When my wife died from breast cancer five years ago I was devastated. We had been married for nearly forty years, and it had been a good marriage in every way, including a very active and satisfying sex life which gave us both great pleasure.

We weren’t swingers in the literal sense, but for the last ten years of our married life, we had enjoyed posting explicit photos and videos on a voyeur website for other’s enjoyment and arousal. We hooked up online using the chat option on the site with a small number of other members who had commented appreciatively on our postings. When a group video option was added, we regularly enjoyed evenings when we would masturbate and fuck together in what I suppose you could call an online orgy.

For nearly a year I totally lost my libido, although I received many messages of consolation from our virtual lovers, including invitations by some couples who lived in the UK to stay with them for a weekend of fucking. My road to recovery began one weekend when my thirty-five-year-old daughter was staying with me with my delightful five-year-old granddaughter. She had discovered our unconventional sexual hobby when she was at university when she was browsing the site where our photos and videos were posted — a case of like mother like daughter I suppose.

On Saturday evening we were sitting with a third glass of wine after a lovely dinner she had cooked for us when she brought up the question of my sex life or lack of it.

“You know Dad,” she said, “it’s time that you took hold of yourself and moved on. You’ve only been half living since Mum died, and you really do need to get fucked regularly if you don't want to grow old prematurely.”

I was about to demonstrate with her, and particularly about her unladylike language, when she put her hand on my knee to stop me, “No Dad, you need someone to tell you, and I love you and want to see you happy again. It’s not love you need, not yet anyway, but a virile man like you needs to have sex, and lots of it.”

“I know you are right darling,” I replied, “but where do I find someone to play with. I’m not interested in some young bimbo, but what I would really like is a nice married lady in her late thirties or forties who would be willing to spend the night — or even a weekend — with an experienced lover. And I suppose I should add, without the knowledge of her husband.”

“Dad, if you weren’t my father, I would fuck you tomorrow. You have one of the most beautiful cocks I have seen online, and I have several lady friends of the right age who would be only too willing to spend the night with you, especially when I tell them what a sweet man you are.”

“My dear, how do I meet these ladies, and if I do, how do I get round to the subject of sex with giving offence or causing embarrassment?”

“Leave everything to me Dad,” she said with a grin, “and pretty soon you’ll be getting as much pussy as you can handle.”

I more or less pushed the conversation out of my mind, putting it down to the effects of cosy lighting, soft music and a bottle or two of good wine.  However, a few days later, amongst all the junk mail that was pushed through the letterbox every day, there was a rose pink envelope addressed in feminine handwriting and smelling of what I thought was probably an expensive perfume. Inside was an invitation, again handwritten, to afternoon tea the following Wednesday at an address on the other side of the village about a mile and a half away, but still in easy walking distance. I immediately penned a brief note accepting the invitation and walked to the post box to make sure it caught the afternoon collection.

The house turned out to be a cottage of the sort favoured by the manufacturers of greetings cards — you know the sort, thatched roof, roses round the door, etc. A rather attractive blonde lady answered the door to my knock and politely asked me whether I was Leonard, and if so, would I like to come inside. She was a bit on the plump side but with a nice figure and full breasts, and clearly married if the rings on her ring finger were anything to go by. I guessed that she was probably in her late forties, but still desirable and definitely worth a fuck or two — or three or four or more.

She took me into the sitting room which was of a piece with the cottage with comfortable chintz-covered chairs and net curtains over the windows — no problems of being overlooked I thought, if things got interesting. I was then introduced to two other ladies, sort of in the same age bracket and who had also taken great care of their appearance; nicely groomed and shiny hair, nice complexions with only the hint of lines — and those were the nice smiley ones — carefully applied makeup and so on. The taller and more slender of the two had long dark hair and more than a hint of the Mediterranean about her — I discovered that her mother was from Italy and had come to Britain after the war. The other was a natural redhead with bright green eyes and a smile to melt a heart of stone — and make a limp cock stand to attention. 

For the next hour we sat around in that rather polite English way beloved of the British films of the forties and fifties, with a cup of tea and cakes, talking about the weather and the terrible cost of living, and our families. I discovered that they had all married before their twenty-second birthday, that between them they had seven children who were all in secondary school, although I still don’t know how many belonged to each or what gender they were, and that their husbands were more interested in golf than romancing their wives. When I enquired after the children I was told that it was half-term — amazing how one forgets such things as half-term — and that they were all away, either staying with friends or on some school organised trip. They were all very quick to assure me that their husbands, who were all golf buddies, had swanned off to Ireland for a few days of golf and Guinness — more Guinness than golf I suspected.

After a polite but rather bland hour of chit chat, out of the blue as if there had been some invisible signal, the brunette lady said, “Well show us what you’ve got hidden in your trousers then,” to which just as quickly, I riposted, “I’ll show you mine if you’ll show me yours.” Corny I know, but some things just survive the passage of time. 

It didn’t take long for all three ladies to strip down to bra and knickers, whilst just as quickly I took off my socks — fucking in one’s socks looks so vanilla — and shirt, before undoing my belt ready to drop my trousers. I had gone commando in anticipation of some hot activity. As my cock appeared like a rabbit out of a hat, three pairs of eyes widened, appreciatively I think, since my limp cock is still generously proportioned, but when they saw my balls they almost fainted.

“Oh my God,” they shrieked in unison, “look at those balls, they’re as big as that prize bull in the local farmer's field.”

I guess that they were thinking about how much spunk I might later be pumping into their cunts — I had also taken a little blue pill just on the off chance I was going to fuck several cunts. After that, it all got a bit frenzied. Bras and knickers disappeared in a trice to reveal three pairs of very suckable titties, and three different, but equally delicious pussies, one totally shaved, one very hairy, and the third with a lovely V of red-gold curls.

Before we got down to the main event they all wanted to fondle my package, which was utterly delightful, and made my cock grow to its full seven inches — seven fat inches — in a couple of heart beats, before indulging in cock and ball worship (not cock and bull as in a story, because that’s a highly exaggerated account of something, and their voracious hunger could not be exaggerated, presumably the result of years of starvation).

To cut a long story short, over the next couple of hours I had the delightful experience of fucking three very tight cunts and filling each of them with a healthy volume of hot creamy cum. Judging from the volume of their shrieks and moans, all of my new lovers enjoyed every depraved moment of their ravishment. For my part, after a year of total celibacy it felt like several Christmases had all come — or cum — at once.

My raven-haired seductress had to leave, but although I had not anticipated it, I stayed the night. After eating dinner in the nude, the two of us indulged in several hours of exquisite fucking, and when I was in need of a break to recharge my batteries, I was treated to a delightful show of girl on girl action with lots of pussy licking – something I have always found to be extremely erotic. Waking up in the morning with two pairs of lips wrapped around my morning wood was the icing on the cake. Silently, I thanked my daughter for setting me up and knew that I would have to buy her something expensive as a thank you gift.

After a few months, I had built up quite a harem of sexually frustrated married ladies between the ages of thirty-five and fifty, most of whom would stay the night. They always went home feeling well fucked, with a contented smile on their faces, and a pleasantly swollen pussy. It’s amazing what word of mouth can achieve. There were plenty of ladies who were not getting enough fucking, and who were seduced by the idea of a nice fat cock and bull’s balls. Three or four ladies brought their husbands along to watch and wank while I rutted with their wives. One guy liked to kiss my balls while his wife was riding me cowboy fashion, and then suck my cock clean after we were finished. I must admit I rather enjoyed it, although I’ve never thought of myself as bisexual.

Kumar and Erika moved in next door just over two years ago. They appeared to be happily mated, although I was immediately attracted to her and secretly hoped to take her to my bed one day. I have never taken a woman who didn’t offer herself willingly, and Kumar was my friend. It would have been a betrayal to seduce his wife, so in all honesty, I was very pleasantly surprised when he offered her to me in the most beautiful way on the night of her fortieth birthday.

It felt better than I had imagined when I slid my cock deep into her cunt until it was totally and exquisitely unfolded in her delicious warmth. Perhaps it was the effect of the spices Kumar had used to inflame her flesh, but when I anointed her luscious inner recesses with my hot essence, the pinnacle of my climax seemed sweeter and more intense than any orgasm I had known in the nearly five decades since my first pussy. The incredible zenith of a night that was the quintessence of sexual exaltation was when both Kumar and I took joint possession of Erika’s flesh. In the ecstasy of our mutual transcendence of physical constraints in an ineffable delight of carnal conjunction that comes only rarely, ownership of Erika’s flesh passed irrevocably from Kumar to me.

As Erika has written we regularly enjoy threesome sex, but Kumar has slowly relinquished any rights to fuck Erika and is content to be an observer of our passion. Although she is still legally married to Kumar, both physically and spiritually she has become my wife. Most nights she sleeps in my bed, and when one of my many other lady friends pays me a visit, she is an active and willing participant in our lovely fucking, and has discovered the special pleasures women can give each other. She also goes on holiday with me as my wife, and many people who we meet in our travels comment on what a perfectly matched couple we are.

When we finally told my daughter of our arrangement she was overjoyed, because, as she said, it was so good that I had found emotional as well as sexual fulfilment, and that her mother would surely have blessed our union.