by Various
And, boy, was it amazing! Because I’d already come, I managed to last a fair while – for me – and coupled with Ginny’s own state of high excitement we managed to achieve a more or less mutual orgasm. Something I dreamily counted as a bit of a triumph, considering it’d never really happened before in all the years of our marriage.
Afterwards, relaxed and still dreamy – perhaps a bit too dreamy – I confided my fantasies to Ginny. The ones I’d had about seeing her fucked by the guys around the pool.
Of course the minute I’d voiced them, I immediately regretted it, and could have kicked myself for spoiling the perfect mood. But, God bless her, my Ginny confounded me all over again.
‘I’ve been thinking about the same thing,’ she admitted shyly, ‘and imagining it was me out there made me hotter than the actual sight of her being fucked did.’
To say my heart skipped a beat is a huge understatement and, screwing up my courage, I very tentatively asked if she’d ever do something like that for real.
‘Yes,’ she said, sounding a lot less shy now. ‘It’s something that I’ve always secretly wanted to do, but never really admitted to myself . . . But I wouldn’t want to upset you . . . I mean . . . fantasy and reality are two different things, aren’t they?’
I agreed, and we talked for a while, and I tried to explain these weird feelings of mine. To explain the peculiar combination of shame and excitement that I feel when I think about my Ginny being screwed, in public, by other men. I’m not sure that my words made a whole lot of sense, but somehow, because she’s an intelligent, intuitive woman, I realised that Ginny understood me perfectly. And understood how intensely I wanted the fantasy to be real.
The way she did . . .
After we’d been talking for around fifteen minutes, I realised that she was shifting her bottom around in the bed, and moving in that sort of uneasy, excited way that always told me that she was acutely turned on. When I touched her between the legs I found she was dripping wet and engorged. I was just about shagged out after all the fun I’d already had and, even though the spirit was willing, the flesh was temporarily weak, so I rubbed her to another orgasm whilst describing the filthiest group sex scenario I could possibly imagine – with my beautiful Ginny as the star attraction.
Later, when we’d had a sleep, it was time to dress for dinner.
How can I describe the sense of anticipation that sizzled between us? Neither one of us had tacitly come out and said anything, but we both knew that something was going to happen and we were going to make our fantasies real. And sooner rather than later . . . The idea of it seemed to make a young man out of me again. I kept getting semi-erections while we were getting ready, despite the fact that I’d already come several times that day. I felt as if I had a spring in my step, and that I was ready for anything. Anything at all . . .
And as for my glorious wife . . .
Wow! is all I can say. She’s a beautiful woman, even when she’s wearing the scruffiest of work-out gear, or baggy old jeans to work in the garden, but tonight she’d made herself into even more of a stunner than usual. She’d piled her lovely chestnut hair up into a flirtatious confection on the top of her head, with sexy little tendrils tumbling to her shoulders, and put on a little more make-up than usual around her eyes and on her lips.
And the dress she was wearing was amazing. One I hadn’t seen before. A saucy little slip of a thing in red satin that clung to her gorgeous curves and stopped short well above her knees to show her exquisite, immaculately toned thighs. The top was held up by the thinnest of spaghetti straps and there was no way she could wear a bra with it. Not that she needed one. Her breasts are nowhere near as big as the brunette from the pool orgy’s were, but they’re firm and high and rounded, with pertly prominent nipples, and well able to hold their own without support.
With this delightful garment, she wore a pair of black patent high-heeled shoes that did wonders for her already superb legs, accentuating the graceful turn of her delicate ankles, and the smooth, shapely line of her calves and knees.
She was a picture. A goddess. Sex incarnate. As we made our way down to dinner, I could hardly believe that such a sublime creature was married to me, and every lustful glance she got from male guests and staff alike only made me more proud and excited.
The evening was mild and balmy and, along with a small group of other diners, we were seated out on a spacious but secluded terrace to eat. To reach this area, we had to walk through the main dining room, and it wasn’t my imagination that there were one or two genuine gasps of admiration as Ginny passed by. My own attention, however, was firmly locked onto her lush little bottom as she preceded me.
There was no indication whatsoever of underwear beneath the clinging red fabric of her naughty little dress, so it was obvious that she’d left off her panties for the occasion.
It was difficult to look anywhere other than at the vision sitting in front of me but, as we settled at our table, I realised to my surprise and excitement that many of the people on the terrace with us were the same ones who’d been around the pool earlier on. The star of the show was there, with her podgy husband, but there were more other women around now too. Maybe these wives had been at the beauty salon and in the gym earlier on when the bout of exhibition sex was going on?
The first bout, I thought to myself, feeling my rejuvenated dick start to rise beneath the table.
I was even more pleased when the wine waiter came around, and I discovered that he was actually the lifeguard from the pool, moonlighting for some extra money no doubt. We hadn’t actually seen him fuck the buxom brunette earlier, but he’d certainly been in the group around her. I could tell my Ginny was attracted to him from the way she kept casting sly glances at his crotch and at his backside in his tight waiter’s trousers. I could feel myself willing her to flirt with him, and lure him, and make him her own . . .
My perfect Ginny in her divine little red frock and killer heels was far, far more than a match for the siren from the pool, who now looked overblown, overweight and somehow a lot older than she had earlier. Her skin-tight leopard print sheath dress made her look ever so slightly like a pantomime seductress rather than a real one.
Throughout the meal, I could feel myself getting more and more keyed up and turned on. Ginny was flirting outrageously with the wine waiter-cum-lifeguard, and also casting encouraging smiles at all the other men who kept glancing her way too. There was a sort of electricity building in the air. An awareness that something was going to happen . . . I’ve no idea what pheromones smell like, but I could swear that the atmosphere was thick with them. By the time we’d finished the dessert course, my dick was like a miniature battering ram beneath the tablecloth, and I could see that Ginny’s nipples were as hard as cherry stones inside the flimsy bodice of her dress. And our pet waiter couldn’t seem to look anywhere but at them every time he came to the table to serve us.
Finally, by unspoken agreement, my darling wife decided it was time to take action and, when her chosen swain came to ask us if there would be anything further, she said, ‘Yes . . . this,’ softly and huskily.
Then, before his greedy but somehow not entirely surprised eyes, she peeled down the straps of her dress and bared her sensational breasts.
A ripple went round the room, just like the one that had circled the pool earlier in the day. Ginny sat there proudly, her gorgeous tits on show, and even garnished the delightful view by lifting a hand and slowly and sensuously fondling one of her nipples. A moment later, she reached for the waiter’s hand and closed it around her breast.
Just as I’d expected, he didn’t waste any time, and began to knead and caress her enthusiastically, rolling the teat between his fingers and tweaking it in a way that made Ginny gasp and shift uneasily in her seat. Her colour was rising and I could tell that between her naked thighs her excitement was rising too.
Still manipulating her, the waiter bent down to give her a long, wet kiss, his tongue clearly plunging into
her mouth and exploring and possessing it.
Beneath the table, I clasped my fingers around my aching tool.
They kissed for a long time, hungrily and messily and, all the while, Ginny made little groaning and mewing noises in her throat. She was like a delicious she-cat, supremely on heat, dying to be serviced. And to encourage her prospective mate, she was now openly fondling his crotch.
When the kiss ended, he pulled her to her feet, pushed away her chair and, with no further ado, thrust his hand up her skirt. His hungry smile broadened when he discovered what she and I knew already, and others probably suspected . . . the fact that she wasn’t wearing any undies.
‘No knickers? God, you’re a horny little slut, aren’t you?’ he said, his voice, deliberately loud, carrying across the terrace. Any diners who might not have noticed yet what was going on were certainly alerted to it now. And, just as earlier, they began to gather around our table, men and women alike.
Ginny moaned softly as he began to play with her. It was impossible to see exactly what he was doing to her but, judging by the way she swayed and shifted from one foot to the other, and caught her breath from time to time, it was clear that he was manipulating her clit with a fair degree of skill.
And how was I feeling?
Well, again, it was that strange melting pot of emotions. A peculiar sense of shame and jealousy that my wife was being handled in the most intimate way by another man, and so very obviously getting a lot of pleasure from it. But, at the same time, an intense sexual excitement that was like a delicious drug . . . The degradation of being a spare part in all this, a fifth wheel, made my prick tingle and pound and, without stopping to think, I unzipped myself and pulled it out. I was beyond caring what anyone thought of me. I mean, who would tear their eyes away from the horny sight of my wife being felt up by a total stranger in order to notice that I was openly masturbating too?
And I wasn’t the only one. Several of the men were rubbing themselves through their clothes now, and one or two had already unzipped too. In readiness . . .
Slack of jaw and still tugging at my dick, I watched the waiter whip off Ginny’s dress and bare her completely to their audience. Several men reached out to grab her, gripping her tits and her bottom, squeezing and assessing her flesh.
‘Let’s get a better look!’ called out someone. A moment later, our table was hastily cleared of china and silverware and she was hoisted on top of it, laid on her back, and her thighs roughly parted to expose her glistening sex.
‘You’re really ready for it, aren’t you, gorgeous?’ said the waiter, his hand already between her legs again. Ginny didn’t answer. She just wriggled slowly, twisting and bunching the tablecloth beneath her, her beautiful body asking silently to be fucked.
‘Well, you’re going to get a damn good shagging, baby . . . A real seeing-to, better than anything you’ll get with hubby.’ He glanced my way, his grin contemptuous and sleazy. It should have mortified me, and made me feel like the lowest worm, but somehow it just excited me more than ever. My dick might not be as big as the one he was whipping out even as he spoke to me, but I’ll swear that I was equally hard.
I could barely breathe as he took her by her hips, hitched her forwards on the table and then stepped between her thighs and positioned himself at her entrance.
‘Ask for it, baby,’ he crooned, holding himself and rubbing the tip teasingly around her pussy, ‘Beg for it, you horny little pro. Beg me to fuck you.’
Ginny didn’t need any encouragement. ‘Fuck me! Please fuck me!’ she groaned, grabbing the table and trying to force herself onto the waiter’s probing dick, ‘I want to feel you in me,’ she continued, really getting into her performance, ‘I want your giant dick rammed right into my pussy.’
The sound of her voice made my dick throb and burn. I was right on the edge, ready to spunk at any second, but there was a part of me, somewhere in the back of my mind, that seemed like a detached observer. And an observer who was laughing and applauding Ginny’s outrageously sexy act, and who knew that, in spite of appearances, it was all done for me.
‘Right you are, baby,’ her prospective lover said. He sounded triumphant, but also a little ragged around the edges as if he too was in awe of her, ‘Here you are . . . You’re gonna get it . . . And when I’ve had you, these lads want a bit too.’ He nodded to the men gathered around and, as if by silent agreement, one clasped Ginny’s hands and held her arms back across the table, while another began playing with her tits.
The waiter thrust into her, and she moaned in delight, shifting her bottom about, thrusting herself back against him. She was straining against her makeshift restraint, her superb body flexing and bucking, while not one, but two men now kneaded and squeezed her sweet, rounded breasts.
She was so aroused that it took but moments for the pleasure to become too much for her, and she squirmed like an eel, locking her ankles round her lover’s hips and shouting ‘Yes, oh God, yes!’ as she came.
A moment later the man inside her was overcome by her wild erotic writhing, and obviously by the intense contractions of her gloriously tight pussy around him. He ground out, ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck!’ and almost before he’d finished, one of the other blokes grabbed him by the shoulders, pulled him off her, and took his place.
But my sweet Ginny was more than a match for them. She was only just hitting her stride. Still held by the hands, she threw herself around lasciviously on the tablecloth, still groaning with pleasure, and quickly milked her second stud to orgasm.
‘She needs to get some doggy style,’ growled a third man, stepping forward as Stud Number Two staggered clear and almost fell.
Several pairs of strong eager hands lifted Ginny bodily and placed her face down against the cloth, her delightful bottom pertly raised up. Her third lover stepped forward, nudged apart her ankles, and then inserted himself into her from behind. More hands scrabbled beneath her to fondle her boobs, and another man began to play with her bottom, pulling her buttocks this way and that and rudely stretching open her anus.
She wriggled. She flexed her beautiful thighs. She shoved herself bodily back onto the cock inside her.
‘For God’s sake, someone touch my clit,’ she commanded, her voice that of a goddess of sexuality, completely in control of all the slavering studs around her despite her superficially submissive position. Almost instantly, someone sprang to obey her and, the moment he touched her, she shouted hoarsely and came again.
In an almost delirious haze, the orgy went on and on and on, my glorious, inexhaustible wife wearing out man after man, and taking cock after cock into her pussy, her mouth, and even into her butter-smeared anus. After a while, those swains of hers who had recovered their erections began to seek out other sources of relief, some of them wanking, and others approaching their wives and girlfriends and coaxing them into action too.
Me? What did I do?
Well, I pretty quickly lost control and shot my load, blown away by the magnificence of my Ginny. And even though I thought that in all the madness of being fucked and fucked and fucked she might have completely forgotten my existence, she hadn’t, bless her. As my hips jerked, she caught my eye and, to my astonishment, her semen-smeared lips formed the precious words, ‘I love you.’
Eventually, after what seemed like a bacchanalian dream that had lasted well into the small hours, everyone, even the youngest and most athletic of the men, was knackered. Even Ginny seemed to have finally run out of steam. I retrieved her dress from under the table, gently helped her into it, and then flung my arms around her waist and half-supported, half-carried her off the terrace, along the path and to our room.
After a long, shared shower, we fell into bed, too exhausted to do anything but sleep. Ginny nodded off a few moments before me and, as I listened to her gentle breathing, I began to drift myself, lost in wonder at the magnificence of my sweet and beautiful young wife. And marvelling at the way a really very average middle-aged guy like me had managed to be lucky enou
gh to win her.
No matter how many men she’d been with back on the terrace, it was my arms she was sleeping in that night.
The rest of our holiday was in a much lower key. Ginny didn’t participate in any more orgies, even though we did observe at a few more frolics – usually involving the big-busted brunette and one or more admirers. We did, however, spice up the sex in the privacy of our room with plenty of dirty talk about Ginny’s outrageous exploits, and that really boosted my performance. I might not be the horniest young stallion any more, but I think I acquitted myself pretty well for the rest of our stay and managed to satisfy my sweetheart.
You won’t be surprised to learn that we’ve just booked another stay at that hotel in the very near future!
– David, Worcestershire, UK
Lesbian Longing
The pub was quieter than usual on that fateful Wednesday evening, and I thought we might stand a chance of winning the quiz for a change. My best friend, Dianna, and I had come second on many occasions but gaining those few extra points to win had seemed impossible. There were a dozen or so teams and we were known as The Golden Pussies. But the top team, The Night Girls, always beat us by a couple of points. Little did I know that we were going to win that night. And I had no idea that my life was about to change dramatically.
Sipping my vodka and tonic, I checked my watch and smiled. The Night Girls hadn’t turned up and the quiz was about to begin. The problem was, Dianna hadn’t turned up either. As the minutes passed, I wondered whether to call it a day and go home. I really didn’t want to sit there alone for a couple of hours. Besides, I wouldn’t have done at all well in the quiz without Dianna’s help.
Had I known then what I know now . . . Would I have left the pub? Would I have gone home to my loving husband? I was 35 years old, I didn’t want change. I was happily married to a wonderful man. I had a beautiful home, a home that we’d built together. A home built on love and trust. I didn’t want the very essence of my life ripped out.
