by Lainey Fox
Thought we would take your Trinidadian friend up on his offer - you remember the one - dinner, drinks and dancing at his club? Tomorrow night. I am away this evening, so see you tomorrow early eve. Dress sexy.
xxxx
Later that day Lydia called Tennyson on his cell. “So, it appears you are having some special guests tomorrow night…”
“Yes, it would appear so. I got a text from your husband late last night. Alright. So, we doing this?” Tennyson’s voice was apprehensive.
“Why not? We’re already in the shit. How much worse can it get?” Lydia hung up, and for the first time in four years felt like a cigarette.
Lydia was sitting on the couch when Eric arrived home. It was already past 8pm, and she could tell he had had a few drinks.
“Sorry I’m late luv, let me just dash upstairs for a quick shower - whoa, you look incredible.”
Eric was right, Lydia did look incredible. Her dark brown hair was out, curling around her exposed shoulders like an auburn lake. She was wearing a canary yellow leather pencil skirt, slit high up the back. No stockings, cream stilettos and a gold anklet. Her ample olive toned breasts were barely contained within a thin strapped black top, tight and elegant. Her finger and toenails were painted the same color as her shoes, and she had on a set of vintage pearls with matching earrings. She looked like the muse for Tom Ford circa 1982 - sophisticated, sexy, and powerful.
Eric appeared back in the lounge some twenty minutes later. He was showered, and stunk now of Paco Rabanne instead of booze.
“Cab’s coming,” he said casually, and swept past Lydia to the front door.
When the couple got to the club Tennyson wasn’t around, but sure enough, their names were on the guest list. A waitress with dreadlocks and a silver mini skirt showed them to a table on a kind of mezzanine above the dance floor, which was polished wood, and set in front of a low stage. The whole vibe of the club was very 60’s show band, a tad Vegas even, but in a cool way - this place was obviously hip.
Eric and Lydia ordered a bottle of champagne. Well, Eric ordered it. He was in that sort of mood - excited. He kept looking around, and eyeing up the young women who worked there.
“I wonder where our man can be,” he said, finally making eye contact with Lydia.
“I don't know. I haven't spoken to him. Eric…” began Lydia, trying to be gentle, “what have you got planned?”
“What do you mean?” asked Eric, feigning innocence.
“What I mean is I know you. I know when you are scheming. So, what’s up? Why this…” Lydia gestured around the club with both hands.
“Well, your lover invited his, didn't he?” replied Eric glibly.
“Jesus, Eric -” sighed Lydia.
“Ok, ok, look, I have a… proposition for our Trinidadian friend.”
“His name is Tennyson,” said Lydia flatly.
“Right. Tennyson. Oh - speak of the devil…” Eric was looking up at the stage, and sure enough, there was Tennyson.
He was dressed in a white tuxedo, with a salmon colored waistcoat, and he looked every bit the impresario. Behind him was a younger man, also black, wearing a red suit and extra large fedora.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” boomed Tennyson, his voice sounding a tad more Trinidadian than usual, “please give it up, all the way from Port o’ Spain, de one an only… Dandy Boy!”
Some backing music began to play, and the man in the red suit began to dance with Tennyson for a moment, their hips and legs circling in time with the rhythm effortlessly. Lydia couldn't help but smile, and she stole a glance at Eric, who was watching the scene intently.
“Back soon,” he said suddenly, and stood up, making off towards the stage like a man on a mission.
Lydia picked up her glass of champagne and leant back in her chair, resigning herself to an evening that was bound to be interesting.
Eric finally caught up with Tennyson at the bar. The two men acted out roles of conviviality convincingly, and they both ended up leaning against the bar, tapping their feet to the music coming from the stage.
“He’s very good, you were right,” said Eric, for the third time.
“Yeah,” said Tennyson shortly. “Alright Eric, out with it. What is this proposition of yours then?”
“So there is something going on with you and my wife. And that’s fine, I have come to terms with that. You’re a good looking man, exciting, new, whatever. To be honest things have been a bit dismal for the two of us in the bedroom for some time.” Eric was looking ahead the whole time, watching the singer move around on stage, his red suit holding Eric’s gaze like a matador’s cape. “But here’s the thing. I am not a washed up individual. I too, want to have my fun. And here is where you come in,” Eric turned to Tennyson, his eyebrows raised. “I scratch your back, you scratch mine, so to speak.”
Tennyson frowned, “How?”
“Well, girls. For example, Alice, the one from the resort.” Eric was intense now, staring at Tennyson with his best don’t-fuck-with-me face.
“Alice? That young blonde thing I was mucking about with in Barbados? Mate, she’s gone back to America. Gone back to college.”
“Fine, ok not Alice,” Eric was rocking to and fro now, becoming slightly restless. “But you know what I mean. Girls love you. They fucking flock to you. And you need to pass some of that on to me.”
“Right. You want me to set you up with a girl?” asked Tennyson. “Easy.” He signaled to the bar tender, leant over the bar and whispered something in his ear. “Alright Eric. You wait at this bar here. Maybe order another bottle of champagne. In about twenty minutes three girls are gonna turn up. Fun ladies, and yes, they’re young. Mike here is gonna say that all the drinks are on you, but in reality they’re on me. You also get to take them to one of those private booths over there,” Tennyson pointed to a roped off section of the club, containing four red leather booths. “Now I can’t promise anything, but if you play your cards right, don't act like a dick, and let these girls enjoy themselves, you might have an in. Now how does that sound, Eric?”
“That sounds like a pretty good start,” said Eric, trying to contain his excitement. “Twenty minutes? Right here?”
“Right here,” confirmed Tennyson. “Now if you excuse me, I am going to give Lydia a tour of this establishment. Our deal starts straight away, doesn’t it Eric?”
Eric looked at the tall black man, and a flash of resentment came over his face. He nodded none the less, and turned towards the bar, finishing his drink. When Tennyson finally found Lydia she had gone through most of the bottle of bubbly.
“There you are, thank fuck,” she said, wrapping her arms around his strong neck. “Wait - where’s my husband?”
“Eric’s at the bar. We’ve had a little chat, and he’s happy for me to give you a tour of this place. He’s gonna be occupied for some time,” Tennyson could tell Lydia was confused, so he added, smiling, “Don’t worry, Miss Lydia, everything’s cool.”
Tennyson helped Lydia to her feet, then took her hand, guiding her through the tables. “You look stunning, again,” he said, his eyes lingering on her bosom.
“Thanks, Colonel Sanders,” said Lydia, giggling.
Tennyson led Lydia to the back of the club, where a black elevator appeared, almost concealed in the high gloss of the club’s walls. He pressed a button, and soon the two of them were standing inside a mirrored box, lifting slowly upwards.
“This is very impressive,” said Lydia, sidling up to her lover and lifting her left leg, letting her knee slide slowly down his inner thigh.
“You haven’t seen anything yet,” said Tennyson as he reached around, his hand finding Lydia’s ass.
They kissed, and stayed kissing for a good five seconds after the elevator door had opened. It shut on them, and they giggled, continuing where they had left off.
“I could fuck you right here,” said Tennyson huskily, his giant cock already pulsing against Lydia’s thigh. “But I have a better idea.”
Once o
utside the elevator Tennyson led Lydia to an old wooden door. He took out a key, and opened it. He flicked a light switch, and in the soft light that appeared Lydia could make out a desk, a couch, and a large square poof, upholstered in black leather.
“Well, this looks fun,” she said, reaching around the back of her top and undoing the clasps.
“Watch this,” said Tennyson, as he pressed a button beside some heavy red drapes. The curtains began to pull apart automatically, revealing a giant window overlooking the dance floor and stage. “Welcome to my office,” said Tennyson smugly, leaning back on his desk like a boss.
“Wait - can they see us?” asked Lydia, clasping her arms over her bra.
“No way luv, that’s a two way mirror right there.” Tennyson approached, and standing behind her, began to kiss the back of her neck and shoulder. “We can do whatever we want.”
Lydia tilted her head back, letting a sigh escape her throat. His full lips felt incredible on her neck, and his big ebony hand began exploring her tits, squeezing and kneading her flesh through her bra.
“Lift my skirt up,” panted Lydia.
Without hesitation Tennyson complied, peeling the tight leather up and exposing her round ass cheeks, a thin line of white lace running down the middle of them. Tennyson got to his knees, and pulled the fabric to the side. He then pulled Lydia’s hips back, and began tonguing her pussy, lapping up the small trickle of juice that had already began to slip out.
“Fuck Lydia, you taste so good…”
Lydia pushed herself back onto his tongue, smiling to herself and looking down at the now full dance floor. Having this man’s tongue in her pussy, the man who pretty much ran this club, and looking down at all these people made Lydia feel very special. It was just as Tennyson’s tongue moved on to her asshole that she spotted Eric.
He was sitting in a booth, surrounded by two blonde girls and a black girl. They looked no older than 20. A wave of repulsion swept over her, and she stop gyrating. Tennyson took this as his cue do away with the foreplay, and got to his feet again, hurriedly unbuttoning his trousers. Within seconds he was inside Lydia, his giant girth stretching her labia to a point somewhere very close to pain, but still utterly pleasurable. Lydia kept her eyes on the booth containing her husband as her black stud fucked her from behind. She felt empowered - and saw each thrust of the giant black cock into her pussy as a slap in the face of her ridiculous husband. Lydia put her hands on the glass as Tennyson’s pumping became more intense. She wanted to feel his cum in her, she wanted to feel that hot spurt as she looked down on her husband.
“Cum, cum inside my pussy,” she begged, not taking her eyes off the booth below.
“Now? You want it now?” asked Tennyson, breathlessly.
“Yes!” screamed Lydia, “I want it now, right now! Give me your hot cum… please!”
Tennyson didn’t need any more prompting. He began to buck his hips, and Lydia gasped as the movements forced his thick vein-ridden shaft even deeper inside her vagina. Thick hot cum began pumping out, and Lydia could feel the ejaculations fill her up. She looked down at her husband, who was laughing, filling up a round of flutes with Moet. As Tennyson’s hot spunk began to run down her inner thigh the glasses on the table below her began to froth over in mock imitation.
Lydia smiled, and cooed into her lover’s ear: “Thank you, that was exactly what I needed.”
Watching My Hot Wife – Taken by Tennyson 3
Book 3 of Watching my Hot Wife – Taken by Tennyson
By Lainey Fox
Published by Scarlet Lantern Publishing
1
Lydia lay in bed staring at the blinds that were, unusually for London, letting through several shafts of bright sunlight. She was alone, her husband Eric having left for work over an hour ago. Lydia was caught up in a slow dissection of the events of the last two months.
Things had really begun shift, she surmised, the night she had caught her husband watching porn. Seeing him masturbating had woken something in her; not a jealousy, nor an anger, more of a hunger - a hunger to follow her own desires through to their natural conclusions too. Two days later she and her husband were in the Caribbean, and from then on things had escalated rapidly. In the space of a day and night Lydia had become a voyeur, had participated in a lesbian tryst, had seduced a tall, black hunk of a man by the name of Tennyson Besson, and had been caught out mid-cum bath with said hunk by her husband.
The thought of that orgasm, the first one shared with Tennyson, filled Lydia’s belly with a sudden warmth, and she slid a hand under the elastic band of her pajama shorts in order to luxuriously explore the folds of her pussy. She had been masturbating a lot recently, even though her sex life had taken off like a rocket.
An agreement had been reached between Eric, Tennyson and herself; one that allowed each party to… follow their own desires through to their wildest conclusions. Lydia was happy. She circled the tiny nub of her clit until she grew wet, then tasted herself. Her sex was delicious.
Tennyson had agreed to meet Lydia’s husband, Eric. It wasn’t the first time he had asked, but at least the last time they met was at a club, with people around, and Lydia. Now Eric wanted to meet in a park, of all places. Just the two of them.
“Thanks for coming, Tenny, I know you are a busy guy,” said Eric rising to meet the tall black man from his seat at a small table.
Tennyson winced at the contraction to his name, “That’s fine, Eric. What can I do for you?”
“Take a seat,” said Eric.
Tennyson looked at the vacant chair and tiny table, and sighed, knowing it was going to be a tight fit.
“Fine,” he said, tucking his enormous things under the lip of the table. “What can I do for you?”
“So the other night, at the club. Those girls you set me up with…”
Eric was looking straight ahead, avoiding eye contact. He felt a little embarrassed. Asking the man your wife is having an affair with to set you up with some girls is not exactly the most ego-boosting of activities.
“Oh yeah,” said Tennyson casually, “how did that work out for you, son?”
“Yeah it was a fun night. Fun night. They are fun girls,” Eric was treading water.
“Yeah, yeah they are. Why did you ask me to meet you Eric? Just a friendly chit-chat was it?”
Tennyson was becoming impatient now, he wanted to leave. He was supposed to be meeting Lydia that evening and hanging out with her pathetic husband was making him feel rather odd.
“I have another proposition for you,” said Eric, this time turning towards his rival and looking him square in the eye.
***
“Okay…” Lydia was looking in the mirror, taking off her earrings. “So, what else did he say, what was the proposition?”
“I didn’t give him a chance to answer. I turned around and left him there,” said Tennyson from the hotel bedroom.
He was lying. Eric spelt out very clearly what his proposition was, Tennyson just hadn’t fully processed it yet. He felt uneasy about it. Very uneasy about it. In fact he felt a little sick in his well-honed guts about it. Lydia walked back into the cream carpeted love suite that had become her second home, naked.
“Well, I’m sure he’ll tell me about it tonight. We’ve having a ‘catch-up’ - whatever that means. Probably a pint and argument at the local.”
Tennyson sat up, suddenly alarmed. “What, you’re meeting him tonight?”
“Well yes,” replied Lydia, sitting down on the bed next to her lover, “I still live with him, you know. Now can we stop talking about him? I want you to do that thing to me…”
Tennyson smiled. He knew what Lydia wanted, she wanted to cum so hard that she nearly passed out. He was aware that his abnormally sized penis was able to produce this effect in women, and once that happened they quickly became focused on chasing this type of orgasm again and again, often seeking him out years after a one night stand in order to replicate the experience.
“Baby
I told you, it doesn’t always happen, you know… it’s a kind of alchemy…” Tennyson was smiling, playing up the magic he was able to perform, “… but I think the circumstances may be right for us to give it another go.”
With that he leaned in, kissing his olive skinned lover with his thick luscious lips, sucking on her tongue and licking up the elegant line of her neck. She moaned, and practically collapsed into his strong arms, so intoxicating was his kiss. Tennyson stood up, and removed his clothes, instructing Lydia to get on her hand and knees.
“I want to see that ass up in the air, waiting for me. And spread those cheeks while you are at it,” he commanded.
Tennyson watched as Lydia did what she was told. She eagerly clambered into doggy style, her ass facing him. She placed her head and shoulders against the mattress and arched her ass up into the air, a juicy ripe peach waiting to be plucked. Tennyson managed to take off all of his clothes without taking his eyes off that ass. He was transfixed by it. For a white girl, she had curves, and curves were a definite plus for Tennyson. He stood there, admiring her posterior, and wringing out the long dark tool that hung between his legs.
