 |
By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago
|
Doubling Up
------------
"Do you think Jane's attractive?"
I hesitated. In my experience as a poor ordinary man in this life, this was not a safe question to answer: Jane had a face like it had been on fire and it had been put out with a golf shoe and I was conniving to run off with her behind Harriet's back. Jane was not attractive and I was slagging off my wife's best friend.
"Umm".
I tried not to say it: I knew "umm" I also knew other words like 'rectangle' and 'salamander' but umm was also somewhere on the bad responses list. They do have a habit of popping out unbidden.
"Her husband said she's getting past it."
Ah _now_ we were on familiar territory.
"Jim?" I queried rhetorically. Harriet never said his name. "Jim's a twat: Jane's gorgeous."
Harriet smiled and went back to her magazine. I returned to my paper. It was the Daily Mail. Apparently wearing wigs, snorkelling and placing a knife in amongst the forks in your kitchen drawer causes cancer. I took off my toupee.
Potential disaster averted; situation normal; conversation forgotten.
By me, anyway.
-----
"Oh God, yes! Fuck me. Fuck me harder!"
I fucked. I fucked sporadically but with an intense cramping in my left calf. Harder, yes, but with poor bowel control.
"Oh fuck!" she groaned.
I went again into Harriet's pussy, feeling my cock slide past the haemorrhoid in her arse. Harriet squirmed and writhed, I had previously covered the sheets in goose fat. Of course all that did was pull the anal hook further up her backside.
"Hnnngggg!" She groaned. I wondered how to spell that later, I mused.
I sensed an opportunity. While Harriet was still reeling from the sensations in her rectum, I switched television channels. The snooker had started and O'Sullivan was already down 3 frames to 1. Now I could squeeze my cock directly over her g-spot as I entered her and push on up to nudge her a-spot: just there, tucked in below the cervix.
She hit the roof.
"Oh my fucking God! Ahhh, ahhh, ahhh, hnnnnnnggggggggggfuuuck!"
Harriet arched and screamed out as she came hard. Her pussy clamped down, like a fat man grabbing the last piece of cake in a buffet, holding my cock tightly in place and squeezing fluid out round about it. She whimpered and her body juddered; and then she relaxed. O'Sullivan was on for a 147, only the colours left.
Harriet did like our anal hook. It had, after all, been her idea. In fact most things in our sex life had started out as her idea. Apart from the idea I had to dress as a potato and hide among them in the local store allowing people to grope me. I got banned from there for life. Avoided jail though. I was fine with that: if Harriet had to guide me into being a better lover then surely I would reap the rewards.
"You are _such_ a good lover", said Harriet, looking up from her bound and collapsed state on the bed.
I smiled sorrowfully. I had never really taken compliments well, though I was proud of my accomplishment whenever I gave Harriet an egg with the face of Dale Winton drawn on it and an orgasm.
"Jane never gets fucked like this."
I could not for the life of me think of the proper response to that right now. My cock knew what it wanted to say, though. It wanted to say, pot the final black Ronnie. It jerked happily at the thought.
Uh oh: doomed. Off the rim of the top corner pocket. 140! Would you believe it.
But I wasn't doomed. Harriet just smiled and wiggled round to take my increasing limp member, and still slippery, cock into her toothless mouth.
There were plenty more orgasms that night - for me and for Harriet. Enough to wipe the off-hand comment from memory.
At least from mine.
-----
I watched, practically drooling, as the tits hung before me. Jane's tits. Large, voluptuous tits. Like deflating hot air balloons.I suppose I should really call them breasts in polite company, but in that drooling state they are most definitely tits or fun jugs.
She wasn't naked, but she was bending over to offer me a scone. Her top hung loosely and, perhaps in deference to the current warm spell, she hadn't put on a bra. I gasped in horror as her big tits brushed against the scones. Absolutely disgusting levels of hygiene I thought.
"Are you going to take one, dear?" Harriet asked.
I snapped back to reality, hastily choosing what turned out to be my least favourite kind. Shit. Where did she even buy a shit filled scone? Stuck with it now. I'm sure from the corner of my eye I had seen Harriet wink in Jane's direction. And right now they were surely somewhat more giggley than usual.
"You'll need a little something to wash it down", said Jane, turning to pour some Vimto into a glass.
Her short skirt rode up as she bent over, revealing the tops of a very nice pair of legs indeed, and... shit! I hope she wipes that off later. I was pretty sure it went far enough for me to tell she wasn't wearing any knickers.
I took the proffered glass and practically glugged it down. Nerve steadying required tonight, I thought.
"So", said Harriet, "Jim's off to his conference then?"
A conversation starter, I supposed. After all, we had come round to keep Jane company precisely because Jim was away.
"Yes", said Jane, "he's not back 'til Thursday."
"You must be lonely", Harriet commiserated.
Jane looked pointedly at my one direction hoodie. It had been signed by Zayn but I had scrawled over that when he left.
"It's alright", I said, already guessing the sentiment about to be expressed. "You can speak truth in front of me."
"Umm", began Jane, "not if you take care of me."
I spat my Vimto back into the glass. That was definitely not the thing to find in your glass. A bumblebee. Or the sentiment I had expected. My thoughts had been more along the lines of another moan about Jim not being good company for Jane even when he was here.
Jane began to stammer an apology. We all loved her Gareth Gates impersonations.
"S-sorry: I didn't mean to-"
"What Jane means to say", said Harriet, "is that you will be taking care of both of us while Jim is away."
I looked at my wife.
"But-"
"Oh come now", said Harriet. "Don't tell me you don't fancy Jane. That you don't want to fuck her. You've practically been drooling over her all evening."
All true, of course, but...
"But we're married, dear", I said, waving my hand to waft away a fart and to indicate the two of us.
"And we'll still be married in the morning - or however long it takes to make sure Jane here gets the fucking she deserves."
I stared at Harriet; Harriet stared right back, she could smell the guff. Daring me, as she always does, to disagree; Jane watched us both intently from the sideboard. She had climbed inside to hide for a bit but I could still see her.
At last my brain caught up with the last thirty seconds events - and what it meant. My cock had got there somewhat earlier: I was already sporting a half decent boner.
Harriet's eyes dropped to the bulge in my trousers. His hernia looks worse she though. I could see the smile forming in the corner of her mouth. In the other side of her mouth I could see bits of the Twix she had eaten earlier. She had me and she knew it. And it wasn't like it was the worst thing in the world to admit defeat.
"I suppose..." I said weakly, trailing off under the coffee table to look for my Noel Edmonds scrapbook.
Harriet's smile broadened and she looked at her friend. Jane clapped her hands together with excitement, still inside the sideboard. I was beginning to think she had issues. Causing a ripple to go through her unfettered breasts that did not go unnoticed.
"You'll see", said Harriet to Jane, "he's just as good as I told you."
And then to everyone,
"Leave the scones: they taste like shit, we're going upstairs right now." |
"
. I'll get scribbling soon.
.
Of course the story was never going to be of stellar quality. Hashed out quickly and meant as a bit of fun, rather than a masterpiece of character and plot.
So - on with the fun.