Well, this one started out as a short, intense Loving Wives piece. But it got away from me and here we are in Group Sex.
Susan likes to watch people having sex. She enjoys being involved in the action, too. She seduces her friend, Stephanie – and it goes on from there.
I've thrown in some fetish stuff – nothing too heavy: Daddy issues, impregnation. Just for the grin.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy the piece. Feedback would be good, as ever; and appreciated.
GA – Thirsk, North Yorkshire – 20th September 2013
Susan loved to watch, adored seeing people in the act, and if she didn't have the real thing, then porn was a decent substitute.
The image burst into life, huge on the 72-inch television mounted on its bracket opposite her bed as Susan settled on the bed with all she needed for an hour of self-indulgence beside her.
Ignoring the toys for the moment, Susan breathed a long sigh of satisfaction, engrossed by the opening scenes of the DVD.
Her tastes were quite specific: Susan favoured group scenes including real people, normal everyday folk she might see in the supermarket as opposed to the enhanced women or buff men who featured in mainstream porn. For Susan it was the straightforward honesty of reality pornography that was key. She could climax in a heartbeat, just come and come as she watched ordinary people, people with jobs and a mortgage and children, indulge their sexual desires. She loved the uncontrived nature of the films she watched, adored seeing couples and groups in real-life when she frequented the swinger and fetish clubs.
These days, with the advent of the internet and a plethora of 'real people' keen to upload their encounters, Susan was overwhelmed with choice. It had taken her a little time to find herself a source of quality filth, but she had time, money and contacts, all the resources she needed to ensure a supply of the good stuff.
And the effort, in her opinion, was worth it.
Susan enjoyed the honesty, the uncontrived feel of unprofessional pornography. There was a raw element to it that triggered some deep-rooted response within her. She had never appreciated the massive volume of fuzzy suburban crap she'd encountered in the past, Susan expected a degree of quality, and these days, praise the gods, she had it.
Susan had just collected a genuinely superb clip, an hour's worth of undiluted pleasure.
What she saw was a group situation, two couples – genuine couples she was assured by her provider – involved in a partner swap.
As she warmed up, just eased into a rhythm, Susan was absorbed by the interaction between the participants. She enjoyed the initial awkwardness, the opening banter between a couple in their mid-twenties and a more mature and obviously more experienced couple who were approaching middle-age.
There were the usual greetings, handshakes and air kisses as the group members took stock of one another. This preamble to the fucking was essential to Susan's enjoyment, stoking the fire of her anticipation. She would zip through some of the sex that followed in the knowledge that she could always revisit the DVD at her leisure, but watching the initial contact, seeing who was nervous and who was eager, set the tone for what was to come. Every time she witnessed the beginning of a liaison Susan experienced the thrill of it as though she was there herself, in the thick of it all.
The introductions were made, drinks were poured, and as always someone had to take control. In this case it was the older woman who took the lead. She stood up and, with a knowing smirk, confident of her own sexual allure, slipped out of her dress. The young couple just sat there, the girl blinking and unsure, the man gawping at the woman who would soon become his lover. The older man merely watched, apparently content to let his wife would set the pace.
A few moments later, following some lewd comments and laughter all round, the older woman eased between her husband and the younger man as they sat side-by-side on a sofa.
Soon enough, following more ribald remarks and laughter, she had a stiff cock in each hand. The woman ski-poled the men and offered her mouth to her new lover to kiss, at which point the older man beckoned to the younger woman to join in.
On the bed, as she watched it all going on, Susan's fingers mushed around her vulva.
"Go on, girls," she murmured when, as she had hoped, she witnessed a moment of intimacy between the two women. Susan noticed the sudden meeting of their eyes, saw a subtle message conveyed, a sub-text of desire that the men were oblivious to. She knew from experience that, often, during that meeting of minds and libidos, women could be drawn into a kiss, an act entirely un-staged, a whim that involved a tender slide of tongues and a hot-eyed stare of lust.
When it came in that clip, when the connection was made and the women kissed, as the oldest of the pair lead the girl into it, Susan moaned and slid a finger through her labia.
She savoured the slick glide of her own flesh beneath her fingertips, staring at the screen while the women kissed and then massaged each other's breasts. She moaned with yearning, wishing she was there with them as they leered at each other, the men forgotten for the moment.
As the action on the screen continued, when the older man insinuated himself into the fray and eased the girl away from his wife, Susan fucked herself with her favourite dildo, an oversized length of moulded latex, a gnarled and veined lump of spongy pleasure that touched her in all the right places.
She watched the younger woman's face in the moments leading up to the point of penetration, mewled with pleasure as the girl stared with apparent disbelief at the hard cock about to enter her body. The young woman, awkwardly positioned on a sofa, almost upside down with her legs raised, knees folded and her cunt uptilted, held herself open with a slack-jawed expression of anticipation on her face, glancing at her original partner, asking him with her eyes if he was sure he wanted her to do it.
"Fuck her," Susan muttered with her stare locked on the screen. "Put it in. Fuck her," she gasped, moaning as she once again wished she was involved.
Then it came, the moment when that heavy-lidded look of near idiocy, the slack-jawed expectancy in the young woman's expression was erased. The man gave several tugs on his cock and positioned himself so the head of it nudged the woman's flesh. Then Susan gasped with delight when, finally, the invading length of cock pushed into the girl's opening.
"Fuck her," Susan sighed.
It was the wince of pleasure and the girl's lolling head, her look of shocked delight that caused the arterial burst of desire within Susan.
"Oh fuck, you lucky bitch," Susan groaned. "Just lie there and take it. You lucky, lucky bitch."
Susan loved watching people fuck, and when the action on her television warmed up further she used the thick and very malleable dildo in her cunt while pressing a buzzing finger-vibe against her clit.
Sometimes, for her, depending on her mood, watching porn and masturbating were better than participating, while at other times she preferred being in the thick of the action. It all depended upon how she felt, what she desired at the time.
In the clubs she frequented Susan didn't discriminate. Male or female – and multiples thereof – Susan had them all.
But she never had Stephanie pegged as someone she could introduce to the scene. Not her, not the very staid and very married Stephanie Anders. It went against Susan's instincts to even try it with Stephanie.
But sometimes, very occasionally, Susan's desires overcame her judgement.
Susan's libido thrummed. An insistent pulse beat between her legs, her breasts ached for someone's touch. She would have to do something about it, satisfy her body's demands for fulfilment, and she would have to do it soon.
But first she had to deal with Stephanie, again. Susan hoped she could get rid of her friend quickly. Not from any callousness on her part, but she did want to get upstairs to bed and take a longer, more detailed look at her DVD.
Susan listened to it ... again. She wasn't concentrating too hard, she didn't need to; she had heard it all before, after all. But she pretended to take it all in, kept half an ear cocked while, inside, her sex drive kicked into a higher gear.
She heard how Stephanie had done it to keep him, how she had suffered with self-imposed abstinence because she didn't want her husband to leave her.
"I don't want to be on my own," Stephanie sighed. "Not at my age."
Susan also sighed, hers in exasperation as opposed to self-pity. She then threw a look towards the sky and noticed the pregnant blanket of grey. It looked set to rain, perfect weather for staying indoors with her sex toys and her film.
But it was still going on, Stephanie's constant litany of woe. It was the same old drone, had been for a few months, and it seemed set to continue. It had been a difficult task getting Stephanie to accept a drink, but she hoped the wine would give her friend a nice little buzz and take her mind off her faithless husband.
With her mind elsewhere, oblivious to the coming rain, Stephanie Anders drew at her cigarette, a deep drag, just about the only indulgence she had left after three months of self-denial. She glanced at the glass in her hand, gawped at it as though wondering how on Earth it came to be there. She wasn't supposed to drink, part of the strict regimen – no booze, no chocolate, no bloody fun...
And still, after all that, after putting up with it all for twelve weeks – the effort in the gym included, just what had she achieved?
Michael still ignored her and invented excuses to go out and fuck his little girlfriend.
Didn't her husband know she was willing to do just about anything for him? He didn't need to run around, cheating. She would dress up for him, role-play if he wanted. There had been that time early on in their marriage when Michael had filmed them together; Stephanie would be more than happy to indulge him that way again. Especially now she felt slim and toned. She could strip and perform in front of a camera if he wanted her to – If he'd only take a bloody interest.
Susan's stomach gave a little flip of excitement when Stephanie said, "I'd let him film us doing it, Susan. That's how low I'm willing to go. My husband could video us making love."
She bit down on the impulse to tell Stephanie she'd hold the camera, her tummy fluttering as her friend carried on.
It seemed he'd lost interest in Stephanie altogether, had thrown her over for the stereotypical 'younger model'. Stephanie felt like she was the used car on the scrapheap. She was redundant, her marriage just waiting for the crusher.
Stephanie took a last, vehement draw at the cigarette and blew a viper's breath of blue smoke towards the glowering sky.
If she didn't do something drastic he would leave her.
With her primal urges under tenuous control for the time being, Susan, almost at the end of her patience with Stephanie's self-absorbed whining, snapped, "You're such an idiot."
Stephanie turned towards Susan and, tearful at her friend's tone, mumbled, "That isn't helping me, Susan. I don't need abuse from you as well."
She ground the butt of the cigarette into the ashtray with more force that necessary, the vehemence of that act caused by a cocktail of emotions. Stephanie was angry at Michael, disappointed at his weakness for having his head turned by nothing more than a young woman's big boobs. More to the point, she was bloody livid with herself for not doing something about it, for just accepting the situation. Susan's curt remark had hurt her, startled her. But, Stephanie was forced to concede after a few seconds pause, she might have become a bit of a bore about her situation. Susan was probably fed up with listening, Stephanie herself was growing sick of the whole situation, and she had to admit, since her discovery of her husband's infidelity, her conversation tended to focus on one subject – her cracked marriage.
With that realisation, Stephanie's shoulders slumped. Perhaps it was time to admit defeat? "I'm sorry, Suze," she said on a low sigh.
Susan dragged at her own cigarette and eyed her friend before she too blew smoke at the hanging clouds. "I'm sorry too, Steph. But it's the simple truth, Stephanie. He cheats on you..."
Stephanie sipped her wine and winced internally as the same old refrain went through her head: he cheats on you with a girl fifteen years younger than him; you let him get away with it; you let him walk all over you; he's the one with the problem, he has to fuck a twenty-one year old to make himself feel good; you're too good for him; you've got so much going for you; look at the weight you've lost; you've been killing yourself at the gym and look at you now; you've got looks, money, all you need is some gumption...
Stephanie held up a hand, palm out. She turned her face away from Susan.
"I know, Suze." She breathed a heavy sigh. "And I'm sorry for going on about it. I know I've been obsessing and you've been getting it all. But I can't just let my marriage simply dissolve." She let out a brittle little laugh, shrugged with helplessness at her plight and even attempted a joke about men and their mid-life crises as she faced her friend. "I haven't asked you before Suze. I..." Stephanie hesitated before finishing. "I probably don't want to know, but what would you do?"
Susan stared at her friend for a long moment, her mind working as the deep and primordial urge surfaced from a dark pool. Susan found herself wondering. Could she...?
This was Stephanie she was thinking about, her lifelong friend, the sober, upstanding and moralistic woman who had no clue about Susan's sexual proclivities.
Still, Susan reasoned, if she took it slowly, if she eased Stephanie into a situation that she subsequently objected to, Susan could always reverse course before it went too far. Laugh it off and bluff her way out.
Excitement coursed through her, a curious sense of anticipation which ballooned below her breastbone. It was a familiar feeling, the odd, distant ache of hunger that signalled the onset of one of her episodes. Her libido worked up through another cog. There was only one way she knew to satisfy the appetite.
Susan's hand trembled as, affecting a cool demeanour she most certainly didn't feel, she shrugged and bent towards the ashtray.
"I wouldn't take his crap, Stephanie."
After crushing the remains of her cigarette into the bowl of the ashtray Susan lifted her glass and, willing her hand to be still, sipped her wine.
Her eyes moved beyond the patio, down over the large expanse of the garden while she made her decision. She shivered, not with cold but when she experienced a sudden rush of confidence. Susan was filled with the reckless euphoria that came over her when she set her mind on a new and thrilling sexual conquest.
"I wouldn't take his crap, Stephanie," Susan repeated, rising to her feet. She walked into her house. "Come in," she called over a shoulder. "We'll drink more wine, that's what we'll do to start. Then we'll sit down and think properly on what we can do about this whole mess."
The first spots of rain plopped onto the flagstones of the patio as Stephanie followed Susan into the house.
Fifteen miles away, in the recently completed Premier Inn, the room overlooking the new station rechristened Stratford International, the wind threw fistfuls of rain against the hotel window. Not that Michael Anders gave much of a toss about the weather outside, not with him being very distracted by what he saw inside the room.
He was warm and cosy, comfortable with his back wedged against the headboard, a pillow supporting him as he watched the girl walk around the foot of the bed.
He stroked the rigid length of his cock, mindless to conditions beyond the curtained window as gazed upon loveliness. Michael was captivated by her. Wasn't she just the sexiest thing he'd set eyes on in years?
He gripped he hard-on and soaked up the sight of his lover: young; her stomach a flat, taut plane dimpled by her navel; long, long legs and lean thighs; straight black hair held in a ponytail; big, gravity-defying boobs.
"You're fucking gorgeous," he breathed, face slack as he stroked his erection.
"Look at you," Amy replied, grinning. Her blue eyes sparkled with her own desires. Long eyelashes fluttered. "That's what I like to see. I love seeing my Daddy all big and hard."
Michael's eyes rolled and he groaned. He cranked at his cock, excited by the girl's lisp, the feigned innocence and her pout.
"It makes me feel good to know my Daddy likes looking at me."
Michael groaned again, grimacing while he tugged himself.
How lucky was he? He was sticking his cock into a twenty-one year old, a fucking stunning twenty-one year old at that! How lucky was he to have that all to himself? And Amy knew what to do to get him going. All she had to do was waltz around the room wearing that over-tight blouse and too-short pleated kilt.
Look at those big jugs swelling against the thin blouse! He could see the girl's nipples peeping over the cups of her bra. They were right there, clearly outlined. Michael's cock pulsed. He could even see the hint of shadow of saucer-sized areola surrounding the girl's nipples.
Fuck, he wanted her, ached for her with a desperation that drove him insane.
"You do like looking at me, don't you?" Amy breathed, expression one of wide-eyed concern. She paused and toed the carpet, knock-kneed and uncertain, acting the part just as he liked it.
"Does it look like it?" Michael growled. His fist moved slowly, squeezing his girth, prolonging the pleasure as he looked at the girl. He waggled his dick. "Well?" he asked, grinning.
"You just want to put that nasty thing into me," Amy purred. She lifted her breasts, both palms cupping their weight, forefingers teasing her nipples through the blouse.
"Don't you want me to, baby-girl?" Michael muttered through clenched teeth. God but she knew just what to say, knew just how to look at him to make him wild for her.
Amy nodded, ponytail flicking in her enthusiasm. She was hot between her legs, the pulse down there undeniable. She sighed, a button on the blouse loosening in her fingers. "I want you to, Daddy." Another button slipped undone and the blouse gaped. "I want you to hold me tight in your strong arms," she murmured. The blouse flapped open, breast-flesh spilling over the cups of Amy's bra. "I love sitting on your cock, Daddy. It goes in so deep when we do it like that." She paused and reached behind her, the virgin-white blouse falling from her shoulders.
Michael swallowed, his eyes fixed on her body.
The bra dangled in Amy's hand.
"And," she continued, "I love it when you squeeze my boobs and suck my nipples. You get so excited, Daddy, your cock gets really stiff when I sit on it and you touch my tits."
"Amy," Michael groaned. "Baby, come here. Come to Daddy."
"Don't you want me to suck you?" Amy replied, her tone suggesting surprise. Then her eyes narrowed to feline slits as she cranked up the heat. "Or would you like to lick my pussy instead?"
Michael groaned again. Where did she learn to play this game?
Then he saw the hem of the kilt rise.
"Fuck ... Amy. Jesus, baby-girl, you know how to turn me on."
Amy's head tilted down, her chin nudging against her chest as she regarded her own plump pudendum.
She pouted and said, "I left a little tuft of hair right at the top." Her eyes lifted to meet Michael's hot stare. "It looks cute, don't you think?"
A jut of her hips and Amy's mound was thrust towards him, the delicate flaps of the labia minora peeping from the plumper outer folds.