THE LEARNING CURVE - FULFILLMENT
It all followed from a late-night call that Mel took while I was in the shower. When I came out, I could see something had changed. “Tell me,” I said.
“It was Celia. She says Rob has offered to baby-sit next time - if it would be OK with us if she came instead. She thinks she might be bi, and wants to find out.”
“Yes.” And then, carefully, “It changes things, doesn’t it?”
In order to understand just how the situation would change, I need to go back and fill in the details of how our relationship with Robert had developed. Truthfully, it had exceeded our expectations. Rob told us he was the advertising manager for a large group of trade magazines, well enough paid for Celia to be a full time housewife and mother to their three children. We liked him instantly. He seemed very like us.
At the second meeting, after some promising flashing in the hotel lounge, Rob could hardly wait to get up to our room. He wanted to show us something. A picture of Celia. He had taken it with his mobile phone camera after promising his wife that he would delete it as soon as he had shown it to us. They are ultra careful in case their children get access to the phone.
Of course, we were pleased, even if discretion meant that we didn’t see Celia’s face. She was in bra and knickers, half reclining with one hand inside the waistband.
“Nice tits,” said Mel. “Bigger than me.”
“Don’t be too modest,” said Robert. “The way your nipples harden gets me going. I guess we all like a change.”
“And Mark wouldn’t mind getting his cock in between those,” said Mel. Chance would be a fine thing, I thought, remembering the problems of their children.
Nevertheless, Rob had begun something that developed very satisfactorily. First, we agreed that he could take a picture of Mel and me in action for Celia to see, with the same promise that it would be deleted immediately afterwards. He chose doggy with me half in and half out, and we all approved the result.
The bonus came at the next meeting: I took along our camera and we all three took turns at taking pictures while we indulged in all the permutations we had enjoyed previously. The last shot showed Mel wiping our joint spunk from her tits with Celia’s knickers.
The deal was that any shots that showed faces would be wiped - we did that together before Rob left - but that Mel and I could transfer the rest to the computer at home for our future pleasure. I have to say, there was a lot of that, and the fucking it led to was intense and imaginative. The great thing was the developing trust: we knew we had no intention of letting any photos be seen except by the three of us, and Rob believed that to be true.
In the way that one thing led to another, Mel took the initiative by suggesting we surely now knew Rob well enough that we could abandon the hotel and invite him to our home. We would have more freedom there, she argued, and could share the photos, too.
I had no problem with that. In fact, I had become a little worried about the preliminaries in the lounge. There had been one session when the two of them got carried away to the point that Rob had his cock out while Mel removed her knickers and passed them to him quite openly. Fortunately, no one walked in at the crucial moment but it made me feel we were getting a bit too bold in our pursuit of the original idea.
Admittedly, we were more than thirty miles from home but not outside commuting distance for some of Mel’s pupils - or the parents she met on open nights. There was also the possibility of one of Rob’s contacts turning up by chance.
Anyway, not for the first time, Mel’s suggestion was inspired. Rob arrived and I had hardly poured him a drink before Mel took his hand and led him upstairs. As she does with me, she went first, knowing that a short skirt did nothing to hide her knickers from the view below. Wardrobe at home was more revealing than anything she dared wear at the hotel.
I’ve already explained how big a part knicker fetish would play, and how happy Mel was to indulge it (Celia, too, it had transpired). It had been clear from the very first meeting that Rob would share my delight in sexy silk across a tight arse or pressed into the crevice at the front. Or wrapped around a needy dick.
On this occasion, we had laid out on the bed a selection of the knickers I liked best. While Rob was shedding his clothes, Mel held out each pair and invited him to choose.
He went for lilac green French knickers. Mel - who was already down to basics herself - stepped out of black and into green.
Rob’s next request was for her to bend over, resting her arms on a chair while I stood behind her and rubbed my cock against the fabric covering her buttocks. It worked for me, and it worked for Rob: he gathered a blue pair from the bed and wrapped them round his shaft while he watched my cock slide up and down.
The spanking that followed was also less inhibited than we had felt inclined to risk at the hotel. After the third resounding slap, Rob was anxious. “Is this good for Mel?” he asked.
She answered for herself. “Don’t worry. It sets my juices flowing. And we’ll stop soon. We want you to see the photos.”
Once Mel had taken her spanking and been released from my lap, we all sat together on the edge of the bed. I had my laptop set up to provide a wi-fi slide show to the big TV screen on the facing wall. We do sometimes watch Newsnight while in bed, or maybe a movie. Porn, too, of course - our favourite overture to our own performance.
Now, as the screen came to life, the first shot was of Mel’s arse, black knickers, bent over. It elicited a little gasp from Rob, remembering the occasion - “Oh, yes.” - and his hand flew to his dick. By the time of the dissolve into a shot of Mel’s mouth wrapped salaciously round my knob, he was erect and working hard at maintaining it. He had retrieved the green knickers, which were clearly helping. Then he realised that by looking to his left he could see the real Mel mirroring the screen.
I had set the slide show to its slowest rate. There were twenty-seven photos. As each one appeared, Mel and I followed its example. Whatever Mel and I did on the screen - sucking, fingering, sixty-nining, fucking, me on top, then Mel riding me with one hand on her clit and the other tweaking a nipple - Mel and I did on the bed.
Some idea of how successful this was can be understood if I say we were on shot twenty-three the second time around (a vigorous doggy) when Rob couldn’t hold it any longer and shot into the green knickers. That triggered me. In the next photo I was in Mel’s mouth, and that’s how it ended.
Later, having sent Rob happily on his way to report to Celia, we reflected on a very successful session. I was aware that, at the end, Melissa hadn’t come, but we were planning to rectify that shortly. First, I had a question for my wife. “When we were all getting carried away, you had your eyes close while I was piling into you.”
“Yes, and very good it was, too.”
“But I did just wonder if you were thinking about how it might be if wasn’t my cock, but Rob’s”
Mel thought for a while before answering. “If I’m honest, I can’t say that it was in my mind at that moment. But if not, then at some other time. Yes.”
“What would you have done if I had offered the possibility?”
“Nothing. You know that. If we haven’t agreed beforehand, nothing happens.”
“But suppose I say now, it would be OK next time?”
“It would still depend.”
“On whether it was something you could cope with. Whether it would be good for you to watch. Good for both of us.”
“I’ve been thinking about it.”
“So have I.”
“I think it might happen. But not yet. It’s too soon for all of us.”
“If you think so, you know I trust your instincts.”
“But,” said Mel, “there might be a compromise.”
I was immediately alert. Mel didn’t say such things lightly. “Such as?”
“Suppose next time, you have me from behind. Rob is in front of me, watching and wanking in a pair of my knickers.”
Easy to picture. We’ve been there. “Yes.”
“But then I ask him to drop the knickers and offer me his cock.”
“In your mouth?”
I didn’t need to answer. Mel put her hand on my cock and knew what I was thinking.
“Is that a serious idea for next time?” I asked.
“Maybe. But you can see where that leads. You and Rob switch places, and now I’m being fucked by Rob. Are you ready for that?”
Before I could answer, Mel went on, “Anyway, it isn’t our decision, really. Remember, Celia sends Rob here knowing that the rules are - look but don’t touch.”
“Well, there’s only one way to find out. Next time Celia rings, I’ll ask her.”
“What’s your guess?”
“I just don’t know. We’ll have to wait. Meanwhile, I have a suggestion.”
“If I lie on my back and open my legs, do you think you could fuck me?”
I thought I could and I did.
Waiting for the call from Celia was a different matter. It was five days, and we began to wonder whether we would feel confident enough to ask Celia how she would feel about Mel sucking her husband’s cock. In the event, we never got around to asking. When the call came, Celia couldn’t wait to ask her own question.
“Robert has offered to baby-sit next time - if it would be OK with both of you I could come instead. I think I might ... might be bi. I mean, I just don’t know. Anyway, maybe I could find out. Would that be all right with you?”
So this was how things had changed. We had set out with one objective - to find a female third party for sex. When that failed, we had sought a male voyeur. When we found one, that relationship had moved on to the point where we were ready to accept him as a participant. Only to discover that his wife might be the solution to our original idea.
As things turned out, we had plenty of time to talk about it. At Ron and Celia’s end, Rebecca, their daughter, was coming up to school exams, with all the tension that goes with that difficult phase of adolescence. Not a time for Celia to be finding an excuse to have a night out. As for me, I had just taken a lease on a new set of offices. Business was good, I needed to make room for more staff. But the new premises had to be altered, a kitchen and extra toilet installed, redecoration, a whole raft of things that often kept me there after hours.
There was frustration on both sides, but we also knew that sooner or later it would happen. In the meantime there were at least regular late night calls from Celia. Over long chats with Mel an interesting picture emerged - and with it an eventual solution.
This now needs to become Celia’s story. This is how she she told it to Mel, and then Mel told it to me. I have had to invent the words as they were spoken at the time but Mel says this is close enough.
“There was a time,” Celia said, “when I despaired of ever making things work. I even wondered if it was a mistake to have contacted you at all. But when Robert came home after the first time, it did seem so exciting, something to stop us getting into a rut. Sex had always been important for us but after the children began to get older we had to change. I didn’t really think Rob would be unfaithful, but I could have kind of understood if he got bored with routine. Letting him meet you, and only to look, seemed worth trying. And when he came home and wanted to ... “
“Fuck,” said Mel.
“Is that all right? Rob says you aren’t upset by that word.”
“Nor others. Not at the right time. It turns me on.”
“Me, too, but I didn’t want to get it wrong.”
“You were saying that Rob came home from seeing us and the first thing he wanted to do was fuck.”
“Not just fuck. It was like turning the clock back. He couldn’t get into me fast enough. But he’s always been careful to make it good for me, so there was a lot of foreplay. He’s big - well, you know that.”
“Yes,” Mel said, remembering.
“Anyway, it didn’t take much to get me ready. And - well, it was just the most marvelous fuck. The best we’d had for ages. So we knew we had to go on, even if it was a bit second hand for me.
“With the children it couldn’t be any other way. Rebecca is sixteen. She and I have always been close and that’s good in one way because we have gradually been able to talk about sex, though only, of course, in general terms, in theory. Fortunately, we live in good area and the local mums keep in touch. If there are any signs of a bad group developing, we can deal with it. No sleepovers, for example. And our computer has more firewalls than the Pentagon.
“But, of course, we don’t know what the kids talk about among themselves. I mean, Rebecca is getting pubic hair, so what does she think when she asks to share the bathroom for two minutes and sees that I’ve shaved? She doesn’t ask, and I don’t offer. . There’ll be plenty of time for her to enjoy what comes later. Soon we’ll have to cope with the boys and their grubby little minds. Well, Rob can deal with them.
“But like any other teenager, Rebecca’s at an age where she wants to know if she can raid my wardrobe. Before I agree, I go through my knicker drawer and remove all of Rob’s favourites. I keep two or three - the ones Rob uses with you - hidden in the bottom of the linen cupboard. The rest are in a locked suitcase in the attic, with my vibrator and the magazines Rob and I used to find arousing. Oh well,” she sighed, “one day they’ll come out again.”
“But you think you might have found a way to escape to see us?” Mel asked.
“Thanks to my mother, would you believe? We’ve always been close, Mum and I, and since my father died from a completely unexpected heart attack five years ago I’ve taken to visiting her for lunch every Friday.
“Mum and Dad were both academics. They met as undergraduates, drifted apart for a while but then ended up at the same University on Fellowships and got married. Lived there ever since.
“Anyway, Mum always ask about the children - and about Robert. She can be quite direct - everything all right between you two, that sort of thing. Well, this time she must have sensed something in the way I answered. And when she pressed, I just suddenly blurted it all out - about you and Mark, and letting Robert go.”
“How did she take that?”
“In her stride. Much better to know where he was and what he was up to, was Mum’s view. And then she surprised me by saying it was tame by comparison with what she and Dad used to enjoy. Academia, she said, was a hot bed - literally. Not the City, where people work all hours, knock back champagne and fall into bed exhausted. Academics spend eight hours a day nurturing the intellect, and can’t wait to do the same for the libido. Threesomes, foursomes, groups - anything that took your fancy. How it didn’t get into the papers was a mystery.
“She was interested, though, in my wanting to explore bi. She thinks it’s a generation thing. She said there was a certain amount of woman-on-woman when she and Dad were part of the scene but it was very minor. But she didn’t discourage me - that’s not Mum’s style. What she did say was she thought we were lucky with our Melissa and Mark, so why not see where it leads. Just be sure we can stop when we want to.
“When I pointed out it hadn’t led anywhere yet for me, she said straight away that mustn’t be a problem. She thought it was clever that we tell the children Rob goes to play bridge on his evenings out. Chess might have interested the young, but bridge is boring. No awkward questions.
“As for me, she had a simple suggestion. When it suits, just change Friday lunch to a Friday dinner party; now Dad isn’t around I could be making up the numbers. When I pointed out the kids might want to know if Nan had any news, she said - make something up. She wouldn’t want them to know what she does on Friday nights. Because, she said, that’s the night one or other of her men come round. And not for supper.
“Of course, it was my turn to ask and she wasn’t the least embarrassed to tell. Seems she has two men, both married - so she doesn’t have to wash their socks or iron their shirts - they come round, she says, because she gives them what their wives don’t. More than that, she wouldn’t tell me. She said I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that other people were spicing up their sex lives, why should I be surprised if that included my parents? Mum was getting fucked regularly and she saw no reason why I shouldn’t have a bit of fun, too.
“Her last words as I left that day were to encourage me to agree a date a.s.a.p and just let her know when I needed an alibi.”
A week would seem a long time but we saw we would have to wait until the following Friday. And that turned out to be wishful thinking. That day was to be the last in my existing office set-up. The removal men were booked for eight o’clock Monday morning. The problem was completing the work at the new premises.
My heart sank on the Wednesday when the foreman came to me to say that they would be finished in time as promised, but they would have to put in some extra hours. His lads were a good bunch (as I had to acknowledge) and he didn’t want to ask them to give up a whole week-end. But if they could work until ten on Friday and all day Saturday, he could guarantee to deliver.
All I could do was accept, knowing that on the Friday my insurance policy would require me to be there at ten to lock up and set the alarms. No use calling on the alibi. I broke the news to a bitterly disappointed Melissa who was able to pass it on when Celia rang that night. Frustration all round, but nothing could be done.
So it came about that on Frustration Friday I arrived home at about ten thirty and had hardly poured myself a drink before the mobile rang. It could only be Celia or Robert. Mel answered, and it was Celia.
I took my drink to the bedroom where I removed jacket, tie and shoes, and then to the bathroom while I washed off the day’s dust. Feeling somewhat more human, I returned downstairs.
Mel was still deep in conversation with Celia. As I tuned in it was apparent the two women had got over sympathising with each other over the postponement. Of course, I could only hear our end of the chat, but it was interesting.
“What now? ... Really? ... I take it the children are safely asleep then ... Who started it ... Rob? ... But you’re obviously not complaining ... Mark? Yes, he’s here ... We can try ... why not?”
Mel waved me to sit beside her on the sofa and opened her legs. It didn’t take me long to get the message. Celia and Rob were getting turned on at their end, and this was an invitation for us to join in. I slid my hand up Mel’s skirt, cool flesh at the top of the thighs, then a moist knicker gusset to ease aside.
Mel speaking again. “Yes, he is now ... How about you ... Good ... Oh, that’s even better ... Don’t let him stop ... Ohhh.”
My fingers had found their way into slippery warm flesh and Mel’s reaction told the story.
“How is it now? ... Can you ... will you fuck afterwards ... yes, we’ll have to ... go on, do it for me Celia ...”
By now I had located a distended clit and was giving it the attention it needed. Mel’s legs were wide apart and she was pushing herself on to my fingers. Conversation on the phones had changed at our end from words to sighs and moans. I guessed it was much the same from Celia.
Mel came more noisily than usual, I believe to help Celia with her own orgasm. It seemed to work. Phone sex for four. Anyway, there were kisses down the phone and a promise that nothing would come between them next Friday. Personally, I was hoping that at some point that night I would come between them, but I kept the thought to myself. For her part, Mel kept to her word and asked to be fucked. It turned out I wasn’t as tired as I thought.
A week later, we were apprehensive for a while that there had been another hitch but Celia apologised for arriving late. Settling the boys and making sure Rob could help Rebecca with her homework had delayed her setting off for “Nan’s dinner party.”
The first minutes were understandably a little strained. This was, after all, the first time the three of us had met, and the aim was not to discuss the weather. Remember, the only photos we had seen of each other were taken by mobile phones for the purpose of soon being deleted. But we were not disappointed.
Celia was probably a couple of inches taller than Melissa, bigger in the hips though not greatly, and full bosomed (the big tits Mel had suggested, and this was the night I would get my hands on them, I hoped). She was wearing a white blouse, two top buttons promisingly open, a beige knee length skirt, pale yellow stockings and three-inch heels.
I had chilled a bottle of white wine and poured drinks for the three of us. There was an awkward pause until Mel, as ever, took charge and put us all at our ease. She asked Celia to sit beside her on the sofa while I was directed to an arm chair facing them.
After we had made some polite talk about Rob and about Celia finding her way to our house, Mel said, “We don’t really need rules, do we? The whole point is to do whatever we feel happy with. No means no, but I don’t suppose that will arise. Mark understands that we start on the same basis that we did with Rob: two participants, one watcher who doesn’t touch.”
I nodded, hoping that starting on that basis wouldn’t mean sticking to it.
“Wouldn’t it be a good idea if Mark got us in the mood?” Mel went on. “Gets himself in the mood, I mean.” This with a look at me to signal that I should do what we had agreed beforehand. I stood up and slowly undressed down to my boxers. When I sat again I extracted my cock and began slowly to massage it to size.
“Very nice.” saId Celia.
“Not as big as Rob, though.’
“Doesn’t it depend on how you use it? Rob says you don’t complain.“
“True,” said Mel.
“And Rob has seen the photos.” Then, more boldly, “Do you think I could, too?” Celia seemed to be gaining in confidence.
“Why not?” said Mel. “Let’s go upstairs.”
Just as on Rob’s first visit, Mel took our guest by the hand and led the way. I followed, nursing a cock I still hoped would be more than an ornament. This time,the arrangement was subtly different. Once I had set the slide show in motion, Mel and Celia sat on the bed facing the big screen while I took a chair to one side where I could watch them.
We sat at first in silence, needing a cue to move on. Both women were still fully dressed but I was encouraged to see that, without taking their eyes off the screen, they were getting aroused. Mel had a hand on Celia’s blouse, caressing her tits, while Celia’s hand was sliding suggestively along Mel’s skirt. That hand suddenly clenched on a now exposed thigh. I looked up at the screen. It was the last photo. Celia’s husband jerking his cock to send a jet of cum on to my wife’s tits.
“Oh.” Celia’s reaction didn’t suggest disapproval.
Attuned as ever to the mood of the moment, Mel took Celia’s hands in hers and urged her to her feet. After only the briefest pause, their arms encircled each other and their mouths met. I could see that tongues were involved, but soon my attention was elsewhere.
Clever Mel had manoeuvered their clinch so that Celia had her back to me. Now my shrewd lady was lifting her partner’s skirt. To my delight, this revealed the same lemon yellow knickers that Rob had brought to one of our first encounters. Mel fondled and groped, stretching the fabric across Celia’s bottom. Knowing how it felt when I gave that kind of attention to Mel’s arse, I carefully eased off stropping my dick. I wanted to be needing it later.
When they broke apart from the kiss, they began slowly to undress each other. But not, I began to understand, specifically for my benefit. All the while then, and in closer contract later, they were murmuring to each other. Sometimes I could catch the odd word or phrase but they were entering a space from which I was excluded.
After Celia had stripped Mel to midnight blue stockings and suspender belt, she stopped. The matching bra discarded, her own remaining garment was the lemon knickers. These she removed and brought them over to me. She said, “I know about you and Rob. Would you like these now?”
Of course. As she handed them to me, Celia leaned forward to kiss my cheek. At the same time the back of her hand brushed my cock. Just lightly. It may have been accidental, but I didn’t think so. Then, almost as an afterthought, she added, “If you want to take photos, that’s all right with Rob and me.”
It was all right with Melissa and me, too. The camera was within reach.
As Celia turned back to Mel, I began folding the knickers round my shaft while I tried to identify the perfume that lingered after her. Some kind of citrusy fragrance. Then I realised. Of course, lemon. Like the knickers. Sexy Celia.
They started on the bed, kissing and caressing, just tits at first but then exploring lower down. I switched on the camera. Mel with her head between Celia’s thighs. Click. Celia with two fingers in Mel’s cunt. Click. Sixty-nine, tongues working, fingers active, too. Click. Celia turned on to her knees, Celia’s tongue flickering round an exposed arsehole. Click.
Mel’s response was a surprise for me, but it told me she had been planning this encounter for a while. No wonder our bedtime acrobatics had been so intense recently. Her move now was to settle Celia on the floor in a sitting position, back supported by the bed. Mel then stood astride her, steadying herself with her hands and then lowering her cunt inch by inch on to a Celia’s face. Celia reached up to clasp my wife’s buttocks, pulling her on to that lascivious tongue. Click, click, click.
I stood back and lowered the camera to admire the view. I found myself imagining how it would be to join them by inserting my cock in Mel’s arse. It wasn’t to be, of course. Not only because of the no touching rule, but also because our progress with anal was still incomplete. In a bedside drawer were Mel’s toys and a tube of gel. We had reached the stage where she could accept the smallest vibrator - not much thicker than a pencil - and then my middle finger. It occurred to me that we should accelerate the training for some future occasion with Celia.
Then, with a jolt, my imagination took another leap. Mel and Celia had swapped, and my wife’s face was receiving the treatment. But suppose, I wondered, Celia and Rob were more accomplished anal practitioners? Would she take my cock there? It was too soon to ask but sooner or later we could try to steer the conversation in that direction. Mel would be the one to do that.
For now, the end was near. They were back in sixty-nine embrace, bodies pressing urgently against each other, the sounds louder, the words mostly incoherent (“There ... yes, just there ... like that is good”). The orgasms began to melt into each other until at last they rolled apart and lay panting, tits heaving. One last click.
After leaving a decent pause, Mel asked the question that was uppermost in my mind. “That was wonderful for me. And you?”
“I think you know,” said Celia.
Then, softly, testing the ground. “Would you like Mark to fuck you?”
“Oh dear,” Celia sat up to look at me. My eyes were still on the puffy shaven area at the top of her thighs. “Right at this moment there is nothing I want more. To feel inside me what Mel enjoys inside her. But I promised myself that after Mel it had to be Rob. Can you understand that?”
I looked at Mel. We could, but it was disappointing. Celia, however, hadn’t finished. “Can I just say this? You’ve both been marvellous, so I feel guilty asking for more. But what I would really like would be to - well, to watch you two. Do you think you could do that for me.?”
Of course, we did. I needed to put my erection to use anyway: it was throbbing for want of a warm and slippery nest to penetrate. But not for long. Because, after a long and what we thought was a fruitless search, we had achieved the objective we started out with all that time ago: a woman to watch us fuck.
We went through most of our repertoire, and I triggered an orgasm for Mel by giving her the finger from behind while I was buried balls-deep inside her. But just as I was upping the tempo towards my own big moment, Celia said, “Mark. Don’t cum inside. Could you do for me what Rob did for Mel?”
It took me a few seconds to understand. Then I saw that she was on her back again at our side. The rest was easy. A few gentle strokes and a stream of cum poured down on to those ample tits.
Still we weren’t finished. I was looking around for Celia’s knickers to do the cleaning up when Mel said, “Hold on, Mark. Don’t leave me out of this.” On all fours, she crouched across Celia and licked up every last drop of spunk. As an erotic alternative to getting it direct from source, which she liked to do, it provided the perfect finale.
Celia gathered up her scattered garments and went to the bathroom to shower and dress. I looked at Mel, replete and probably planning for the next time. “Was it good?”
“Better than good. Much better.”
“No nerves. Celia was a bit tense but she soon relaxed.”
“Clever you. I thought it might have been something you said, but I couldn’t hear.”
“I just reminded her about her alibi. Reminded her at that very minute her mother was probably getting well and truly fucked, and would be disappointed if Celia wasn’t doing something similar. Seemed to do the trick.”
“Yes, I’d forgotten about her mother. But now, where do we go from here?”
“Nowhere, really. Let’s just enjoy where we are. We wanted to find out something - do bi-women get something from each other they don’t get from men? I now know the answer is yes they do. But that doesn’t make Celia and me a pair of lesbians. We are bisexuals who know how to give sexual pleasure in ways men don’t. But does it mean we don’t need men? Not on your life. And once we have seen Celia safely on her way back to Rob, I will be more than ready to demonstrate.”
Mel making sense, as always. Always horny Mel. It was Mel who remembered to tell Celia something that had slipped into the background: that we wanted to know if next time she would mind if Mel sucked Rob’s cock while I was fucking her. Mel put the question to a refreshed, fully dressed and apparently respectable Celia when she came from the bathroom. Celia said she thought it was a natural next step - and there was no doubt Rob would, too.
Then she opened her handbag and extracted an offering: the lemon-coloured knickers. “Could you look after these until I send Rob to collect them? I brought a spare pair in case I needed something to go home in.”
For the moment, they are beside me as I write. The citrus perfume blends now with another aroma. Of Celia. And sex.
Mel is at college and won’t be home for another hour. My cock is hard, remembering. I need to use them now.
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