Hot Wife Lizzie? 7
Two men. Sitting at my feet. My old self, without hesitation, would have said where they deserved to be. Or said nothing and kicked them in…
Two men. Sitting at my feet. My old self, without hesitation, would have said where they deserved to be. Or said nothing and kicked them in tender parts of their anatomy.
But my old self was dead and buried, or at least perhaps on life support with a dire prognosis.
At that moment in time, I had an urge, but I was not going to run before I could walk. Or more accurately, fuck before I could have multiple tongues practicing cunnilingus on me.
It was a delicious feeling watching Charles and Chris. Their eyes feasting on my nakedness. Their wives watching intently. I opened my knees. Two men's heads. Inches away. I sat on the edge of my chair, legs spread at ninety degrees. I fingered my lips. Held them. Pulled them aside. Gave the two men a view of my moist vagina. Flicked my clit with a finger. Yes. I could do this. “It’s all yours, boys,” I said, desperately trying to mimic Marlene Dietrich to keep the atmosphere light but failing miserably. Both in my mimicking and keeping the mood anything but horny. Who cares? I sat back in my chair. Closed my eyes. Who did what I don’t know. I didn’t look. No doubt their wives would tell me if I asked, but I wasn’t interested in the who. It was the effect that was important. And oh boy! If I had to guess, I’d have said it was Charles who had first bite. Literally. I felt teeth nibbling my inner thigh as fingers entered me. Then I was lost. Another mouth took a nipple and sucked on it. A hand squeezed my boob. I started leaking. A tongue replaced the fingers invading me. Sucking up my juice. I had to look. See who was doing what. Charles was trying to drink from my teat. Sucking hard. A child sucking through a straw to get the last dregs of pop. It hurt. It was bliss. Chris’s mouth was locked on my cunt lips, French kissing them if you like. Gulping down what he could of my lubrication. I briefly glanced at his wife. Whether she was enjoying it or not, I had to admit, was not an issue for me. I was too far down my rabbit hole. Much as Chris was down my cunt. Then it happened. He knelt up between my legs. I saw he was fully recovered. His cock, his helmet inches away from my nest. Oh god. Unexpectedly, he asked. “Can I?” An honourable gentleman. Like Charles. He shouldn’t have asked. He should have taken me. I’d have hated him for it, but I would have been fucked. Gloriously, shamelessly fucked. But he had asked. I couldn’t speak. My inner turmoil resembled world war one. If he did fuck me, if I freaked out, the whole evening would be destroyed. The leading of Lizzie into a sexually free life ruined. I couldn’t risk it. I shook my head. Found a cracked voice. “Give it to Carol. Fuck her brains out.”
He didn’t look too disappointed. We were all so sexually charged. As far as he was concerned, one cunt was as good as another.
Charlie had heard my suggestion. “Do my boy. You’ll find her a willing slut.”
His reply. “Only if you do mine.”
“My pleasure if she’s willing, but I must relieve young Tracy first.”
Musical chairs time. Chris shuffled across the room to Carol, her legs wide apart, fingers busy. He crawled between them. No foreplay. His cock sliding straight in. His wife sitting next to Carol bent forward and husband and wife’s lips met. Kissing deep as Chris started thrusting. My concentration on them waned. The combination of Charlie's fingers and tongue was all enveloping. First, his tongue lapping at my back door. Shiver producing touches. A finger then disappeared up my bum. Not just the tip. The whole digit. My innards reacted. My orgasm tumultuous. Hips kicking. Body trembling. Voice moaning. God.
I was high. Heaven high. Coming back down would be a slow process, and Charlie knew it. He left me simmering and went to Lizzie. “Are you sure?” he asked. Like me, she couldn’t find her voice. Unlike me, she nodded.
So there it was. What a tableau. Carol and Lizzie side by side on the sofa. Each with the other’s husband’s cock deep inside them. Me still leaking. Quietly fingering myself. Deciding I’d made the right decision.
Since that tumultuous night, I’ve met Lizzie. I’ll leave the description of her fuck until then. I think you’ll appreciate her thoughts. Our conversation will be my next blog.
