After our two-week escape in Tenerife—where Mikki and I hooked up with seven different men (each sporting a new cock), met a delightful couple, and spent memorable days with the gorgeous Sarah—life back home slipped into its familiar routine. Still, Mikki and I kept in touch with Helen and Beverly from an earlier challenge, and more often than not our nights ended with the four of us sharing their beds.
A few weeks later, Mikki produced the challenge list and the hat. I drew number twenty-one: “Wet T-shirt.” “This’ll be a breeze,” she said—she knew of a club that hosted amateur nights featuring wet-T-shirt contests (and sometimes strip-tease competitions). All we had to do was show up in two Saturdays and introduce ourselves to the stage manager.
We filled Bobbie and James in on our plan; they were thrilled—and, honestly, so were we. On the big night, Mikki’s mum agreed to babysit Oliver, so we dressed up, packed a change of clothes for after our onstage soaking, and stopped for a quick drink to steady our nerves. At the club, two hosts were already onstage hyping the crowd. They announced that the wet-T-shirt contest would start in an hour and invited any amateurs backstage to meet the manager. A waitress pointed us in his direction.
Sam, the stage manager, turned out to be friendly. He assured us there were no strict rules: we could keep our shirts on, strip them off, or go fully nude if we wished. When he showed us a wall plastered with photos of past contestants—some completely naked—Mikki and I exchanged surprised glances. Sam laughed and confirmed that full nudity was indeed an option. He mentioned the house photographer would be shooting the event and asked if we minded our pictures going up afterward. We had no objections.
We signed a one-page release, learned that first prize was £100 (with two £50 runners-up), and tried on the white T-shirts he handed us. They were so tight they were almost see-through—and he reminded us bras weren’t allowed underneath. We nodded. He told us to report to the backstage dressing room ten minutes before showtime, with our spare clothes; a doorman would check our T-shirts and keep everyone else out during the contest.
Back on the main floor, Bobbie and James were nursing beers and buzzing with anticipation. At a quarter to nine, we grabbed our T-shirts and bag of clothes and headed backstage. The doorman smiled, inspected our bag, and ushered us into the dressing room—where the contest was about to begin.
The dressing room was quiet when we arrived, only a few girls scattered about. More trickled in as the minutes passed, their voices charged with nervous energy. We scanned the competition—there were a couple of girls with smiles hinting at secrets I’d love to uncover. We’d all been told to wear a skimpy white T-shirt with no bra underneath. The cotton was thin, barely concealing what lay beneath. Mikki and I had added short white skirts and frilly panties, while some girls arrived in jeans or jumpers over their tees. In total, thirty of us signed up, our hearts pounding with a mix of excitement and trepidation.
Sam’s rap at the door reverberated through the small waiting room like a pistol shot. One of the girls—her fingers trembling so violently her knuckles turned white—unlocked the bolt and let him in. His beady eyes swept over us, nostrils flaring, lips pressing into a thin line of disapproval. “Line up,” he barked. We shuffled into formation as he stalked past, head swiveling, taking in every inch of our bodies. His gaze lingered on the swell of our hips, the gentle curve of our waists, and the subtle rise of our breasts beneath light fabric. “If anyone’s wearing a jumper, take it off now,” he snapped, the edges of his voice leaving no room for hesitation. A simple white cotton bra peeked out beneath one girl’s top. When he hissed that she was to remove it, her face flushed scarlet. She slipped away into the hallway, shoulders hunched in mortification.
We followed him onto the stage, our heartbeat drumming against our ribs as the roar of the crowd crashed over us like a wave. A thousand expectant faces—painted, wide-eyed—pressed against the front rails, their cheers vibrating through the wooden planks beneath our feet. One by one, we stepped into the harsh glow of the spotlight. A woman clad in sequins and lace tilted a heavy metal jug overhead, and a torrent of ice-cold water slammed into us. The liquid billowed over our heads, sluicing down our spines, sharp and shocking against our skin. I gasped, the chill sluicing through my soaked T-shirt, clinging to my breasts and leaving the cotton almost transparent. My nipples puckered into hard points that the crowd instantly spotted; their roar crescendoed into thunderous approval.
A tall guy with a wireless mic strolled along the line, his voice a smooth baritone as he coaxed the audience to shout for their favorites. With each round of cheers, he thanked and dismissed several girls. Mikki and I remained, our chests heaving, eight others joining us for round two.
Under the glare of the second set of lights, I lifted my drenched shirt up and over my head, the air rushing cold against skin still dripping with water. I peeled it off, tucking it into the back row, and heard the crowd swell into a gasp of delight. I’d always admired the fullness of my breasts, the soft roundness that felt so decidedly mine; now, baring them felt like drawing power from every eye fixed on me. Mikki matched me, her confidence flaring in the space between us. Of the ten girls at the start, six who had bared their breasts advanced—our breasts now a public spectacle.
I leaned close to Mikki, my voice barely above a breath, “I’m taking my skirt off next.” She flashed me a wicked grin, and I stepped out of the lightweight cloth, feeling the cool air slide up my legs. At the back of the stage, my skirt joined my shirt, and I stood in only my panties, heart pounding so loud I feared it might burst. The assistant doused me again with frigid water, and the audience erupted, their shouts vibrating in my bones. Even damp and clinging, my panties were thicker than my top had been, yet the dark shadow of my neatly trimmed pubic hair was unmistakable through the soaked fabric. Mikki and the platinum-haired beauty—Claire—did the same, and the three of us edged ahead of the rest, our breaths ragged with exhilaration.
The host lifted his arms, urging the crowd to raise their voices once more until the air itself seemed to tremble. Then he named the top three: Claire, Mikki, and me. He promised a final round, the true decider. I pressed a quick, playful kiss to Mikki’s cheek and whispered, “Let’s ditch the panties.” She nodded, eyes gleaming. I kicked off my heels, adding them to the growing pile at the back of the stage—soon I would be completely naked. The assistant poured water on me for the last time. At the front of the stage, I bent over, slid down my panties, and tossed them to someone in the audience. Claire and Mikki did the same, leaving three pairs of wet panties as trophies.
When the host returned to gauge the applause, the ovation was so fierce. I turned in a slow circle, flaunting every curve, every drop of water tracing rivulets down my skin. In the end, Claire triumphed, her tall, lithe frame and cool poise earning her the crown. Mikki and I settled into our runner-up spots, cheeks aflame with the heat of adrenaline and triumph. I’d have voted for Claire.
Naked and exhilarated, I scooped up my clothes wet cotton, and all—and headed for the dressing room. The security guy’s grin had stretched to ear to ear, his eyes lingering on me as I passed. Inside, I crossed to Claire and pressed my lips to her smooth mouth in congratulations. When she didn’t pull away, I wrapped my arms around her, feeling the soft swell of her breasts against mine as our kiss deepened. She murmured her name into my ear—Claire—and confessed that this felt like a better prize than any amount of cash.
Only the three of us remained. While we towelled off, fixed our hair, and reapplied makeup, we chatted easily. Then we changed into dry clothes, packed our wet outfits, and left. The security guy handed over our prize money and thanked us.
Claire mentioned her boyfriend, Tom, I invited them to join us for a drink. Mikki and I found our guys, who praised our performance. Claire, Tom, and the four of us went to watch the amateur stripper contest next. I joked we should enter next time. Claire laughed and said she’d sign up with us.
Later, as we headed toward the ferry terminal, my skin still tingled from the evening’s exposure. I spotted a shadowed alley, pulled Mikki aside, and nodded toward it. “I can’t wait,” I whispered, voice a hoarse rasp.
Mikki’s eyes darkened with need. “God, me neither. I want Bobbie,” she breathed, fingers already tugging at her own clothes.
James—my own eager partner—slipped in behind us, pressing me against the cool brick wall. The night air felt electric on my back as he unfastened his belt, his breath hot against my neck. I slipped my panties off without hesitation, he guided his cock inside me in one powerful, fluid motion, and I gasped as a wave of pleasure rocked my core. His groan rumbled through me, setting my nerves alight. It was quick, intense—our bodies reminded us why we’d been apart for two frenetic weeks—and I came with a cry, muscles clenching around him. He spilled himself inside me, warm and pulsing, and I sagged against the wall, breathless.
As James steadied me, my eyes flicked to Bobbie, who’d joined us in the shadows. Dropping to my knees, I wrapped my lips around his cock, tasting Mikki on him. Bobbie’s groan was a low, trembling sound. I worked him gently, savouring every pulse and throb, until he shuddered and released, his salt-sweet cum coating my tongue. Behind me, Mikki shifted, and I felt her soft mouth close around Bobbie’s tip in turn, her eyes flashing at me as she did. Our moans mingled with the hushed rustle of the alley.
When the heat finally subsided, we straightened our clothes and hearts, leaving the night’s rawness behind as we dashed for the ferry just in time. On the other side, we collapsed into a waiting taxi. That night, I fell asleep curled against James.
Sundays had slipped back into our usual routine: hitting the club to watch the strippers, then grabbing Chinese takeaway on the way home. A few weeks after that unforgettable wet T-shirt contest, we were out at a town about an hour in, a woman in a slinky black dress drifted toward our table.
“Hi, I’m Jacky,” she said, arm outstretched toward a man leaning against the bar—a tall guy with dark hair. “That’s my husband, Martin.” He joined us, and my heart skipped: it was the pizza delivery guy—the same one Mikki and I had answered the door for, completely naked. I could still feel the memory of him pressed between us, the slick heat of sweat as we’d given him head, then ridden him until he’d spilled inside me. Word had somehow reached his wife, and he’d lost his job over it.
Mikki hadn’t been happy—her turn had been cut short. Another delivery guy appeared at our front door—new face, hopeful grin. “Are we tipping tonight?” he’d asked. We’d laughed and sent him packing.
Now Jacky, standing cool and composed in front of us, leaned in. “Which one of you sluts fucked my husband?” Her voice was soft, but sharp enough to slice tension through the thick haze of music and chatter.
I caught my breath and waved to my own husband, Bobbie. “Take Martin and James to play pool,” I murmured. Bobbie rose without question, leading Martin away.
I patted the empty chair. Jacky perched delicately on the edge, swirling deep red wine in her glass. The overhead bulbs reflected in her dark eyes. “Well? I’m waiting.”
My cheeks warmed. “Look, Jacky, it was me.” I exhaled. “I didn’t know he was married, and he could’ve stopped anytime.”
She glanced at Mikki. “So you gave him a blowjob, then?” There was no point in hiding it—she already knew. “He’s a guy. Two naked women offering themselves? Of course he didn’t say no.”
Jacky’s jaw tightened. Then she let out a slow breath. “I was furious. I wanted to storm over here and spill everything to your husbands—make you feel what I felt.” Her hand tightened around the stem of her wineglass. But after a moment, her shoulders relaxed. “I forgave him.”
Her admission cracked the last barrier. I leaned forward. “Jacky, I’m sorry—but I don’t regret it. And honestly, I think it’s only fair you get your turn.”
Mikki’s eyes sparkled. “Yeah—James is yours, if you want him.”
Jacky laughed, that low, surprised sound. “You’re joking.”
I shook my head. “Dead serious.”
She blinked. “You mean I come back to your place and do whatever I want with your two men, while you handle Martin?”
“Exactly,” Mikki said, and I saw Jacky’s brow smooth as she considered it.
We finished our wine and I sketched out our lifestyle: four of us living together, sharing partners, a running list of dares—this pizza-guy scenario right at the top. Mikki filled in gaps, and with every detail, Jacky visibly unwound.
By the time Bobbie and James returned from pool, the tension had disappeared. Jacky leveled Martin with a steady gaze. “You cheated on me, went behind my back, fucked them.” He lowered his eyes, silent. He gave a guilty nod. Jacky sighed. “I won’t go behind your back—but Carol’s made me an offer I’m seriously considering.” She laid out the details: I’d have their two guys, they’d have mine pointing at Mikki and me, nobody gets hurt, everyone consents.
“You said when you got busted, you’d do anything I wished,” she reminded him. Martin hung his head but didn’t protest. She concluded, “We both have to be happy. Let’s try it once. If either of us has doubts, we stop. If we both enjoy it… this might be a way forward.” I was equal parts shocked and thrilled.
I felt a thrill so sharp it buzzed in my veins. “What about tonight?” I asked.
Jacky bit her lip. “Before I chicken out—yes.” We tipped our glasses and slipped out into the warm, lamp-lit street. She tried to get the address from Martin—he only laughed.
“Pizza shops don’t reveal secrets,” he teased. I squeezed her hand as we walked the twenty minutes back to our place, lantern-light pooling on cracked pavement.
Inside, Bobbie poured wine for everyone. The living room was soft with cushions and the sweet scent of vanilla incense. I suggested Jacky start in my bedroom with James and Bobbie so we could ease into things. But when Martin wandered in, solitary and tense, Mikki and I greeted him eagerly. We guided him to the sofa, peeled away his shirt and jeans, revealing skin flushed with anticipation. My lips found his cock, tracing it, tasting him until he hardened fully. Mikki knelt beside me, running her warm palm along his thigh.
He groaned, and Mikki leaned forward until his cock slipped into her mouth. Her head bobbed in slow, rhythmic strokes, her eyes closed as she took him deeper, coaxing every sigh from his lips. When he warned he was close, she pulled back and straddled him, sinking down with deliberate slowness. The soft friction, the wet heat around him—it was everything we’d dreamed. He threw his head back and let go, his cum filling Mikki with a warm flutter of ecstasy.
As she slid off, I wrapped my mouth around him again, licking him clean, coaxing him back toward firmness. Then I reclined and opened myself. He slid into me with gentle patience, each thrust careful and deliberate, more tender than the hurried pounding of our first encounter. When he came again, I arched my back and tumbled over the edge in a rush of light.
Mikki moved behind me next, and soon we were sixty-nining, our breath and fluids mingling in a heady, almost sacred ritual. When we finally collapsed, panting and satisfied, Jacky sat in a chair nearby, cheeks flushed and a small, contented smile playing on her lips.
“Ready to go?” Martin asked softly at her side. She set her wine down and ran a hand through Martin’s hair.
“I want both of them,” she whispered. “I want their cocks again.” With that, she took each man’s hand and led them toward my bedroom.
“Ever tried anal?” I asked James, nodding at Mikki. He shook his head, eyes bright with curiosity. I handed him lube while Mikki pressed a teasing fingertip into my back passage. Then James guided himself in, slow and warm, until I lowered down on him. The stretch, the fullness—it was exquisite. He thrust a few times, deeper and faster, and tipped over the edge quickly, crying out my name. But I stayed back, letting Mikki’s tongue find me until my own release crashed over me.
We collapsed together in a tangle of limbs and whispered endearments, drifting off to the soft glow of our bedside lamp.
Morning light filtered through the curtains. I slipped out into the kitchen in my robe, brewing coffee. Jacky appeared in Bobbie’s oversized shirt, her hair tousled and her skin still warm from sleep.
“Coffee?” I offered, setting a steaming mug before her. She took it with a dreamy sigh.
“It was incredible,” she murmured.
Soft moans floated from Mikki’s room. Jacky and I exchanged a grin and tip-toed to the doorway. Through the crack we watched Mikki rise and fall on Martin, her head thrown back in bliss. Jacky’s eyes widened, then softened with fascination rather than jealousy.
Back at the counter, Jacky studied me. “Your idea was perfect,” she said quietly. “Watching you and Mikki… would you teach me how to do that?”
“Next Sunday?” I suggested, pouring her another cup. “The guys can hit the club, we’ll have our own girl time, then get Chinese afterward—see where the night takes us.”
Jacky smiled, stirring her coffee. “I’m at my mom’s next week, but in three weeks, I’m all yours.”
Mikki joined us, slipping into the kitchen in her robe. Jacky’s eyes flicked to her with a sly grin. “So you finally got your turn with him.” Jacky added, "We saw you riding his cock.”
"He was worth the wait," Mikki admitted. "Wouldn't mind a repeat performance."
Jacky’s smile turned impish. “Good. Because I’m definitely coming back for more of your men.”
The guys showed up right as breakfast was served. After the meal, Bobbie drove Martin and Jacky back to their places. Later, James and Bobbie headed to their club, Mikki picked up Oliver, and we all prepared Sunday dinner together.
Once the cooking was done, Mikki brought out our challenge bag. I picked a piece of paper and read it: "Blowjob at the back of a theatre." Mikki marked off the twenty-first item on our list: the wet T-shirt challenge we'd completed at the club in Portsmouth.
When the men returned, we had dinner, put Oliver to bed, and spent the evening naked in the living room, switching partners until everyone was satisfied.
Our next challenge from the list was simple enough. Sandra agreed to watch Oliver, though unusually, she could only stay until six and was strangely secretive about her evening plans.
At the Gosport cinema, we settled into the back row with our popcorn, looking perfectly innocent as the lights dimmed. I slid my hand to Bobbie's zipper, freeing his already-hard cock. After a quick glance to confirm no one was watching, I took him into my mouth, thrilled by the forbidden nature of our act.
As I stroked and sucked him, Bobbie slipped his hand beneath my jumper, finding my nipple with a squeeze that sent shivers through me. Just as I sensed Bobbie approaching his climax, I noticed Mikki beside me, her head bent over James's lap. She caught my eye and whispered a suggestion to switch places
With James now in my mouth, I tried something playful—taking a handful of popcorn, letting it mix with my ministrations. His appreciative response told me he enjoyed the unusual sensation. As his breathing quickened, I swallowed what was in my mouth and added more popcorn, continuing until he tensed and released into my mouth with a final thrust.
After tucking him away, I noticed a woman a few rows ahead watching us. Meeting her gaze boldly, I turned to Mikki and kissed her deeply, our tongues sharing the mingled taste of both men’s cum and buttery popcorn. The woman smiled and mouthed "thank you," prompting me to blow her a kiss in return.
Back home, after Sandra left still not letting on what she was up to, Bobbie and I made love with languid intensity. When he finally came inside me, it triggered my own powerful release, and we fell asleep still with his lovely cock buried in my pussy.
Sunday afternoon found us at home with Oliver while the guys visited the club for their weekly dose of exotic dancers. Sandra's unusual silence continued—still no word from her. After preparing dinner and entertaining Oliver until he finally dozed off for his nap, Mikki retrieved our challenge bag with a mischievous glint in her eye. She ticked off fifteen: blowjob in a theatre.
I reached in and pulled out challenge number three: "Fucked on a train." Mikki's eyes widened with delight. "What if we upped the stakes?" she suggested, leaning closer. "Instead of our own partners, we find strangers." She bit her lip. "I haven't had any new cock since the holiday." The thrill of her suggestion sent heat rushing through me.
"You absolute vixen," I grinned. "I'm in." The plan was set—we'd arrange our railway encounters and later regale the guys with every delicious detail.
The perfect opportunity arrived next weekend, James had inherited his parents’ farmhouse. A full kitchen renovation was slated to begin Monday, so Mikki would be on-site each weekday supervising the crew’s progress. Sandra would keep Oliver entertained while we were away—he’d stay with her Sunday through Saturday—so on Sunday morning we’d board the train together, luggage in tow, and leave the little boy in his grandmother’s doting care. That schedule left us five days of uninterrupted freedom: and a train journey to tackle our latest challenge. Saturday , the guys would drive up from the city to fetch Oliver and bring him to their newly renovated home.
That arrangement felt like a final hurrah: a full week of just Mikki and me, before our living situation changed forever. I could already taste the excitement as we wound through Sunday’s commuter crowds, dragging our suitcases behind us. At the station, James hefted our bags onto the platform then raced off to drop Oliver with Sandra and meet Bobbie at their usual Sunday haunt. A flurry of kisses later, the train’s horn blared and the doors hissed shut. We pressed our faces to the glass, waving until the station blurred into motion—and then everything was possibility.
Inside, the carriage was almost deserted. Overhead lights hummed softly, illuminating the narrow aisle and the velvet-upholstered cubicles arrayed on either side. Each compartment held two facing bench seats and a pull-down blind that fluttered in a slight draft. I sank into one seat, letting the plush fabric cradle my back, but the emptiness of the car kept my heart fluttering with disappointment. No strangers meant no chance to find willing participants—our perfect setup was vanishing already. Yet when I caught Mikki’s eye across the aisle, her mischievous grin reminded me we always made our own fun. With no one else around, we’d just have to seduce each other instead.
We were trading wry smiles and quiet laughter when a voice drifted through the door’s glass pane. “Afternoon, you two beautiful girls.” A guy about our age strolled past, holding three cans of beer in one hand. His casual confidence stopped me mid-laugh. He paused and tipped an imaginary hat, the sunlight catching his tousled hair. We giggled, murmured thanks, and watched him drift down the car.
“That’s our only lead,” I whispered to Mikki once he disappeared. She nodded, eyebrows raised. I stood, and strode two compartments down, following the sound of his footsteps. He’d joined two friends—a taller guy with close-cropped hair and a stubbly fellow with a strong jawline—inside a crowded seating bay. Their laughter echoed against the paneled walls. I slipped in behind them and pressed a hand lightly to their bench.
“Hi, I’m Carol,” I purred, sweeping a lock of hair behind my ear. “That’s my friend Mikki.” He looked up, eyebrows lifting when I tilted my head toward the next compartment. “Care to join us?” His grin spread, a slow spark that ignited the other two. They didn’t hesitate. With a collective shrug, they followed me back.
The moment we settled, Mikki flicked down her blind halfway and turned the lights low. The air inside the cramped booth grew warm and intimate, the hum of wheels on rails a sultry backdrop. The party of five arranged itself: the guys perched shoulder to shoulder opposite us, eyes dancing with curiosity. Velvet seats gave a faint musk of old fabric and faint traces of cleaning polish. I could taste adventure in the stale air.
I let my breathing steady, then eased my hands behind my back and lifted my top over my head. My bra followed in one smooth motion. The sudden exposure felt electric. Their heads jerked forward, the canines of curiosity and desire gleaming in their eyes. “Like what you see?” I asked, arching an eyebrow. Each of them nodded, swallowing audibly. I reached over and gave Mikki’s knee a playful squeeze. “Your turn—show them how it’s done.”
Mikki let out a soft breath, a slow smile curling her lips. She peeled off her blouse and bra next, leaning forward so her breasts filled their view. The overhead light glittered on her skin, highlighting every curve. The trio exhaled in unison. The stubbly one swallowed hard and licked his lips. “Holy shit,” he breathed.
“Here’s the deal,” I said, voice low. “It’s a dare. Each of you has to fuck both of us, bareback, and cum inside. If you’d rather back out, we can just get dressed and chat.” Three pairs of eyes locked onto me, the silence stretching deliciously.
Finally, the taller one cleared his throat and said, “We’re in.” My pulse leapt.
I rose, slipped out of my jeans and underwear, and seated myself on the bench, legs splayed. The old eighties car gently rocked as the train rounded a curve. I felt the velvet pressing against my inner thighs, the fabric warm beneath me. Mikki slid off her skirt and panties and joined me, a perfect mirror image. “Gentlemen, please stand and show us your cocks”
They wasted no time. In a heartbeat, jeans pooled around ankles, underwear joined them on the floor. Hard lengths bobbed into view, each unique: one thick and veined, another smooth and tapered, the third a generous girth that seemed almost engineered for our challenge. The staccato click of the closing door sealed us in our private theatre.
I reached out to the younger man—the one who’d first caught my eye—guiding his shaft into my waiting mouth. His skin tasted faintly of hops and sweat. He groaned, thrusting gently, and the other two positioned themselves before Mikki on the vacant seat between us. She welcomed the one in front of her with a soft moan, her fingers tracing slow circles on his butt. The third man hovered between us, eager for attention.
Over the next minutes, the narrow space became our stage. I lay back on my bench, legs draped over the edge, watching Mikki press into the man opposite her. His thrusts were firm, remorseless, and she arched back, hair splayed against the velvet as pleasure shook her. I guided the bigger of the three into me—slow, full strokes that filled me completely. Somewhere, the train’s wheels clicked over a joint in the track, jolting us in time with our rhythm.
Their moans and our gasps blended into a heady symphony. The stubbly man choked back a groan as Mikki rode him, her fingertips digging into his shoulders. The other two alternated between my mouth and my pussy, mapping out every inch of my response. I felt warmth build in my belly, a delicious tension coiling tight. When the first man warned he was close, I curled my hips around him, soaking up his cum. He shuddered and spilled deep inside me, body slackening against mine.
He pulled out, and I felt his hot seed trickle down my thigh. The second man replaced him, pressing forward until the tension of his cock was lost in me. He thrust while I inhaled Mikki’s ragged breaths from across the aisle, watching her face contort with pleasure under her partner’s weight. We reached our peaks together—my walls clamping down on his cock, Mikki quivering beneath her lover’s steady rhythm—and then a few more strokes and they both erupted, filling our pussies with their cum.
Once I caught my breath, I instructed the men to sit and watch. Mikki climbed on top of me, her dripping pussy hovering over my mouth. As she inserted her tongue into me, I eagerly lapped at her. One of the men exclaimed, "Fucking hell, I’ve heard of this but never thought I’d see it outside of a porno."
Another added, "You two are the hottest girls I’ve ever met."
We moaned loudly, not just for show, but to quickly arouse the men for another round before the next stop. We collected every drop of their cum, and Mikki climaxed again. Our efforts paid off; when we looked up, three hard cocks were ready for action. I chose the man who hadn’t had me yet, pushing him onto his back and climbing on top. This was the quickest I had ever taken three cocks. As I rode him, he reached for my breasts, squeezing my nipples. I whispered for him to squeeze harder, reveling in the sensation of my third cock while watching Mikki being thoroughly pleasured.
By the time we finished, both of us had experienced all three cocks in every way possible, each of our pussies receiving three loads of cum. Challenge accepted, challenge completed—another tick on the list. Those familiar with "the list" will remember that Mikki and I agreed to any new challenge together and neither of us had done it before. And if it involved sex with a man, it had to be bareback with them coming inside us. Mission accomplished; we were superstars.
Sitting and talking, we accomplished quite a bit in a short period. We still had thirty minutes until the next stop. I grabbed one of the limp cocks and said, "If we suck you off, is there any chance of you three getting hard again?"
One of the older guys replied, "No way, I know when I'm beat, and I enjoyed every minute. I'll watch." I knelt and took my partner's cock in my mouth, giving him what was surely the best blowjob of his life. Mikki knelt beside me and took the younger guy's cock in her mouth. With some effort, we eventually got them hard enough to give a proper blowjob. I used every trick I knew on him until he rewarded me with a mouth full of creamy cum. Turning to Mikki, she had also taken a load. We kissed, swapping and mixing it into a creamy cocktail, which we both swallowed.
The guys got up, and once dressed, each kissed and thanked us. We stood in the corridor, waving them off while still naked. Closing the door, we sat, not dressing yet, feeling fulfilled. The blind was down, so we were fine.
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, and as it opened, we heard, "Tickets pl…" The inspector saw us and said, "As much as I like seeing you like this, you might want to dress. We're approaching the next station."
I stood up, and he added, "Would you make an old man happy and stay like that while I check your tickets?" We sat, and Mikki retrieved our tickets, handing them to the inspector while standing far too close to him. I laughed at the absurdity of the situation. He checked our tickets several times, looking at his timetable in between. One could easily think he was deliberately extending the process. Finally, he handed the tickets back, thanking us both, an obvious bulge in his trousers. I'm sure his wife was in for a good night. He left, shutting the door behind him.
We dressed quickly—jeans, T-shirts, shoes—grabbed our cases, and waited in the aisle for the train to coast into the station. The inspector reappeared to help me with my suitcase, offering a conspiratorial wink. Outside, a taxi was waiting. We hopped in, the late-afternoon sun warm on our faces.
When we arrived at Mikki’s new property, my breath caught. The main house rose three stories high, weathered stone walls framed by climbing ivy. A smaller two-bedroom cottage sat a hundred yards away, its own garden fenced by weathered pickets. That would be our home for the week—until the new kitchen was done. I ran my hand over the gatepost, imagining Oliver on his pony in the paddock beyond, picturing Mikki and me exploring every room with our naked exploits.
We’d completed seventeen of our twenty-four challenges so far. Seven remained. But I had no doubt: after a week like this, nothing could stop us.
I thoroughly enjoyed these challenges, My cock count has gone from fourteen to seventeen cocks, and women count has stayed at four pussies.
If you enjoyed this story, please like and favourite it. Your feedback and suggestions are always welcome.
The upcoming story sees the renovation of the kitchen, the fit work guys, and the Pizza guys wife coming back for more fun Carol xx.
