The Trip

"Oh for goodness sake, she's just an old friend, ok?" Emily climbed off Jack's lap, fat lips sneering at his flagging member. She pulled up her underwear.

"And yet you refer to her as your 'first love', and boast about your... antics , even while I'm inside you?"

Em glared and his stomach wrenched. He wanted the big seductive eyes back. Her wetness chilled on him. She clawed her new, boyish hairdo in frustration. "Years ago at college! Look, you want me to cancel France? Is that what it's going to take to get you hard again?"

"You talk about this bloody trip too much."

"What? You think I want to get back together with Beatrice? Now? Right there in her husband's villa? I see how you look at her. You perve on the thought of us together."

"Oh yes. That's what's got me so hard right now. The thought of watching my wife finally, for once in her life, enjoying oral. With her ex."

That's when Em slapped him.

#

They travelled separately to Provence, as Jack had a conference in France, the reason why Beatrice had suggested they all meet up in the first place. He took as long as he could getting there.

His wife's confession about her past had been hard to take, but he could accept it as that. The past. However, now it was all out in the open, why did she have to dwell on it? Did she really think he enjoyed hearing the explicit details of the things she did with her lesbian lover? "Beatrice fingered me in church... She loved to lick me from behind... often we were both wet to the knees..."

Meanwhile, she was so reticent with him. He wasn't sure how much more he could take. This weekend would be the ultimate test.

The villa was enormous and beautiful, dappled by cool leafy sunlight and set in its own grounds. Not only was Beatrice a sexual threat, but her husband, the much-feted Parisian artist Le Génie, could afford all this, too? Jack's manhood shrivelled.

Then Beatrice answered the door.

Beatrice. The bright, happy - irrepressibly flirtatious - artist's model-turned-muse with her sexy accent and carefree curves and cheeky pout. She threw her arms around him, and for a moment, he was lost in the flowery dampness of her long, dark, just-washed hair.

She reached up and kissed him, French style, once on each cheek. He hugged her, English style, as if she was his maiden aunt. The woman was wildly voluptuous compared to his elfin wife. He had to admit, Emily had impeccable taste in women.

"Bonjour, lovely boy!" She sung and grabbed his hand, hauling him inside. "Le Génie has gone to pick up Emmy in the car. The airport taxis are a rip off. "

She dressed like a gypsy next to the tailored city fashions that Em favoured, her bare feet slap-slapping on cool, smooth flagstones as she led him through the house, turning all the usual polite questions into the bubbliest of conversation. She all but pushed him into their guesthouse, next to a long pool.

"Here you are, all yours, have a swim if you like, but please come and drink wine with me, oui?"

The water looked enticing after his long journey - and Jack wasted no time in getting into his swimming shorts - but then became possessed of a sudden awkwardness about revealing himself to Beat, who sat waiting outside. He loitered by the pool-house door, unsure if he should change back into his clothes. Was this proper? To be half dressed, alone, with his wife's ex?

"Hurry up!" Beatrice bellowed quite suddenly, as if reading his mind, "Let me see this fabulous physique Emmy gloats over so!"

Bereft of any choice, Jack stepped out to wolf-whistles and dived into the pool. The shock of freezing water took his breath away as he crawled across to where Beatrice sat with a bottle, dangling her feet in the water, dark peasant skirt up around her brown knees. She giggled as he gasped to a stop. "The pool is fed straight from the mountains," she said, "I forgot to say. Sorry. Drink this." Beatrice shoved a large glass of red wine at him and gulped at hers. "Let them find us in-flagrante delicto, non?"

Jack smirked. "I don't believe that means what you think it does, Beatrice."

She sipped, and sparkled at him. Jack was suddenly thankful for the cold water. He glugged wine. "Where is my wife, and your perfect man, then hmm?" He said, feeling her eyes drilling into his chest.

Beatrice sighed. "Oui, they are taking far too long. But Le Génie is not so perfect. I am cross with him." She pulled a goose-bumped foot out of the pool and cupped toes in her hands.

Jack squirmed; he did not want to be drawn into taking sides in a lovers tiff. He held his tongue. Beatrice growled anyway. "He is so selfish, you know?"

He gestured to the pool and house. "He seems to be providing you with a good life, to me."

"No." She pressed her lips to a raised knee as if to shut herself up, then blurted. "I mean as a lover. You two are so lucky to enjoy licking each other so. With him it is like-" she mimicked him, grimacing and sticking out her tongue. "Sorry. You are English I know, you don't talk of such things."

Jack downed his wine and dunked his head in the water. Beatrice roared with laughter and refilled his glass. The sun, the wine, this beautiful, candid, woman. He felt dizzy already and left the glass alone. But...

"Em said that?"

"What?"

"That we... she and I enjoy..." He rolled his hand. Beat peered down at him almost in triumph.

"What, this is not true?"

"No. It's great. Just, well. Never mind."

Beatrice smiled and patted his arm. Her hand hot and soft. "You forget how well I know your lovely wife, Jack. She is also a little like Le Génie, non? Why do you think we split up, her and me. I know she enjoys receiving a lot more than... giving."

Hot, lapping, silence consumed them.

Beatrice clasped her hands between her knees and flipped her legs in the water. "What is taking our lovers so long!" she gasped, cheeks pink.

Probably the wine, Jack deduced. It was certainly getting to him. Then, as if to prove the point, he blustered, "Probably in a field somewhere tearing each other's clothes off."

Beatrice sniggered. "Oui, enjoying a lovely soixante-neuf on the grass. Laughing and licking and climaxing..."

"Yes! That's it, the bastards." Jack laughed too loudly. His heart hammering fit to burst, unlocking every brain cell and releasing all sense. He slapped Beat's knee. "Come on then, our turn! Get your knickers off girl!"

His attempt at bawdy humour barked out over the water and away into the icy mountains. Beatrice arched her great dark eyebrows and her smile trembled, then disappeared. She blinked slowly. A long terrible moment eked itself out. Jack closed his eyes in shame, waiting for the gentle rejection.

"Monsieur, I would certainly remove my underwear, if..." Her voice was a husky whisper, "... if I was wearing any."

Such a quiet bombshell. Jack cleared his throat and Beatrice chuckled. She stroked one foot with the other. They both watched her legs.

"I suppose," Jack felt a warm stirring in his shorts, "It's just too hot for undergarments."

"Maybe." Beatrice shrugged. "But when one is to entertain a beautiful man, it is just exciting to be secretly naked, non?"

Her dark eyes seemed to fill the sky. He pulled himself out of the water and splashed onto the poolside. She made no secret of staring into his lap. He leant back, letting the water run off his skin and his shorts squirm beneath her gaze, secretly glad that the heat of the wine and the conversation seemed to mitigate any cold-shrinkage down there. This was ok. Flirtation. No harm in it.

"No. You're teasing me." He said, trying not to blare another nervous laugh.

Beatrice stood and swirled her skirt with contrived flamboyance as she pivoted and strode away, revealing in an irresistible glimpse of clefts that she definitely was not teasing.

Jack rose and followed, possessed by the notion that they were beyond flirtation now, and then mesmerised by the wobbling swing of her hips as she climbed the stairs. In her bedroom, she reclined in the corner of a window seat, sat carelessly with her skirt gathered between rudely splayed knees.

She tilted her lips up at him as he stood beside her, but this was not what he wanted. She pressed the palm of her hand to the stiffness in his shorts, and he flexed against it, then gripped her skirt and pulled it up as if tearing aside the last shred of their conscience.

She watched him take in her mound and swung her knees wider. He settled between them and pushed his mouth to her flushed folds, so much fuller than Em's, and lapped his tongue into a shocking slickness. After months without the marshmallow resilience of a woman in his mouth, jack's head spun. He groaned and his manhood bucked in his shorts.

Beatrice pulled her legs up and back and muttered in staccato french, moaning and gasping as he devoured her sex, relishing its salty heat and the eager grind of her hips at his mouth. When she cried out and locked her hands behind his head, and then her feet too, he found himself humming as loudly as Beatrice. It had been so long since he had pleased a woman this much, this way, that his eyes moistened at the bliss of it.

She arched and howled "Oui! OUI!" And Jack laughed, licked, and gulped at the illicitly satisfying pulse of her juices as she ground out a deep, writhing climax on his tongue.

She shuddered and swore as he eased off his licking, kissing her lightly and enjoying her post orgasmic slinkiness. She took his head in both hands and peered down at him.

She stooped and kissed him, her tongue flipping in his mouth. "You like to eat me?" She said, biting a drop of her own moisture from her lips. Jack nodded, wiping his hand across his.

"Prove it." Beatrice nodded at his trunks. He stood and presented his hips to her, his cock ridiculously stuck out the top, harder than he had ever been.

"Oh, Oui..." Beatrice pulled the shorts down and took hold of his member, her hot hand delicious on his chilled skin. "What a delightful brute! That is too hard, it will burst, non?" She pressed a kiss to it and sighed, her breath rolled down his shaft along with a teased-out drop of pre-cum. She swung her tongue around him, chuckling as his knees trembled.

"I'm not finished," he said and pushed her back. She beamed and lifted her hips and he impaled her effortlessly and deeply in one slow stroke. Her jaw dropped and her sex fluttered as she engulfed him, chewing her hips at his strokes.

"Merde." She breathed, "This will not take—"

The crunch of tyres on gravel below, just outside the open window, jolted Jack to a halt.

"No!" Beatrice wrapped her legs around his hips as he pulled away in panic."I am too close!" She wriggled her hips at him to speed up. He pushed firmly and quickly.

The car stopped and a brake cranked. From their position, they could see through the passenger window, into Emily's lap. With a twist of guilt he recognised the grey silk chinoise dress Em would wear to please him.

Beatrice huffed and puffed her whispering encouragement, grinning down at the cuckolds. "Oui, oui... don't stop. Oh... how... delicious..."

Jack was torn between the picture of unequivocal, blushed, pleasure spread before him and the torturing glimpse of his wife and Le Génie, outside. He pushed as hard and fast as he could into the clamouring woman, desperate for her to orgasm so they could compose themselves before they were caught. At the same time he was shocked at the strength of his ardour, that the urge to please Beatrice was more compelling than even the terror of being discovered.

Beatrice seemed unconcerned, worse, she seemed to be enjoying the moment, her cries mounting in volume. He pushed his hand over her mouth but this seemed to drive her even wilder.

Then everything went strange, as -in the car - a man's hand leant over Emily's lap and pulled up her skirt. Emily didn't stop him. She remained with the silk around the crease of her thighs, revealing her stocking tops and panties. Her wedding lingerie, in fact.

Beatrice whimpered and shuddered. "They can't... see us!" she said, eyes wide and riveted, also, to the oddness playing out below.

Emily leant back and pulled the skirt higher, sliding her hips to the edge of the seat and opening her knees a little. Displaying herself.

"Oh Oui!" Beatrice rammed her hips hard at Jack's thrusts.

Emily tugged down the waist of her underwear and exposed her nakedness to the driver. She had done something to her mound. Gone was her honey tuft of hair. What kind of nightmare was this? Jack wanted to climax, and howl in pain. He swallowed at a hard lump in his throat even as Beatrice swallowed his hardness between her legs. The man patted his wife's smooth bald folds like a puppy's head. What kind of reaction was that?

Beatrice rolled her eyes and locked rigid. Jack rammed and hauled her orgasm out of her, holding up her feet, grinding his teeth as Emily fixed her clothing and got out of the car. Alerted by Beatrice's cries of pleasure, she peered up at them.

Beatrice stirred her hips and wound down her orgasm whilst waving feverishly to Emily. "We are in flagrante delicto!" she squealed. Jack set his jaw. Emily frowned, smoothed the front of her skirt, and charged into the house. The car pulled away.

Beatrice's eager sex, combined with the sight of his wife's own infidelity had balled him up inside. So, even though Beatrice had climaxed and was crimson and floppy beneath him; even though his wife's footfalls trotted up the stairs toward them, he could not stop pushing his aching manhood relentlessly in and out of that slavering hole. He would confront Emily like this, fucking her best friend. Her first love's juices stringing off his fucking balls.

Emily charged into the room, screaming.

"Yay!" she shrieked and grabbed Jack's face, covering it in kisses, her tongue plunging into his mouth. She smacked her lips. "Salty!" she said, and slapped his bare arse. "I hope that means what I think it does. Darling Cherie!" She spun and launched herself onto Beatrice's face next. "Clever girl! I didn't think you could do it!"

She pulled away and regarded the pair, hands clasped and joggling on the spot, eyes flicking over them as if they were a fairground ride and she was working out where to get on.

Beatrice, it seemed, had devolved to pure animal. It was all she could do to rock her hips at him, her hand squeezing Em's bottom. "Jack is about to give me my third orgasm, darling Emmy, can I have him one more minute?" she purred.

"Yummy, I'll watch." Emily unhooked her shoulder straps and let her dress slide to the floor. " Your hubbie didn't agree with my choice of lingerie, Beatie."

"Darling... oh... my husband is gay. Unless you had a cock in there... ah... he will not care... oh..."

Em smiled and wriggled off her panties. "He liked my Hollywood wax, though." She posed, twirling the silk underwear around her finger. Jack gawped at his wife as if for the first time, resplendent in bra, stockings, and absolutely nothing else. Other than a look of perfect joy. Even her newly revealed intimate lips seemed happy, poking out a cheeky pink tongue; she chuckled and kissed him again.

"Come on, don't slow down, can't you see she's close? I hope you didn't mind our little subterfuge?"

Beatrice groaned, Jack gripped her hips and shoved hard into her gaping slot. "I'll cope, I think," he said. Em was already climbing onto the window seat with them, standing astride her friend with her naked rump toward him.

"There is a rental fee for my hubby," Em said, pushing her hips at Beatrice's face. It was the last straw for the woman's resolve. Jack glimpsed a wet tongue slide up into his wife and then Beatrice shuddered into another rigid, though muffled, orgasm.

Em watched Jack over her shoulder with huge hooded eyes as her Beatrice screeched a climax into her sex and Jack slid hard and fast between her best friend's thighs. Em grasped her bottom and dug her nails into it. "Oh God yes," she muttered and shivered, stirring her hips on Beatrice's face.

The roller coaster ride of an afternoon had left Jack unsure whether he would orgasm any second or never again. He decided to just go with it while he had it, and slid out of Beatrice. He stood on the seat and slid straight up into his wife.

Emily laughed with a wild abandon Jack had never heard from her before. Her friend cackled, licking them both eagerly as he impaled Em deeply from behind.

"There it is!" Beatrice said, "At last! The Laugh!"

The Laugh? This extreme pleasure was that common - for them - it had a name. Why didn't he know this? A dark flash of doubt had Jack faltering; a doubt consumed by his wife's tight, shockingly liquid hollow, the slender writhe of her hips and the flared plumping of her bottom. Everything underscored by Beatrice, licking Em's juices from his balls.

Jack decided to stop worrying. He increased his speed until Em's buttocks slapped on his front and Beatrice licked and sucked everything that came into range.

Em emitted a long, low moan. It had been so long since he'd heard this noise; he had quite forgotten what it meant. Beatrice didn't miss the cue and sat to attention. When it hit him, that his wife was about to climax, every lock sprung inside him. He moaned too.

"Yes," Em muttered into his ear, her head lolling back in the crook of his neck. "Cum with me."

"Oui, oui! hmmf!" Beatrice pressed her lips to Em's bud and with a juddering howl Emily was sucked, and fucked, into orgasm. Jack locked too, tried to control his thrusts as long as he could, then plunged wildly as he erupted into his wife.

Beatrice laughed all the way through their blissful twitching, lapping them through it and refusing to stop when they finally calmed down. She sparkled up at them, running her tongue along his glossy length as Jack withdrew. He shivered and Em laughed and hopped in hysterics as Beatrice probed a cheeky tongue inside her.

"So, darling Jack, tell me," Em said, climbing off them both. "Still think I was looking forward to this trip too much?"

But Jack was lost, Beatrice taking his idly pumping member into her mouth and drawing on it with a blissful hum. Em stroked her friend's hair, watching. Her lip curled. "Oh, and by the way, both of you?" she said. "I will never do... that."