Oscar And Irene Pt 08

Less than twenty-four hours after Daphne boarded the First Class flight to Los Angeles, Irene was recovered from her stomach bug. Matt, true to his word, paid Irene for her time, even though she was too sick to accompany him. I noticed a credit of eight thousand euros in our bank account, which was fair, considering my wife's customary rate was two thousand per day.

I felt like we had got something for nothing, but Irene had the view that she had been shorted out of a fantastic vacation, by her untimely illness. Furthermore, after viewing Matt's social media accounts, it was evident that Daphne had been a more than capable stand-in for my wife. The two of them had enjoyed a fantastic vacation in LA, and Daphne had satisfied Matt's voracious sexual appetite, which was no small feat.

I sensed jealousy on Irene's part, and she verbalized her concern that Daphne might end up taking her place, which was absolutely ridiculous. However, when Daphne got back from California, there was a different, almost competitive, vibe between them. In fact, the first time Daphne came over to our place, they tried to one-up each other, which was very humiliating for me.

As I listened on in disbelief, they both detailed their encounters with him, in excruciating detail, as if it were a dating competition.

"Matt took me in the gender-neutral restroom of the KLM First Class Lounge," Daphne boasted. "He bent me over the marble countertop, slid my panties to one side, and blew his load inside me, within ten minutes of my arrival."

"I sucked him off twice on a three hour flight to Las Palmas," my wife countered. "Once in our First Class seats, and then again in the airplane bathroom."

As I processed the mechanics of such a feat, Daphne was already answering, offering up an equally depraved account of something she had done for Matt. They were arguing like a couple of teenage rivals, and I finally had to leave the room, before I heard something I couldn't forgive.

When I got to the safety of my bedroom, I repeated my wife's assertion back in my mind. I have never been on a First Class flight, but have been routed through that exclusive area of the plane, numerous times when boarding. Even though the seats are wider, and the amenities are more luxurious, there is not much more privacy afforded, especially on a short-haul flight to the Canary Islands. If Irene had sucked her boss off on that flight, she must have put her head under a blanket to conceal her actions. I tried to imagine that smug prick looking around the First Class Cabin, maybe even making eye-contact with a fellow passenger or Flight Attendant, as my wife coaxed a load from his nuts, with her eager lips.

The second blowjob occurred in the restroom of the First Class Cabin, which seemed even seedier. The main difference between the restrooms in the different classes of an airplane, is the number of passengers using it. The First Class Cabin is much smaller, so there are typically no lines for the restroom. Once you get inside, however, it is still a confined space, and a blowjob conducted within this space, would require my wife to either sit on the toilet while her boss stood before her, or require her to kneel on the floor, as he relaxed on the toilet. Either way seemed like a very sordid act, and I wished I hadn't heard that particular disclosure.

A few moments later, their argument had escalated, and I heard raised voices coming from the living room. I really didn't want to intercede, but Daphne and Irene have been friends for a very long time, and I didn't want them falling out over a man.

When I verbalized my concern, I was met with derision, as they both immediately agreed that Matt wasn't just some man.

"Matt is one in a million," my wife asserted, with no concern for my feelings. "He is tall, handsome, wealthy, muscular, well-endowed, intelligent and extremely passionate. Of course we are going to fight over him."

"Meeting Matt was the defining moment of my life," Daphne added. "I will do whatever it takes to keep him in my life."

"Even if it means losing a life-long friend?" I asked, trying to inject some common sense in to the conversation.

Fortunately, my intervention worked, and Daphne and Irene reach an agreement whereby they would take turns to travel with Matt. This arrangement worked surprisingly well, and over the next few months my wife traveled to Copenhagen, Zurich and Brussels, while Daphne enjoyed some equally memorable European cities. Unfortunately, the second the stakes were raised, their uneasy alliance crumbled, and with a week-long trip to Rio de Janeiro on the table, they were back at each other's throats.

By the terms of the rotation it was Irene's turn to go. However, Daphne felt like she had some justification for the trip, as she spoke Portuguese, which would have been an asset to Matt. In the past, when the two of them had disagreed, Matt stayed out of it. He was a busy guy, constantly on the move and with too much on his plate to deal with petty squabbles. In fact the last time they had petitioned him for resolution, he had sent them a group text.

"You bitches figure it out. Make sure I have a warm and agreeable body in my hotel bed by the time I get off work."

Faced with that lack of involvement on his part, the girls flipped a coin, and Daphne got to go to Stockholm and warm Matt's bed.

On this occasion however, presumably as it was a longer trip, Matt decided that he could use a little variety, and told them they could both go. I half expected him to split the fee, so it was a great surprise to see sixteen thousand euros appear in our checking account, as payment for the eight day trip.

Daphne and Irene, buoyed by the fact that they had each been paid the full appearance fee, huddled together over drinks at my house, to try and make it a regular occurrence.

"Let's rock his world," Irene offered, with way too much enthusiasm. "Make it so that he never even contemplates leaving one of us behind again."

"Two heads are better than one," Daphne responded with a giggle, looking at me for my response to her sexually charged innuendo.

While it was great news that the girls had put their differences behind them, and were willing to put on a united front, my mind turned to the mechanics of three-way sex. I had never had the experience, nor was ever likely to, but I had viewed enough porn to know that there were only so many ways that two women could pleasure a man, and many of them would be new to Irene. I felt that I should warn her, but Daphne seemed very much at ease with the whole scenario, so I remained silent.

It was gnawing away at me though, as one week in a luxury hotel afforded them a lot of playtime, and Matt was notoriously capable of pushing boundaries. When we got to bed that night, I carefully broached the subject, trying not to offend my wife's sheltered sensibilities.

"Baby," I began gently, "have you considered what your limits are while you are in Rio?"

"Matt told me not to concern myself with self-imposed limitations," she said reflexively, as if she had decided to put her body in his hands.

"Okay," I said, coming at it from a different angle, "let's say Matt wants to titty-fuck Daphne? Where are you going to be during this scenario?"

"I haven't thought much about it, Oscar," she said defensively. "Matt always directs the show."

"Yes, baby," I countered, shocked at her nonchalant attitude to being ordered around in the bedroom. "However, having an extra female in the bed, offers up a plethora of very pleasurable options for an open-minded man. How about if Matt oils up your tits and starts to fuck them? Where are Daphne's eager lips going to be?"

Irene, partly due to her sheltered upbringing, and partly due to our vanilla sex-life, had no clue where I was going with this. She had not been exposed to a lot of pornography, although Matt had rented three porno flicks when the three of us stayed in New York. I assume my wife and her boss watched them together, but as I had the opportunity to dissect the room bill, I noticed that they depicted cuckold sex. As this video showed sex acts between one man and one woman, it didn't shed much light on the situation that I was envisioning.

It was clear to me that this question about the location of Daphne's lips, went right over her head, so I grabbed my iPad to show her some of Matt's possible expectations.

As I began to show my wife some clips of oral sex, the extent of her sheltered upbringing became more and more apparent. She didn't even know the difference between the scrotum, the taint and the asshole, and I had to go over the very distinct areas of the male anatomy several times, before she understood.

"I think I will be okay if Matt asks me to suck his balls," she told me, her innocent face in contrast with her lewd statement. "He keeps them closely shaved."

"Irene," I said quietly, "I just want you to know where everything is, so that you don't get forced into doing something disgusting, that you may regret."

I think my wife finally understood my drift, because the last clip I showed her, depicted a man straddling a young woman's chest, titty-fucking her, as another young woman kissed him and nibbled his ear. Irene seemed unperturbed by this, until the man grunted something and the second woman scooted around behind him, and extending her tongue, disappeared between his ass-cheeks.

"Eww," she exclaimed with disgust, "that is definitely not going to happen. That is a rim-job, right Oscar?"

I nodded my head, grateful that my wife had some pre-determined sexual limits. While this was the reaction I was hoping for, I also knew that in the privacy of a luxury hotel suite, with a few alcoholic drinks to grease the wheels, and the added component of Irene being in competition with Daphne for Matt's affection, anything was possible. So, it was with some reservations, that I loaded my wife's suitcases into the Town Car that arrived in my driveway, to take them to the airport for their flight to Rio.

Matt didn't even bother to get out of the car, such was his disdain for me, and after Irene and her luggage were safely on board, the car disappeared down my driveway.

I can't say with any certainty what happened on that week-long trip to Rio, but from that day forward, Daphne and Irene accompanied Matt every time he travelled, for both work and pleasure. He paid my wife the same rate, two thousand euros a day, whatever the purpose of the trip, and we slowly got on our feet financially.

About a year after Daphne and Irene started traveling with Matt, my wife and I were invited to a wedding, and much to my chagrin, Matt was also invited. The plot thickened when I found out that Daphne and her husband were also invited. This made the whole prospect of attending more palatable to me, as Daphne's husband and I were good friends.

As the day approached, I noticed that Irene had gone through a similar physical transformation that she went through for her business trips with Matt. She had shaved her pussy completely bald, had added nail extensions, and had generally made herself as feminine as possible. When we arrived at the wedding the dynamic changed, as I noticed that Daphne had elected to attend without her husband.

Daphne looked amazing in a form-fitting silk dress, that showcased her body and accentuated her curves. As soon as we saw Matt, the dynamic became even more awkward, as it quickly became apparent that Daphne and Irene were vying for Matt's attention.

Daphne clearly had the advantage as she had attended the ceremony alone, whereas Irene had me slowing down her game. Daphne's body language was definitely that of being completely available, and to my surprise this evoked a territorial response from my wife.

Irene was very touchy-feely with Matt, hanging all over him, acting as an effective cock-block for her best friend. At one point I thought I sensed a vibe between the two women, but just a few minutes later they were chatting and laughing, and had apparently made up. I saw them get a drink together and converge on Matt.

A few moments later I realized that I had lost sight of my wife, and shortly afterwards I realized that Daphne was gone also. I had no idea where they had disappeared to, so I had a cursory look around the place. I checked in a few of the empty rooms and then looked in the gender-neutral bathrooms, to no avail. After almost an hour of looking for my wife, I started to wonder if maybe the three of them had left the wedding. In desperation, I began to ask total strangers if they had seen my wife and Daphne. I described my wife and her best friend to multiple people, before I finally got a lead.

"I saw the two of them heading down the garden towards the Summer House," one particularly helpful young woman told me. "With a very handsome, well-built man."

My heart sank when I realized that they were with Matt, and a few moments later I stumbled across the Summer House, at the very end of the long garden. I had no clue that anyone was in there at first, the secluded wooden structure having no lights on, and some of the curtains being drawn.

As I approached the front door of the Summer House, I heard the unmistakable sound of my wife climaxing. It was a loud shriek of ecstasy, followed by a lengthy proclamation of her love for Matt, and it cut me to the core. We had attended a wedding as a couple, and my wife was too fucking selfish to put her needs aside for the afternoon, and focus on the lifelong commitment that this young couple were making to each other.

I had a brief flashback to my own wedding day, fifteen years ago. I felt such pride as I took Irene as my lawful wedded bride, knowing that I was her first, and presumably last, lover. I would never have imagined that it would be her boss that was pushing her boundaries, enjoying all of her other "firsts," and spending our subsequent wedding anniversaries balls-deep in my wife.

That was his plan though, to enjoy my wife on every one of our future wedding anniversaries, at some fancy resort. Not content with cock-blocking me on my own anniversary, Matt was now enjoying his conjugal rights, on someone else's wedding day, using my wife.

I followed the sounds of their love-making until I reached the living room of the Summer House. There was a window that afforded me an unobstructed view of their encounter, and I peered through jealously, like a peeping Tom.

Irene was naked except for her garter-belt, stockings and bra, and was laying on the living room floor, on her back. Matt, still wearing his shirt and tie, but naked from the waist down, was on top of her, apparently balls-deep in my wife. Irene had wrapped her legs tightly around his muscular ass, her heels locked together as if she was imploring him to remain coupled indefinitely. Matt was rocking slowly forward, his impressive member no doubt nudging against her cervix, as he touched places within her that I could never hope to reach.

He was grinding his pelvis into her too, creating a constant pressure on her swollen clitoris, that was driving her crazy with desire. A few moments later she exploded in another very vocal orgasm, digging her manicured nails into his shoulder blades, as she came all over his cock. Matt was like a machine, his stamina and physical prowess on display, as he fucked the crap out of my wife.

As raw as the physical act was, it was also tinged with a beautiful sense of intimacy, two lovers intertwined, having blocked out the rest of the world, as they focused on the undeniable chemistry between them. Matt and Irene would kiss tenderly between her orgasms, the unmistakable connection being strengthened with each touch of their lips.

As he resumed his rhythmic grinding, I saw her close her eyes, and throw her head back in pure ecstasy. It was as if she was struggling to process the overwhelming sensory delights, the mechanical stimulation of her genitals, the seduction that he had employed to possess her, the all-encompassing love that she felt for someone that could make her feel so good. Matt was truly owning my wife, and she would have done anything for him in that moment.

I watched the pleasure on her face as she approached her next orgasm, and then she opened her eyes, raised her lips to his ear, and began to mumble incoherently, as she climaxed. Her vocal proclamations got louder as she came, and I was embarrassed to hear what she had to say.

"I love you Matt. Please don't ever leave me, I beg you," she cried as she climaxed.

Matt, ever the opportunist, was whispering something inaudible to me, in my wife's ear, and she responded enthusiastically.

"Yes, baby. If that's what you want, of course. It's yours. I will do whatever you want me to in bed, as long as you promise never to leave me."

I had never seen my wife so excited, so enraptured by another human being, so focused on another man's pleasure. It was as if they were the only two people on earth.

That is why it was so surprising to me when Daphne emerged from the bathroom, clad only in her garter-belt, stockings and her matching bra. She knelt down next to Matt and my wife, as they continued to fuck.

"I think it's my turn, baby," she said seductively, as she ran her nails up Matt's thighs.

Matt whispered something else to my wife, and she reluctantly unhooked her heels to enable Matt to uncouple. Daphne extended her hand to Matt, helped him to his feet and the two of them left the room. Irene got up slowly, quite shaky and unsteady as she stood, before following them into the other room.

By the time I located them, they were in the master bedroom. I positioned myself right outside a small window that looked into the bedroom.

There was a woman up on the bed in the doggy-style position, and Matt was fucking her from behind. From my vantage point facing Matt's back, I couldn't really see who it was getting fucked. However, as my eyes wandered the room, I saw Daphne's bra hanging over the back of the chair, that was next to the bed.

I breathed a sigh of relief as soon as I realized that it wasn't my wife who was getting pounded, doggy-style. This relief was very short-lived however, as I moved to a different window to get a view of them from the side. This window was slightly ajar, and in addition to providing me with the soundtrack of Daphne and Matt's coupling, it enabled me to see Irene lying on her back, underneath the two of them as they fucked. Irene had also removed her bra, although this appeared to have been a more hasty decision, as it was tossed on the floor. Inexplicably, Irene had also raised her head from the bed, and was eating her best friend's pussy, with considerable enthusiasm.

From the side profile, Matt's muscular physique was much more evident, his triceps flexing as he grabbed Daphne's hips and pounded into her. Daphne was thoroughly enjoying getting fucked and eaten out simultaneously, as evidenced by her moans and cries of delight.

The Summer House was built to maximize light rather than warmth, and for that reason, particularly as it was used primarily in the summer months, there were a lot of windows on all four sides of the structure.

Matt was engrossed in his enjoyment of the two women, and I didn't have to worry too much about being discovered, as I circled the building in search of the best vantage point.

By the time I had selected the best window to peer through, Daphne had enjoyed another orgasm on my wife's face, and she was also one step closer to agreeing to fulfill any of Matt's desires, no matter how depraved.

Matt generously allowed Daphne to enjoy three orgasms, before he decided he wanted more. As I witnessed his selfless love-making style, I wondered if his concern for the pleasure of his partners yielded him a greater return in the long run, both in the number of his orgasms, and the depravity of the sex acts that they were willing to engage in, out of pure gratitude. Not that I was going to have an epiphany, and suddenly become an altruistic, world-class lover, like Matt. I reached orgasm way too quickly for that, and was unable to even satisfy my own wife. In fact the only time I ever made Irene orgasm was when I went down on her, and I believe her sexual release was due, in part, to her thrill that I was eating her boss' semen from her, right after he had used her.