A Risky Foursome

'Don't mind me guys.'

He cracked open a can he'd brought in with him, then cocked one chunky leg—he wore tracksuit bottoms—over the chair arm and lounged back. He took a swing of beer. Greg, Tim and I looked at each other, bemused.

As if we'd openly voiced some objection, he shook his head, made a waving denying gesture with his hand, said, 'It's all right, guys,' he said. 'Listen, I'm not very hands-on when it comes to what you plainly excel at. And I like my food and well as my muscle, as you can see.' He patted his stomach. 'No, I prefer to let young bucks like you do the dirty—though I do like to watch—if you've no objections.' He leaned forward, taking us into his confidence. 'The, er, online stuff doesn't quite do it for me.'

He made a kingly gesture for us to continue.

We did, and after a moment attained our former enthusiasm. I shafted her while a rejuvenated Tim rubbed his dick over her lips and active tongue as Greg did likewise. All three of us were mesmerised by her tits which rolled and knocked together on her chest in time to my vigorous entering.

Surprising, the calloused fingers that landed on my left butt cheek. Hmm, I thought, even as my cock went into overdrive and fast came the warm avalanche sweeping through me narrowing to a hot wire of physical bliss shooting up my pipe to be expressed with considerable force inside her, to which she responded with a cry and a waggling of her protruding tongue that set the cocks rubbing against it into eruptions of more of the white stuff. I was vaguely aware of a separate series of moans from the one-man audience standing over us, some wet warm spatters on my grinding trembling arse cheeks.

Greg, Tim and I collapsed, drained, spent, and pretending not to notice the hulking figure heading for the bathroom where a tap began to run.

While he was in there, we got into our pants, Trixie into her gear. We'd clean up properly when they'd gone. When he emerged from the bathroom, he shook our hands and we kissed his wife. Standing together just before they left, they looked a happy couple. After initial displeasure at being duped I had to allow that the perceived threat of the absent and physically formidable husband had added an extra frisson to the encounter.

A knock on the door that evening presaged a repeat performance with Trevor ('call me Trevor') having a ringside seat. No phone calls to interrupt this time, no ominous presence offstage.

The next morning we left in the van at first light and could have used a three hours lie-in after the strenuous night before.

'Looks like we brought three rays of sunshine into their lives,' I said, with a tired glow of satisfaction, somewhat akin to the glow I fancied Trixie was feeling as her body absorbed the quantities of cum we'd left inside her during episode two. 'Not that it's ever been just about our own sexual gratification.'

'Oh, no,' the others said, vehemently concurring.

Tim said, 'And it just shows you should never judge a book by its cover. He was an okay guy.'

'Not as okay as she was,' Greg said, with a quick blow out between his lips. 'But we were the best. For our selfless giving of pleasure I think we deserve knighthoods.'

We were basking silently in a sense of self worth when Greg broke the moment,

'Went like an express train at the end—and the boobs on her . . .'