The Englishman

Patrick's cock started to soften, and after a few more gentile sucks from me, I allowed it to flop out of my mouth. I swallowed the jism he'd left behind, and looked up at the man I loved.

"Thank you," I said.

"You're welcome. And thank you."

I put his cock back inside his trousers, and zipped him back up. He helped me to my feet. I reached over for my coat, but Patrick reached it first. Thinking he was going to help me put it on, I turned my back to him. Instead of putting my coat on me, Patrick started to nibble my shoulders and kiss the back of my neck. Ohhh! That always turns me on. His left hand was stroking my ass cheeks as his tongue licked my neck, and around to my left ear. I heard him release the lock on the stall door. I didn't care. He didn't open the door, though I expected him to. Knowing him as I did, I thought he was waiting until another man entered the bathroom so he could open the stall door and expose my naked body to a stranger.

I was wrong. That wasn't his plan at all. What he did do was finally open the door and step out of the stall, my raincoat over his arm. I stood there looking at him, naked for all extent and purposes. I know I looked sexy as hell in only garters and stockings and high heels, but even so, I was getting cold. My nips were sticking straight out, so far out they were beginning to hurt. Then my husband did something that totally surprised me. He reached out and closed the door to the stall, leaving me inside and him outside.

"I'm going to check on my luggage. I'll be right back. Why don't you wait for me?" And with that he was gone. Along with my coat!

Wait for him? What the else was I going to do? I was trapped in a men's room, naked, and my husband had the only garment that would cover me, and he'd just left the area. This was exciting! I looked around the stall, and for the first time, since I'd come into it, noticed the writing on the walls. My goodness, men sure are graphic! There were all sorts of drawings, mostly of women bending over and getting fucked in the ass by some cowboy with a straight line cock. But there were messages too. Things like, "For a great fuck, call Jamie, 555-3384" or, "I want to fuck your wife. Call me at 555-2294." One I found particularly interesting was, "Yo! Want your woman dicked by a real man? Give me a call. Long, Hard, and Black! 555-1837. Ask for Larry." I couldn't help it, I found myself fumbling in my purse for a pen and paper. I copied down Larry's number. A girl never knows.

While I had the pen in my hand, I decided to do something totally wicked! I scrawled out a message of my own. "Want to fuck me? My husband loves to watch. Call him at 555-8236. Tell him you read a note from Rachael." When I finished, I put my pen back in my purse and returned my attention to the situation I was in. Patrick had been gone at least five minutes now, and I was starting to get worried. I knew deep in my heart that I was in no danger, Patrick always protects me, but still, I wasn't getting any warmer. Not on the surface that is. Inside, deep in the hidden recesses of my cunt, I was boiling! This was a great scenario. I was naked, helpless, and alone. I was at the mercy of strangers, strangers who would have to see me naked before they could help me. Oh, my!

I heard the outer door to the restroom open. Maybe it was Patrick. Then I heard a man's voice.

"Rachael? I say, are you in here?"

It was the Englishman, Paul! At first I couldn't figure out how he knew I was still in here. Then it became clear. "Patrick told me to bring you this coat. Are you about?"

I called to him through the stall door. "Yes, I'm in here Paul. Just put the coat on the top of the door, would you?"

"Oh, I am sorry, Rachael, but Patrick made me promise that I'd hand it to you directly. And only after I was sure it was you. I'm afraid you'll have to come out to get it."

"Uhh, Paul...I can't come out. You'll just have to hand it to me over the top."

"Sorry, Rachael, old girl, but a promise is a promise. And I promised your husband I'd do as he asked. Now be a good girl and come out of there. Did you two have a spat?"

Then it hit me. Paul wasn't in on this game. Patrick had obviously told him that I'd locked myself in the stall and wouldn't come out. Paul was an innocent player in this. He had no idea I had nothing else on under the coat. How interesting. This was going to be fun after all. "Paul, just pass me the coat, and go on. You don't want to be involved in our little quarrel, do you?"

"Oh, my, no. But really Rachael, don't you think you should come out and talk about whatever it is you're upset about? I'm a good listener, you know."

"Promise you'll listen to what I have to say? Promise you won't run out the door as soon as I come out?"

"Of course I do. Now, be a good girl, and let's have a look at you. Come on, now. Come on."

I unlocked the stall door. It was now or never, and I wanted to be sure to watch Paul's face. I opened the door in one bold stroke. Paul was directly in front of me, my coat draped over his arm. I stepped outside the stall, in all my nakedness. I thought the man was going to have a stroke! He started to speak to me but topped short when he realized he was talking to a naked woman.

"My word! You're nude!"

"Yes, I know." Reaching for my coat, I put it on and started to button it. I started at the bottom, allowing Paul to watch my naked breasts for as long as possible before they were enclosed in the coat as well. He stood there with his mouth open.

"I'm so sorry, Rachael! I had no idea you were naked, or I'd have given you your wrap when you asked for it. I really am sorry!"

The poor guy was really apologizing. I realized he didn't have any idea what was going on between Patrick and myself. How sweet! I couldn't help myself. Taking two steps to close the space between Paul and myself, I reached upward with my face and kissed him squarely on the lips. It was a chaste kiss...almost. I did allow the tip of my tongue to lick his lips as I pulled back, but it was hardly a passionate exchange.

"You are so sweet, Paul. Don't worry about it. You didn't know."

I really wanted to touch him between his legs, to see if he was hard, or getting there, but there was no way I could fit that into my actions to that point. I either had to maintain my innocence or act like a whore. I don't get to practice innocence very often.

"Come on, let's go find Patrick," I said as I took his arm and we left the restroom.

"Right! That's the thing to do. Right!" And together we went back into the lobby of the airport to find my husband. Paul was such a gentleman. He recovered from the fact that I was almost naked under my coat, and acted as if nothing was amiss. Truly an Englishman! We left the men's room and looked for Patrick. My husband was standing by the luggage carousal. Standing next to him was his luggage, and one piece I hadn't seen before. We walked up to him, my hand still wrapped around Paul's left arm.

"Ah, there you are. I see Paul found you," my husband said.

"Er...yes. I found her where you said she'd be. And I gave her her coat."

"Paul was a perfect gentleman! Thank you for sending him."

I knew Paul was trying to put this all together. There was something about this man that told me he wasn't a swinger, and he couldn't figure out why I'd been in the men's room, naked, and why my husband had sent him in to find me. I'm sure he was trying to figure out why Patrick hadn't known I was nude, or if he had, why he let another man see me in that condition. At any rate, he didn't mention a word to my husband about the fact that under my coat was nothing more then silk and satin garters and hose. He didn't breathe a word about having seen my pussy, my breasts, my ass! Nor did he mention the quick kiss I'd given him. All in all, he seemed quite all right with the whole thing.

"Your other piece of luggage isn't out yet. I've asked the skycap to go look for it," my husband told Paul.

"Oh, dear. I do hope it's not lost!"

"Not to worry, Paul," I told him, "this is a very good airport. If it isn't on the plane, it'll show up on the next flight."

"I'm sure, but all my toiletries are in the other bag. Oh, well, I suppose I can buy what I need at the hotel tonight."

I looked at Patrick to make sure I was on firm ground. He gave me a quick nod and a wink. "You'll do no such thing, Paul. You'll come home with us tonight, and we'll bring you back in the morning to claim your bag."

"Oh, I couldn't do that. It would be much to much of an inconvenience for you folks. Thanks just the same, but I'll just take the bag I have and catch a cab to the hotel."

"Nonsense! Tell him Patrick." I rebutted.

"Rachael's right, Paul. We'd love to have you as a house guest, and it's no inconvenience. We have guests over all the time! Really." I was surprised at how hospitable Patrick sounded. He really must have liked Paul a lot!

"Tell you what. I've already got the reservations at the hotel, but perhaps on my way back from Shreveport I'll take you up on your offer."

"Fine! Then we'll at least give you a ride to your hotel."

"I'd like that."

Patrick grabbed his two bags, and Paul grabbed his. We walked toward the front of the terminal. When the luggage was secured in the trunk, Patrick asked Paul which hotel he was staying at.

"Sheraton."

"Downtown or on the Interstate?"

"Oh, my word. I didn't know there were two."

"No problem. I'll just give 'em a call and find out which one you're at. Be right back. Rachael, keep Paul amused till I return." With that my husband went back inside the terminal. I wondered why he didn't just use the phone in our car, but knowing my husband, he had a method to his madness. He was gone only a few minutes. When he returned, he immediately spoke to Paul.

"There must have been a mix-up with your reservations. Neither location has a room reserved for you."

"Are you quite sure?" Paul seemed almost relieved to hear what my husband was telling him.

"Quite sure. Well, that settles it. You'll spend the night with us."

"I suppose you're right. I don't seem to have a choice. I really am sorry about putting you folks out."

"It's no trouble, really!" I was impressed with the way Patrick had handled this. I knew he'd already decided that I'd fuck Paul, and I must confess, the prospect of sucking and fucking the Englishmen was making my pussy gush! I knew I didn't have to do anything else. Patrick would handle the whole thing. I only had to be ready to follow orders, and I was!

Patrick opened the front passenger door. I got in, and to my surprise, he closed it behind me. I thought he'd want the three of us to ride in the front seat. After all, I knew I'd be expected to suck Paul's cock, and I couldn't do it if he was in the back and me in the front. Patrick opened the back passenger day for Paul. Once in, my husband walked around to the drivers side and got in. Within moments, we were out of the airport, heading down the long country road that would lead to our house.

We hadn't gotten off the airport property when Patrick spoke to me.

"Well, did you miss me, Rachael?"

"Of course I did! And did you miss me?"

"I didn't find a woman in the British Isles that could suck a cock as good as you can!"

"Well, did you look very hard?"

"Actually, yes. I had three of the wenches suck me off this week, but none as adept as you."

I'm sure Paul couldn't begin to understand what was going on with this conversation. He was totally silent in the back seat, in the darkness of the night drive. Patrick finally brought the Englishman into the conversation.

"I know this must sound a bit odd to you, Paul. I should explain. Rachael and I are swingers. Do you know what that means?" My husband asked the stranger.

"Of course I do. It means you have an open marriage. I think that's commendable! My wife would never consent to such an arrangement."

"Well, it goes beyond just an open marriage. It means we often act on impulse, that we often enjoy each other without the preliminaries most couples must go through when sexual urges come upon them."

"I see." Paul sounded like he was confused.

"For example, I often fuck other women, and Rachael often will find a man who excites her. We never interfere with the other's fun, but we are committed to each other. I hope this is not too shocking for you."

"Oh, no. I'm quite all right with this." Paul let his voice trail off, then added, almost as an afterthought, "I say, did you know your wife was nude back there, when you sent me to take her her coat?"

"Yes, he knew." I answered his question.

"Oh, my. Well, if I may say so, I was quite taken by her...er...by you." By now, Paul didn't know if he should talk to me or Patrick. And by now, I knew I'd get a British fucking before the night was out. "Rachael...do you mind taking care of this for me?"

Patrick was asking about his hardened cock. I knew what he wanted. Even though I'd sucked his dick not a half hour ago in the men's room, the prospect of his watching me fuck Paul was working him up again. Reaching between his legs, I could feel what effect this conversation was having. My husband's cock was rock hard again! I unbuckled my coat, (I'd already unbuttoned it as we drove in the darkness) and slipped it off my shoulders, giving Paul an excellent view of my back. Turning toward my husband, I provided our back seat passenger with a profile of my body. He could easily see my breasts, my nipples.

"I hope you don't think this is rude, Paul, but Patrick really does need me to suck him off. Is that all right with you?"

"A...I...er...well, of...I...yes. Yes! Please feel free. I really don't mind if you want to...to..."

I didn't wait for him to finish his sentence. Instead, I leaned into my husband's lap and freed his throbbing cock from within the confines of his trousers. The coat was completely off now, and I brought myself up on my knees and hunched forward across Patrick's lap. His cock was waiting for me, waiting to be bathed in the sweetness of my mouth! I didn't need prompting. I immediately began sucking my husband's dick, licking it noisily, perhaps noisier than it had to be. But any good actress knows, you play to the last seat in the house. And in the last seat in this theater was a Brit I intended to have fucking my pussy very shortly.

Patrick's cock was rock hard as I released it from his pants. I knew what to do with it. As my head bobbed up and down on my husband's dick, I felt the wetness start to flow between my legs. I knew Paul had a bird's eye view of what I was doing to Patrick's cock. And I also knew he could see my naked form laying across the seat, and I felt his eyes bore into my exposed pussy. I parted my legs, giving him a physical invitation to look, to touch me there. I needed to feel his hand on my pussy, I needed to feel his fingers in my cunt!

Patrick continued to drive as I continued to suck his rock hard cock. I sensed his hand reach over me, over the back seat, and I sensed it return to the front seat, but as he replaced his right hand on the steering wheel, I felt another hand tentatively touch me, very gently stroke my ass, slowly making its way across my hip, around the front of my leg, and finally between my legs. I knew it was Paul's hand! The Englishman was rubbing my clit with his middle finger. It felt divine! but I needed more. I needed more than my clitoris stimulated. With my husband's cock in my mouth, and my left hand stroking the base of his dick, I reached over the seat and felt the face of the man whose hand was now pushing its way into my pussy! I could feel his beard, his lips. I moved my fingers around his lips, and when he opened his mouth, I pushed them inside, feeling the wetness of his tongue as it licked my fingers, sucked them, like I was sucking my husband's cock!

By now, I had only one purpose, and that was to get my cunt to contract in torrid orgasm. I wanted a cock in my pussy, not fingers, but fingers are what I had, and I was determined to make it good. My legs were spread wide now, I strained to make myself totally open to the man in the back seat of our car, the man who was fingering my pussy while I sucked my husband's dick in front of him.

"Oh, Rachael! Your pussy is sooooo hot! I've never felt a cunny this wet before!" Paul spoke these words gently, almost in a whisper! I was pushing my pelvis against his hand, trying to envelop it with my burning cunt. I spit Patrick's dick out of my mouth for a moment while I told Paul what I wanted.

"Oh, yes! Fuck me! Push your fingers all the way in, Paul. Make my pussy scream for your touch. Oh, Paul! Make me come and I'll lick your cock till you shoot all your jism inside my mouth. You'd like that, wouldn't you Paul?"

Patrick answered for him. "Yeah, Rachael. Finish my cock and then I'll let you do his. I'll let you suck him till he comes in your mouth. He's never been sucked like you'll suck him, baby!"

Words of pure encouragement! I went back to work on my husband's dick, licking and sucking him with all my might. I could hear Patrick talking to Paul, telling him about how good my mouth feels on his cock, but I was really into this blow job, and found myself only catching snatches of what my husband was saying about my cock sucking ability.

"...she uses her fingers to milk...and when her tongue hits your ass hole...she swallows every drop..."

My tits were aching for the feel of a man's hand, fingers squeezing and pulling them. Patrick must have read my mind, because as I continued sucking his dick, he moved his right hand off the steering wheel, and cupped my left tit in his hand. It sort of settled into the palm of his hand, and then, as his orgasm started to build, he started twisting my nipple, pinching it...twisting it. If I hadn't had ten inches of his hard cock pushing against the back of my throat I might have screamed out right then. I would have screamed in pain...in sheer hot pain as his finger nails dug into my hard nip...and I would have begged him not to stop...not to quit...it hurt so good! It may have been his cock in my mouth, or his hand on my tit, or maybe it was purely Paul's hand fucking my twat, but suddenly I started to come. It could have been any of those things, but in retrospect, it was probably due to what I heard my husband say to Paul next..

"I'm going to stop at this gas station for just a second Paul. I'm out of cigarettes. We won't have to get out...the boy who works here will be glad to come to the car. Just keep working on her pussy. She doesn't care who sees her. She's a real slut, you know."

He's right of course. The thought of another man, or boy, seeing me like this, legs spread wide, a hand in my pussy, a cock in my mouth, the very thought of it was enough to push me over the edge. And it did!

Never let it be said I haven't helped international relations.

Write to her or me at the link below.