Summer Wine: Interviews

Author's Note:

I started writing

Summer Wine

as yet another game show story, with happily married Honey sleeping with a string of other men on the way to winning the competition, but I fell in love with Jennifer and the story became a romance instead - and that's how Summer Wine ended, not with the end of the competition but with a real note of potential happiness for our romantic trio against a backdrop of excessive sex.

Clearly the competition was left unfinished, and there was scope for a sequel, but having told the story I wanted to, I was a bit stuck about what the new story should be. I mean, sure, yes, sex, sex and more sex, but a story needs something to tie it together, and without that thread the ending can't be written in a satisfying way. As a result, this sequel stalled at 80% complete for over a month and was nearly abandoned altogether.

I am grateful, therefore, to

PtmcPilot

for offering to read it through and draft an ending - and I really liked the tone it set (and the way it solved my biggest obstacle by effectively taking a large pair of scissors to it).

*

It's not until well after the competition is over that I can bring myself to watch the interviews. I can barely stand to watch my own - I look and sound so awkward - but I find John's fascinating. He looks and sounds so English. An English teacher of English to English students. Short blond hair and mischievous blue eyes, a cocky grin that I still find a little too seductive for my own good.

The chair in the interview room is more like a saddle. There's no elegant way to keep your legs closed. This doesn't matter for the men, who wear shorts, but my pussy would press against the clear, curving plastic. So would every other pussy. I would wipe the seat clean before and after each interview, embarrassingly conscious of the camera no doubt positioned below and how wet the seat was from my pussy.

Elsewhere in the house, we could almost forget about the viewers. Being in the interview room before breakfast, the memory of the night's adventure fresh in the mind, the body still aching in a dozen different ways, the naked camera was a stark reminder of just how much of ourselves we were sharing with the real world. When we spoke to the camera, we were looking at our family, our friends... In my case I was talking to the students I taught mathematics to. If I ever returned to teaching, my students would have seen me act as a slut, a whore, an amateur porn actress. They would have seen intimate parts of me that only my husband should ever have seen. They would have seen me used by a string of men, and perhaps believe therefore that any man could use me at will.

There were no Day 1 interviews. Day 1 is the day we arrived, and the studio had all the pre-game interviews to amuse the viewers with. Day 2 was when the reality of the game had sunk in and we'd had a first taste of infidelity. Most of us, anyway. Two of the twelve couples quit at the start, choosing fidelity over hypothetical riches, and David and Alison by the laws of probability ended up together that first night. My first night may have been platonic, but what might I have done if a different husband had come to my room that first night?

Watching the Day 2 interview with Lyn, the upskirt view of her pussy shown in one corner of the screen, a pussy so recently fucked by my own husband, is at once surreal, delicious and unnecessarily intrusive. I mean, I love pussy as much as the next horny and newly bisexual woman, but having an upskirt view of a woman's pussy while she's talking to the camera is a crude reminder that we women were objectified by the show in a way the men were not.

As potentially humiliating as it was for husbands to let their wives be fucked and potentially impregnated by other men, they didn't spend their days with their dicks dangling free and visible, and they weren't the ones who ended up pregnant. They didn't have the whole world staring at their little rosebuds and seeing there perhaps the evidence of a truly dirty fuck.

The camera had lingered on Amayra's ass in her Day 2 interview, her ass and pussy almost black between her golden brown cheeks. No obvious sign that Will's cock had used that tight, rear entrance. No obvious sign that her ass had had more than its fair share of cocks; or, indeed, that my own ass, in my Day 2 interview, was a virgin hole still.

So, no. The men wore shorts and were spared that exposure. They were there to be wayward studs, not mares to be bred. The men were both cucks and bulls, displaying their prowess with eager women, while their own wives were willing whores. We were all fucking for money, and the only thing that justified that public debasement was just how much money we would get.

John grins at the camera. "Hi," he says.

"Hello, John," the Voice replies. "Lyn was very impressed with your cock last night."

John shrugs, his grin intensifying. "Some women can't handle a thick cock, but those that can..." He winks. "Lyn certainly put her heart into it."

"She certainly did. How do you feel about Pete sleeping with Honey?"

John laughs. "Sleep is all he did... but I don't think I would have minded. Honey and I have agreed to play this game to win, and that means she will be fucking other men. Sooner rather than later."

"You finished in Lyn's mouth and later you came on her tits, but don't you wish you had filled her cunt with your fertile seed?"

John has the grace to show embarrassment as he half laughs and half squirms. "Yeah, I guess."

"Maybe tonight, Will will be coming deep inside Honey's horny cunt."

With an attempted air of indifference, John shrugs. I can see the misgivings in his momentarily troubled eyes.

"You like the idea of other men lusting after her, don't you, John?"

The grin returns. "I do."

"You and Honey are very clearly in love, John. Was it love at first sight for you?"

It's a cruel truth that I barely remember him at all from our first encounter, but I certainly made an impact on him. "We met at a party," he says, his expression turning more serious as he thinks back to that time. "In college. It was late, lots of dancing and music, lots of alcohol, people passing joints around. A nice, relaxed atmosphere, quite a few people kissing, a few even daring a little more. Someone suggested a game of Truth or Dare, and I joined in. Honey joined in as well."

"What was she wearing?"

"An orange dress and black, leather boots. That's the thing about her dark, African skin. She can wear bright colours and they look great on her. Where I grew up, there weren't many people of colour, so I was both drawn to Honey out of curiosity and also a little intimidated. I was excited to imagine taking her to bed, to spread her legs and see and taste black pussy..."

He blushes bright red as he admits this. "I know it's wrong to fetishise someone for their skin colour. I knew it was wrong, and that's why I didn't act on that attraction at the time. And it's not why I'm attracted to Honey now."

"What is it about Honey that you find attractive, John?"

His eyes gleam with fresh mischief. "Her breasts," he says immediately, miming with his hands a huge pair of imaginary tits on his own masculine chest. "And her lips. So soft, so succulent, so perfect wrapped about my hard cock..." He laughs. "No. Well, yes, but really, I love her smile, her laugh, the way her Yorkshire accent has echoes of Tanzania. But none of any of that is why I fell in love with her - and it was love at first sight, although I didn't understand that until later - no, I fell in love with her because when I dared her to run naked across the quad, she did it."

*

Jennifer's Day 2 interview is a treat. I try not to be distracted by the inset camera view of her pussy pressed against the perspex saddle. Trimmed blonde pubes framing luscious lips, between smooth, toned thighs. Delicious by every measure. "So," the Voice says, "how was your night with Rishith? Was that the first extramarital cock you've ever sucked?"

Jennifer's cheeks are bright red. Her answer is a nod at once tentative and brutal in its acceptance of this crude reality. The hidden cameras, of course, had caught every detail as her mouth had descended onto Rishith's hard, brown cock, and the scene replays in a corner of the television screen. White girl sucking Indian cock, moaning audibly with lustful delight; irrelevant whether it is feigned or not. She takes her time, too. This is no hasty blowjob, but rather a long, lingering gift of oral pleasure, and Rishith's answering sighs speak to her obvious skill.

While Jennifer had been making love to Rishith's proud cock, her husband had been in my bed. Pete had kept his hands and everything to himself, but he had also confessed to an earlier infidelity. Theirs was a marriage in trouble, and while Pete had been hoping desperately to repair it, he had found himself in a game show almost designed to wreck it. Faced with extramarital cock, Jennifer had not been shy. Perhaps out of vengeful anger more than lust, she had embraced the opportunity to be unfaithful herself, and had done so knowing the cameras would show it to the world.

"You haven't told Pete yet, have you?"

Jennifer shakes her head, a whispered "No" escaping her skilful lips.

"You swallowed every drop of cum too," the Voice notes, and Jennifer's blush deepens. "How do you feel about Pete sleeping with Honey last night?"

"I don't know," she admits with a thoughtful frown.

"It's not the first time he's strayed from the marriage bed, is it?"

A flicker of anger crosses her face. "No."

"Would it please you to make a cuck of him? To bear another man's child? Rishith's perhaps."

The blush reasserts itself, and she shakes her head guiltily. "No," she says hastily. "Pete and I want to make it work. We're still very much in love. We just... need a little time."

The Voice says nothing for a while, the silence itself a cruel mockery, then: "And privacy?"

Jennifer gives a bitter laugh. "Yes. Privacy."

"You came to the wrong place for that."

"Indeed." An awareness of something flashes behind her eyes and she looks straight at the camera, straight at me, her lips twisting into a smile. "It was a mistake to bring me here, but I'm glad he did."

*

My memories of Tanzania are sun and colour, everything bright. I often wish I could remember more. My father died in a road accident when I was three, and my mother returned to England, to Sheffield. I grew up in a small, cold flat with a view over the train station. Pond's Forge. The Supertram. I may have been born in Tanzania, but I was a Sheffield girl through and through. I guess I could even blame The Full Monty for my exhibitionist tendencies.

It was just Mum and me. Poor, but not unhappy. Lucky, in a way, I guess. School was multicultural. I was unique, but not alone in being so. My grades were... acceptable. Not high enough to get me into a fancy university, but enough that with the help of student loans I was able to leave home and get a degree in mathematics, and later a teaching qualification. And that, in turn, brought me back to Sheffield, to teach at the same college John taught at.

Our Friday nights of pizza, drinks and cinema quickly evolved into pizza, drinks, cinema and sex, followed by more sex on Saturday mornings, and I quickly learned to love the almost bruising thickness of John's cock. It's difficult not to love a man who adores every inch of you and proves it with kisses. Our taste in films matched, our passions and our politics matched, and I loved his teasing sense of humour. Plus he was cute.

He was everything I wanted in a man. Indeed, he was everything I wanted in a life partner - until I saw Jennifer.

*

The Day 3 interviews are very different, of course. By that point, we'd all been unfaithful. There were nine men and ten women left in the competition. Every husband had slept with another man's wife. Every wife had slept with another woman's husband. Jennifer had left Pete and Pete had left the game, and I had more or less insisted on turning my happy marriage into an experimental throuple.

"So, John," the Voice says. "How was Amayra?"

John chuckles. He knows, as everyone watching knows, that the questions will quickly lead elsewhere. "She is beautiful," he says. "Undeniably."

Amayra possesses an almost effortless poise and grace, coupled with a natural beauty. She could play a princess in a Bollywood epic, and I wouldn't be surprised to learn she has mastered every sex position in the Kama Sutra.

"A little cold, however," John says. "Distant. I much prefer an enthusiastic slut like Lyn to a coolly professional model like Amayra."

"You seemed to enjoy yourself with her."

John grins. "With a cock like mine, it's hard to find a woman willing to offer her ass. Even harder to find a woman who's eager for it. There was no emotional connection between us, but Amayra was as hungry to feel my cock in her ass as I was to give it."

I am treated to a replay of this, of course, my husband's thick, pale cock pounding hard and deep into Amayra's dark crack. The camera angle isn't quite right to capture her stretched sphincter, but it lingers on her ecstatic expression as John clutches her hips tightly against his own, and I hear her wordless cries as his face contorts in a familiar agony of orgasmic need.

"What do you think of Amayra's 'No Pussy' rule?" the Voice asks.

John gives this a moment's thought before answering. "I think that, as talented as her mouth is, and as welcoming as her ass may be, the voting public won't be satisfied until they see cum dripping from her well fucked cunt - and not her husband's cum."

"Did you enjoy seeing your cum leaking from her ass last night?" As chance had it, a camera was positioned perfectly, and we - those millions watching live, and the millions more watching after - are treated to a view of a rivulet of creamy white cum running from Amayra's dark, restlessly puckering ass.

John rolls his eyes as if to say, "Duh. What man wouldn't?"

I don't. Maybe because I'm not a man, maybe because there's something especially dirty about cum leaking from an ass, and having that obscene visual broadcast to the whole world, but it feels cruel and invasive. And yet, I can't help staring in fascination: John's cum is leaking from another woman's ass, and despite everything that happened that week, I can't help feeling a sense of betrayal - and perhaps also a twinge of jealousy. And maybe, even, a dirty, teasing wish that I had been there to tongue Amayra's ass and lick her clean of every drop of my husband's cum...

"Are you worried that Honey might leave you for Jennifer? They'd make a hot, sexy lesbian couple."

John laughs and waves the question away, but I can see he's disconcerted. "Honey's sapphic side is a surprise, I admit," he says. "She has always resisted the idea of a threesome, and always seemed uncomfortable with my fantasy of watching her with another woman. Her sudden enthusiasm for Jennifer is certainly confusing, but I don't get any sense that she wants Jennifer instead of me."

"How do you feel about sharing Honey with Jennifer? If Honey gets her way, this throuple might be for life."

John shrugs. "Too soon to say. I hardly know Jennifer, but she has an amazing body." That cheeky smile of his returns. "Stretchy too, I imagine, from all that yoga. I bet she can do the downward dog."

"Can you do the downward dog?" the Voice asks Jennifer in her Day 3 interview.

Jennifer can indeed do the download dog. She can also get into positions that seriously screw with my mind. She can cross her ankles behind her head - and stay contentedly in that position while an appreciative man vigorously pounds away at her pussy. Apparently this was her husband Pete's favourite thing for her to do.

The interview room is a little too small for displays of dexterity, however. "I can," she says with the kind of smile that says she's been asked that question too many times.

"So," the Voice says after a lingering pause. "It's over. Or is it? How do you feel about it?" The question everyone was asking. The question I still want to know the answer to.

Jennifer's laugh is nervous. "I don't know," she says, and brushes an errant lock of her blonde hair back away from her face.

For a long moment, it seems that's all she'll say, but then she reaches some internal decision and nods. "It's over between me and Pete. I just don't like the way it happened. Here, I mean. In public. We had something once. Something real. We loved each other. We had plans. It feels wrong for me to let him leave without me. For me to be here, fucking other men, being in love with someone else."

"Do you love Honey?"

Her smile is wry. "Do I love this woman I met two days ago and moved in with last night? I don't know. Maybe. I like her, a lot, but is it a crush or something deeper? Only time will tell."

"Honey certainly seems to like you."

"Yeah." She laughs at some memory. "Honey was making eyes at me from the start. Pete persuaded me to do this show. I thought it was a stupid idea, but what with injuries and money problems, Pete's not had a good year. I'm still angry with him about that stupid gang bang, but despite everything, I wanted to help him and support him, and Pete thought this show would be a lot of fun. So I let him persuade me."

"And then you saw Honey," the Voice notes.

"Then I saw Honey," Jennifer echoes. "My mind and heart work in strange ways. When I'm with a man for a while, I find myself missing a woman's touch. When I'm with a woman for a while, I find myself missing a man's touch. I think it's because I'm a switch. Women bring out my dominant side; men bring out my submissive side. Neglecting one side makes me yearn for the other."

"Did Pete like to dominate you?"

She hesitates before answering, perhaps questioning whether it was fair to talk about Pete's sexual kinks now that he was gone from the show. "Pete likes to tie a woman up. He liked me to wear a collar when he took me to parties. A thick leather collar with D rings." Her fingertips trace the outline of an invisible collar. "He liked people to know that I was his bitch - and, honestly, I liked it too, until he went and fucked someone else. I never wore a collar again after that."

"Do you think being in a throuple will satisfy your need for both sexes?"

"Maybe." She shrugs a playful shrug, and smirks a little. "I can't deny that last night was a lot of fun. I think I'm not sorry that Pete has gone. I'm just feeling a little guilty that my marriage is over and I'm actually happy about it."

One corner of the screen has a replay of Jennifer and me on our knees, side by side, kissing and licking and generously sharing David's cock. The hidden camera must have been almost directly above us.

*

Day 4 started out sombre. That was the day we collectively acknowledged that the true purpose of the game show was not so much infidelity as consequences. Specifically impregnation, and most likely by another woman's husband.

Previously, it had just been a risk, one that could be managed through the natural method: "Don't finish inside me. Come on my tits, my face, my belly or ass, anywhere except in or near my pussy." Or, in Amayra's case, "No pussy!"

But you can't trust men to pull out in time, and once the voting began for real, Amayra wouldn't last long with her pussy out of bounds.

Two couples departed before breakfast, and I wonder if perhaps it was already too late for them.

"What did you do to poor Rose, John?" the Voice asks him. "She left in tears."

John shrugs. "I warned her." The moment replays for the viewers: John's thick cock slams with brutal determination and rhythmic urgency into Rose's well stuffed pussy. "I'm close," he says, and the signs are there in his expression, in his movements. He is close. Too close. But so is she. "Don't stop," she pleads. "Don't stop!" Her hips thrust up against him, and again, again, in a heroic effort to absorb every inch of my husband's cock. "Fuck!" she screams, "Yes! Fuck!" She's no longer close, she's there, convulsing ecstatically, but so is he. I know my husband's face too well. The grit of his teeth as he rides the extremity of orgasmic release. "Fuck," Rose says, no longer a scream of pleasure, now a note of alarm cutting through the blissful haze. "Fuck!" She pushes him away, almost kicks him away, and launches herself towards the bathroom to cleanse herself of that fertile gift.