopping her, yet she still dithered hesitantly.
Cyn kept on moving her hand. “Don’t you think Rob’s got a lovely big cock, Emily? Don’t you want to feel how hard your stories make him?”
“What?” Emily exclaimed again. “What do you think…? I mean, I write stories, I admit that, but it doesn’t mean I want to...”
Her eyes had returned to my cock, to Cyn’s jobbing hand. There was an impasse, Emily staying rooted to the spot, even though she could easily leave at any time. I was wondering what the best thing to do was when Cyn let go of my erection. She took my hand instead, leading me towards Emily.
The woman took a step back, but then we were right up close to her. Cyn grabbed her wrist. I felt Emily’s fingers against the tip of my cock.
Then the woman snatched her hand away. “What kind of woman do you think I am?” she breathed, but her voice bled her words dry of conviction.
“Come on, Em,” Cynthia cajoled. “It wasn’t so bad, was it? Not for someone who writes stories about being gangbanged by…”
“That means nothing,” Emily said. “I’m a married woman.”
“Ah, yes,” I said. “George who mustn’t be told.”
“He mustn’t know,” Emily breathed. “About any of this. Anything. George…”
At that moment the doorbell rang. We all fell silent, but I had an intuition. I stuffed my cock back in my trousers as I made my way to the window to peer out. The man himself was standing on the doorstep. “Speak of the devil,” I said.
Turning, I could see the panic on Emily’s face. As the doorbell rang a second time, I said, “Don’t worry. I’ll handle this.”
“Please don’t tell!” Emily blurted. “About anything! George mustn’t know! I’d do anything to keep him from knowing!”
This was interesting, I thought, closing the kitchen door behind me. The woman was virtually blackmailing herself. Did it mean anything, and if so what?
Outside, George was still in his work suit, looking a little confused. “Er, I was wondering if Emily was over here,” he said. “Only, her car’s home, but she’s not.”
“She’s upstairs with Cynthia,” I said. “I don’t know what’s going on exactly. Woman stuff, I imagine.”
George nodded. “Yes, I imagine so.”
“I could fetch her for you,” I offered.
“No, no,” George decided. “I didn’t want her for anything important; I was just wondering where she was.”
“Of course,” I said.
The man began to turn, then said, “I thought we might… Tell her there’ll be a nice cheese platter waiting.” This was typical of George, as nice a man as he was. The man worked in cheese, seemed obsessed by the stuff. I swear he could turn any topic of conversation into a discussion of cheese; the weather, robotic engineering, spherical trigonometry. No doubt George imagined world peace could be achieved through companionable indulgence in a bit of Red Leicester.
“I’ll do that,” I said.
On my way back to the kitchen, I decided the time had come to step things up. George’s appearance and Emily’s words were spurring me to action. There was no time to waste.
I opened the kitchen door and said, “Right, Emily, I’ve shown you mine; it’s time for you to show me yours.”
I had no idea what the two women had been doing or saying, but they were standing by the computer. Emily looked shocked; my wife looked amused.
“What… What do you mean?” Emily asked.
“I’ve held my side of the bargain,” I said. “I sent George packing without the slightest hint of anything. You said you’d do anything…”
Emily took a step forward, away from the kitchen island. “That was just… something I said,” she breathed.
I stopped a couple of yards in front of her. “Yes,” I said. “You did say it.” Then to my wife, “Cyn, pull her knickers down.”
Cynthia, who was just behind Emily wasted no time in getting her hands up Emily’s dress, hitching it up to show me where she’d wrestled the woman’s panties down to mid-thigh, and more importantly…
“Nice bush,” I said. “George likes it hairy, does he?”
“George,” Emily breathed. “I have to go. George is home.” But as she spoke, Cynthia slipped the straps of the dress over Emily’s shoulders, the garment dropping to the floor before a full, navy blue bra was quickly unhooked. Suddenly the wife next door was standing in our kitchen, completely naked save for sandals and the knickers that sat incongruously at half thigh.
“Fucking ace tits,” I said, enjoying the look of acute embarrassment.
“We could take some great pictures of you for your profile page,” Cynthia said.
“Like that, do you, Emily?” I filled in. “The idea of your fan club wanking over your big tits?”
Presumably there was no answer to this, because Emily just stood there, as if paralysed. I took the opportunity to unzip, bringing my cock out into the open again. I’m sure I need hardly mention that I was back to full strength as I took the few steps necessary to come right up to Emily. “Shall we try this again?” I said.
“Try what?” Emily’s words were almost lost in inhalation.
I grabbed her wrist. “Your hand, my cock,” I said, pulling her hand to me. Once again I felt her fingers against my shaft, and I held her tight, making sure she kept her hand in place.
“What is it you want?” she breathed.
“Come on, Emily,” I said. “Don’t play the innocent with us. Those stories of yours… You know what they’re all about. Deep down there’s a side to you that’s a raving slut, isn’t there?”
Behind Emily I could see my wife smiling happily. She was really enjoying this. Emily looked at me, with apprehension rather than fear. “I’m not a slut,” she said, but her fingers were moving slowly as I held her wrist in a firm grip.
“Whatever,” I said. “Now get those fingers round me properly.”
“Will you let me go if I…”
“If you what?”
Emily stared at the floor. “If I make you… ejaculate.”
“You could have left ages ago if you’d really wanted to,” I observed, feeling a tremendous rush as the woman’s fingers did indeed close round my shaft. I released my hold on her wrist.
“What would George say if he knew what you were doing right now?” Cyn chimed in as Emily’s hand began working up and down.
The movement stopped. “George mustn’t know,” Emily said, wide-eyed. “He just mustn’t.”
I tapped on her wrist, and Emily’s hand began moving again, up and down, up and down. “Know what?” I said. “That you fantasize about having your holes abused by brutal studs with huge cocks?”
“Please don’t say such things,” Emily said, as I continued to enjoy the sensation of her hand pumping my cock slowly, not to mention the look of shame and embarrassment on her face.
“Why not?” Cynthia said. “It’s what you want, isn’t it?” She had her wicked face on as she looked at me, hands coming round to squeeze Emily’s breasts. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Emily. It’s totally hot. After we’ve read your stories, Robbie fucks me so hard.” I watched a hand slide down Emily’s front. “I bet your pussy gets so very overheated when you’re writing your stories.” Her finger was sliding through Emily’s pubic hair. I watched enthralled as it teased the woman’s labia. “Imagining those huge cocks punishing your tight little vagina.”
“They’re just stories…” Emily tried again, but her fingers were gripping me a little tighter as her hand continued to move slowly up and down, up and down.
“You can say that all you like,” I told her, “but you know as well as we do that what you really want is to be treated like a fuck doll who has no say in what happens to her.”
Emily’s hand came away from my cock. “You mustn’t say such things. George… I need to get back to George.”
“Of course you do,” Cynthia said in a consoling voice. Her hands came away from Emily. Instead she was moving round, going down on her haunches. I held my cock out, and my wife’s lips clamped themselves over it for a brief moment. Then she turned to look up at Emily. “Robbie’s cock is so delicious,” she said. “Are you sure you don’t want a taste?”
“I need to…” Emily stuttered.
“You need to make good on your promise,” I told her, grabbing her wrist and moving her hand back to my cock.
“Promise?” Her hand began moving again.
“About doing anything. Have you already forgotten?” I said, this time moving my free hand up between her thighs. Her legs weren’t that far apart, but far enough for me to be able to work two fingers inside her folds and probe her entrance. Hardly any pressure was necessary to make her yield, and I was delighted to discover that whatever front Emily was putting on was at odds with the slippery suction inside.
“It was something I said in the heat of the moment,” Emily tried. “George…”
Her hand was still moving, as I wriggled my fingers inside her; digging, excavating. “George is a lucky man to have a wife with such a tight, moist cunt,” I told her. “I hope he appreciates it.”
The look on Emily’s face was priceless. Her fingers tightened round my cock. I kept on digging, aroused by her seepage, watching her face intently. Her expression revealed nothing, but she was definitely growing wetter. I lowered my eyes to her full breasts, where her areolae were like twice-baked biscuits topped with small nuts.
“I have to go,” Emily breathed. “Look, I’ll… help you to… ejaculate, but then I have to go.”
I wrenched my fingers from her, pushing her back as I did so, pinning her up against the kitchen island. Her hand stop moving, but she still kept her fingers round my cock. Emily’s chest heaved as she stood there, seemingly stunned by this sudden turn of events. “If you’re so keen to go,” I said, “you’d better give me what I want double quick.”
“What do you want?” Emily breathed.
“The same thing you do,” I said, grabbing hold of her knickers to pull them further down. Cyn, who had stood by, no doubt enjoying the show, helped me out, pulling the panties right the way down to Emily’s ankles. “I want to fuck you like the raving slut you really are, the way the men in your stories do.”
“They’re just stories,” Emily said breathlessly, staring at the floor.
“Bollocks to that,” I snarled, grabbing a leg and lifting. Cyn untangled the panties from Emily’s foot as I got my arm under the woman’s thigh up and pushed up against her. My wife obligingly took charge of my cock, pushing it into Emily’s labia, rubbing the bulb against her entrance. The thrill of being one hard thrust away from having my cock buried inside the next door neighbour was exquisite. “You really want it up you, don’t you?” I said.
Emily breathed heavily. “I’m married,” she protested. “George… is waiting for me.”
“That doesn’t really answer the question, does it?” I said.
I felt Cyn’s hand on my arse. “Do it!” she urged eagerly. “Fuck her! Fuck her hard the way she gets it in her stories. Use her like a slut, the way she wants it!”
“They don’t mean anything. They’re just st…” Emily gasped out loud as I did it; thrust up inside her, using more force than the situation required. Her warm, moist vagina was more welcoming than her demeanour suggested. Holding her leg in place, I grabbed a fully fleshed buttock with my other hand.
Fucking her as hard as I could in this particular position, I watched her face, checking for signs. Her eyes looked to be glazing over. Though she would probably never say as much, this was probably as close as she’d come to actually experiencing the things she’d written about. There was the odd gasp from her, but nothing more, as if she was intent on not giving us the pleasure of witnessing her pleasure; but she was certainly oozing pussy juice.
Next to me Cyn was getting busy. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her strip off her skirt and pull her knickers down, revealing stocking tops and the mound with its carefully trimmed landing strip. Then my filthy, darling wife planted her legs apart, took Emily’s hand and began rubbing it against her pussy. “Oh!” she moaned. “Stick your fingers inside me, Em! It makes me so horny watching Rob fuck you!”
The shock in Emily’s eyes was indescribable. I clutched her at her bum, digging my nails into her. “Oh I’ve got a better idea,” I said, removing my hand from Emily’s buttock to pat the kitchen island. “Hop up!”
I pulled out of Emily as Cyn, with a gleam in her eye, hoisted herself onto the kitchen top and spread her legs. I spun Emily around and positioned her in front of Cyn. “Bend over!” I told her. “Get stuck in.”
Emily just stood there. “But I’ve never…” she gasped.
“Never eaten pussy?” I said. “No, you’re too much of a cock-obsessed little trollop for that.” There was a slight wobble as I slapped her bum. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you all the cock you want.” I gave her another slap. “Now get licking!”
Still Emily stood there, as Cyn held herself open, smiling, waiting with her glistening pussy on display. “Will you let me go if I do?” Emily asked. “Only George…”
“Sod George,” I snarled, administering a new slap. “Get your fucking face in my wife’s cunt, you slut.”
Now Emily did bend over and I wasted no time in shoving my cock into her, frankly, audibly moist pussy. Cyn had her hands on the back of the woman’s head, forcing her face into her drooling snatch. This was a much better position for me, allowing me to plunge my cock deep inside the next door neighbour. I made sure every stroke was as hard and as deep as possible, and to my delight Emily grunted with every stroke too. From here on in she could act as reluctant as she liked, but it was perfectly obvious that she was seriously worked up herself.
“Oh yes!” Cyn cried. “Fucking pound that pussy, darling! That’s so hot! Fuck her like a beast!”
I could hardly go any faster or harder, but I redoubled my efforts all the same, panting hard, the exertion like running a race. “East pussy, you slut!” I urged. “Give Cyn what she wants!”
Emily grunted, but there was nothing she could do to speak words we would understand. “Oh yeah!” Cyn cried. “Stick your tongue inside me!”
I slowed down a little to administer a series of slaps to Emily’s well-rounded arse. “Do it, slut! Tongue-fuck that pussy, and make no mistake, you’ll be tasting cock too before you know it. You like that, don’t you, Em?”
“Why ask?” Cyn breathed. “You know she does! All those stories where she’s made to suck cock after cock.” Her hand went to her clit, rubbing vigorously. “Deeper!” she cried. “Get your tongue deeper inside my cunt!” Emily grunted some more as Cyn grabbed strands of hair and pushed hard on the back of the woman’s head. “Fuck her, Rob! Fucking fuck her fucking cunt! Give it to her!”
I love it that my wife has such a dirty mouth, and thus encouraged, I managed to find a higher gear, slamming my cock into Emily so hard I was half afraid I might do myself an injury. It didn’t escape my notice that Emily was extremely wet by now – so wet that there was conspicuous squelching and sloshing.
“Fucking fuck that cunt!” Cyn screamed. “Harder! Fuck her harder! Give the fucking slut what she deserves!” Her eyes were closing and opening, and she was wriggling eagerly on the surface. I went on fucking and fucking, giving Emily the odd slap, knowing it would only turn Cyn on all the more. I also knew that the closer she gets to cumming, the dirtier my wife’s mouth becomes, so it was only a matter of time.
“Do you like eating pussy?” my wife cried, her hands holding Emily in a firm grip. “Make a change from all those cocks you imagine being rammed down your throat, you dirty little tart?” She tilted her head back. “Aaaaaaaah! Oh yes! Fucking eat me out you dirty little slut! Fucking tongue me till I cum! Take that fucking cock from behind and fucking taste my cunt juice, you cock and cunt sucking fucking whore!”
This was some tirade, and I knew Cyn’s climax was imminent. So it proved, as she rubbed her clit with Emily’s tongue still lodged inside her. I was forced to stop my own thrusting, with Cyn’s orgasm more than enough to tip me over the edge. Emily grunted, then began twisting her head. Cynthia released her. There were splashes of wet on the kitchen surface and on the floor, and when I moved round to look, I could see splashes on Emily’s face too, on top of the smear from where she’d been forced in between my wife’s thighs.
“Please,” Emily gasped. “I have to go. George will be wondering where I’ve got to.”
“Ah yes,” I said. “George. I wonder what George would say if he knew what you’ve just done, Emily?”
“No!” Emily exclaimed. “George mustn’t know about this! George mustn’t know about anything!” I resisted the urge to laugh. The words combined with Emily’s face all smeared with pussy juice were a sight to behold. “You won’t tell him, will you?”
I didn’t answer her, at least not directly. “Get down here,” I said, pointing at the floor directly in front of me. “Suck my knob like you do it in those fantasies of yours! The ones George mustn’t find out about.”
Apparently the slightest hint that George might find something out was enough to make Emily comply, even though no actual threat was made. She looked at me with that expression that wasn’t quite decipherable and sank to her haunches.
Cynthia jumped down from the kitchen island in a flash, ending up behind Emily. She grabbed the sides of the woman’s head. “Open your mouth, Em! Take it like you do in your stories! Go on, fuck her face, Rob! I wanna see you stuff her mouth full!”
My darling wife was obviously well worked up by all this, but someone had to behave responsibly. After all, there was no evidence that Emily had any kind of experience that would prepare her for what Cyn was proposing.
So I rubbed my swollen cock head under the woman’s chin. “What about it, Em? We’ve read the stories. All those men shoving their cocks down your throat. How deep can you really take it?” When she didn’t answer, I slapped my cock against her cheek. “Come on, Em. Open your mouth for me!”
Emily looked up at me with glazed eyes and that delicious smear of pussy juice on her face. “If I suck you off, will you let me go home?”
Hearing her say those words sent my pulse racing. “Try it and see,” I said.
Cyn was still holding the woman’s head, pushing her forwards. Slowly, Emily’s lips parted. I took aim, but didn’t thrust, letting Cynthia push Emily onto me, lips closing, moist tongue caressing the underside of my cock.
My wife seemed to have calmed down just a little, enough to ease next door’s wife on to me. Bit by bit, more and more of my shaft disappeared, until Emily whined and twisted her head. Cyn let go of her, allowing her to pull her head off me. I reached down to grab at Emily’s tits, pinching her nipples. She gasped out loud. “Looks like you could do with some practice,” I said. “Get back down there! Show us you have the makings of a proper cocksucker, not just some pretend whore in your own head!”
My cock was right in front of Emily’s mouth. When she opened it, I got the feeling she was going to say something, but then she leaned in to take the throbbing gristle in her mouth again. I rolled her stiff nipples between my fingers, seeing how Cyn was getting in position behind Emily to get her hand up between the woman’s thighs.
I allowed Emily to set the pace for a little while before letting go of her tits, placing one hand on the back of her head and taking command a little more. I kept a careful watch on her, not wanting to disturb the experience of enjoying her succulent mouth by causing her to break off. There was something in her eyes now, some hint that the deep depravity of her stories was breaking through her carefully controlled appearance.
Looking further down I could see Cyn’s fingers rubbing Emily’s pussy. One finger disappeared, then two, then suddenly my wife had three fingers inside Emily, who gasped enticingly on my cock. Cyn twisted her hand, twisting those fingers inside Emily, and suddenly a fourth was in there. Emily gave a wobble along with a new gasp. I put my hands on her shoulders to steady her, thrusting my cock forward as I did so.
I’d taken her by surprise. Em twisted her head, freeing herself. A dribble of saliva crept out of her mouth. “What are you doing?” she gasped.
“Isn’t that obvious?” Cyn replied, sounding quite nasty as her hand twisted and twisted. “We’re treating you like the little slut you crave to be…”
“I don’t…” Em began.
“Your cunt says otherwise,” Cyn told her. “Fuck, you’re wet, you little slut.”
“I’m not a slut!” Emily said, but her eyes were betraying her.
I put my hands back on her head. “You’re neglecting your duties, you dirty little cocksucker,” I told her. “Get back down there!” Emily complied, opening her mouth for me to feed her. I shoved my cock back in her mouth. She coughed and spluttered instantly. “You’ve got to better than that,” I told her.
Emily’s eyes closed as more drool slid over her bottom lip. Cyn twisted her hand hard, the sound of natural lubrication making its way up to me. “Fuck her mouth,” Cyn told me, breathless excitement animating every word. “Fuck her mouth like it’s her filthy cunt!”
Enflamed by my wife’s words, I grabbed Emily’s head again and shoved my cock roughly back into her gasping mouth. Emily recoiled, wobbled and toppled over onto the floor, the fall softened slightly by Cyn before she ended up on her back.
“Please let me…” she began.
“You can go when we’re fucking well finished with you, dirty slut,” I told her.
“No!” Emily gasped, eyes burning with shame and depravity. “Please let me… Please make me cum!”
This was too good to be true. I looked down at her, stiff nipples, soiled face and slick cunt. Then I looked at Cyn, who was looking as depraved as I ever saw her. She was too horny to care what happened now, just as I was, and from the look of her, that applied to Emily too.
“You can fucking well make yourself cum,” I snarled. “While I fuck you.”
I was on top of her in a flash, pulling her legs up, somehow getting them onto my shoulders as I drove my cock into her. “Go on,” I panted, thrusting as hard as I could. “Rub yourself while I dick your horny fucking slime pit, you dirty fake whore!”
Emily’s mouth was open. She was moaning loudly as her hand slid down to her clit.
“Oh yeah!” Cyn exclaimed, moving across to straddle Emily’s head, facing me. “Dick her, Rob! Fuck that filthy cunt so hard!” Her hands reached out and she pulled on Emily’s nipples, stretching her tits. I leaned forward, nibbling on whatever bit of boob I could get my teeth into while I really got stuck into her pussy, pounding her as hard as I could.
Everything was a frenzy of loud liquid squelching and debauched moaning. Even with Cyn grinding down on Emily’s face, the woman managed loud, excited gasps. Her fingers were working hard against her clit as I banged and banged and banged into her. My wife changed her grip on Emily’s breasts, holding them at the base, squeezing hard. I slapped the woman across her rock hard nipples, remembering that had happened a number of times in her stories. She hardly reacted, except for her gasps to become whines and moans, even as my wife’s pussy pushed down hard on her mouth.
I was fucking Emily so hard I thought I might have a heart attack, now grabbing the top of a breast with my lips and biting in to her. I could feel her hand working beneath me just as I could feel her grow ever tighter. The fact is, she seemed to grow tighter with every hard thrust. Before I knew it, she was so tight I was almost surprised there was room for my cock in her at all.
Then her body gave the most enormous jerk. I kept on fucking, her hand kept on moving, and she was basically screaming straight into Cyn’s cunt. There was another spasm, then another. My wife climbed off, moving to one side on her knees, her hand between her legs as she rubbed herself vigorously.
Emily spasmed again, wailing out loud, “I’m cumming! I’m cumming! I’m cumming so hard!” as if this wasn’t patently obvious. That would be my fate too, in a matter of seconds.
I continued thrusting, right up to the edge of ejaculation, then I pulled my cock out of her, giving a few brisk tugs. “Oh yeah!” Cyn exclaimed. “Do it, Rob! Cum all over the filthy slut!”
I hardly needed the encouragement. A huge jet of sperm flew out of me. Breathing heavily, Emily hardly reacted, except to close her eyes as my high pressure pump mechanism forced the sperm all the way up to her face.
“Fuck that’s hot!” Cyn gasped. Then she screamed, “Do it! Do it! Make the filthy slut drown in your cum!”
It almost seemed as if that might be possible. The stuff was gushing out of me as I emptied my balls all over post-orgasmic Emily, Cyn was wailing out loud, cumming with her hand between her thighs, watching as her husband fired the last of his sperm all over the wife next door.
Emily lay there blinking at us, huge ropes of sperm running from her face all the way down across her boobs and right the way down to the pool of cum that had collected in her belly-button. “I have to go,” she breathed.
“Yes,” Cyn said wickedly. “George will be wondering where you’ve got to.”
“George mustn’t know anything. Anything at all,” Emily said, with a sudden sharpness to her voice. “Do you promise?”
“If you don’t want George to know,” I said, “you’d better get cleaned up. You know where the facilities are.”
I might have added that Cyn and I were hardly keen for George to know how we’d just treated his wife, but it seemed like fun to maintain the illusion that we might tell him. I don’t know how she explained her long absence to George, but I can’t say I care much.
You’d think that things might have been a bit awkward between ourselves and Emily after that, but whenever I met her out by the garage in the morning as we drove off to work in our separate cars, she said hello just as she always had, but now she gave a curious little smile afterwards that suggested she was far from traumatised by what had happened.
In fact a week afterwards, she published a new story. Circumstances in it were very different from events at our house, but there were passages that Cyn and I easily recognized as being at the very least inspired by what had happened. Not only that, but she posted a very telling picture on my wife’s wall.
“Do you think it’s her way of saying she wants a repeat?” Cynthia asked, having cum twice while reading the story, with my face between her thighs. “I’m sure I could invent an excuse to get her to come over.”
I smiled at her. “You know,” I said, “I’ve got a better idea.”
“Oh yes, what’s that?”
“George was telling me he’ll be away at a cheese conference the week after next. What do you say we go over and keep Emily company? It’s two or three nights George will be away.”
Cyn smiled at me, her face fuller with sin than ever. “Oh darling!” she exclaimed. “You have the best ideas!”
Tamera
- 14.11.2022
- 22
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- Category:
- Reluctance
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