Peter Paula And Mary

Peter

Paula and I had been married for six months. I don't know how long the honeymoon period is supposed to last, but since our marriage six months ago, not one night had gone by, when we had not had sex; - not that our sex-life had only started with marriage! That said, sex is never a routine affair. There has never been such a thing as bad sex; but last night was something else. I was never sure whether there was truly such a thing as female ejaculation, but last night, quite unexpectedly, I discovered - we both discovered - that there was.

Hell, I didn't want to get out of bed this morning; and Paula didn't want me to. She begged me to stay there with her and spend the day sucking and fucking and making love; but duty called. I had work to do, and the company would not appreciate me taking the day off.

The very thought of what I was missing out on was already making me hard. Paula is mixed race - very mixed; her grandparents were from diverse places, Africa, Scotland, Indonesia and the Indian subcontinent. She is 5'6" with dusky skin, ample 36C tits with dark nipples setting them off, and the most beautiful pussy, with lips much darker than the rest of her skin, neatly framing the juicy pink interior, when she (or I) spread her nether lips wide enough to see inside. Since we had been together I had never looked at another woman.

I kissed her for one last time, as she pouted at me petulantly, trying to persuade me to stay home, and I left for the office.

Paula

Wow! Last night was something else. At first I thought I had pissed myself; but that definitely wasn't urine. And the power of it. Man, that was some climax. I wanted to repeat the experience; not so much the squirting, but the strength of the cum;- to have that force coursing through my body; and I wanted Peter to help me get there; but he wasn't for playing ball - or for letting me play with his balls!. Ah well; I guess I had better get up and do something mundane instead. I pulled on my yoga pants and gym vest and went downstairs, made myself some breakfast, and settled down on the sofa to watch Good Morning Britain, resigning myself to the thought that I would probably have to wait until tonight to get off again. But as I watched the TV and ate my cereal, I just started feeling horny, my nipples being the first, seemingly to demand my attention. I could feel them tightening up and getting hard, and almost absent-mindedly I reached up, under my vest, with my right hand, and started stroking my left nipple. The feeling became more intense, and my clit, which until now had been purring away gently, became jealous and she, too, demanded my attention.

I removed my hand from my breast, and pushed it into the waistband of my jogging bottoms and into my knickers, making contact with my pussy. I pressed down, dipping my middle finger into my vagina, which I could now feel was already wet, and then withdrew it slowly, drawing it up to my clit, where I started to rub gently, making it more accessible by using my ring and forefingers to pull the hood around it out of the way. Up and down. Round and round. This was heavenly, and as the delicious pleasure waves grew, I could feel myself getting wetter, my juices dam[ening the gusset of my knickers. I reached back up under my vest with my left hand, and enhanced the sensation, giving attention once again to my nipples. But as I continued with my stroking and pinching and although the pleasure was mounting, it seemed I wasn't going to achieve my goal.

I felt a little like my aging Ford Fiesta, when I would drive it up the steep hill near our house in second gear, willing it to reach high enough revs to change into third, but never quite getting there. How sorry I felt for the old girl.

Was it the TV, that was distracting me? Ed Balls, your name may sound like that of a porn star, but you didn't do it for me, even when you were thrusting Ganghsm style, and you ain't doing it for me now. That's it! I thought. Porn! Maybe that would give me the extra bit of stimulation I needed. I grabbed the remote and switched to a streaming channel we subscribed to, and selected a title at random. It appeared to be more corn than porn; a two actor piece about a seemingly well-to-do blonde housewife, who has the plumber, played by a muscular black actor, come to her house to see to her plumbing; and sure enough he wasted no time in doing just that. In no time at all her knickers were off and first his fingers, and then his tongue, were exploring the folds and the depths of her bright pink, shaven pussy. This was more like it. I scooted down onto the floor in front of the sofa, pulling my yoga mat out from underneath to sit on, and went back to work on myself, pushing one, then two fingers deep inside me, aping what the plumber was doing to the housewife. Now my barometer was starting to rise. I could feel my heartbeat quickening.

Soon the plumber's kit was coming off, and as his underpants came down, his cock sprang free. It was huge! What was she going to do with that?! In my personal opinion cocks are much like cars. Big may look impressive, but they're a bugger to park. At seven inches - I'd guess, because I had never actually taken a ruler to it - Peter wouldn't break any records; but to me he was just right. He fitted inside me perfectly without having to fight to get it in, but filled me up just right, sending the most delicious waves through me, as he slid in and out, stretching the walls of my vagina. Oh, the thought of it was really making things hot up now in my nether regions. And yet, it still wasn't getting me quite where I wanted to be. There was only one thing for it; - what I'd wanted that morning from the word go; and I stopped what I was doing, reached for my phone and called Peter.

Peter

Every workday morning would start the same. I would arrive at work, go into my office and sit down at my desk, and Angie, my secretary would come in, pad and pencil in hand, and sit opposite me and we would go through the workload for the day. Angie was a redhead with porcelain white skin. At 28, ten years my junior, she was about 5'8" with 38D tits, which seemed to be permanently on display. She was, quite frankly, sex on legs. And she knew it, and did everything she could to enhance that vision. She seemed to have only one style of dress, which accentuated her ample figure. She always wore a mini skirt, which seemed to end just below her bum; and a tight tee-shirt, which not only revealed a generous amount of cleavage, it also showed off her nipples, which seemed to be permanently erect. The best was when she wore white, almost translucent tops, through which you could actually see the pinkness of her nipples. Did I say that since I had been with Paula I had never looked at another woman? Well, that isn't literally true. Like all men I never stop looking; but actually; - and now it's confession time - I had done more than looked; but it was only the once, it was about 3 years ago, it was a Christmas party, and I was drunk; and what's more Paula and I had only just started seeing each other and were not, as you might say, established; - although I am not sure Paula, if she knew, would quite see it that way.

The party itself was in the basement of the office building, where there is a large meeting room. Angie had actually slightly changed her wardrobe for the occasion: knee high boots in place of the pumps she wore for work, and instead of a tight tee-shirt, a cropped tank top with a the most plunging of plunging necklines, and, like her worktops, tight across her breasts - about the only part of her upper body it covered. Even so, it left little to the imagination. Below the waist, she wore one of her characteristic short skirts. I ended up dancing with her, and as the evening wore on, we seemed to be getting closer. Those nipples of hers; - they were so stiff, I swear I could feel them against my chest through my shirt as she danced close to me, and if that was close, it got closer, with her grinding her crotch against my hard cock. I don't recall either of us saying anything to each other; we just kind of looked at each other and headed out of the party and into the lift. As soon as the door closed, we were devouring each other's tongues, and our hands were under each other's tops, mine making themselves busy with her tits, rubbing my fingers over those magnificent nipples, which transfixed me every day. She moaned, and grabbed hold of my cock through my trousers.

When the lift reached the second floor, we went quickly into my office, where we continued our exploration of each other's bodies. She undid my shirt, I lifted her top. As we kissed deeply she ran her hands over my chest, and I removed my tongue from her mouth to kiss first her neck, and then her breasts, sucking and licking each nipple in turn. As I did so, she gasped, and placed her hand into my waistband, reaching down into my underpants, and taking my raging, hard cock into her palm. My underpants must have been sodden, I had felt the precum slowly seeping from my bell end since we had been on the dancefloor, and the palm of her hand, gliding over my cock in the confines of my underwear, sent waves of pleasure through me. One good turn deserves another, and I took her manhandling of my penis as a green light to explore further. I put my hand on Angie's thigh underneath the hem of her very short skirt, and I kept going upwards, onwards, until my fingers made contact with her underwear at the top of her thighs. That, too, was as wet as my pants, and through the dampness I could feel the crease of her vagina. I continued on up, until I located the waistband of her knickers just above her mound, and I slipped my right hand inside, palm towards her lower belly, and moved down, until I found my target. Two fingers slid easily into her sopping, wet pussy. I moved them and wriggled them about, exploring the warm folds of flesh inside, and as I did she kissed me deeply, and moved her hand up and down my shaft. I withdrew my hand slightly and started stroking her clit, up and down and she groaned appreciatively and told me it felt good. So I continued, concentrating my efforts on that hotspot, and she continued to stroke me, sending ripples of pleasure through my cock, but, as if she knew exactly how to handle it, never quite enough to cause an eruption.

Within minutes, Angie's body stiffened and tensed. She stopped moving, even the hand gripping my penis, which clenched tighter but held still, and she let out a low-pitched stifled growl, and then exhaled and opened her eyes. She let go of me, and in one deft move, sank to her knees and said "Your turn, now." She undid my trousers and lowered them and my underpants to my thighs. Her tank top was still up above her tits, and I reached down and played with them some more. She, meanwhile, took hold of my penis.

I figured this was going to be a quick handjob; - a blowjob if I was lucky; - but brief and business-like. After all, she'd cum; there was little reason for her to linger, but maybe she felt obliged to return the favour.

Needless to say I was pleased, when she began to lick me, and any thoughts that she intended to bring me off as quickly as possible were soon dispelled.

She performed on my organ with the skill an accomplished saxophonist or flautist would employ on their instrument, and it was clear she had spent a commensurate amount of time and devotion honing her skills and perfecting her art. And boy, did she make sweet music! Like said musician, she knew just what buttons to press, how to use her lips and her tongue to maximum effect, and just where to put her fingers. She moved up and down my rod, swirling her tongue around the head, and then paying particular attention to the frenum on the underside, just below the slit, coaxing out yet more precum, which she then hungrily licked away. She cupped my balls and moved her digits about, at one point pressing just behind my sac, squeezing my prostate. She took me into her deliciously warm mouth, yet at the same time skilfully using her tongue over the surface of my cock, making sure she left no nerve-end unstimulated. This was definitely no hurried pumping of my member to finish me off quickly; it was slow, unhurried and sensuous, letting the not inconsiderable pleasure rise a notch at a time. There was just one of her playing sweet music on my organ; yet she seemed to summon up an entire orchestra, building up to a crescendo in my balls, in my chest, in my head; and then slowing the tempo; only to build it up again..

But there did come a time, when I knew that crescendo would arrive; when I couldn't hold back any longer. And as I didn't know what plans she had to manage the situation, I thought I had better warn her. "I'm going to come!" I was able to grunt out. She giggled a little. It was a nervous kind of giggle I had heard before; - when she was pleased with herself after successfully completing a task. And indeed she had this time. As I exploded in orgasm, shooting several copious spurts of semen, she kept my cock in her mouth, but having slightly opened her mouth, as she giggled, some of my sperm ran out of her mouth, over her lips and onto her hands, one of which still had hold of my shaft, the other cupping my balls.

As the pumping stopped and my erection began to subside, she rose to her feet, grabbed some tissues from my desk to wipe her hands and face clean and said: "We'd better get back downstairs before we're missed."

When we arrived back down there, quite a few people had left. A few minutes later, Angie's boyfriend arrived to take her home. What she did next was extraordinary and audacious. She greeted him, touching his cheek with her right hand, that moments earlier had been covered in my cum. Then she kissed his lips with hers, over which moments earlier my jizz had cascaded, and then she introduced him to me, and he extended his hand, which I instinctively shook with my hand, on which I could still smell the scent of his girlfriend's pussy. Throughout all this Angie just stood there giving me flirty smiles; and if this wasn't enough, she commented he'd left some of his dinner round his mouth and wiped it with the tissue in her right hand; - the same tissue she'd used to wipe my gloop off her hands! Could he smell me, I wondered, taste me even? Feel my stickiness on his face?

The next time I saw Angie was after the New Year break, but neither of us ever mentioned the fumble at the fuddle; it was never spoken of again. And yet, in unspoken words, she did, I am sure, reference it. It wasn't just the way she displayed her tits; - that was nothing new; but she also seemed to take every opportunity to squeeze past me in a confined space, brushing her arse over my crotch, or her breasts over my chest, or she'd crouch down to get a file out of the bottom drawer in such a way, that I had a generous view of her knickers, and what was to happen this morning was typical of this subtle, yet not so subtle teasing on her part; - except today there was an added dimension.

Paula

Peter answered his mobile and I set to work on him: "Darling, I need you so bad, My nipples ache for you to touch them. You wouldn't believe how hard they are, Are you hard, too? I bet you are. I can imagine how stiff your cock is. I want to lick it and taste it and feel it fill me up. Do you know how wet I am? Can you hear how wet I am?" And with that I put the phone close to my vagina and sunk my fingers deep inside and moved them about, making squishing noises. How could he resist me? I thought. I'd have him so hard; he would want me so bad, that he'd come straight home and fuck me senseless and give me that orgasm (perhaps more than one), which seemed to be eluding me.

Peter

As Angie sat there in front of me, pencil at the ready, nipples on show as usual, I answered my mobile, and before I could even speak, I heard Paula's voice, - sexy, sultry -, telling me in the most explicit terms what she wanted to do to me, and what she wanted me to do to her. I wasn't alone. I couldn't respond; I certainly couldn't join in! Angie sat there, waiting for me to finish my call, and as she did, she placed her left hand on her right breast and moved her fingers over the nipple, poking so obviously through the material of her top, stroking it; pinching it between finger and thumb. And she licked the pencil in her right hand, her tongue moving over the tip and over the surface of her lips, reminding me what magic they possessed. She shifted slightly in her chair, crossing and uncrossing her legs, as she did so giving me a generous view of her knicker clad crotch, her underwear pulled up tightly enough, that I could see the crack between her legs, the shape of her vulva, the outline of her vagina.

"I'm not sure I can leave right now," I told Paula, "There are things I need to do."

Shit! this was like having a virtual threesome! Aural stimulation from Paula and visual stimulation from Angie. As she continued to run her tongue over the lead in her pencil, the lead in mine was reaching boiling point. My dick strained in my pants. I felt it twitch. I felt precum leak out of it into my underwear and began to worry how much more of this I could take. I mouthed to Angie to give me five, and gestured to her with my hand to go back to her workstation. As she stood and turned to leave my office, she dropped her pencil, and bent down to pick it up, giving me another flash of her knickers and her generous bum. I swear I could even see some of her ginger pubes sticking out from them.

Things to do or not, there was no way I could concentrate now on anything. I had a need, which needed taking care of. So, it seemed, did my wife, and middle of a working day or not, this needed addressing ( - or should that be undressing - ) now; whatever the consequences.

I grabbed my jacket and draped it over my arm in front of the tent in my trousers, and stopped by Angie's workstation on my way out.

"Something's come up," I said.

"Yes, I thought as much," said Angie. "Anything I can do to help?" she asked, staring at me directly at crotch level, and once again running her tongue over her sexy lips, "Are you sure there's nothing I can do to relieve the pressure?".

I felt my penis twitch yet again. I didn't answer, but just ran to the car and set off home. The seat belt was uncomfortable against my hard, pulsating cock, and, wouldn't you know it, every traffic light was on red.

Paula

"Bastard!" Here I am, offering myself to him on a platter; sex in the middle of the day, and he turns me down! Was there really something so important; - so urgent, it couldn't wait -, that would keep him at his desk rather than between my legs? Could it be that slag of a secretary of his, flashing her tits to all and sundry?

Fuck him! If he wasn't coming home, I would get on with the job in hand myself. I had started and, to paraphrase Magnus Magnusson, I was going to finish. As I once again touched my breasts and my pussy, I found that my nipples had relaxed, the blood had drained from my clit, and my vagina was considerably drier. That husband of mine, whose function in life is to keep me satisfied, had put me right off my stroke, - quite literally. If my orgasm had been eluding me before, now it was light years away. But I had made myself a promise, and I wasn't going to give up that easy and leave my body disappointed. I put the movie back on and started once more, coaxing my endorphins into action, encouraging my nipples back to their hardness, summoning the blood flow back to my clit, feeling the juices start to accumulate once more in my pussy. I watched on the screen as the plumber thrust his giant cock into the housewife's pussy, whilst she screamed out appreciatively, and my own pleasure started once again to build. But it still wasn't enough. I just knew that I was going to end up frustrated. And then inspiration hit me. My vibrator! I hadn't used it in a while, but it had never let me down. I ran upstairs and reached in my bedside table, and switched it on, hoping the batteries were still good. It started immediately, buzzing in my hand. I ran straight back downstairs, and sat back down on the yoga mat. I pushed my yoga pants and knickers down once more and started moving my toy around my vulva, up and down my lips, from my bumhole at the bottom to my clit at the top, circling that most sensitive nub. I paused a second, whilst I removed my yoga pants and knickers completely, so that I could spread my legs without restriction, and sat there, my gym vest pushed up under my arms, naked from chest down, one hand guiding my vibrator around my pussy, the other pinching my nipples. As the toy pulsated, so did my clit, and I turned the power up higher. Now I was getting somewhere. Now I could feel my orgasm building inside me, the pleasure waves mounting to a point, where they would burst and explode, and after this wait; - this build-up -, I knew it was going to be a good one. The actress on the screen, by now bent over her kitchen table, the 'plumber' ramming her from behind, was shouting; "I'm going to come!" and the voice in my head was shouting back: "Me too; me too!"