The Story of I Ch. 05
Quite closely, and also fully attentive, stood Stephen, at right angles to Lily, his butt against the bullnose of the tile counter, with his right hand also holding a wine glass. He was talking, gesturing with his left, and frequently touching Lily on her shoulder, and sometimes on her back. Lily was smiling, obviously enchanted by Stephen's stories.
My dog curled at my feet, more interested in listening to the evening sounds than in taking a walk, which was what I was asked to do while they volunteered to slave away in the hot kitchen making the supper. Now I understood what Stephen meant by "hot" kitchen.
Their shapes were very similar, both of them pears, generously endowed Bartlett's, with a lot of extra pulp on them. For their age—both in their late fifties—they had very few signs of aging. In other words, no wrinkles, as the extra adipose kept their skin taught as balloons.
My wife, fair-haired with a reddish sheen, which miraculously hadn't grayed, was endowed with large breasts and especially large hips, a BBW she called herself. I loved her for her passion, sometimes overly dramatically so, but she readily embraced all sensual aspects of life.
Well, almost all. She loved the panorama of an expansive ocean beach, the music of crickets and owls in the evening, and the aromas and flavors of everything food. As for touch, she loved the press of my lips into hers, and the caress of my fingertips, nail edges, knuckles, and beard hair upon her skin. But she had not allowed anyone else to enjoy that tactile sensuality because her sense of marriage was that of a faithful touching contract between herself and only one man, me, her husband.
But surprisingly, that insistence was beginning to waver, ever since I began hearing the call for cock. She soon started wondering whether being so monogamous was limiting one broad area of sensuality in her now middle midlife.
This was like a light switch being flipped from off to on. For Lily, a monogamous marriage was what she had dedicated herself to for thirty years. My devotion to such a commitment was not so steadfast. And I think the tension in our differing fidelities, especially over the last few years, gave Lily plenty of opportunity to reconsider her own allegiance to a pact that her husband wasn't going all in for.
Stephen refilled his and Lily's wine glass, and, drinking in big swallows, they continued their conversation. Stephen let his hand linger a bit longer on her shoulder than he had been, and she spent lesser times stirring and more moments looking at him full face-on, and beaming.
There was no withdrawing from his touch, and, in fact, the tactile connection—and the extra wine—may have been beguiling her. Lily raised a spoonful of the Bolognese to her mouth, cooled it by blowing, took a tiny taste, turned, and put the remainder into Stephen's willing mouth. Both of them nodded and smiled in approval. Then, as if that taste only whetted their real appetites, they each set down their wine glass, Lily her stirring spoon too, and moved closer toward each other.
Stephen placed both hands on her shoulders, slid them down to her elbows, and gazed into her eyes, as he listened to whatever she was saying. I saw him smile, and then they both moved together into a kiss. It was a brief one, maybe a tasting kiss, but the pause afterward was not long, for they began kissing quite ravenously after that, the two of them wrapping their arms around one another, tightly hugging while grinding their faces into each other.
I could have predicted this, and maybe I did, in a way—even facilitated it. I had known Stephen now for several months. As bi-guys, we had gotten together on numerous occasions with my intention being to find a dominant man to fall in love with, but I kept wondering if Stephen's goal was to train me to become his perfect submissive.
On one of those days, Stephen had dressed me as a woman at his house, and then had his way with me. I had been a maid-servant for him on an afternoon when he entertained a couple that he had known for years, and when the wife left, the two men had double-teamed me. In his virgin flogging experience, he had beaten me to the point of painful euphoria and then fucked me.
Those were the most memorable and the most special times. Mostly though, the parts of my training were different. He would summon me to his house when he needed to be "drained," and I would come over, suck him off until he came in great gobs in my mouth, which I dutifully swallowed, and then he would say it was time to go, have me zip him up, and I would leave.
It wasn't a 24/7 type of arrangement that we wanted, however, a lifestyle that some people seem to crave. In fact, when we were not inside his house, we interacted as friends, buds, and equals. Conversation would happen easily between us, we would make decisions collaboratively, and it wasn't until we were together in his house that the roles of dominant and submissive even came into play. It was during one of those times, however, when Stephen insisted, that he meet my wife.
Upon hearing how faithful she was to one man in a marriage, I surmised that he wanted to test that resolve. The first time that we all got together, the three of us had lunch at a local restaurant and engaged in a spirited conversation that ranged through all the safe and superficial subjects. Afterward, though, Lily had confided in me, that she liked Stephen, and in fact would like to have him visit again and again. It was her suggestion, in fact, that he come over today. And my telling all this to Stephen might have sped up any long-drawn out seduction.
My attention was kept rapt. They were becoming feverishly more familiar with each other's body. Stephen drew up Lily's shape-hugging knit dress from behind so that he could now surround her buttocks through her panties, jiggling them in his palms and bringing delighted giggles and sighs. Lily, likewise, had pulled Stephen's shirt up and above his shorts and was rubbing her smooth palms all over his hairy back. That brought them tighter together, and the kissing became more savage.
I found myself getting hard in this vicarious thrill of watching two people, each of whom I had been intimately involved with, making love with one another. Maybe it was the act of watching them secretively that also turned me on. But far from being jealous or rushing in to protect my wife, I wanted to see this through. I knew Lily's momentum when she got aroused, and that, added to Stephen's, would be a runaway semi barreling down a steep mountain grade.
I didn't have to wait long. Sure enough, Lily, assertively, unbuckled Stephen's belt, undid his snap, and unzipped his shorts. Stephen pulled Lily's dress up and over her head and she stood before him in her bra and underwear. Stephen's shorts dropped to the ground and he kicked them off, standing in his tented boxers, and then, off came his shirt, Lily heaving it into the dining area.
She turned her back to Stephen and let him undo the four clasps of her bra, slipping it off her shoulders, and then she pivoted back, with her hands above her head, and shimmied her pendulous breasts, making Stephen's eyes pop.
Lily knelt down, lowering his boxers to his ankles, which he stepped out of, his big cock at full attention. Lily then gave it her full attention and begin slobbering up his meaty offering with her hot, copious saliva.
Stephen tentatively ran his fingers through Lily's hair and was rewarded with little pleasure shrieks. He seized on that discovery, putting purpose into his hair play, trying out traction and tousling, tickling and tangling. Lily responded with vigor, rapidly deep-throating his shaft, augmenting its turgor and making him moan so loudly, my dog began whining.
I knew exactly what this must be feeling like, his cock head surrounded by warm motion, wet resistance, and that reflex urge to pump it deeper into a welcoming mouth, fulfilling his primal drive to sow millions upon millions of wild oats.
Stephen, master of so much, and in this case, of restraint, gently pushed her head away, pulled her to standing, and frenched her with abandon. Then he took her hand as Lily hurriedly led them down the hallway to our guestroom.
I made my way around the house to the best viewing window and crouched down. Lily chose not to turn on a lamp, but luckily, there was just enough light in the dimming sunset for me to see and not be seen.
Stephen pulled down Lily's bikini briefs, and then, with a hand began slowly strumming her vulva in a rhythmic way, humming a hauntingly enchanting Middle Eastern song that was getting her to gyrate belly and hips. Her provocative motion furthered his musical manipulation, his hand, glistening with her vaginal juices, sending pleasure impulses coursing to her cranium. She called out his name in long throaty gasps, moaning bawdily, and raving in all those superlatives that intoxicated lovers do.
Stephen sat himself down on the edge of the bed, his legs solidly planted on the floor and invited Lily to straddle him. With some awkwardness, he guided her wet and wanting womanhood onto his stiffly beckoning manhood. With his arms around her middle, and hers around his neck, they rode the buoyancy of the bed in this position, up another story of arousal.
In between fast breaths came shouts of profanity, "You are so fucking good," and "Oh, my god."
Stephen seemed an expert at edging, bringing them each precariously close to the screaming point, then pausing, catching their collective breaths, then ascending again.
With time he reclined backward, she falling against his chest, and then, maintaining their connection, they rolled over so that he was on top, a position from which he could pound away with purpose.
I reached down and squeezed my own responding manhood, mashing it through my pants, massaging it aggressively, heating it with frictional forces to the same precarious point the two of them seemed at. This was better than anything I could have imagined, better than any porn movie, defying the adage that fantasy was better than reality.
Stephen relinquished melody in favor of rhythm, and in percussive grunts he and Lily shouted in syncopated exclamations,
"Harder! Harder!"
"Like that fuckin' baby?"
"I. Love. You."
That last profession, by Lily, made it clear to me that this consummation of their friendship meant that there might be more times like this in our future. Their climatic screams followed, and I hustled to the back door, and, passing through the kitchen, heard them exhaling in the glee of afterglow.
"That was the best fucking I have ever had," Lily exclaimed.
Stephen traded a similar sentiment, saying that he's had two wives in his life, but never, ever, has had such a satisfying fuck.
There was no need to pretend I didn't know what was going on, so I walked straight back to the guestroom and asked how the Bolognese was finishing. Luckily, I had just turned it off, as it was starting to stick.
The two of them made no rush to grab their clothing nor to conceal what they had done. Stephen, instead, in a matter-of-fact tone, gave me an unexpected command—as if we were in his house, not mine,
"Martha, take your clothes off, because you got some work to do."
Then, gazing at my beefy erection just exposed, added,
"You got yourself a big cuckold cock, Martha. You liked what I did to your wife's pussy, didn't you?"
There was no denying that.
In his post-orgasmic delirium, he kept rambling on, that he and Lily were so simpatico, that this would be a regular thing, and for now, he's willing to share her with me, but on his terms.
And his next command followed from that,
"I want the best for her. I want you to clean her up really good now, you understand?"
One thing that comes from a long sexual relationship with another person, is discovering all the things that you can do to make their sexual satisfaction the best of the best. Lily really loved fucking, no doubt about that, but what I had discovered was that it was the initial fucking that primed her for the sucking to follow that really drove her over the edge and into the free fall of ecstatic oblivion.
Stephen had given her a good fucking, no doubt, although she always rhapsodized, "that was the best fucking I have ever had," whenever we made love. But it was cunnilingus afterwards which she craved. Stephen might one day learn that, but I wasn't going to give him the chance to learn it right now. I was going to be her hero tonight—and claim some just desserts, as well.
Not only was I getting to drive her to an even more intense orgasm, but I was also getting to suck up Stephen's cum, which drove me off the rapturous cliff.
I began with gentle kissing and tonguing of her thighs around her vulva, sampling the moistures of Stephen's sweat and Lily's seeping arousal nectar. Then, spiraling my lips closer and closer into her nether lips, I nosed that puddle of commingled cum oozing from her flower. I sucked it up, my tongue fishing out every drop of his sweet jism. Then, forming my lips around her clit, I began sucking rhythmically until she was screaming in major octaves above major octaves, rocking her hips and thrashing her upper body on the bed.
"Don't stop! Don't you ever fucking stop!" she shrieked, and I obeyed.
Once Lily had come for the umpteenth time, and her rapid breathing had eased off, I gently blew on her sopping wet pussy and with one hand traced my fingers around her pubic hair—newly manicured for Stephen, no doubt—and her lower abdomen and thighs.
With my other hand, though, I reached over to my favorite man, and began stroking Stephen's thigh, up to his groin, and, to my amazement, onto his now re-purposed hard on. Stephen, never lacking for orders, barked out, "Martha, now clean me off."
Being the budding submissive, and eager to learn more from my now two teachers, I began my own gentle hand play with Stephen's thighs, his testicles, the scrotal covering which was now tightened around them.
My mouth hovered above his cock, the fragrance of Lily wafting off it. I began kissing it gingerly, slowly moving my lips up and down the outside of the shaft, with a little nibble here and there, then encircling the glans, putting my tongue in the meatus, and finally engulfing its full grandeur.
I took my time, knowing Lily's refractory period would not be long, and mischievously wanting her to experience a little desperation. Sure enough, Lily was getting hotter, watching me get Stephen hot again, and she screamed at me, demanding another fucking. The two of them were insatiable, and Stephen, the master of tonight's three ring sexual circus, took charge.
He had Lily get on her hands and knees, spreading her legs so that I could hump her from behind. I also had to spread my thighs so that Stephen could hump me similarly from behind. Lily began rocking her pelvis in excited anticipation as I slid my cock, begging for final release, into her tight, slickening pussy. I leaned over her, wrapping my arms around her waist as she repositioned into a knee-chest pose. I excitedly waited, letting Lily do the preliminary pelvic tilting around me.
I was surprised by what happened next. I felt a soft, warm wetness against my asshole. It was Stephen lapping with his tongue, lubing me up with saliva. It felt weirdly wonderful, something I'd never done to anyone, nor had done to me, but something I now wondered if Stephen would command me to do to him sometime.
My initial recoil gave way to a spirit of reveling in a novel and pleasurable experience. I let myself open wider to his lingual stimulation, all the while delighting in what Lily was doing to my cock. I heard Stephen spit into something, presumably his palm because the next thing I felt was his wet cock sliding up against my anus. With only a modicum of pain—saliva is not as good as Astroglide—he was inside me, filling me with his majestic scepter, as I was filling Lily, with mine. Sandwiched between two relatively immovable objects, I felt like I was being caressed in a compactor.
Lily sensed what was happening and after his initial thrusts pushed me up against her, she began to time them such that she would push back when Stephen rammed into me. It was as if Stephen was fucking Lily again, using me as his cock-extender. They were really simpatico. Not only did each of them start revving up their tempo in unison, but they each made it sound as if it were me giving them the pleasure that they were enjoying.
Lily called out the name Stephen had christened me with, growling "Fuck me, Martha, fuck me," and Stephen, echoing the same sentiment, told me how much he loved pounding my pussy ass.
I felt the pleasure rush, then the rush of urgency, as the three of us started with our own vulgar shouts and screams, a unified dissonance of noisy yelling. Stephen shot his load into me, I emptied mine into Lily, and Lily squirted her womanly ejaculate all down my thighs, puddling on the sheets around my knees.
A ménage-a-trois for our old-age memories, I concluded. I felt a genuine closeness beginning to develop between Stephen and Lily, and, although I wasn't sure how sharing a wife with Stephen would evolve, it began tonight in a promising way. I felt included, in other words, not odd man out.
I drifted on a high of affirmation as a submissive. I had been allowed sexual gratification as reward for the services I provided tonight—and for the new relationship that I had brokered over these past few months. And now, having two people with power-wielding needs and me being a willing servant to meet them, my sexual life had just doubled in potential pleasure. What could be better?
All this came to me as we lay in a sweaty heap on the guest bed. And then something else occurred to me. After this multicourse fuck feast, we still had something to salivate for: the spaghetti with Bolognese probably still warm on the range. Bravo! Brava! Miei Amanti!
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