Dont Judge A Book By The Cover
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Don't Judge A Book Ch 23 free porn video
Saturday 31st March 2018
The next morning I was awoken in the best possible manner. The aroma of fresh coffee and bacon wafted under my nose by my beautiful wife. Apparently both Gemma and Chris had awoken early and gone for a walk together. Leaving my beautiful wife to give me her undivided love and attention for the next couple of hours.
Jill’s soft kiss on my lips was the perfect antidote to that nagging feeling at the back of my mind that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. “Morning, honey,” came Jill’s cheery greeting. She obviously had the advantage over me having been up some time.
“Morning, darling,” I replied, my voice croaky from the phlegm yet to be cleared. She looked so good there, freshly showered and positively glowing. My heart aching at the thought that another man other than me was largely responsible for this glow. Another man that I must have been insane to share my wife with – this glowing picture of loveliness. The woman I couldn’t live without and who now glowed with life and bubbling joy as I’d allowed her to let another man into her heart, where previously only love for me and our children had lived.
As I gazed up at my smiling wife, my brain managed to remember the reason for the nagging doubt. All those hints and half hints from Chris last night that maybe someday things might change. But I forced myself to push this thought away, instead giving myself over heart and soul to enjoying the all-consuming warmth of Jill’s smile and love. I felt like one of those flowers whose bloom and petals slowly open in the warmth and brightness of the mid-day sun. As any lingering doubts flew away and I just gazed up at this wonderful woman.
Jill pulled back the duvet and slipped underneath, snuggling up to my already warm body. One of the few benefits of this cold English climate, the pleasure of feeling a warm body next to your own, adding to your own warmth. As she gave me two or three little kisses, Jill grinned. “Mmm, it feels strangely wicked and naughty. Sneaking a secret five minutes while our partners are out and about.”
As if to prove the point, she playfully squeezed my hardening cock. “Mmm, hello big boy. I can see someone’s glad to see me,” a giggle mixing with her words. I groaned at the feel of her soft hand on me, enjoying the way she squeezed and ran her fingers up and down, pulling my foreskin back in a way guaranteed to excite. Her head disappeared under the duvet and moments later I felt her warm moistness on my cock, as she easily took me in her mouth. Even with my wife doing me this early morning service, I couldn’t stop thinking how much easier it was for her to take me deep into her mouth than had it been Chris she was doing this for. His considerable extra thickness and length making it all the more difficult for her.
This masochistic thought was disturbed as Jill’s actions ended as rapidly as they’d started, her head reappearing next to mine with a big, knowing grin plastered happily all over her glowing face. “That will have to wait until we’re back home, honey.” A playful little squeeze of my little guy emphasizing the message. “After all, our partners wouldn’t be best pleased if while they’re hunting for supplies we were being naughty behind their backs.”
Another squeeze, another groan. I wanted nothing more than to throw the duvet back and take my rightful place between my wife’s soft thighs. Pushing myself deep into her body and fucking her to within an inch of her life, pushing her legs high and wide and thrashing away until I shot my load deep into her squirming body. But Jill’s teasing smile told me that even if she wanted that as much as I might, she was enjoying this new game too much to allow it.
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I won’t give you a blow-by-blow account of the next nine days in England. Suffice to say, it was nine days which were a real kaleidoscope of experiences and developments. Experiences and developments that pulled and pushed in all different directions between the four of us. Of course, the two main axes and relationships where the two main coupled pairings that we’d all four agreed. Jill and her boss and now boyfriend Chris. And me and my ‘girlfriend’ Gemma.
Because for the first time on that trip, I started thinking of Gemma as my ‘girlfriend’. I guess in a way it was only logical given that’s how I thought of things between Jill and Chris. I’d teased Jill about Chris being her ‘boyfriend’ for many months, although it was rarer that my mind dwelt on the fact that this made Jill his girlfriend. And with the all-round new openness about their feelings and love for each other, then their status as boyfriend and girlfriend was, even more, a central part of our lives.
Of course, the other change was the sad direction of Gemma and Duncan’s marriage. If, as seemed likely, Gemma stuck to her guns and filed for divorce when we returned to Florida, then that meant that Gemma would be a free woman. And I’d have had to have been a very stupid man to ignore the way that this might change things between us. Right back on that first time, we’d met at the neighborhood swinging party, she’d made it clear that even at all those often tiresome PTA events she’d had her eye on me. And now here we were, shacked up together for a week and a half on the other side of the world.
So the fact that my brain had sometimes started categorizing Gemma in the girlfriend box wasn’t that surprising. And if it felt like that at the start of the trip, it felt more and more like that as the days passed. I’ll come back to how things were for Jill and Chris and for the three of us, but the way that Gemma and I grew closer was an equally big part of that trip.
With Jill and Chris making the most of the freedom I’d given them, like newly dating teenagers seemingly unbearable for them to be apart for even a few minutes, Gemma and I spent more time together on that short trip than we had done in the whole preceding five months. And for me it was a real voyage of discovery, into the heart, soul, and mind of this wonderful woman. I counted it a real honor and privilege the way she opened up and freely shared about every corner, every nook, and cranny of her life. Who she was, what incidents and experiences had made her that person. What made her laugh, what made her cry. Her victories and fondest memories. The moments she could barely stand to recall.
I’d have had to have been either a block of Ice or a twenty-four-carat sociopath not to fall bit-by-bit more in love with this wonderful human being as she opened up and shared in this way.
And, of course, it wasn’t a one-way street. By nature more reticent to open up, happier to listen than to talk, Gemma had been far too savvy and loving to let me get away with my normal behavior. And seeing how she listened, questioned and responded, without dwelling on it I knew that with each passing day David Foster was becoming a bigger part of her life, with a bigger place in her heart and mind. Raising all kinds of questions and thoughts that I guess neither of us wanted to dwell on at this point. She was about to embark on a painful and no doubt messy divorce. And I had a wife who I loved, without whom I couldn’t imagine my life. Both of us educated by society and family with the emotional strictures of monogamy, thinking too far ahead wasn’t somewhere either of us wanted to go.
That all sounds far too serious and philosophical to be a fair summary of the ten days Gemma and I spent together. Each day falling just a little more and a little deeper for each other. Wallowing in the ever deeper enjoyment of each other’s bodies and time spent together. Of course, oftentimes when I’d see Jill together in some physical or emotionally intimate moment with Chris, my heart would yearn to be the one with her. But this was made a million times easier by how I was loving being with Gemma.
I loved her body and the way we made love. Gemma would ride me, or I might take her from behind or we might kiss and caress our way through love-making in the missionary position. And just as this felt so exciting, new and fresh, so I better understood Jill’s amazing excitement with her experiences with her new man.
And I loved those moments of extraordinary closeness that come for any new couple after the act is finished and you lie there vulnerable and recovering, sharing all kinds of secrets and intimacies that is the fitting dessert that comes after the unparalleled intimacy of sex.
But we didn’t spend the entire ten days in bed – although that would have been nice. ‘Surface Gemma’ can come across as jokey and frivolous. But presented with the huge variety of interesting things to see and do that the UK’s two thousand years of history presents, she built up a long list of things she wanted to do before we had to fly back. I was happy to help her tick as many of these items off her list as possible. Partly because I was discovering we had surprisingly similar tastes. And partly because I sensed this was a statement from her. If her SOB of a husband was going to run-off with some brainless blonde bimbo, then she wasn’t about to hang around moping and waste her life. She was going to get on and live life to the fullest . Doing as many of the things she could that she’d always wanted to, but hadn’t managed to due to his lack of interest.
Our cottage was well situated, in the rolling Oxfordshire countryside just North and West of London. So pretty much each day we’d set off to visit one or more cultural or historical gems. We took in the ancient colleges and university of Oxford and Cambridge. We visited Shakespeare’s birthplace in Stratford-on-Avon (accompanied by my literature-loving wife). We took in a couple of West End shows, including a heated debate with Chris and Jill about which was better, Broadway or the West End. We took in museums aplenty and the beautiful landscape of the Cotswolds. Always the engineers, Chris and I even took in an old WW2 cruiser moored on the Thames while Gemma and Jill hit the shops. The girls joined us for a semi- alcoholic lunch before we headed across the Thames to visit the near thousand-year-old Tower of London.
As our guide showed us ‘Traitor’s Gate’ and regaled us with true stories about how traitor’s heads were impaled atop the wall as an example, my tipsy wife turned to me and told me the same was in store for me if ‘ever you leave me for Gemma’. At the time, I thought ‘pot calling the kettle black.’ But just a few weeks later this comment flashed back into my mind in a very different way.
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Jill and Chris didn’t join us on every trip. They came with us for two of our four days in London and on the day we went to Shakespeare's birthplace. But other than that, they seemed to just chill-out at the cottage. More than happy with the extra privacy that our absence and day-tripping gave them.
I think we were only two or three days in when Jill developed the habit of asking, trying to make it sound as innocent as she could, what our plans for the day where. She first asked on Sunday, and by the Tuesday it had definitely become a habit. I said nothing, but her question now asked each morning caused all of the familiar mixed emotions for me.
Gemma also noticed and commented on it. And, Gemma being Gemma, she developed her own little game in return. When we returned from the Cotswolds on Wednesday, rather than announce our return as had been our habit, Gemma suggested we sneak quietly up to the cottage and see what Jill and Chris were up to. No surprises that even before the words were out of her mouth, Gemma had a willing accomplice.
Luckily the car parking spaces were behind an old stone wall and a little distant from the cottage, so Jill and Chris had no idea of our impending return. Being of our shared generation, Gemma and I joked that we felt like Daphne and Fred from Scooby Do as we sneaked up on the cottage, no doubt about to find out it was the caretaker up to no good.
Instead, we discovered it wasn’t the caretaker by himself up to no good, but depending on your viewpoint it was Chris and Jill jointly up to no good. Although judging from the sounds Jill was making, she thought her partner in crime was evidently very good.
As we snuck up on the cottage we could see that the lovers were enjoying the sun trap that was the small covered pool area. Only they had things other than sunbathing or swimming in mind. And they didn’t seem unduly bothered by the fact that the pool area was semi-public. Enclosed by large glass windows on two sides, it faced out to open fields with not a house or other building in sight. However, any bird-watchers or other locals taking the country air would have been for a bit of a surprise.
Because the two American tourists couldn’t control their desire for each other and were in that little glass-enclosed semi-public area making out in a very obvious way that would definitely have scared away the local wildlife.
Because Chris had my beautiful wife on her hands and knees, kneeling on the tiled floor on a towel and cushions. His long, thick cock sawing in and out of Jill’s tight pussy as she moaned and sighed just like a happy mare being mated by the prized stallion.
Gemma squeezed my hand, as together we watched Jill’s big boobs swinging back and forth in time with Chris’s deep and methodical thrusts. For whatever reason, they’d opened a couple of small windows and the sounds of my wife’s happiness and sexual satisfaction carried clearly to our vantage point. As he carried on mating my contented wife, Chris’s hands would alternate between holding Jill’s hips and enjoying the fullness of her breasts and the hardness of her swollen nipples. Other times he’d gently turn Jill’s head to the side so that they could share a tender kiss.
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Given Gemma’s naughty personality and my own voyeuristic addiction, once we’d stumbled on this game, Gemma and I played the same game on two of the next three days. My enjoyment of this secret pleasure being so strong that whenever Jill indicated that they’d not be joining us on our day-trip, a little part of my heart leaped for joy. Indeed, it was during one of these furtively watched sessions on Saturday that I heard a conversation that was to have a major impact on Jill and me for the next few months. But I’m getting ahead of myself, I’ll come back to that after I’ve described the rest of our trip.
In some ways, during the rest of that trip, I felt like the happy little boy given the keys to the toy shop and told to play. With Gemma, I had this amazing woman with whom I was developing a growing love and relationship. At the same time, I was able to enjoy my ever-larger kinky pleasure of watching both the emotional and physical time Jill and Chris spent together.
After discovering our new game of not announcing our return and secretly watching them, I was quite happy if Jill announced that they’d not be joining us on our trips. But when they did join us, I was also happy. Getting my kicks in another way. Reassured by Jill’s promise to never leave me for Chris, I was liberated and freed to enjoy the way they no longer hid their love and closeness.
As you can imagine, after all the storms and squalls of the Friday when I’d accidentally heard them admit their mutual love, at first they were still a little nervous to display their true feelings. Still worried about hurting me or my reactions.
But as each day passed and they saw no adverse reaction from me, they became freer. It wasn’t that their actions hugely changed. After all, they’d been holding hands and behaving like a couple since before we left Miami. Even before we boarded, Jill had removed her rings and switched them for Chris’s class ring hung around her neck.
No, what was different was more of a qualitative thing. It was more in the eyes and the smiles than in any overt and obvious physical change. It was the way that their eyes, always the window to the soul as some guy in Stratford-on-Avon once said, twinkled and locked together at even the smallest of moments. It was the warmth and comfort in the little smiles shared as they shared a private joke or enjoyed seeing something interesting, funny or cute.
All of these little signs tore at my heart-strings. They ate me up and crucified me each time I saw them. But at the same time, they were the opium I craved and couldn’t resist. They drove me to the edge of fear and worry, but at the same time they intoxicated and aroused me. They would have driven me into a padded call except for my twin pillars that held my brain just the right side of sanity. The pillar of the wonderful woman who stood by my side holding my hand and who was occupying an increasing part of my thoughts and heart. And the pillar of the promise Jill had made to me and then repeated to Chris when she was unaware I was listening in.
It was like someone tearing at an open wound. Intense pain only endured and sought because of the warm soothing joy of the opium-based pain-killer that washed over me afterward. The agony followed by the ecstasy.
More than once in my more lucid moments I wondered ‘how the hell did we come to this’, ‘how the hell did Jill and I end up here.’
Jill’s promised to share her feelings in the next chapter, so I won’t guess at her emotions. The one final thing I’ll say is that we did share some surreal moments. When more than once she caught me staring at her and Chris as they shared some intimate, special ‘just the two of them’ moment. And she’d look up and our eyes would lock together, but there would be some sphinx-like quality to her expression whereby I couldn’t fathom what she was thinking or feeling. After twenty-four years together, I’d prided myself on being able to read and understand Jill’s feelings and thoughts. But in those moments when she looked back at me, it was like there was a barrier. There was a part of her I could no longer read.
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Not all of the rest of the trip was so subtle or so secretly observed. A few times Jill and Chris were happy to make out in front of both me and Gemma. Basically putting on a show, mainly for my enjoyment as well as their own.
One such ‘show’ happened when we returned from the Tower of London and shopping trip. While Chris and I had been exploring the bowels of that 10,000-ton ship and marveling like little boys at what previous generations of engineers had managed to achieve nearly eighty years previous, the girls had been out shopping.
They refused to tell us or show us what they’d bought until finally back in the cottage after dinner they swung the door wide open and emerged into the lounge resplendent in two very sexy sets of lingerie. Gemma’s was a vibrant scarlet color, while Jill’s was black and extremely revealing. Low-cut and lacey, with holes cut out to put her nipples and pussy on display. She looked as sexy as hell, and as she smiled at me it was as if to say ‘no honey, not for you, at least not tonight, this is for another.’
And for the next hour or so I was put through several rounds of sweet torment as Chris and Jill did virtually everything a couple can do together. All of their physical achievements accompanied by a constant commentary designed to send me over the edge. About how wonderful a lover Chris was. How she loved the feel of his big cock. Jill’s commentary often telling me that Chris was bigger than me. And for the first time telling me directly and out loud that he was better than me. Before she’d been open about how amazing and good he was in the sack, but she’d always stopped short of absolute comparison. But in the throes of passion, that evening as she played the games she knew I loved and hated, she finally passed that boundary. Her new man deep inside her body, smiling at me and telling me he was better than me as a lover. (Afterwards, at Chris’s instigation, she did check I was okay with it and was relieved to hear I wasn’t overly hurt or upset. As I told her, it had both hurt and excited me, but she was only telling me something which in my heart I already knew. After all, this was at the heart of this whole game and lifestyle we were both enjoying. What would have been the appeal if Jill was just with a carbon-copy of me.)
Virtually the last act of their teasing game came just before they head off to bed and shut the door behind them. They’d stood and were ready to go, and Jill just smiled at me as she playfully held and examined Chris’s class ring. Hanging there majestically on a thin gold chain he’d bought for Jill, hanging in the cleft between the breasts that had nursed and nourished our children.
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With the time difference working in our favor, we finally arrived home just after eight o’clock on Sunday evening. The ten days seemed to mark a huge series of watersheds in the game we were playing. And this was to become clear to me through the rest of April and May.
(Thanks to cbears52 for his kind help editing.)
Rowan
- 10.02.2023
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