I first met Pamela when she was nearly thirty and we've been together for almost seven years. She's five years younger than I am, slim, platinum blonde and gorgeous. I don't quite know what she sees in me so I have to work hard to keep fit, mainly running, to make sure I'm up to the job, if you see what I mean!
A few weeks ago we drove home after work together almost in silence. At first, I thought I must have done something wrong but when I asked her she said it wasn't anything like that and she was just tired so I didn't press it. When we got home I told her I was going for a run and she just nodded so I changed and set off without another word.
When I got back, I found her in the kitchen and she seemed to be her usual self so I headed off to the bathroom to shower. As we wouldn't be going out again that evening, afterwards I just pulled on my favourite black robe and came downstairs looking for a beer and thinking about the cricket that would be on the TV. Pamela was nowhere to be seen so I poured myself a drink in the kitchen and took it into the lounge and settled down on one of the two armchairs that sat on both ends of the large coffee table before the fire, the sofa between them facing the fire.
About twenty minutes later, I was just thinking about another beer when the lounge door opened quietly and Pamela walked in carrying a bottle of champagne and two flutes. I nearly dropped my drink. Wearing glasses, she was dressed in just a red and black corset that fitted under her tiny breasts and pushed them up, black suspender belt, matching stockings and stilettos. And as I tried desperately to drag my eyes away from her perfectly smooth slit, I knew she wore nothing else other than the crimson lipstick and matching fingernails she knew drove me wild.
Open mouthed and wide-eyed, I said nothing as she slowly came over and stood on the opposite side of the coffee table to lean over to place the bottle and flutes in the centre of it then, glancing up and knowing my eyes were fixed on her rock-hard nipples, she smiled before moving around to sit on the edge of the table right in front of me with her thighs together, her hands on her knees and the tip of her tongue pressing out erotically between her crimson lips.
"How's the game?" she purred, reaching for the remote and punching a key to turn off the TV.
"Fine ... just fine," I stammered illogically. "England have just taken another wicket and ..."
"Shhh!" she whispered, a fingertip over her lips and I stopped blathering. "That's better. Would you like some champagne? I would. Perhaps you would do the honours ...?"
Leaning forward to stand, I was conscious I was rock-hard as I moved around her to stand in front of the sofa to wrestle with the cork. I heard her laugh quietly as it popped. Quickly filling two flutes, I handed her one and returned to my place opposite, taking a gulp.
"I thought we might have a talk about something?" she began. "By the way, do you like the way this thing makes my tits look bigger?"
I just nodded, glancing down to where the partial cups under her breasts pushed them together deliciously.
"Well," she went on, taking a sip from her flute and stroking her thigh with her free hand, "I wanted to tell you something. I nearly told you in the car but I thought you might run off the road - that's why I was quiet, sorry."
"That's no problem," I replied with a smile, wondering what the hell she was going to say. In truth, I wasn't worried in the sense that she was about to tell me she was leaving me as why would she dress like a whore to do it? Besides, she was as turned on as I was if the state of her nipples was anything to go by, not to mention she had obviously freshly shaved her pussy while I had been out running which she knew I loved. Not exactly the preparation to end a relationship. I breathed easy and took another sip.
She too was obviously struggling with her nerves as she tried to marshal her thoughts. I waited expectantly, allowing my eyes to fall to her nipples, the same ones I loved to lick, suck and nip. And yes, her tits did look bigger, although, at 32A cup it was asking a lot for the corset to produce a cleavage deep enough to bury my cock inside. At last she began to speak.
"When we first moved in together," she began, adjusting her glasses slightly, "if you remember, I asked you how many previous partners you had had and you said six. I replied that I had had four and we laughed as if it was funny and then I asked that we don't ever say anything about them to each other as if we were pretending to be virgins, at least to each other. Remember?"
I nodded again, not sure where this was going, desperately trying to stop visions in my mind's eye of my earlier conquests.
"Go on," I encouraged, smiling wanly and reaching for my drink a little nervously prompting her to do the same.
"OK," she continued, with a deep breath, "when I said I had had four previous partners, what I didn't tell you was that they were all women."
I was astonished but tried to keep what I thought was a straight face while I waited to see if there was more. There was.
"So," she added, smiling, "you are the only man I have ever had. I was a cock virgin when we met."
I was lost for words but smiled back at her, shaking my head slightly.
"I don't know quite what to say," I replied at last. "What are you trying to tell me, that you're a lesbian?"
With that, she slid off the coffee table onto her knees in front of me and reached forward to take the tie of my robe in both hands and slipped it open before easing the robe apart to reveal my naked body with a still rock-hard cock. Taking it in both hands, she lowered her head and I felt it slip deep inside her mouth. Gagging slightly as it hit the back of her throat, she lifted her head slightly before starting to suck.
"Oh!" I gasped, resting my hands on her platinum blonde head as I threw my head back against the back of the sofa. "Not so fast! Not so fast!"
With a smiling face, she lifted her head and looked up at me.
"Do I look like a lesbian? Do I act like a lesbian?" she whispered, shaking her head. "No, baby, I'm no lesbian, I'm your girl just how you like her to be but, underneath, I like the best of both worlds."
"You're bisexual," I uttered, confirming everything. "I had no idea."
"And you're alright with it?" she asked, her face losing its smile. "Please tell me you are. I don't know what ..."
"Well, I don't know exactly what difference it makes," I admitted, "to you and me, I mean."
"Baby, as far as our relationship together is concerned, it doesn't mean a thing," she said earnestly, slowly massaging the shaft of my cock. "We're rock solid, you and me. Always will be."
Pamela paused a moment.
"I'm not sure how many guys have had their girl say this to them," she continued, her slight smile restored, "but one difference might be that I want us to bring other women into our bed who we both find sexy but with no strings attached."
"No strings attached," I repeated, finding the whole episode surreal. "What do you mean?"
