Tasting Sarah

It was my first encounter with female pubic hair for more than the decade of my marriage. Not since I first slept with Sarah had I been with any other woman. So Lauren's bush had been a total contrast to Sarah's smooth mound, and when she had lifted her buttocks, and gone on her hands and knees, offering herself not silently, but asking me to fuck her, my cock had already been rock hard, and it had been all too easy to level down my track suit bottoms and shorts over my erection, to move behind her, and slide my penis head into her nineteen year young, exquisite cunt.

Fucking Lauren became a daily, afternoon delight. We did it in her bedroom, and in the lounge. We did it on her bed. We did it on the sofa. We did it with her lying on her back on the polished wood of the dining table. We did it with her on the floor. We did doggy, missionary, with her on top, and standing against the wall, my hands beneath her buttocks, her legs around my waist, my cock buried deep.

Each time she came explosively, and each time I spewed my semen deep within her, reassured that she was on the pill, except that for those two weeks I was not thinking with my head but with my cock, and with just the thought of fucking her again, let alone while I was deep inside her, none of my brain cells warned me of the dangers. My cock ruled. I discovered that in the end, I am just a guy.

Lauren was kneeling on the floor, her upper body on the leather seat cushions of our sofa, and I was thrusting hard, deep and rhythmically from behind, when Sarah found us. I turned and saw her standing at the door, a perfect side-on view of her husband's cock hammering student cunt.

Having just spent twenty minutes thrusting into our nineteen year old guest's tight wet pussy, I was on the verge of coming. My head registered Sarah's arrival. My cock did not. It failed to take in the situation, or appreciate the inappropriateness of discharging its entire load of semen into another woman while my wife looked on. I felt the contractions, now past the point of holding back. I came, withdrawing only after firing deep into Lauren several times, my wife watching as my come dripped from between Lauren's delightful labia, onto her black curls, and then onto the soft brown leather of the sofa cushion.

Within an hour, Lauren's denim Playboy traveling case was packed, and she was wheeling it out of the door, and into the lift. Looking down from the balcony I saw Sarah lift the case into her car boot. She opened the car's rear door for Lauren to climb into the back seat, conveying an unambiguous message in not permitting the recipient of her husband's semen to sit in front beside her.

Not only had she made Lauren pack her things, but within that short hour Sarah had made a call to one of the families who were regular hosts each year. Yes, they could understand Lauren wanting to experience her final week with a typical English family. Of course, Stephan had been such a delight to have stay with them, but if my wife felt that their changing students would be beneficial, they would be only too happy to accept a girl instead.

Stephan, one of my basketball players each afternoon, six foot two of blonde Germanic youth, arrived another hour later, sports hold-all in one hand. Sarah cooked chicken risotto and we discussed Beyer Munich, Manchester United, and even Barcelona.

Sex with Sarah stopped.

Not that it had stopped while I was fucking Lauren. Whether it is being active from teaching sports, or just natural testosterone, I can still get hard even just an hour later. Fucking Lauren had not stopped me from making love with Sarah. It was being caught in the act of fucking Lauren that stopped it dead in its tracks, legs tight shut. Sarah turned the other way in bed, and shrugged off my hand when I caressed her shoulder, not just that night, but each and every night that followed.

The final Friday of the immersion course each year was Certification Presentation evening. Sixty students were invited, one by one, to receive their completion certificates on stage. It was pure public relations. No student ever failed.

Drinks and canapés were served. The students held their own end of course celebrations elsewhere afterwards. The ten thirty curfew still applied. On Saturday morning, they were taken by their families to the station, train to London, then onwards to their homes in whichever country by Eurostar or by plane, so a late night Friday, even after celebrating course completion, was not allowed.

Lauren was at the presentation evening. We avoided close proximity, but she gave me a guarded smile from across the college's formal hall, and mouthed something that might have been a thank you. She wore a red sleeveless dress that revealed more of her legs than was decent, and that clung to her braless breasts. Against my will, my cock stirred at the sight.

Sarah wore the same black number she wore every year, also sleeveless, and cut to enable her to show off her perfect cleavage. The hem was cut more modestly than Laura's, falling to just above her knees, but she still looked incredible, as always.

Having a formal role on stage, calling out the students' names as they came forward, Sarah wore what might have been black tights, although the July evening warmth did not require them. I had not watched her as she dressed, but I knew that my wife had long ago stopped wearing tights. They would be stockings, and they would be held in place by a suspender belt, and the most that she would be wearing with them was a thong. Ever since her teenage visit to the beautician, Sarah has dressed with her sexuality in mind. Watching her, my cock stirred again, forlornly, given that our sex life was not yet even in intensive care, and might not survive the journey.

Back in our flat, we ate without Stephan, sitting at either end of the leather sofa where the semen stain still showed, neither of us saying much, the television on. Stephan was out with the rest of the basketball group, and no doubt with some of the yoga and tennis groups as well. It was ten forty five when he got in. Neither of us made an issue of it being fifteen minutes past the curfew. Sarah offered food, and Stephan ate it gratefully, then headed to his room.

Instinctively, nothing said, we waited until Stephan had gone to the bathroom and gone back to his room. Sarah turned off the television. She went to our own bedroom. I followed, looking forward to the departure of the students the next morning, and the possibility of attempting to repair the damage caused by my stupidity with Lauren.

Sarah had slipped off her shoes in the hall when we got back. As I walked into our bedroom she was easing her dress down her thighs, and stepping out of it, her back to me. I had been right about the stockings and the suspender belt, but wrong about the thong. Only the suspender belt crossed her buttocks. She turned, confirming that all the while that she had been hosting the Presentation Evening, even while she had been on stage, beneath her dress her pubis had been bare. That was a first. It made me wonder if she had been missing me as much as my cock was missing her.

Giving me a look I could not read, her left hand moved behind her back, unclipping her bra. Slipping the shoulder straps down, she removed it totally, dropping it beside the bed. That was when she spoke.

Her breasts were as beautiful as ever. Her smooth pubis was framed by the black suspender belt, the wide straps of the suspenders, and the tops of her sheer black stockings. Her neat, pink lips protruded slightly from her slit, just visible. They only protruded like that when she was aroused. Seeing them, I wondered if perhaps now that the formalities were over, she might relax, and we might make love, and in doing so make peace.

"Would you like to fuck?" she asked, giving me yet more hope that things between us would soon be mended.

"I think you know the answer," I said, not yet quite certain whether she was ready to unite again, or was simply reminding me of what I was missing, and why.

"First you'll have to use your tongue," she said.

I tried not to sound too elated, or too presumptuous, as I agreed.

"Then I'll be back," she said, walking to the door.

I held my breath until the door was closed, then breathed out in relief as much as for the next intake of air. The week of waiting was at an end. Waiting another few minutes while she used the bathroom was as nothing. I had started to undress, having worn a suit and tie, and I removed the last of my things. I set my bed-side light on dim, turned off the main light, got into bed, and lay on my back, head on my pillow, my left arm to the side, ready to welcome my wife when she returned.

Just how long a woman will need when she goes to use the bathroom is unpredictable. I tried not to imagine what she might be doing. She took her time. What seemed like five minutes later, there was no Sarah.

I checked the bedside clock, waited another five, this time sure that she would have finished in the bathroom, but still my wife did not return.

I got out of bed, went to the door, opened it, saw the bathroom door wide open, no light on, and realisation dawned. I knew where she had gone. Yet needing to confirm what I instinctively already knew, I went silently to the closed door of the spare bedroom. That was when I heard the noise of bed springs, barely audible, but rhythmic.

I went back to our room, closed the door, climbed back beneath our duvet, and waited again, this time knowing where Sarah was, and what was happening behind the closed door where our twenty one year old German guest was roomed.

Unlike Lauren, Stephan had been discrete around our flat. There had been no casual nakedness. He had worn boxer shorts between his bedroom and the bathroom, and never less than shorts and a tee-shirt at all other times. But I knew what he looked like naked.

The college changing rooms are old school, open facilities with benches around the walls and walk in showers. After basketball I would unlock the door, and then turn on the old fashioned showers at the main stop cock just inside the shower stands, while the group would strip, ready to use the open shower space. Stephan was one of several who would be first in line for the steaming water. He had a dense copse of blonde hair from which his cock hung thick and heavy.

Whether, fully erect, his cock would be thicker, or longer, than my own, I could not know. As I lay on our bed, waiting for Sarah, my cock was stiff and hard as rock. It had been like that since Sarah had promised what would happen when she came back, even while I had gone to the bathroom door exploring why she had been so long.

I had had no sex for the best part of a week. Masturbation had not appealed, not under the circumstances. The prospect of fucking Sarah once again had left me hard, and even the thought of Stephan fucking her had done nothing to affect its stiff rigidity.

Two inches above average, my size had never been an issue. Stephan's might or might not be just as large. From what I had seen, it was quite likely. It did not matter. All that mattered was that Sarah was riding, or was being ridden by, our German student.

FUCK!!

FUCK, FUCK and FUCK!!

I had only myself to blame.

I had fucked Lauren and now Sarah was letting Stephan fuck her in return. It was so obvious I had been blind not to have seen what she might do. Would do. This was Sarah. Willful, confident, the teenager who had decided that pubic hair was an adornment she did not need. Of course fucking Stephan was all too predictable. What was surprising was that she had not been fucking him every night that he had stayed with us. Instead I had been lulled into a false sense of security, until she had kept me waiting while she had gone into his room, her slit with its pink, pouting lips framed by the suspender belt and stockings, that would have told him all too clearly that it was his to fuck.

FUUUCCKKK!!

Then I remembered what Sarah had said just as she had left our bedroom.

I knew my wife well enough to know that she had meant every last syllable. Sarah did not act impulsively. This was planned. She had waited until the last night of the course. She had kept me starved of sex for the entire week, punishing me but also priming me. She had deliberately undressed in front of me, turning to face me, leaving the room while still wearing her stockings and suspenders so that I would know that she was wearing them when she went to Stephan's room.

She had planned what she had said before she left.

"First you'll have to use your tongue."

It was our special way of loving one another, my lying on my back, her kneeling above me, my taking her to climax with my tongue, reveling in her sweet wetness all the while, lapping and swallowing her secretions, bringing her to the orgasm that she so delighted in, and then letting me make love to her however and in whatever way I wished.

This was what she wanted me to do to her when she returned.

Except.

Except that she was fucking Stephan.

Except that in all likelihood, she would let him come in her.

No, not in all likelihood. This was Sarah. There was absolutely no room for doubt. She was on the pill, and had gone to his room empty handed. I had seen her lips protruding just that fraction that said that she was aroused. I knew how easily she lubricated, exuding more than enough of her sweet secretions for Stephan's cock to slide inside her right to the base in one easy, thrust.

Whether she had climbed onto him, squatted, and impaled herself, or whether she had changed places, lying, her black stocking clad legs splayed, white upper thighs open wide, inviting him between them, allowing him to skewer her, I did not know.

One thing I knew, for certain. Stephan's cock would be bare. They would be fucking skin on skin. That was what I had done with Lauren. Sarah had seen us fucking bare, and Sarah would do no less with Stephan. She had seen me come, unable to control my instincts even knowing she was watching. With Sarah standing there, I had emptied myself deep into Lauren's irresistibly delicious cunt. Sarah would let Stephan do the same to her. When she returned to offer me her smooth, hairless, milk white pubis, her cunt would be swimming with Stephan's virile foreign sperm, his German semen spewed from his cock deep into her, his liquid life mingling with her own secretions, ready to slip from her nether lips to my awaiting mouth.

"First you'll have to use your tongue."

Her final words before she went to him.

I squirmed at the thought, but my erection did not subside.

I turned, checking the clock. It had been over twenty minutes since I had first checked the time, perhaps twenty five since she had closed the door as she had left.

FUUCCKK!!

How long does it take for a fit twenty one year old to come?

How much does he come?

At that age I used to come in gallons.

FUUCCKK!!

Another five minutes went slowly by.

FUUCCKK!!

I twisted and turned in the bed. My hard on stayed rigid.

FUUCCKK!!

Forty minutes. Forty five including the five or so before I checked the clock, when I had assumed that Sarah was in the bathroom, getting ready to come to bed, and not in our German student's bed, getting him ready to come.

The handle of the bedroom door turned. It opened. Sarah stepped inside, closing the door behind her. Even in the dimmed light of the bedside lamp her body shone white, and her legs gleamed black.

"Are you ready?" she asked.

I did not have to ask if he had come inside her.

As she parted her legs to squat above me, I could see where semen had already trickled down her inner thigh, leaving a sheen on her perfect, white skin, and staining the black nylon of her stocking top.

Time froze.

As if in slow motion, Sarah steadied herself with both hands on the top rail of our bed head and began to lower herself towards my mouth. Her labia were thicker now, redder, from the abuse that she had just received. They were slick with her own secretions, and his semen. I could even smell him on her.

There was absolutely nothing I could do about the fact that they had already fucked. Even when I had realised what was happening, had heard them through the closed bedroom door, it had been too late to intervene. I might have gone inside and made some kind of scene, but that would not have changed the reality that my wife had gone to another man, inviting him to fuck her, and was already letting him do just that. Nor would it have resolved the chasm that had opened up within our marriage, my own fault, for letting Lauren tempt me to stray with her amazing, nubile body.

Nor was there anything that I could about the fact that he had already come inside my wife, at least once, and maybe twice, or that it was deserved. I had no right to complain. I had betrayed Sarah, and she had had every right to do the same to me.

My cock was still hard. I was hungry for my wife. The cunt that I adored was right there, offering itself to me, and my hunger made me want to raise my head and lick between those lips that I so love, but in my head the knowledge that this time, it would foreign semen that I would taste, held me back for what seemed like an eternity, as time stopped so completely.

"He didn't make me come," Sarah said, as she was waiting. "I kept that for you."

Next morning Stephan ate his breakfast quietly, no mention of Beyer Munich, or of anything. I drove him to the station. Neither of us spoke until he was out of the car, had his sports holdall in his hand, and was ready to get his train. I offered him my hand.

"It's fine," I said.

He took my hand awkwardly, then gave a sheepish grin.

"Vielen Danke," he said. "You have a wunderbare wife."

"I know," I said.

For the next few days, nothing was said, at least not about that night, or about Stephan, or Lauren, or how we each felt about what had taken place. But our love making was not just back. It was better than it had ever been. We fucked like rabbits.

We already had a holiday planned for August and so we packed and drove down to the South of France. We always bring a tent, a decent one, large enough to stand in, with its separate bedroom, cooking area, and a table and chairs for eating al fresco in the sun.

We went south of Bordeaux, avoiding the Montpellier area for reasons we both knew and understood, but did not mention. Ee did not need to be reminded of Lauren. We had used naturist beaches occasionally on previous holidays, but this time the camp site itself, chosen by Sarah, as well as the adjacent beach, was naturist.

Sarah does not tan, but that year we discovered that the freckles that had always adorned her arms and legs in summer sun, can appear anywhere and everywhere, even on her hairless pubic mound, and this English response to the sun made her stand out amongst women with their golden or nut brown tans. Eyes turned. Men gave me envious looks.

When we did talk about what had happened, I admitted my own fault without demur. Sarah, to my surprise, accepted some responsibility, for not putting Lauren in her place from the first evening when she walked naked through our lounge to get her glass of water, and also told me that Lauren had admitted she had deliberately lied about her back pain, hoping for the outcome that she had achieved.

Sarah also admitted something I had not suspected.

Her visit to Stephan's bedroom had indeed been planned. That was to have been my punishment. She wanted me to know that I was not the only one who could make love with someone else. Any time she wanted to, she could find a man who would willingly take her to his bed. She could have any guy on the camp site, if she wanted to. She was with me, only because she chose to be.