“You left school at sixteen, no A levels, no chance of a degree,” said the girl, “yet here you are running your own company, successful, three-hundred-plus employees, plans to expand. There has to be a secret.” She switched on the mini-recorder, pushed it across the desk and sat back.
If she meant it as some kind of challenge, I didn’t rise to it. I had been interviewed often enough to know I could provide answers on automatic pilot. That allowed my mind to wonder about a resemblance between the girl reporter and Beverley. Same auburn hair framing an oval face, greenish eyes, generous mouth. But jeans, tee-shirt, denim jacket put an end to the comparison when I remembered Beverley walking in to be interviewed for a job as my PA. Understated dark business suit, skirt only an inch two short, showing off legs that would have had any man wondering - what if? Compact bottom. Full breasts.
None of that was the reason why Beverley got the job but the hint of sexual allure made my decision easier. This was at a time when women slept around. I’d had a few himself, some better than others. But I discovered that Beverley was different.
“Of course I’ll have dinner with you,” she said, smiling. “But buying dinner isn’t a way of buying your way into my knickers.”
Not taking no for answer was an attribute I had found invaluable in the early stages of building my business, but Beverley remained adamant. After a few weeks I gave up trying. More fish in the sea ...
Then one Friday evening as Beverley was about to leave for the weekend she paused in the office doorway. “By the way,” she said, “I think you ought to know I‘ve changed my mind.”
Absently, my thoughts elsewhere, trying to make sense of financial projections for the next quarter, I said, “Changed your mind about what?”
“About going to bed with you.”
“Is that all?”
“Are you serious.”
“Yes. I’ve been thinking about it, aware that you still watch me around the office.”
It was true. I’d been aware that, bending over a filing cabinet she was more or less ladylike depending on whether anyone else was around. Her arse, round, tempting, provocative even, always made me hard. I said, “And now you don’t mind?”
“Where do we go from here then?”
Beverley looked outside, then closed the door. “Everyone else has gone.”
This time there was no mistaking the invitation. What followed wasn’t subtle and it didn’t take long but it seemed to work for both of us. I had her across my desk, her knickers a silk pool on the floor, my trousers, I fear, bunched ludicrously round my ankles. When I came, spurting deep inside her, she gave a deep, husky moan.
For a while, neither of us spoke. Then she said, “I guess it was the way it was going to be. But I didn’t finish.” She raised a hand as I started to apologise. “No - not your fault. I wanted to save something. For later. You are going to take me out to dinner, aren’t you?”
We slept in my bed that night. She offered everything, refused nothing. What was undeniably lust then turned quickly to love. Three months later we were married and I’ve not regretted the decision for a single day since.
All these memories swirled through my mind while I tried to keep track of the questions and answers being lodged inside the little silver recorder in front of me on the desk. The same desk where - but dammit, I was forced back to reality when I suddenly realised the interview was over. The reporter was switching off the recorder, dropping it into the shapeless bag that she hung on one shoulder.
Making conversation, hoping I hadn’t made too much of a fool of myself, mentally fucking Beverley while reeling off semi-automatic answers, I asked her where the interview would appear. She reminded me that it was for a supplement on education her paper would run at the week end. Of course. Education. That was why she had made so much of my leaving school at sixteen, never getting a degree.
Education. Alone in the office, I closed my eyes and thought that as far as sex was concerned, Beverley had been - continued to be - my university. But that started my mind on another unexpected journey. Back twenty-five years to what I thought corresponded in every sense to a basic education.
My parents thought I was misguided when I stubbornly opted to leave school at sixteen. I began to share that view after several false starts - either the job didn’t suit me or I didn’t suit the job - but then I surprisingly landed a management traineeship with a nationwide chain of department stores. What I learnt there opened my eyes to the future and taught me important lessons for when I finally branched out on my own. But that’s not relevant to this story.
Shortly after my twenty-first birthday, I was sent for six months to gain hands-on experience at one of the firm’s outlets. Expenses were minimal. There was no question of hotel accommodation. I found myself lodgings with the Davis’s, Reg and Connie. They were a modest forty-something couple who used the income from lodgers to fund their annual holiday on the Costa Brava. Reg was an insurance collector, Connie was a dinner lady at a local school. Ordinary people you might have expected to find in any suburban semi-detached anywhere in the country. They treated me well, offering more hospitality than I was probably entitled to expect.
My hobbies at that time were mainly cricket and masturbation. And one rainy weekend the unavailability of the former led to slightly guilty indulgence in the latter. I was having a lie-in. Fuelled by a girlie magazine, my hand went to work. Once fully engaged, I closed my eyes to allow my imagination to provide more explicit images than the printed pages offered. My surprise can be imagined when the bedclothes were gently turned back and my hand was joined by another.
“Oh dear,” said Connie Davis, “you must be in a bad way.” It was Sunday morning and she had brought me a cup of tea. In my embarrassment, I almost knocked it over while trying to cover myself.
My landlady seemed to see nothing untoward in the situation confronting her. She put fingers to her lips. “No need to get in a state,” she said. “You won’t be the first young man missing his girl friend and needing to do something about it. We’re not prudes in this house.”
Seeing that I didn’t know how to respond, she went on, “I could help you, if you like.”
Her hand was still clasping mine, though now it rested on a very limp member. My silence seemed to be taken for acquiescence, and to be truthful I was quickly realising that I didn’t have either the will or the desire to demur from whatever she had in mind. That soon became apparent as she sat down on the bed and started to stimulate my cock; long, slow stokes that brought it to life in seconds.
“There,” she said, admiring her success, “that’s better. You really are quite a big boy. Someone will enjoy that, I’m sure. And for today - why not me?”
To my utter astonishment she then bent her head and took my cock in her mouth. Of course, I knew that this kind of thing happened but it was the first time it had happened to me. That had the inevitable effect. Hardly had she begun to alternate between sucking and licking than I knew I was rapidly losing control. In a panic, I put a hand on her forehead to lift her away while there was still time. Connie had other ideas. Shaking her head to release my hand, she simply redoubled her efforts. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked more urgently. For the first time in my life I knew the all-consuming sensation of releasing a series of convulsive spurts into a woman’s throat. It must have been brief but it felt to me as though it went on and on. And I didn’t want it to stop.
Nor, it seemed, did Connie Davis. Her lips remained wrapped round my softening shaft until she understood that I was drained. She sat up, wiped her mouth with a tissue from her apron pocket and said, “There now. I enjoyed that. And so did you. Didn’t you?”
Enjoyed it? I wanted to do it again, then and there. But physical impediments aside, Connie had other priorities. I suppose I must have nodded, and perhaps she guessed why that was such inadequate gratitude and forgave it, for she stood, brushed her apron and said, “I’ll go down and prepare your breakfast. Don’t be too long.”
That, of course, raised awkward questions. How could I just stroll downstairs as though nothing had happened? I presumed that Reg would be around; I heard them talking while I was getting dressed. Could he have guessed what we had done?
The answer was soon forthcoming. Reg was still at the breakfast table, enjoying a cup of tea. When I appeared, he put aside his News of the World and said, “Good morning, young man. What do you think? Best blow job you’ve ever had?”
How was I supposed to answer that? If I said no it wasn’t, that would be an insult to his wife; better if I said it was - but that would make me sound a whole lot more experienced than the novice I actually was. It was true that I’d fumbled inside a few blouses and had my hand up a skirt or two but, living at home and without the independence of a car, opportunities had been few.
I was rescued by Connie. Emerging from the kitchen with my bacon and eggs, she said, “Don’t be nosy, Reg. For all we know, it could have been his first one ever.”
Before I had stopped to think, I had owned up. “As a matter of fact, it was.” And then, getting bolder, I added, “But perhaps it will be a long time before I enjoy anything better.”
There was a pause while Reg and Connie exchanged a glance that obviously meant something, because Reg then said, “And maybe it won’t be so long. If that’s what you’d like”
I didn’t understand and said so.
“Well,” said Reg, “when I was your age, it never crossed my mind to think that sex was anything other than what happened between two people, husband and wife if you like. Perhaps that’s how you think about Connie and me.”
I looked at them and, of course, he was right. My fantasies were all about the women with big tits in black underwear in girlie magazines. But there was Reg, centre parting, horn-rimmed spectacles, pencil moustache, cardigan, slacks and slippers; and there was Connie, short wavy brown hair, features that were pretty but not startling, largish bosom (I now observed), patterned apron over a grey-green frock. What did sex mean to them? I soon found out.
“Connie and I,” said Reg, “we like sex. Best thing there is. The more you get, the more you enjoy it. And we decided a while ago, didn’t we?” Connie nodded. “We decided there was no reason just to keep it to ourselves.”
“As long as we were sensible,” Connie said.
“Of course. But what brought it about was my job. I mean, when you spend your working day going from door to door sometimes there are - well, opportunities. A wife at home on her own who isn’t getting all she would like, and has a way of letting you know it. Now don’t get me wrong. This isn’t going on all the time. But it’s there every now and again. And you guessed, didn’t you pet?”
Connie smiled at him but said nothing. Reg went on, “So we made a deal. If I got the offer, I could take it - as long as I told her all about it when I got home.”
“Which he did,” Connie confirmed.
“Mind you, not all of them - most of them, really - weren’t as good at it as Connie. Not in the same class. And if I did find someone who did something a bit different, I’d just come home and teach Connie. So she’s been getting better and better. See what I mean?”
Thinking back half an hour, I did.
“But then,” said Reg, warming to his explanation, “I thought one day, what’s sauce for the gander should be sauce for the goose. And that was when we started taking in lodgers.”
So I wasn’t the first to have had enhanced tea in bed on a Sunday morning. I tried to sound nonchalant as I said, “Yes, I see.”
“And now you’d like to see more, would you?” While I fumbled for a reply, he went on, “Because Connie would like it. That’s what she said when she came down just now: she said you were a nice young man but she thought you had a lot to learn. And I said, you mean we should teach him. And she said, yes, it would be nice. What do you think? Shall we give it a go?”
“If you’re sure,” I said. “I - well, I don’t know if I’ll be what you want.”
“Don’t worry. You’ll be OK, won’t he, pet?” Connie smiled in my direction and in that instant I felt my cock start to harden. “Go on,” Reg said, “treat him to the red. Call us when you’re ready.” He gave her behind a slap as she disappeared towards the stairs.
Any embarrassment I might have felt when the two of us were left alone didn’t communicate itself. Reg simply carried on where he’d left off. “The only thing I’d say is, don’t be shy. Don’t be put off because there are three of us. Connie will make sure no one is left out, and she’ll be lapping it up. Fucks like a rabbit, she does. Keeps coming as long as you can put it up her.”
When the call came summoning us, Reg had one more piece of advice. “This will be good - take my word for it. And in future, bear in mind we have a deal, Connie and me. So if you want to do her, that’ll be fine. All I’d ask is that when you do, make sure you give her a real seeing-to. Because that’s what she likes. Take your time, but really give it to her.”
In the bedroom Connie was an invitation in red. On her back on the bed in red bra, suspenders, knickers and stockings, arms and legs spread wide. Reg went straight to her and put his hand between her legs. He looked to me. “I knew it. Wet and willing. Connie’s cunny at your service. Get your things off and get stuck in.”
We were both soon naked. I tried not to look at Reg’s cock too obviously, but I could see that he would be longer than me when he was fully aroused, but certainly not as thick. I began to understand why Connie would welcome being serviced by two men together.
Reg insisted that I should have the pleasure of undressing his wife. I needed a bit of help with the bra clasp, and then she lifted her hips so I could slide the knickers down. The first real-life cunt I had seen was surmounted by a triangle of neat brown hair that looked as though it must have been trimmed into shape.
“Suck her tits,” Reg advised. “Those nipples will poke your eye out in a minute. I’ll keep her going down below.”
It was no exaggeration. Connie’s round, full breasts were topped by dark, pointed nipples. As I applied my tongue, I felt them stiffen. She sighed and pressed my head against her. “Harder, dear. Really hard.” A while later as I worked diligently on the rigid protuberances, “Yes. Like that.” And then, quite suddenly, “Oh, yes...”
When I became aware that her body was begin to twist and buck, I left her breasts to look at Reg. He gave me a signal with his head that I should take his place between her legs. “Same again, pet?” he asked.
“As long he likes,” Connie said. “I told you he’d be good.” She closed her eyes and lay back waiting.
“Lick,” Reg said in my ear. “If you get it right, she’ll come for you.”
Another first for me. I contemplated the swollen cunt lips a few inches from my face as I crouched down. They were already wet with her juices. Reg had obviously prepared her thoroughly. I let my tongue tip made tentative contact. I felt a tremor run through her pelvis. She thrust up to meet me. I began to lick, first one side, then the other, finding the taste very slightly salty. I pushed my tongue between the lips, firmly now, penetrating an inch or two. I was rewarded with a moan from somewhere above, and a husky whisper to Reg, “Tits, darling, do my tits.”
Her husband clearly knew what was wanted, but what about me? From Connie’s squirming movements and subtle pressure I guessed my tonguing of her most intimate parts was having an effect, but I was worldly-wise enough to know that somewhere between those folds was a clitoris that was supposed to hold the ultimate key to fulfilment. The solution was provided by Connie herself, probably sensing my untutored searching. I felt her hand slip down to part the cunt lips near the top. At once, my tongue encountered the hard little button.
“Oh yes, just there. Do it, give it to me!” Connie seemed to be losing control, though with hindsight now I rather think she was totally in charge, simply manipulating herself to orgasm on my desperately probing mouth. At any rate, the long wail that accompanied a clamping of her thighs and a convulsion between them suggested, even to my inexperience, that she wasn’t acting.
That, however, was just the beginning. She apparently needed no time to recuperate before saying to Reg, “Fingering, darling, show him fingering.”
Her husband held up his middle and index fingers, tight on each other, and inserted them where my tongue had been moments before. He took them out, licked them with obvious pleasure, and indicated that I should take over. “There’s supposed to be a G-spot in there somewhere,” he said. “If there is, we’ve never needed it and I don’t suppose you will either. A good hard finger fuck, that’s what she needs.”
That wasn’t difficult to understand, and I set to with a will, pushing two fingers in and out with what I felt was appropriate vigour.
“That right, pet?” Reg asked. “Or more?”
“Yes, more.” Connie was biting her lower lip. Reg, I now saw, was stroking a cock that had grown to its full length, the circumcised head protruding obscenely. I was now wholly absorbed into the erotic encounter that had sprung out of my innocent masturbation an hour earlier. If this was what sex meant for this apparently archetypical suburban couple, I wanted to be part of it. My cock was throbbing and I badly needed to get it into Connie, but there was a careful choreography to what we had started and I realised I had to be patient and play my part.
“More then,” said Reg, holding up three fingers. “Faster. Harder, too. She can take it.”
With three rigid fingers I started ramming them into Connie’s cunt. She was very wet and took everything I could give her. Her hands came down and gripped her drawn-up knees as she bucked and writhed against the rhythm of my penetration. At last she, gave a little gasp and said, “Good - Reg is right. He knows what I like. Show him now, darling.”
“More of the same,” said Reg, “but slower, let your fingers rest inside. And lean back so I can join in.”
I complied as best as I could with my fingers, waiting to see how Reg would participate, too. He came to kneel sideways to his wife, then lowered his head and began licking her clitoris while I continued the measured finger fuck. I marvelled at the way they combined, building the tension so very slowly, carrying Connie further and further towards a second explosion. When it arrived, Reg lifted his head so that Connie could reach down and grip my hand, imprisoning my fingers still inside her. I could feel the tremors of her orgasm as they subsided to a state of expectant rest.
“Good?” Reg asked, always conscious of his wife’s emotions.
“Very,” she said. “One of the best. But don’t let is get away. Can you fuck me now.” It was neither question nor invitation; it was a command.
Reg made it plain that I should be the one. “Doggy,” he said, “then on your back.”
Connie knelt at the edge of the bed and I stood behind her. Reg, at her side, opened her arse cheeks for me to see the little brown aperture, then moved down to her cunt lips, spreading them in all their wetness. “In you go,” he said. “Remember what I told you.”
It wasn’t easy. I knew what he meant - give her a good seeing-to. But I was new to all this and the sensation of those hot, slippery walls drawing in my cock was sheer bliss - but bliss I didn’t know how to control. Crazy as it may seem, cricket was my salvation. I forced myself to think of an innings I had played the previous week-end, so that my mind and my cock were operating in parallel worlds.
Once again, Connie was brilliant, guessing the state I was in. While I hammered my cock into her, she reached back between her legs and frigged herself frenetically. Orgasm number three was less violent than its predecessors, and that helped me. As she shuddered, I pressed myself against her arse, held my cock inside her so there could be no friction, and finally conquered the urge to discharge.
As soon as I withdrew, she rolled on to her back and opened wide for what I knew had to be the last time. At least on this occasion. I lunged into her. I’m afraid it wasn’t very delicate or deliberate, I just threw my cock back into that seductive warmth. Reg grasped her ankles and set them on my shoulders.
“Do it now,” he said. “Doesn’t matter if it doesn’t take long. You’ve been brilliant. Just spunk up her as soon as you are ready.”
He was right. I found that I could pull my cock out completely before burying it again, slapping against her mound with each thrust. But the contrast between the cool air outside and the furnace within was such that timing went. Connie scrabbled once more at her clit as I abandoned all sense of helping her and thought only of myself, forcing jet upon jet of cum into her cunt. As I did so I was aware of Reg fiercely jerking his cock until his own tribute spread in a pearly chain across the tits I had sucked with such delight.
It was indeed the end for the day but certainly not the last time three of us contorted our bodies on that bed. With experience, I grew more accomplished, Reg seemed to grow more approving, and Connie seemed to develop the ability to have more and more orgasms.
So that was my basic education, a memory that was never too far at the back of my thoughts, even when I was fucking Beverley. But seldom had it returned with such vivid impact as when it was triggered by the girl reporter.
Later that day, Beverley enjoyed the full benefit.
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with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.
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