A Little Get-Together

Catherine knew she should be able to delay an orgasm more or less indefinitely, having so recently been taken over the edge by this same voracious woman. The trick was to allow the sensation between her legs to become marginally secondary to fellating Guy. That then established a richly rewarding equilibrium between doing and being done to. But it became more difficult to sustain when she felt Cynthia augment her fingering by running the tip of her tongue across her buttocks. There was a pause before it lingered tantalisingly on the tiny orifice itself.

Guy, meanwhile, was handling his penis with more and more urgency. When he withdrew for a few seconds she could see the tell-tale pre-cum seeping from the head. He looked down at her and the potent weapon in his hand. "Ready?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Like this?"

"Yes." So that she should not be misunderstood, she opened her mouth wide. Guy needed only a few more strokes before he thrust forward and she felt the warm ejaculate hit the back of her throat. She presumed that he had been saving for this moment, for it took a number of erupting spasms before there was a final, unproductive heave. She swallowed, licked her lips, remembering similar salty flavours from years gone by, years she had thought gone for ever.

Inevitably, the climax of their performance triggered a matching response from Leon. He was still clinging to Joanna's hips, still maniacally hammering into a generously lubricated opening but now there was only one objective: to build the momentum until restraint was impossible. Joanna, urging him on, was equally out of control, not least in her vocabulary. "Fuck me, then. Get your cock up me. Empty your balls in my cunt. Fuck me!"

A huge groan indicated that Leon had reached the end. Gasping, he fell across Joanna's body, his penis still partially embedded. Cynthia went to help him to his feet, planting a kiss on his cheek. "Will you give me one of those?" she asked.

Meanwhile, Guy had lifted Joanna and carried her to an armchair where she slumped against him, her arm around his neck. "Did you come?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"Want to?"

She nodded.

The care with which he used his hand to bring about the release she needed showed Catherine that Guy wasn't entirely the domineering country squire whose persona he so often adopted. Watching the patience with which he supported Joanna during her descent from the heights, Catherine mused on the situation she had allowed herself to be led into. Here were five people, none of them young, all in their fifties or maybe even sixties, who had come to terms with their sexuality and were not embarrassed or inhibited in seeking fulfilment. Intelligent, sensual, consenting adults.

And they had only just begun.