The Freinds of Paul and Sally Part Three
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The Freinds Of Paul And Sally - Part Three free porn video
The availability of Mike and Selma's bed-and-breakfast facility over a whole week-end had seemed too good an opportunity to miss. On the Saturday, the agenda was not quite continuous sex but almost. In the evening we finally broke off to bath and change before spending a couple of hours at a local restaurant. Though that was not without incident. Sally confessed afterwards that she had almost been taken unawares by the arrival of a waiter while she was rubbing Alan's exposed cock with a table napkin. Gary was smarter, 'accidentally' dropping a knife and, while crawling under the table to retrieve it, managing to get his hand up the skirt of each of the four women in turn. So the mood of carnality was maintained until we returned.
Mike set a video running on the television set in a corner of the lounge, then announced that Gary's exploits under the table had given him an advantage over everyone else: he was the only one who knew what the women were wearing since they had changed. Time, Mike said, to do something about that. Quickly scribbling numbers on four pieces of paper, he invited the ladies to draw lots. Sally drew number one.
"What now?" she asked innocently.
"Strip, of course," said Mike.
"I shall need help," she replied, turning to Selma.
"OK," said Mike. But then, to his wife, "No touching. Not yet, anyway."
Sally turned her back to allow Selma to release the zip of her midnight blue cocktail dress. I knew, of course, that underneath she wore pale blue french knickers, suspenders and stockings but no bra. A murmur from the other onlookers indicated clear approval of my wife's figure and her choice of underwear. In response, Sally raised her arms and stretched showing off her small pointed breasts with the pale nipples to their best advantage. Alan immediately unzipped himself and took his burgeoning cock in his hand.
"Number two," demanded Mike.
Linda, always the extrovert, bounced up from her chair, turned, placed her hands on the arms, bent forward and lifted her skirt. At first it appeared that she wore nothing underneath. Further inspection revealed a minute white thong trapped between the cheeks of a nicely rounded arse. I admit that thongs do nothing for me but there was no denying the erotic effect of those pale orbs framed by the dark material of her skirt. Slowly, Linda reached behind her, moved the thong to one side and held her buttocks open.
"While we were getting changed," she said, "Gary and I were talking about that little exhibition we had from Selma and Mike. We want to try but I'm afraid it will hurt. You've seen how thick Gary is. Do you think I might I be too narrow?" We all looked at the tiny brown orifice, each, I suppose with our own thoughts. I was imagining feeding my cock in there and no doubt Alan and Mike were having similar thoughts.
Selma spoke for the women. "I was the same, dear. Believe me, it takes plenty of lubrication and a lot of patience. Fingers for a while. Don't even try taking his cock until you've had a few sessions just getting loose. You may even find it's not for you, but I doubt it. As you can see," she added. Glancing at the television screen she had noted a large black man and a blonde with bouncing tits displaying every sign of total absorption in a vigorous anal fuck. In the room there was silence apart from the video sound track. Gary had followed Alan's example and was slowly manipulating his lengthening dick; it's girth was as substantial as Linda had suggested.
Eventually, Linda broke the spell. Standing and undressing until all that remained was the white thong, she said, "Look, I don't know what's so attractive about two people on television - who probably did that in California ages ago - when you can have the real thing, here and now." With that, she removed the thong, draped it across Mike's face and sat down on the floor at Sally's feet.
"Linda's right," said Mike. "There's nothing they can do that we can't do better. We'll treat that as background music and we'll carry on ourselves. Number three."
Without saying a word, his wife rose and moved into the centre of the room. Selma, the oldest of the four women, has a voluptuous body that has been well cared for, sumptuous curves but no surplus fat. Her underwear, like Linda's, was white, but the expensive silk garments were subtly more substantial than the flimsy scraps discarded by her predecessor. The knickers unobtrusively supported her buttocks, the bra emphasised the fullness of her breasts. She gave us time to admire her before unfastening the bra and placing it to one side. Her nipples, we knew from previous appraisal, were dark and round.
Mike, the lucky partner who could enjoy those delights on a daily basis, did not disguise his admiration but then turned to Trish. "And you must be number four."
When we embarked on a cautious search for other couples to enhance our own sex life, Alan and Trish were the first pair with whom we found basic compatibility. Younger than us - they were both just thirty - they were then also beginners. Alan was clearly the instigator but never pushy, always sensitive to the need to carry Trish with him. Trish was interesting. We wondered how someone so shy and timid could have been persuaded to take even the first tentative steps. Only when the reticence was overcome over time did we discover that underneath that softly-spoken, doubtful exterior was a fiercely passionate woman with a seemingly unlimited desire and a remarkable talent for giving and taking physical satisfaction.
The paradox remained. She stepped forward almost hesitantly now, the only woman fully clothed in a room where all four men were now masturbating while eyeing her hungrily. Of course, we had all fucked her only a few hours previously, and the women had sampled her sapphic gifts; yet, there was a palpable sense of anticipation as she stood to be inspected. A stranger might have felt that she was reluctant to continue. From previous get-togethers we had learned better.
Trish, slim and dark with hair to her shoulders which she occasionally pushed back nervously, wore a black city suit, with a high-collared white blouse, black stockings and high heels. Glasses completed the impression of the efficient secretary with an aloof, do-not-touch air.
"Oh God, Trish, please hurry. I want to see, and I know I'm going to want to touch." The demand, quietly spoken but unmistakably urgent, came from Linda whose splayed legs and active fingers displayed glistening labia.
With the merest hint of a smile, Trish began to disrobe. The jacket was carefully folded and set aside. The blouse was unfastened, button by tantalising button. When that, too, was removed she contrived to hold it across her breasts for a moment before disclosing a black peephole bra. Her nipples, reddened with lipstick, protruded obscenely. Gary groaned and stopped masturbating, clearly apprehensive of losing control at this early stage.
Trish turned full circle for everyone to see, then shed the bra and carefully placed it with the garments she had already taken off. She reached behind her to unzip the skirt, bending and grasping the waistband to prevent it falling to the floor. When she rose and meticulously discarded the skirt there was more than one deep intake of breath. Trish now stood before us in her high heels, black stockings, black garter belt and black crotchless knickers. Deliberately, she leaned back and with both hands drew open the gap between her legs to reveal cunt lips reddened to match her nipples.
There was a brief pause before Linda scrambled to kneel between Trish's legs. Her hands clasped Trish's buttocks , pulling her cunt into contact with a voracious tongue. Whether by design or accident, Mike's little game had created a sexual tension that had reached bursting point.
In seconds, we were all naked or nearly so. I went to Selma and led her to a sofa where I took my time sliding the white silk knickers down her thighs. She leaned back, widened her legs and gently pulled my head into the warm, musky nest between them. I licked, lapped and probed, felt her bottom rise from the sofa and heard the sigh as she let the orgasm overtake her. She knelt and offered me her cunt from behind. While I rode her, I slipped the middle finger of my left hand into her arsehole, remembering the exhibition she and Mike had put on for us. The finger was accepted and, I think, enjoyed but she gave no sign that she would take my cock there so made no attempt. I suspected that development would be only a matter of time: the next meeting or two even. Perhaps she would prefer to offer that intimacy when there were fewer of us, no queue of men waiting to get into her that way.
The issue was unimportant. Refreshed by the break for a bath and a meal, aroused by the controlled build-up, we were all ready to savour the multiple delights that four couples made possible. We did so to the full and into the small hours until, couple by couple - though not always in the partnerships with which we had begun - we retired to our individual bedrooms sated. Until the morning.
As it happened, Sally and I had shared a bed. When we woke, I let my hand trace a path from her breast to her vagina. "Would you like to fuck?" I asked.
"I'm sure it would be nice, but maybe not a good idea. Better to keep ourselves fresh for whatever the day holds."
It was nearly midday before we were all assembled. Instinctively none of us had dressed fully; the women were in fresh underwear - Trish again provocative in red - the men in boxer shorts. Brunch with the Sunday papers was over when Mike enquired, "What does anyone fancy? More like last night?"
Alan replied and, as it proved, spoke for us all. "Trish and I talked about it before we got up, and decided to wait. You know - willing spirit, weak flesh."
The truth was that we had all been seduced by the idea of a weekend of continuous sex but in practice, bodies had their limitations. Yet we all agreed that before breaking up in the late afternoon we wanted to have one last uninhibited session. The solution came from Sally, who said, "Look, we've agreed that Paul and I will try to put some shape on your stories and get them on Literotica. But so far we haven't heard from Mike and Selma. Why don't we hear their story and, if it's anything like the others we've already had, it should put us in the mood for a final fling."
The proposal was quickly agreed, but Mike cut in to say that the story they would like told - and they would certainly like it to be disguised in some way - would be Selma's. He looked at his wife who took some time to consider before beginning. This, then, with certain omissions and one or two imagined embellishments is:
Selma’s story
(to be continued)
Mike set a video running on the television set in a corner of the lounge, then announced that Gary's exploits under the table had given him an advantage over everyone else: he was the only one who knew what the women were wearing since they had changed. Time, Mike said, to do something about that. Quickly scribbling numbers on four pieces of paper, he invited the ladies to draw lots. Sally drew number one.
"What now?" she asked innocently.
"Strip, of course," said Mike.
"I shall need help," she replied, turning to Selma.
"OK," said Mike. But then, to his wife, "No touching. Not yet, anyway."
Sally turned her back to allow Selma to release the zip of her midnight blue cocktail dress. I knew, of course, that underneath she wore pale blue french knickers, suspenders and stockings but no bra. A murmur from the other onlookers indicated clear approval of my wife's figure and her choice of underwear. In response, Sally raised her arms and stretched showing off her small pointed breasts with the pale nipples to their best advantage. Alan immediately unzipped himself and took his burgeoning cock in his hand.
"Number two," demanded Mike.
Linda, always the extrovert, bounced up from her chair, turned, placed her hands on the arms, bent forward and lifted her skirt. At first it appeared that she wore nothing underneath. Further inspection revealed a minute white thong trapped between the cheeks of a nicely rounded arse. I admit that thongs do nothing for me but there was no denying the erotic effect of those pale orbs framed by the dark material of her skirt. Slowly, Linda reached behind her, moved the thong to one side and held her buttocks open.
"While we were getting changed," she said, "Gary and I were talking about that little exhibition we had from Selma and Mike. We want to try but I'm afraid it will hurt. You've seen how thick Gary is. Do you think I might I be too narrow?" We all looked at the tiny brown orifice, each, I suppose with our own thoughts. I was imagining feeding my cock in there and no doubt Alan and Mike were having similar thoughts.
Selma spoke for the women. "I was the same, dear. Believe me, it takes plenty of lubrication and a lot of patience. Fingers for a while. Don't even try taking his cock until you've had a few sessions just getting loose. You may even find it's not for you, but I doubt it. As you can see," she added. Glancing at the television screen she had noted a large black man and a blonde with bouncing tits displaying every sign of total absorption in a vigorous anal fuck. In the room there was silence apart from the video sound track. Gary had followed Alan's example and was slowly manipulating his lengthening dick; it's girth was as substantial as Linda had suggested.
Eventually, Linda broke the spell. Standing and undressing until all that remained was the white thong, she said, "Look, I don't know what's so attractive about two people on television - who probably did that in California ages ago - when you can have the real thing, here and now." With that, she removed the thong, draped it across Mike's face and sat down on the floor at Sally's feet.
"Linda's right," said Mike. "There's nothing they can do that we can't do better. We'll treat that as background music and we'll carry on ourselves. Number three."
Without saying a word, his wife rose and moved into the centre of the room. Selma, the oldest of the four women, has a voluptuous body that has been well cared for, sumptuous curves but no surplus fat. Her underwear, like Linda's, was white, but the expensive silk garments were subtly more substantial than the flimsy scraps discarded by her predecessor. The knickers unobtrusively supported her buttocks, the bra emphasised the fullness of her breasts. She gave us time to admire her before unfastening the bra and placing it to one side. Her nipples, we knew from previous appraisal, were dark and round.
Mike, the lucky partner who could enjoy those delights on a daily basis, did not disguise his admiration but then turned to Trish. "And you must be number four."
When we embarked on a cautious search for other couples to enhance our own sex life, Alan and Trish were the first pair with whom we found basic compatibility. Younger than us - they were both just thirty - they were then also beginners. Alan was clearly the instigator but never pushy, always sensitive to the need to carry Trish with him. Trish was interesting. We wondered how someone so shy and timid could have been persuaded to take even the first tentative steps. Only when the reticence was overcome over time did we discover that underneath that softly-spoken, doubtful exterior was a fiercely passionate woman with a seemingly unlimited desire and a remarkable talent for giving and taking physical satisfaction.
The paradox remained. She stepped forward almost hesitantly now, the only woman fully clothed in a room where all four men were now masturbating while eyeing her hungrily. Of course, we had all fucked her only a few hours previously, and the women had sampled her sapphic gifts; yet, there was a palpable sense of anticipation as she stood to be inspected. A stranger might have felt that she was reluctant to continue. From previous get-togethers we had learned better.
Trish, slim and dark with hair to her shoulders which she occasionally pushed back nervously, wore a black city suit, with a high-collared white blouse, black stockings and high heels. Glasses completed the impression of the efficient secretary with an aloof, do-not-touch air.
"Oh God, Trish, please hurry. I want to see, and I know I'm going to want to touch." The demand, quietly spoken but unmistakably urgent, came from Linda whose splayed legs and active fingers displayed glistening labia.
With the merest hint of a smile, Trish began to disrobe. The jacket was carefully folded and set aside. The blouse was unfastened, button by tantalising button. When that, too, was removed she contrived to hold it across her breasts for a moment before disclosing a black peephole bra. Her nipples, reddened with lipstick, protruded obscenely. Gary groaned and stopped masturbating, clearly apprehensive of losing control at this early stage.
Trish turned full circle for everyone to see, then shed the bra and carefully placed it with the garments she had already taken off. She reached behind her to unzip the skirt, bending and grasping the waistband to prevent it falling to the floor. When she rose and meticulously discarded the skirt there was more than one deep intake of breath. Trish now stood before us in her high heels, black stockings, black garter belt and black crotchless knickers. Deliberately, she leaned back and with both hands drew open the gap between her legs to reveal cunt lips reddened to match her nipples.
There was a brief pause before Linda scrambled to kneel between Trish's legs. Her hands clasped Trish's buttocks , pulling her cunt into contact with a voracious tongue. Whether by design or accident, Mike's little game had created a sexual tension that had reached bursting point.
In seconds, we were all naked or nearly so. I went to Selma and led her to a sofa where I took my time sliding the white silk knickers down her thighs. She leaned back, widened her legs and gently pulled my head into the warm, musky nest between them. I licked, lapped and probed, felt her bottom rise from the sofa and heard the sigh as she let the orgasm overtake her. She knelt and offered me her cunt from behind. While I rode her, I slipped the middle finger of my left hand into her arsehole, remembering the exhibition she and Mike had put on for us. The finger was accepted and, I think, enjoyed but she gave no sign that she would take my cock there so made no attempt. I suspected that development would be only a matter of time: the next meeting or two even. Perhaps she would prefer to offer that intimacy when there were fewer of us, no queue of men waiting to get into her that way.
The issue was unimportant. Refreshed by the break for a bath and a meal, aroused by the controlled build-up, we were all ready to savour the multiple delights that four couples made possible. We did so to the full and into the small hours until, couple by couple - though not always in the partnerships with which we had begun - we retired to our individual bedrooms sated. Until the morning.
As it happened, Sally and I had shared a bed. When we woke, I let my hand trace a path from her breast to her vagina. "Would you like to fuck?" I asked.
"I'm sure it would be nice, but maybe not a good idea. Better to keep ourselves fresh for whatever the day holds."
It was nearly midday before we were all assembled. Instinctively none of us had dressed fully; the women were in fresh underwear - Trish again provocative in red - the men in boxer shorts. Brunch with the Sunday papers was over when Mike enquired, "What does anyone fancy? More like last night?"
Alan replied and, as it proved, spoke for us all. "Trish and I talked about it before we got up, and decided to wait. You know - willing spirit, weak flesh."
The truth was that we had all been seduced by the idea of a weekend of continuous sex but in practice, bodies had their limitations. Yet we all agreed that before breaking up in the late afternoon we wanted to have one last uninhibited session. The solution came from Sally, who said, "Look, we've agreed that Paul and I will try to put some shape on your stories and get them on Literotica. But so far we haven't heard from Mike and Selma. Why don't we hear their story and, if it's anything like the others we've already had, it should put us in the mood for a final fling."
The proposal was quickly agreed, but Mike cut in to say that the story they would like told - and they would certainly like it to be disguised in some way - would be Selma's. He looked at his wife who took some time to consider before beginning. This, then, with certain omissions and one or two imagined embellishments is:
Selma’s story
(to be continued)
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