Oliva and I Collapsing Ttogether
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A Little Get-together free porn video
The man was kneeling astride the woman. After fucking her he had removed the condom and had spent a pleasant few minutes sliding his still erect cock between her ample tits. Now he was approaching the end. While his right hand, fondled a nipple, his left was pumping fast along his shaft. His breathing came in irregular gasps as he urged himself towards the point of no return.
The woman regarded this as the supreme moment. With a word or a gesture she could puncture the erotic tension just as it reached its zenith. She wouldn't do so but she knew she could. She had the power if she chose. She had enjoyed the things he had done to her, the way he had used his fingers, his tongue and, latterly, his cock. The words he used had aroused her. But all the time she was waiting for the point at which his physical need could no longer be controlled.
It arrived. With a deep groan and a final long stroke culminating in a careful squeeze, the man released the cum in a series of short bursts. The woman smiled as her tits received the pearly skeins. She massaged the moistness into her skin.
The man looked at his watch. "It was good," he said.
"I know," she said. "And now you have to get back to the House."
He grimaced. "You know how it is. Slipping away discreetly is tolerated, but miss a division and the whips come down like a ton of bricks. No way to run the country."
After the man had left, Lady Catherine lay back on the bed and let her fingers stray towards her still moist labia. There had been no orgasm for her. On these occasions there often wasn't. That wasn't the objective. In the early days she had worked too hard at achieving her own satisfaction, neglecting her partner. Now she looked for different rewards, new alternatives, sometimes solitary, often not. She had become, for the second time in her life, a woman in full command of her sexual promptings.
When Jack was alive, in the confident middle years of their marriage, they had achieved a rare rapport. She had supported him throughout his efforts to get elected, loyally accompanied him on boring constituency occasions, consoled him when, after being re-elected three times, he lost his seat. The margin was narrow but they decided enough was enough. He wouldn't put himself forward again.
By that time, Jack had his knighthood and the couple found a new existence on the social roundabout. Business and Parliament had provided many contacts and now they were free to enjoy them without restraint. At Cowes Week, at the European Grand Prix, at Wimbledon or the French Open, at Epsom and Goodwood, they were always invited to join the house party set. Dinners were convivial, hilarious even, champagne was plentiful and at night the corridors on the upper floors were seldom silent for long. Yet somehow, Jack and Catherine, still deeply attached in their unconventional love, always seemed to wake the following morning in the same bed, if not always alone. Sex was a free-for-all. The AIDS scare was acknowledged but only in as much as the need for precautions and generally sensible hygiene played a more prominent part.
Five years ago Jack died. A heart-attack while he was entertaining a client to lunch. No illness, no warning. For Catherine, totally devastating. Resilient and independent-spirited though she was, it took most of a year to get herself back together. Throughout her self-imposed abstinence, she was not short of offers. While she turned them away, it was always in her mind that one day a new chapter would begin.
When the time came, there were several lovers who all knew about each other; it was the way Catherine played the game, and it avoided unpleasant scenes. Anyone who showed signs of jealousy was tactfully but swiftly dropped. And so it might have continued until a proposition was put to her which she instantly rejected. Only later to see the possibilities and reconsider.
She was being bedded by a long-standing beau from Jack's parliamentary days. It was a vigorous and wholly satisfactory arrangement until he was promoted to Chief Whip. Whips of the conventional kind played no part in Catherine's inner desires but she was deeply appreciative of a man with a substantial cock, an acute imagination and real stamina. Thus it was a major disappointment when he gently broke the news that their relationship had to come to an end; his party was about to launch a moral crusade and, fearful of what he called 'the tabloid reptiles,' he could not take the risk of jeopardising his political future. However, knowing Catherine's appetite was undiminished, he suggested that he could provide her with more than one other to take his place.
The idea was not put as baldly as that and it took a couple of weeks and two or three farewell discussions in bed before she penetrated to the core of the deal. The Chief Whip knew that Catherine needed sex. He also knew there were various ways of getting his members into the voting lobbies; most were honourable members in every sense but there were those who were susceptible. If they co-operated with him, he could offer recompense by steering them towards an occasional happy hour with Catherine.
Of course, Catherine mused, she had other names and other phone numbers. She could solve her problems her own way. But from the day Jack had been elected she had been fascinated by the ways of those in power and their opponents. If she accepted, while entertaining - and being entertained - she would doubtless become privy to all the gossip of the Westminster village. It would be like the good old days. If not at the centre of the rumour mill, Catherine would be close enough. And, who knew, among the men for whom she would open her legs in the course of duty there might be more than one who would know how to scratch an itch properly.
Which was how she came to entertain Sir Guy T, a man of about her own age, tall, greying hair swept back in a mane, broad-shouldered, naturally authoritative. A Tory of the old school, he represented a farming constituency in the west country. From the first time that Jack sent him round, Catherine sensed she might be meeting an equal, someone who would match her: appetite for appetite, quirk for quirk, insight for insight.
When he entered that first evening, he looked round her apartment, nodded in apparent approval and headed with unerring instinct for the bedroom. "'Fraid we'll have to be a bit quick, m'dear. But want to enjoy this, don't we? Soon have you on your back, if that's how you like it." No preliminary small-talk. No ambiguity. "Jack wants me back within the hour, so let's have a look at you. Lift your skirt."
It wasn't the kind of approach Catherine was accustomed to, but even as she framed the words to say so, something deterred her: for once, she was not going to be the one with the power. She found herself aroused by the role reversal. She understood at once that there was no ordinary sex in the offing. She was going to be used in a way she hadn't experienced since - well, when she thought about it, perhaps never. A little shiver of anticipation communicated itself from her loins to her brain as Sir Guy rapped, "Come on, gel. No point wasting time when you could be getting yourself rogered. Show me."
The moment of choice: turn back or go on? Sir Guy was no subtle seducer. He'd come expecting sex and he clearly saw no need for the gentle approach. Maybe she would regret it but she had to find out: at her age it was unlikely there would ever be another chance. Catherine lifted her skirt; but not so quickly as to let him see she had already succumbed. When the hem rose above her stocking tops to reveal suspenders against pale flesh and then black knickers, Sir Guy grunted. "Good legs," he said. "Stockings. Like that. Turn round and bend over." She did so and felt his palm cupping her buttocks through the silk. "You'll do for me. I like a rump with a bit of flesh on it. Wouldn't mind dallying a bit over that another time. But not today." He gave her buttocks a firm slap with the flat of his hand. "Let's get the togs off, shall we? I'll give you a start then you do the rest."
Sir Guy's idea of giving her a start was to remove the knickers while taking the opportunity to feel round her cheeks and let a finger probe lightly against her bottom hole. Then he slapped her twice more before standing up to start undressing himself. Catherine, following suit, supposed she shouldn't have been surprised to find that Sir Guy was wearing what looked undeniably like a pair of woman's knickers. He was not in the least embarrassed. "Cynthia's," he explained, "in case you're wondering. Nice for me if we have a long session at the House. Slope off to the gents for a bit of self-relief. Relic of school days, y'know. Cynthia likes me to ring her and let her know. Expects a bit of extra laundry when I get home. Gets her in the mood. Still likes a good gallop, does Cynthia."
By the time they were both naked Catherine could see that Jack had sent her someone worth having. Although there was as yet no sign of Sir Guy's erection, the organ hanging beside his thigh was impressive enough in its limp state. He took it in his hand and waggled it at her. "Decent John Thomas, eh? Expect you've seen a few in your time but I wager this'll do you a turn. Give him a lick, there's a good gel."
Making a mental assessment of how much time they had, Catherine settled him on his back on the bed and knelt beside him. She took the detumescent penis in both hands and touched the tip of her tongue to the head that protruded above her fingers. Then, closing her lips round the knob, she began to suck while massaging the shaft with slow kneading movements. Almost at once she was conscious of the burgeoning erection. "First class!" cried Sir Guy. "Give it plenty of that." At the same time his hands groped to pull her rear towards his head. When that was achieved, his fingers began to explore between her legs until his organ had reached full potential.
"Jolly good," he said, easing her off him and on to her knees. "Let's have a go like this. Doggy."
Catherine braced herself on her forearms. If she was any judge, this would be a lively ride. From the moment she felt the head of Guy's erect cock pass between her labia, she knew she was right. One thrust gave him full penetration. His groin smacked against her arse cheeks. His balls swung through. When he withdrew, the squelching sound was evidence of a fully lubricated passage. He was hard, she was wet and they set to with an instant rapport.
"You're a horny bint, I'll say that for you," Guy exclaimed after a while. They had settled into a steady rhythm, Catherine succeeding in staying relaxed so as to avoid bringing him on too quickly. But soon he was asking, "Ready to go for it?"
So it was to be a quickie, thought Catherine; she found she was disappointed. But best to play along this time. "Yes," she said, turning her head to see Guy red-faced from his exertions. "Do it, if you want to."
"Right ho. Suppose you won't want me to cream inside you, but don't worry. Won't happen. I'll just stoke it up a bit first, then squirt on your withers."
The process of bringing himself to the point of ejaculation was no one-sided pleasure. It took rather longer than Catherine expected, allowing her to relish the grunts and groans that accompanied each ever-more frenzied drive into her innermost moisture. Suddenly he gave a cry of, "Tally ho!" and out came the huge cock with a last wet plop. The timing was indeed perfect: she felt the jets of sperm falling on her still upraised bottom.
"Good gel," he said. "One of the best. Dare say you'll want the ablutions now. And I must toddle off." Having found a tissue to wipe the remaining dribble from the tip of a now limp but still impressive instrument, he was already dressing himself. "You should come down for a week-end. Join one of our little parties. Care for that, would you?"
"What kind of party do you have in mind?" she asked cautiously.
"Whatever suits your fancy. Plenty of scope, lots of bedrooms, if you like that sort of thing." When Catherine hesitated, he added, "Perhaps something smaller, then? More intimate, eh?"
Catherine said she thought smaller and more intimate would be preferable.
"Probably right. You can always come another time - Hunt Ball week-end's always first class. Women have a couple of hours out with the hounds, come back randy as hell. But we'll save that for another day." He looked at his watch, checked his tie in the dressing table mirror, turned and gave her a peck on the cheek. "Just a little get-together then. Friday week suit you? Good. I'll tell Cynthia. You two will enjoy each other."
*********************
On the way from the station where she had been collected by Guy, Catherine was content for a while to listen to the latest political gossip. But as they turned into the long drive up to the Manor House, she asked for a quick briefing on the planned 'little get-together.'
"Well, had to have Leon - more or less invited himself. Something big in newspapers, owns the local rag, among others. Useful when we need to stop something getting into print. Been coming down here a lot lately - big house a couple of miles away. Says he has a lot to see to there. Fact is he's seeing to the housekeeper. Portuguese bint, big tits, a real goer, he reckons. Asked if he could bring her with him to one of our do's but can't have that. Next thing you know she'll whisper it one of the other wenches and everyone'll be talking about us. So Leon's coming on his own. He'll give you a good going-over, mind."
Guy had been letting a hand stray from the steering-wheel of his 4x4 to rest on Catherine's thigh. Now he pushed her skirt up to have a quick look at her knickers. Discovering black silk together with suspenders and stockings also in black, he nodded approval.
"Said you didn't want too many, so only one other for you. Head of the cops in the county. Also very useful in keeping things quiet."
Before he could elaborate further, they had arrived and Cynthia was greeting them. A quick peck on the cheek was accompanied by a subtle fondle of Catherine's breasts before the hostess whisked her away to find her bedroom. Inside, she closed the door behind them and leaned against it. "Just a quick word," she said. "The others have already started downstairs and I didn't want you to be thrown in at the deep end without any warning. But I expect Guy has told you, these occasions aren't meant to be social gatherings. Everyone knows why we are here and so we prefer to get down to it rather than make small talk."
Cynthia was a woman in her early fifties, Cynthia guessed, slim, small breasted and wearing, it now became clear, a see-through top and similarly transparent skirt. While she had been speaking, her eyes had been devouring Catherine's more ample figure. Now she stepped forward to take her guest in a full embrace. "Do you mind?" she asked. "After everything Guy said about you, I was determined to have first go. Shall we?"
There was no opportunity to reply. Her mouth was on Catherine's, her tongue probing between lips that opened readily. It was, Catherine supposed, she had come for and if the overwhelming approach was unexpected it was also quite exciting. Relaxing, she gave a shudder of delicious anticipation as Cynthia's hands slid under her skirt to mould her bottom cheeks. Cynthia was making murmuring sounds into her neck as she allowed herself to be lowered on to the bed, lifted herself to assist in the removal of her dress, instinctively opened her legs and drew up her knees to accommodate her new partner's desire. Fingers drew aside her knickers. She closed her eyes, heard Cynthia's deep sigh, felt the tip of a tongue between her labia, pushed herself forward, opening herself. The oral ministrations were delivered with clinical expertise. The orgasm came quickly. Luxuriating in the warmth that spread from her groin throughout her body, Catherine reflected that in a matter of minutes the years had rolled away. She was back in the milieu that has given her so much pleasure when Jack was still with her.
"Nice. I enjoyed that." Cynthia had risen to her feet and was looking down at her guest. "Good for you, too, I suspect. Not everyone responds like that the first time."
"It's been a while," Catherine replied. "And you were very good. Should I reciprocate?"
"Not now. There'll be plenty of opportunities - and I'll enjoy it all the more if I have to wait. Right now, we'll go down and join the others." Seeing Catherine gathering up her dress, she added, "No, don't bother with that. Knickers and bra will be fine. You may even feel over-dressed."
The warning was justified. In the sitting room, a couple were engaged in intense copulation. A grey-haired woman, wearing only red stockings and stiletto heels, was bent forward across the arm of a settee. Standing behind her and driving a glistening penis into her open vagina with controlled determination, was a stocky, dark-haired individual. He grasped the woman's hips with both hands, feet firmly anchored, knees flexing as he pursued a relentless rhythm of penetration and withdrawal. The woman had her head buried in a cushion but the muffled sounds that emerged were suggestive of nothing but deep satisfaction.
"See that, Cath? That's Leon doing what he does best." The voice drew Catherine's attention way from the fornicating couple to an armchair where Guy was sitting. His trousers were round his ankles and he was stroking a circumcised penis in a state of such arousal it pointed straight up to his navel. "The gel's Joanna - the Chief Super I was telling you about. Go on Leon, you can't make it last for ever. Empty yourself in there and come and have a look at our Catherine."
Leon shook his head and reapplied himself to his task. The woman briefly lifted her head to ask him to take his time. "Not yet, Leon, not yet."
So that was a surprise, thought Catherine. The head of the local police force, the invaluable ally in Guy and Cynthia's 'little get-togethers' was a woman. Joanna. And sexually, a highly motivated woman, too.
"Fancy a gallop yourself?" Guy asked. "Don't suppose Cynthia wore you out, did she? I guess she gave you an introduction - I knew why she was so eager to get you upstairs. Good at it, though, ain't she?"
Catherine agreed that it had, indeed, been rather more than good. But, as Guy has suggested, it had done no more than whet an appetite that was being further stimulated by the gathering pace of Leon's pounding of Joanna. She was ready for more.
"Good gel," cried Guy. "Why don't you bend over the other arm? So you can see Joanna getting her oats while we warm you up. Cynth'll be game for that, horny bitch that she is."
Obediently, Catherine draped herself over the settee facing Joanna. The policewoman lifted her head from the cushion and smiled. Stretching out her arms, she was able to cup Catherine's breasts with her palms. When Cynthia saw this, she moved in to unclasp Catherine's bra and draw it away, allowing the full globes to nestle in Joanna's kneading hands.
It was just the beginning. As her nipples hardened to the other woman's touch, she felt a hefty slap on her bottom. Guy
had launched his warm-up routine, and he was soon to have the assistance of his wife. Standing on each side of her prostrate body, they landed alternate thwacks on cheeks covered only by taut black silk.
"It's a great arse you've got," said Guy, standing back after a while to admire Cynthia's efforts. "But John Thomas here wants a turn."
Catherine released herself from Joanna's manipulation of her breasts and supported herself on her forearms. Guy's rigid penis was a few inches from her face. She opened her mouth for him to guide it in. It wasn't the most comfortable position but, reluctant to break the erotic tension, she sucked in the engorged head and an inch or two of shaft. At the same time she was aware of her knickers being removed from behind. Cynthia was kneeling, nudging her legs wider apart, exploring with her hand until she found the tip of the clitoris, which she rubbed with a slow, circular motion.
Catherine knew she should be able to delay an orgasm more or less indefinitely, having so recently been taken over the edge by this same voracious woman. The trick was to allow the sensation between her legs to become marginally secondary to fellating Guy. That then established a richly rewarding equilibrium between doing and being done to. But it became more difficult to sustain when she felt Cynthia augment her fingering by running the tip of her tongue across her buttocks. There was a pause before it lingered tantalisingly on the tiny orifice itself.
Guy, meanwhile, was handling his penis with more and more urgency. When he withdrew for a few seconds she could see the tell-tale pre-cum seeping from the head. He looked down at her and the potent weapon in his hand. "Ready?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Like this?"
"Yes." So that she should not be misunderstood, she opened her mouth wide. Guy needed only a few more strokes before he thrust forward and she felt the warm ejaculate hit the back of her throat. She presumed that he had been saving for this moment, for it took a number of erupting spasms before there was a final, unproductive heave. She swallowed, licked her lips, remembering similar salty flavours from years gone by, years she had thought gone for ever.
Inevitably, the climax of their performance triggered a matching response from Leon. He was still clinging to Joanna's hips, still maniacally hammering into a generously lubricated opening but now there was only one objective: to build the momentum until restraint was impossible. Joanna, urging him on, was equally out of control, not least in her vocabulary. "Fuck me, then. Get your cock up me. Empty your balls in my cunt. Fuck me!"
A huge groan indicated that Leon had reached the end. Gasping, he fell across Joanna's body, his penis still partially embedded. Cynthia went to help him to his feet, planting a kiss on his cheek. "Will you give me one of those?" she asked.
Meanwhile, Guy had lifted Joanna and carried her to an armchair where she slumped against him, her arm around his neck. "Did you come?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"Want to?"
She nodded.
The care with which he used his hand to bring about the release she needed showed Catherine that Guy wasn't entirely the domineering country squire whose persona he so often adopted. Watching the patience with which he supported Joanna during her descent from the heights, Catherine mused on the situation she had allowed herself to be led into. Here were five people, none of them young, all in their fifties or maybe even sixties, who had come to terms with their sexuality and were not embarrassed or inhibited in seeking fulfilment. Intelligent, sensual, consenting adults.
And they had only just begun.
The woman regarded this as the supreme moment. With a word or a gesture she could puncture the erotic tension just as it reached its zenith. She wouldn't do so but she knew she could. She had the power if she chose. She had enjoyed the things he had done to her, the way he had used his fingers, his tongue and, latterly, his cock. The words he used had aroused her. But all the time she was waiting for the point at which his physical need could no longer be controlled.
It arrived. With a deep groan and a final long stroke culminating in a careful squeeze, the man released the cum in a series of short bursts. The woman smiled as her tits received the pearly skeins. She massaged the moistness into her skin.
The man looked at his watch. "It was good," he said.
"I know," she said. "And now you have to get back to the House."
He grimaced. "You know how it is. Slipping away discreetly is tolerated, but miss a division and the whips come down like a ton of bricks. No way to run the country."
After the man had left, Lady Catherine lay back on the bed and let her fingers stray towards her still moist labia. There had been no orgasm for her. On these occasions there often wasn't. That wasn't the objective. In the early days she had worked too hard at achieving her own satisfaction, neglecting her partner. Now she looked for different rewards, new alternatives, sometimes solitary, often not. She had become, for the second time in her life, a woman in full command of her sexual promptings.
When Jack was alive, in the confident middle years of their marriage, they had achieved a rare rapport. She had supported him throughout his efforts to get elected, loyally accompanied him on boring constituency occasions, consoled him when, after being re-elected three times, he lost his seat. The margin was narrow but they decided enough was enough. He wouldn't put himself forward again.
By that time, Jack had his knighthood and the couple found a new existence on the social roundabout. Business and Parliament had provided many contacts and now they were free to enjoy them without restraint. At Cowes Week, at the European Grand Prix, at Wimbledon or the French Open, at Epsom and Goodwood, they were always invited to join the house party set. Dinners were convivial, hilarious even, champagne was plentiful and at night the corridors on the upper floors were seldom silent for long. Yet somehow, Jack and Catherine, still deeply attached in their unconventional love, always seemed to wake the following morning in the same bed, if not always alone. Sex was a free-for-all. The AIDS scare was acknowledged but only in as much as the need for precautions and generally sensible hygiene played a more prominent part.
Five years ago Jack died. A heart-attack while he was entertaining a client to lunch. No illness, no warning. For Catherine, totally devastating. Resilient and independent-spirited though she was, it took most of a year to get herself back together. Throughout her self-imposed abstinence, she was not short of offers. While she turned them away, it was always in her mind that one day a new chapter would begin.
When the time came, there were several lovers who all knew about each other; it was the way Catherine played the game, and it avoided unpleasant scenes. Anyone who showed signs of jealousy was tactfully but swiftly dropped. And so it might have continued until a proposition was put to her which she instantly rejected. Only later to see the possibilities and reconsider.
She was being bedded by a long-standing beau from Jack's parliamentary days. It was a vigorous and wholly satisfactory arrangement until he was promoted to Chief Whip. Whips of the conventional kind played no part in Catherine's inner desires but she was deeply appreciative of a man with a substantial cock, an acute imagination and real stamina. Thus it was a major disappointment when he gently broke the news that their relationship had to come to an end; his party was about to launch a moral crusade and, fearful of what he called 'the tabloid reptiles,' he could not take the risk of jeopardising his political future. However, knowing Catherine's appetite was undiminished, he suggested that he could provide her with more than one other to take his place.
The idea was not put as baldly as that and it took a couple of weeks and two or three farewell discussions in bed before she penetrated to the core of the deal. The Chief Whip knew that Catherine needed sex. He also knew there were various ways of getting his members into the voting lobbies; most were honourable members in every sense but there were those who were susceptible. If they co-operated with him, he could offer recompense by steering them towards an occasional happy hour with Catherine.
Of course, Catherine mused, she had other names and other phone numbers. She could solve her problems her own way. But from the day Jack had been elected she had been fascinated by the ways of those in power and their opponents. If she accepted, while entertaining - and being entertained - she would doubtless become privy to all the gossip of the Westminster village. It would be like the good old days. If not at the centre of the rumour mill, Catherine would be close enough. And, who knew, among the men for whom she would open her legs in the course of duty there might be more than one who would know how to scratch an itch properly.
Which was how she came to entertain Sir Guy T, a man of about her own age, tall, greying hair swept back in a mane, broad-shouldered, naturally authoritative. A Tory of the old school, he represented a farming constituency in the west country. From the first time that Jack sent him round, Catherine sensed she might be meeting an equal, someone who would match her: appetite for appetite, quirk for quirk, insight for insight.
When he entered that first evening, he looked round her apartment, nodded in apparent approval and headed with unerring instinct for the bedroom. "'Fraid we'll have to be a bit quick, m'dear. But want to enjoy this, don't we? Soon have you on your back, if that's how you like it." No preliminary small-talk. No ambiguity. "Jack wants me back within the hour, so let's have a look at you. Lift your skirt."
It wasn't the kind of approach Catherine was accustomed to, but even as she framed the words to say so, something deterred her: for once, she was not going to be the one with the power. She found herself aroused by the role reversal. She understood at once that there was no ordinary sex in the offing. She was going to be used in a way she hadn't experienced since - well, when she thought about it, perhaps never. A little shiver of anticipation communicated itself from her loins to her brain as Sir Guy rapped, "Come on, gel. No point wasting time when you could be getting yourself rogered. Show me."
The moment of choice: turn back or go on? Sir Guy was no subtle seducer. He'd come expecting sex and he clearly saw no need for the gentle approach. Maybe she would regret it but she had to find out: at her age it was unlikely there would ever be another chance. Catherine lifted her skirt; but not so quickly as to let him see she had already succumbed. When the hem rose above her stocking tops to reveal suspenders against pale flesh and then black knickers, Sir Guy grunted. "Good legs," he said. "Stockings. Like that. Turn round and bend over." She did so and felt his palm cupping her buttocks through the silk. "You'll do for me. I like a rump with a bit of flesh on it. Wouldn't mind dallying a bit over that another time. But not today." He gave her buttocks a firm slap with the flat of his hand. "Let's get the togs off, shall we? I'll give you a start then you do the rest."
Sir Guy's idea of giving her a start was to remove the knickers while taking the opportunity to feel round her cheeks and let a finger probe lightly against her bottom hole. Then he slapped her twice more before standing up to start undressing himself. Catherine, following suit, supposed she shouldn't have been surprised to find that Sir Guy was wearing what looked undeniably like a pair of woman's knickers. He was not in the least embarrassed. "Cynthia's," he explained, "in case you're wondering. Nice for me if we have a long session at the House. Slope off to the gents for a bit of self-relief. Relic of school days, y'know. Cynthia likes me to ring her and let her know. Expects a bit of extra laundry when I get home. Gets her in the mood. Still likes a good gallop, does Cynthia."
By the time they were both naked Catherine could see that Jack had sent her someone worth having. Although there was as yet no sign of Sir Guy's erection, the organ hanging beside his thigh was impressive enough in its limp state. He took it in his hand and waggled it at her. "Decent John Thomas, eh? Expect you've seen a few in your time but I wager this'll do you a turn. Give him a lick, there's a good gel."
Making a mental assessment of how much time they had, Catherine settled him on his back on the bed and knelt beside him. She took the detumescent penis in both hands and touched the tip of her tongue to the head that protruded above her fingers. Then, closing her lips round the knob, she began to suck while massaging the shaft with slow kneading movements. Almost at once she was conscious of the burgeoning erection. "First class!" cried Sir Guy. "Give it plenty of that." At the same time his hands groped to pull her rear towards his head. When that was achieved, his fingers began to explore between her legs until his organ had reached full potential.
"Jolly good," he said, easing her off him and on to her knees. "Let's have a go like this. Doggy."
Catherine braced herself on her forearms. If she was any judge, this would be a lively ride. From the moment she felt the head of Guy's erect cock pass between her labia, she knew she was right. One thrust gave him full penetration. His groin smacked against her arse cheeks. His balls swung through. When he withdrew, the squelching sound was evidence of a fully lubricated passage. He was hard, she was wet and they set to with an instant rapport.
"You're a horny bint, I'll say that for you," Guy exclaimed after a while. They had settled into a steady rhythm, Catherine succeeding in staying relaxed so as to avoid bringing him on too quickly. But soon he was asking, "Ready to go for it?"
So it was to be a quickie, thought Catherine; she found she was disappointed. But best to play along this time. "Yes," she said, turning her head to see Guy red-faced from his exertions. "Do it, if you want to."
"Right ho. Suppose you won't want me to cream inside you, but don't worry. Won't happen. I'll just stoke it up a bit first, then squirt on your withers."
The process of bringing himself to the point of ejaculation was no one-sided pleasure. It took rather longer than Catherine expected, allowing her to relish the grunts and groans that accompanied each ever-more frenzied drive into her innermost moisture. Suddenly he gave a cry of, "Tally ho!" and out came the huge cock with a last wet plop. The timing was indeed perfect: she felt the jets of sperm falling on her still upraised bottom.
"Good gel," he said. "One of the best. Dare say you'll want the ablutions now. And I must toddle off." Having found a tissue to wipe the remaining dribble from the tip of a now limp but still impressive instrument, he was already dressing himself. "You should come down for a week-end. Join one of our little parties. Care for that, would you?"
"What kind of party do you have in mind?" she asked cautiously.
"Whatever suits your fancy. Plenty of scope, lots of bedrooms, if you like that sort of thing." When Catherine hesitated, he added, "Perhaps something smaller, then? More intimate, eh?"
Catherine said she thought smaller and more intimate would be preferable.
"Probably right. You can always come another time - Hunt Ball week-end's always first class. Women have a couple of hours out with the hounds, come back randy as hell. But we'll save that for another day." He looked at his watch, checked his tie in the dressing table mirror, turned and gave her a peck on the cheek. "Just a little get-together then. Friday week suit you? Good. I'll tell Cynthia. You two will enjoy each other."
*********************
On the way from the station where she had been collected by Guy, Catherine was content for a while to listen to the latest political gossip. But as they turned into the long drive up to the Manor House, she asked for a quick briefing on the planned 'little get-together.'
"Well, had to have Leon - more or less invited himself. Something big in newspapers, owns the local rag, among others. Useful when we need to stop something getting into print. Been coming down here a lot lately - big house a couple of miles away. Says he has a lot to see to there. Fact is he's seeing to the housekeeper. Portuguese bint, big tits, a real goer, he reckons. Asked if he could bring her with him to one of our do's but can't have that. Next thing you know she'll whisper it one of the other wenches and everyone'll be talking about us. So Leon's coming on his own. He'll give you a good going-over, mind."
Guy had been letting a hand stray from the steering-wheel of his 4x4 to rest on Catherine's thigh. Now he pushed her skirt up to have a quick look at her knickers. Discovering black silk together with suspenders and stockings also in black, he nodded approval.
"Said you didn't want too many, so only one other for you. Head of the cops in the county. Also very useful in keeping things quiet."
Before he could elaborate further, they had arrived and Cynthia was greeting them. A quick peck on the cheek was accompanied by a subtle fondle of Catherine's breasts before the hostess whisked her away to find her bedroom. Inside, she closed the door behind them and leaned against it. "Just a quick word," she said. "The others have already started downstairs and I didn't want you to be thrown in at the deep end without any warning. But I expect Guy has told you, these occasions aren't meant to be social gatherings. Everyone knows why we are here and so we prefer to get down to it rather than make small talk."
Cynthia was a woman in her early fifties, Cynthia guessed, slim, small breasted and wearing, it now became clear, a see-through top and similarly transparent skirt. While she had been speaking, her eyes had been devouring Catherine's more ample figure. Now she stepped forward to take her guest in a full embrace. "Do you mind?" she asked. "After everything Guy said about you, I was determined to have first go. Shall we?"
There was no opportunity to reply. Her mouth was on Catherine's, her tongue probing between lips that opened readily. It was, Catherine supposed, she had come for and if the overwhelming approach was unexpected it was also quite exciting. Relaxing, she gave a shudder of delicious anticipation as Cynthia's hands slid under her skirt to mould her bottom cheeks. Cynthia was making murmuring sounds into her neck as she allowed herself to be lowered on to the bed, lifted herself to assist in the removal of her dress, instinctively opened her legs and drew up her knees to accommodate her new partner's desire. Fingers drew aside her knickers. She closed her eyes, heard Cynthia's deep sigh, felt the tip of a tongue between her labia, pushed herself forward, opening herself. The oral ministrations were delivered with clinical expertise. The orgasm came quickly. Luxuriating in the warmth that spread from her groin throughout her body, Catherine reflected that in a matter of minutes the years had rolled away. She was back in the milieu that has given her so much pleasure when Jack was still with her.
"Nice. I enjoyed that." Cynthia had risen to her feet and was looking down at her guest. "Good for you, too, I suspect. Not everyone responds like that the first time."
"It's been a while," Catherine replied. "And you were very good. Should I reciprocate?"
"Not now. There'll be plenty of opportunities - and I'll enjoy it all the more if I have to wait. Right now, we'll go down and join the others." Seeing Catherine gathering up her dress, she added, "No, don't bother with that. Knickers and bra will be fine. You may even feel over-dressed."
The warning was justified. In the sitting room, a couple were engaged in intense copulation. A grey-haired woman, wearing only red stockings and stiletto heels, was bent forward across the arm of a settee. Standing behind her and driving a glistening penis into her open vagina with controlled determination, was a stocky, dark-haired individual. He grasped the woman's hips with both hands, feet firmly anchored, knees flexing as he pursued a relentless rhythm of penetration and withdrawal. The woman had her head buried in a cushion but the muffled sounds that emerged were suggestive of nothing but deep satisfaction.
"See that, Cath? That's Leon doing what he does best." The voice drew Catherine's attention way from the fornicating couple to an armchair where Guy was sitting. His trousers were round his ankles and he was stroking a circumcised penis in a state of such arousal it pointed straight up to his navel. "The gel's Joanna - the Chief Super I was telling you about. Go on Leon, you can't make it last for ever. Empty yourself in there and come and have a look at our Catherine."
Leon shook his head and reapplied himself to his task. The woman briefly lifted her head to ask him to take his time. "Not yet, Leon, not yet."
So that was a surprise, thought Catherine. The head of the local police force, the invaluable ally in Guy and Cynthia's 'little get-togethers' was a woman. Joanna. And sexually, a highly motivated woman, too.
"Fancy a gallop yourself?" Guy asked. "Don't suppose Cynthia wore you out, did she? I guess she gave you an introduction - I knew why she was so eager to get you upstairs. Good at it, though, ain't she?"
Catherine agreed that it had, indeed, been rather more than good. But, as Guy has suggested, it had done no more than whet an appetite that was being further stimulated by the gathering pace of Leon's pounding of Joanna. She was ready for more.
"Good gel," cried Guy. "Why don't you bend over the other arm? So you can see Joanna getting her oats while we warm you up. Cynth'll be game for that, horny bitch that she is."
Obediently, Catherine draped herself over the settee facing Joanna. The policewoman lifted her head from the cushion and smiled. Stretching out her arms, she was able to cup Catherine's breasts with her palms. When Cynthia saw this, she moved in to unclasp Catherine's bra and draw it away, allowing the full globes to nestle in Joanna's kneading hands.
It was just the beginning. As her nipples hardened to the other woman's touch, she felt a hefty slap on her bottom. Guy
had launched his warm-up routine, and he was soon to have the assistance of his wife. Standing on each side of her prostrate body, they landed alternate thwacks on cheeks covered only by taut black silk.
"It's a great arse you've got," said Guy, standing back after a while to admire Cynthia's efforts. "But John Thomas here wants a turn."
Catherine released herself from Joanna's manipulation of her breasts and supported herself on her forearms. Guy's rigid penis was a few inches from her face. She opened her mouth for him to guide it in. It wasn't the most comfortable position but, reluctant to break the erotic tension, she sucked in the engorged head and an inch or two of shaft. At the same time she was aware of her knickers being removed from behind. Cynthia was kneeling, nudging her legs wider apart, exploring with her hand until she found the tip of the clitoris, which she rubbed with a slow, circular motion.
Catherine knew she should be able to delay an orgasm more or less indefinitely, having so recently been taken over the edge by this same voracious woman. The trick was to allow the sensation between her legs to become marginally secondary to fellating Guy. That then established a richly rewarding equilibrium between doing and being done to. But it became more difficult to sustain when she felt Cynthia augment her fingering by running the tip of her tongue across her buttocks. There was a pause before it lingered tantalisingly on the tiny orifice itself.
Guy, meanwhile, was handling his penis with more and more urgency. When he withdrew for a few seconds she could see the tell-tale pre-cum seeping from the head. He looked down at her and the potent weapon in his hand. "Ready?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Like this?"
"Yes." So that she should not be misunderstood, she opened her mouth wide. Guy needed only a few more strokes before he thrust forward and she felt the warm ejaculate hit the back of her throat. She presumed that he had been saving for this moment, for it took a number of erupting spasms before there was a final, unproductive heave. She swallowed, licked her lips, remembering similar salty flavours from years gone by, years she had thought gone for ever.
Inevitably, the climax of their performance triggered a matching response from Leon. He was still clinging to Joanna's hips, still maniacally hammering into a generously lubricated opening but now there was only one objective: to build the momentum until restraint was impossible. Joanna, urging him on, was equally out of control, not least in her vocabulary. "Fuck me, then. Get your cock up me. Empty your balls in my cunt. Fuck me!"
A huge groan indicated that Leon had reached the end. Gasping, he fell across Joanna's body, his penis still partially embedded. Cynthia went to help him to his feet, planting a kiss on his cheek. "Will you give me one of those?" she asked.
Meanwhile, Guy had lifted Joanna and carried her to an armchair where she slumped against him, her arm around his neck. "Did you come?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"Want to?"
She nodded.
The care with which he used his hand to bring about the release she needed showed Catherine that Guy wasn't entirely the domineering country squire whose persona he so often adopted. Watching the patience with which he supported Joanna during her descent from the heights, Catherine mused on the situation she had allowed herself to be led into. Here were five people, none of them young, all in their fifties or maybe even sixties, who had come to terms with their sexuality and were not embarrassed or inhibited in seeking fulfilment. Intelligent, sensual, consenting adults.
And they had only just begun.
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