Greengages Ch 01

Copyright © merf68. Please respect copyright.

This story is entirely fictional, any similarity to people or places is purely co-incidental.

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Chapter One.

With satisfied smiles about their faces, the two men thanked their wives for the meal then, pushing their chairs back they stood up and walked off in companionable silence to the gate leading to the small arboretum attached to the property. Mother and daughter gathered together the dishes from the table under the apple tree, in and around which the daughter, Trish and Mike, now her husband, had played as kids. The dishes were transferred to the kitchen and the women set about the washing up.

"Mummy," said Trish, seemingly casual as she passed her mother a rinsed dish, "how can I get more life back into my bed-time fun?" They had always been able to talk about intimate things but this was a bit more direct than their usual conversations. She pressed on, "I've grown up hearing your and Daddy's lustiness -- I'd like some of that in my bedroom but don't know what to do."

Sarah, her mother, paused for a couple of seconds, looking into her eyes as if searching for something, then continued drying the dish. "Let me think ..." Mechanically Trish passed her the dishes as she cleaned each one and seemingly just as mechanically, Sarah dried and put them away. Trish thought of the ten years of her marriage and how things had drifted into a kind of staleness in the bedroom. Apart from heavy petting and exploratory groping in their adolescence, Mike and she had had no other lovers but each other. They had started as probably all young lovers do, determined to explore each other and learn new things. Now, although their love life was better than a 'wham, bang, thank you ma'am', there was no freshness to it anymore. She envied her parents because she often heard them going at it hammer and tongs, though always behind closed doors.

They finished the dishes in silence then Sarah turned to her daughter and asked, "Have you and Michael talked this over?" She always called him Michael although everybody else said Mike.

"Yes, Mummy. He wants it too. He knows I'm going to speak to you today."

"Then he won't be too embarrassed to talk about it with Daddy. All four of us together?" She cocked her eyebrows inquiringly.

"Well," Trish gave a little nervous giggle, "he may be a little embarrassed but he'll be OK."

"Grab some glasses," Sarah said as she took a couple of bottles of white wine from the fridge. They had just settled down under the apple tree when their husbands returned through the gate and joined them. Trish's father opened the bottle and poured them all a glass which they raised briefly with a mutual, "Cheers!"

When they had all settled comfortably in the warm airs of a summer evening, Sarah gave Trish a quick wink, turned to touch the older man's thigh to get his attention then, as bold as brass, she announced, "Michael and Trish want to spice up their love life. Right, Michael?"

Mike blushed like crazy -- he can be terribly shy -- took a calming breath and stammered, "Y-y-yes. We want to try some new things. I don't know. We love each other ..." he turned to his wife who smiled her love back at him in confirmation, "... but things seem sort of stale. Unexciting, if you know what I mean."

George, Trish's father nodded understandingly, thought it over for a few brief seconds, looking intensely at both Trish and Mike, then said just one word. "Greengages!"

"I think so, too," agreed Sarah. "Tell them, George."

"Where do I start?" he said with a deep sigh. "OK, remember when you were kids, every month your mother and I used to send you two to Uncle John and Aunt Mary for the weekend and the next week we would have Nigel and James over here?"

It was true, Trish thought. Mike and she had grown up together. His parents, her parents' next-door-neighbours, had been killed in a plane crash when the kids were both four years old and somehow it fell to George and Sarah to foster Mike. The two of them were inseparable as children and their friendship turned to romance in their teens and thence to a very happy marriage. The kids used to be packed off to spend every fourth weekend with her cousins: Nigel was a year older than them and James about their age. Then Trish's cousins would be with them the next weekend.

Greengages is a rambling old manor house, about ten miles away, set in its own massive grounds. It belongs to Tom Fairfax, or 'Uncle' Tom when they were kids -- they had an open invitation to use his swimming pool any time they could persuade their parents to take them over but he wouldn't allow children without at least one adult. 'Uncle' Tom, a life-long bachelor, always kept a fridge full of delicious cold drinks and the kids used to love to spend days at summer games playing in and around his pool. Their mother always brought a basket of food with her and often there would be two or three different families there at the same time, all joining in the fun and sharing picnic lunches. Tom was one of George's wealthier clients and one of the very few whose portfolio he looked after in retirement.

"Greengages," continued George, "is where we ..." he indicated himself and his wife, "used to spend those weekends when you were away. John and Mary went when we had the boys over with us. But Greengages means much more to us than a happy garden for children to play in. Each weekend it changes in character and becomes strictly 'consenting adults only'. We were -- are -- a group of people who like to get together for a happy time. And a happy time means we do what we like. Dress is optional, as is sex in any of its manifestations between open-minded adults."

He looked directly at Trish then Mike. "Do you both understand what I'm saying?" They both nodded. "Would you like to join us for a weekend? Several of our friends have already asked us about you but we have waited until you were ready. You already know most of the other guests. I think, perhaps, you are ready now. Sarah?" he looked towards his wife for confirmation.

"Yes, I agree. Now why don't you and I leave them for a while and let them talk this over in private." She finished her glass of wine and stood up, holding her hand out to George who joined her and arm in arm they walked into the house leaving Trish and Mike to stare first after them then at each other.

He was first to speak. "Well," he drew the syllable out as if considering his words, "Here's a chance to try one of your favourite fantasies! You've talked about making love to another man. Do you want to do it for real?"

"What about you?" she responded, "How would you really feel if I ... if I fucked another man?" In her mind she felt attracted by the thought of fulfilling her fantasy, though butterflies were going frantic in her tummy. But how would she feel if he went with another woman? It cuts both ways, she realised.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," she finally said after they had thrashed around the subject for several minutes. This was a sort of private joke with them. Whenever they had to make a mutual decision, they would encourage each other with that phrase. It started when they were kids -- from the obvious early childish experiments -- but it became part of their stock vocabulary. If they were in private, either of them could initiate acceptance of the decision by exposing their private parts to the other. In public, just an open hand, palm up, had the same meaning. They locked eyes for a minute then, still holding her gaze, Mike stood and pulled his shorts down to his knees.

Staring right back, Trish stood and dropped her own shorts then hobbled close and kissed him. "I'll always love only you, Mike. I won't make love to any other man -- but sex is different! OK?"

He held his wife close and whispered, "I'll always love you too, Trish, but yes, sex is just sex."

They became conscious of his manhood stirring into life and realised where they were. "Mummy and Daddy might come back," said Trish. "We'd better get decent." They parted and pulled their shorts back up, both aware of what they had just decided. They were back in their chairs sipping wine when their parents rejoined them.

"Well," enquired George, "have you decided anything?"

Trish reached over and held Mike's hand for courage as she replied, "We'd like to try a weekend at Greengages." Mike squeezed her hand and confirmed the decision.

"Good," said her mother. "I thought you probably would. While we were in the house I phoned Tom and said you might be interested. He's invited you over tomorrow for the weekend. It's all strictly personal invitation and introduction at Greengages." She smiled, "Tom said we'll have a little welcoming party for you, if you come. There won't be too many there.

"Listen," she continued, "let me stress from the very start, nobody will ever do anything against your will. You may be asked but you don't have to accept. Unless you want to, of course, then the world's your oyster, as it were!" she grinned.

George took up the narrative: "In warm weather especially you'll see lots of flesh - most people don't wear much more than they have to, indoors or out -- but as with everything, that's optional. And don't be surprised if you see two, or often more, having sex right in front of you. There are bedrooms we can all use but often things get passionate and, well let's just say our friends can be quite uninhibited and some of the group are downright exhibitionists." Grinning, he caught his wife's eyes, "Aren't they, Sarah?"

"You can talk, you old goat," she retorted.

George continued, "But if ever you want any peace and quiet, well there's the library. That is always a neutral zone. The strict dress code in the library is cover-up. Minimum for both genders is shorts and shirt and no sex. Not even a kiss. We're very protective of our library sanctuary. Anywhere else it's anything goes."

"It's now Friday evening," Sarah said. "I propose we declare this place under Greengages rules until we leave in the morning, just to get you in the mood. Then we'll all enjoy the real thing." With that she unbuttoned her shirt and took it off. Her shirt was followed by her bra then she stood up and pulled her summer skirt and panties off. Sitting back down naked as the day she was born, she refilled her wine glass and sipped at the contents.

George then copied her, saying, "You two do whatever you feel comfortable with. No pressure." Mike looking droolingly at his foster mother's body so Trish checked her out too. Mother and daughter had often been taken for sisters by strangers, once even as identical twins, but the guy had had a few beers.

Anyway, Sarah looked just a few years older than her daughter, nothing like the 18 years real difference in their ages. They had both been blessed with generous curves and Mike used to call Trish his blowsy barmaid. Sarah's glossy chestnut waves showed not a sign of grey, she kept hers trimmed to shoulder length while Trish's had never been cut since she was eight years old: she could sit on it and knew it was one of the things Mike loved about her. He sometimes 'handcuffed' her and tied her to the bed with her own hair. She sighed inwardly, '... and that was the last real fun for a year.'

It didn't look like an inch of difference between their body measurements anywhere -- they're both 5'4". The mother's boobs are not as springy as Trish's and her nipples were well chewed -- she had breast-fed her baby and had often offered her breast to both daughter and foster son as a comforter until they were about 10 years old. If they woke from a bad dream, Mummy's breast was there to drive away the bad things; Mummy's nipples soothed away the pain from their grazed knees and calmed them when they were fractious. Sometimes she would have Trish at one breast and Mike at the other. But on both women, their nipples perked up prominently, the naked nipples now stiffening in the open air. Sarah's lovely tan showed no bikini lines.

She was surprised to see that her Mummy was shaved clean down below, not like her thatch which she kept trimmed just enough hide under a generous bikini. But again Mike liked her dense curly bush, said it retained her sexy perfume.

Next Trish looked at Daddy and saw a lean military figure. He stood at 5'10", kept trim by plenty of exercise. His light brown hair was neatly trimmed with a distinguished greying around the temples. His steely blue eyes were his most compelling feature, they could see right through her, she sometimes felt. His upper lip bore a neatly trimmed bristle of a moustache. He was lighting up his favourite pipe and fragrant tobacco smoke drifted in the still air. His spare frame and wiry hard muscles were a fine complement. Her Daddy, too, had shaved his pubic area. His manhood, she noticed, lay softly across his thigh like a big fat frankfurter with a pink circumcised head.

"Well," Trish thought, "they've all seen anything I've got, except Daddy since my pre-pubescent days, I might as well join them. Maybe that will drag Mike's eyes away from Mummy." With that she stood and stripped all the way, and nervously sat down to gulp at her wine, conscious of the rough canvas of the chair against her bare skin and her own crinkling nipples.

Her parents both smiled at her encouragingly. George let out a long breath. "You've grown up as lovely as your Mummy, darling." she ducked her head in acknowledgement of his compliment then they all turned to Mike. He grinned a little nervously and removed his shirt but went no further. Then it became obvious why: the young man was hiding an erection, or unsuccessfully trying to hide it. He was pink and squirming with embarrassment.

It was Sarah who came to the rescue. "Look what we do to our dear men, Trish. They do get so excited." She moved across to him and settled her hands on the fastener to his shorts. "Let me help you." She pulled him to his feet by his waistband and told him to stand still and held his gaze. He was like a rabbit caught in the car headlights, paralysed with fear as his foster mother opened his shorts and manoeuvred them over his stiff erection. She bent down to remove them completely and saw his tool bobbing around in front of her face. His Mum gently took hold of it, kissed the tip, licking at the glistening drop oozing out and said, "There, that wasn't too difficult was it? Would it help if Trish took you to bed? Or if I did?"

She pulled Mike down by his penis to sit in his chair then calmly sank her mouth round his tool. Trish was mesmerised by the sight of her mother's mouth filling with it and her tongue working around the tool before she slowly, suckingly, withdrew her mouth, licked her lips and smiled up at him. "Or I could fix the problem right here." Mummy was slowly stroking his tool. "Well, Michael," she licked her lips lasciviously, "what's it to be?"

He just groaned, "Oh Mum," and pulled her head to his groin, she knelt on the ground and once more swallowed his tool.

Fascinated, and feeling more than a little horny at the sight of her naked mother going down on her husband in plain, uninhibited view, she knelt beside her, admiring her technique. Trish had been so proud of herself when she finally learned the trick of taking Mike into her throat and here was her Mummy doing it like a professional.

She came up for air and said to Trish, "Mmmm, he tastes nice, doesn't he?" and returned to her task with great enthusiasm without waiting for a positive response. Mike has pretty good control of himself, Trish thought, he always makes sure I am satisfied before letting go himself -- and it was obvious that he was trying to prolong his experience but with his Mum's mouth working obvious miracles down there it didn't take too long before he groaned loudly and twitched his whole body as he filled her mouth with his spurts. She milked him of every drop then carefully cleaned his slowly softening prick. Standing up, she kissed him on the lips. "Feeling better now, Michael? Now let me take care of Daddy. He's all alone over there."

Sure enough, there was George with his hand wrapped around his upstanding prick. "Come here wench," he called imperiously. "Impale yourself on this!" He gave his tool a jerk.

"Yes, Master. Coming Master," she giggled as she tripped her way to her husband and she did impale herself on his impressive tool, grunting as she bottomed out. She sat there just gyrating her hips as George squeezed and pulled at her nipples.

Watching her mother perform first on her foster son and then on her husband made Trish so horny she was soon tugging and twisting on her own nipples while her other hand was matching her mother's increasing gyrations on and in her pussy. When Mummy threw her head back and screamed, Daddy pulled her more firmly onto himself, and was groaning in his own orgasm, then the shooting stars lit off in Trish's vagina and went all points north and south.

Sarah returned to her seat and cleaned herself with tissues then announced, "OK, now we've got it out of our systems, we can all relax."

~oOo~

Look out for Chapter Two coming very soon.

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