An Evening with Friends 04: CFNM

An Evening with Friends 04 -- CFNM Night

I had noticed something niggling at Claire a little. It did not seem like anything huge, and it was definitely not something I had done wrong, as I would certainly have known, but she seemed a little distracted.

In the end, I decided to confront her about it.

'Come on, tell me', I requested over dinner one evening.

She looked at me, deciding whether to bluff it out or come clean. She was notoriously bad at lying, and she knew it, which might have helped her reach her decision. As she looked at me, as if she had been caught in the act of sneakily eating a box of chocolates without telling me, her shoulders slumped and she confessed.

'It's nothing. Just me being silly. I can't tell you, but it's something Emma wants me to do for next Saturday'.

I gave what I was sure would be the right response.

'Well, tell her how you feel. These evenings aren't about feeling uncomfortable, they're about fun. And new experiences, of course.'

'I've told her,' replied Claire, 'but it's really just me. Honestly. It's nothing I don't want to do or anything, just... well... a bit tricky to sort out. Leave me with it and I'll sort it'.

She still did not look overconfident, so I offered a parting morsel of reassurance.

'Promise you'll tell me if it's not so easy to sort out. I don't mind messaging David and having a few words. Emma can be a bit pushy, we both know that. If it's going to be a big problem, we can always pull back.'

'No.' Claire was adamant. 'No way. I'll sort it and it won't be a problem. Now shut up about it and let's eat'.

For a few more days, Claire remained a little 'off', but suddenly, her disposition changed, and she was herself again. It was quite a relief, as it was not only the slight change in disposition, which was suffering, but also our sex life.

Of course, we maintained a healthy quantity of sex, but Claire's recent vivacity and desire to experiment had seemed a little impaired, as if she was desperate to reaffirm our love, which was wonderful, but which had usually been combined with a healthy level of kinkiness and a desire to try some of our more 'creative' activities. Not a huge worry, but something different, and where Claire was concerned, different did not mean good.

Still, once her problem seemed resolved, so her experimentation returned, and several days before our next meeting with our friends, she suggested we went out for a walk.

We drove out to one of our favourite places, a mostly disused stately home with woods surrounding a lake in which the carp thrived, along with ducks and swans. During the week, when kids were in school, it was largely deserted, and on warm days such as this one, we loved the solitude and the chance to get off the beaten track.

Having parked in the empty car park, we walked for a while, chatting casually, while I took photographs of the flora and fauna. As a photographer, I was rarely without my camera, and this location had such a range of plants and wildlife, which changed and evolved throughout the year that images would be different every time.

Suddenly, Claire turned off the path, and headed through the leafy trees to a beautiful area which we had discovered on a previous visit.

One side was blocked off by an old wall, clearly from a partly demolished building, as it contained eye-like holes where windows had once been and a fireplace, which had once boasted a stone mantlepiece. All around were thick trees. Even in Winter it was difficult to see from the path, but now, on a fine Summer day, it was invisible. I had once persuaded Claire to strip off and allow me to photograph her there, and we had produced a beautiful set of images, one of which hung proudly in our bedroom.

'Give me the camera,' she demanded.

There was nothing odd about the request, as she often took over from me, partly because I had given her plenty of advice about photography, and she often spotted opportunities which I missed, and partly because if I took all the pictures, I would never be in any of them, and that make for very unbalanced family photos displayed around the house. Therefore, I did not think twice before handing the camera to her.

'Stand there,' she directed, 'lean on the fireplace.'

She snapped off several images, then stopped and looked at me.

'Take off your shirt.'

'Er... why?' I asked, surprised.

'Well,' Claire whispered seductively, 'if we're doing CFNM, might as well get you used to it.'

I smiled broadly at her, and began to feel a twitch in my boxers. CFNM with Claire might be no big deal, but here, outdoors with the risk, albeit slight, of being seen, it was still a turn on.

I removed my shirt, and found myself treated as I treated the models I worked with -- directed, posed and generally organised, while Claire moved around me, snapping shot after shot.

'Shoes and socks, then unbutton your jeans and slip them off slowly, so I get pics as they come off.'

I complied, now feeling very naked in this public place, and yet, almost wanting someone to happen along and catch us. Not that I would want to offend anyone, of course -- ideally, it would be a couple of young ladies out for a stroll who would come and join in -- but that just wasn't going to happen, except in my fantasy.

Claire began directing again.

'Turn round and slip your boxers down -- slowly again -- and bend right over,' she drawled the last part to emphasise that I should bend as much as possible, 'show your ass and bend to let the cheeks open as wide as possible.'

I did as requested, sliding my shorts steadily down my legs, bending at the waist and feeling the breeze between my buttocks as they parted, giving her a glimpse of my asshole.

'Spread your legs wide,' she ordered, 'I'm moving down there to get pics of your ass and your balls from underneath.'

She did as she said, moving close to get images of me from directly between my legs. I had never photographed a model as closely as this -- except Claire, of course, but it was an interesting lesson in how models are treated -- and Claire was the consummate pro.

'Turn round and lie on the grass, lean up on your elbow and bend your back leg up.' I did as she asked, now stark naked and loving the feel of sun on my body, and the risks inherent in the situation. I also became acutely aware that if someone should appear, it was not as if I could cover up quickly and make it seem as if nothing were happening. The best I could do would be to wear my boxers and a sheepish smile.

'Nice,' breathed Claire, 'looking good. Half hard already. What could you be thinking of you bad boy?'

She zoomed right in on my cock, and I knew the lens would pick up every detail. The good thing was that being semi-hard made my cock look soft but huge, which was a good look on photos.

'Now stroke, make it hard.' Claire was clearly loving this, and I wondered how far she would take me, and if she would eventually be joining me -- or maybe she was going to make me finish and get close up pics of my cum as I jerked off.

'Think of my tits,' she breathed sensuously, ' and how wet my slit's getting.'

As she spoke, I pictured her, nipples proudly erect on ample cushions of flesh. She loved to tease them herself, pulling and pinching. I pictured the deeper red and how they stood fully a centimetre proud. Sometimes she would lift them up and suck her own nipple, or tease it with her tongue as she looked me in the eye.

And her divine pussy, glistening and slick with her juice as she held the lips open. She would stroke herself, hand sliding smoothly over the hyper-sensitive skin. Then she would lift her wet, aromatic fingers to her lips, first licking them, then placing them in her mouth.

Unsurprisingly, these images made me rock hard, and I was stroking myself rhythmically and smoothly. Left alone, I might have continued and finished myself off there and then. Claire did not know, but if ever I decided to have a wank (which was quite rare, as I preferred to store it up for proper sex with her), I would pull up some of my pictures of her from one of our photo sessions. I wonder how many wives could boast that their husbands prefer pics of them to online porn?

'Stand up,' she commanded, 'walk over to that rock and lean back on it. Let it push your hips forward so your cocks right at the front.'

I did so, opening my legs a little on request, so that I was leaning back with my impressive erection pushed way forward. I knew this would make it appear larger, thanks to the perspective. I had taught her well.

'Now stroke again.'

She continued moving me to different parts of the clearing, helping me to keep erect by asking me to stroke myself, and painting images of her body in my head. She reminded me of times when she had bent over, exposing her ass and her pussy to me while she stroked herself, and times when she had used vibrators and dildos as I watched. She painted detailed works of arts, describing the neat folds of her pussy, the wetness, the dark hole, willingly inviting the toy of her choice, and her swollen clitoris which she stroked, rubbed or tapped.

She even described her scent and taste in familiar terms, likening them to cooking with fine herbs and wines and testing the taste as they became more plentiful and her orgasm approached. She even referred to how the texture changed through her monthly cycle, becoming thicker and drying to a sticky texture at the end of the cycle, having been thin and watery at the beginning.

For some ludicrous reason, I was surprised how well Claire knew her body. I had assumed it was only me who stored thoughts such as these. I suppose it was because she had never spoken to me like this before -- in a way, she was exposing herself as much as I was -- just less embarrassingly, should someone happen upon us.

I think she must have photographed me from every angle, and in every detail. My cock was the subject of many images, as was my ass. At one point, I found myself pulling my cheeks wide apart for her, and at another, I placed a wild flower between my buttocks. She even made me attempt to suck my own cock. I could not manage it, despite her encouragement and my best efforts. I did, however, manage to lick the head -- which turned into a bizarre photograph. Doing this also exposed my ass, and the ass -- balls -- cock -- tongue -- face image which resulted was extraordinary -- in every sense.

Finally, she had me lean against the fire place, and gave the order I had been waiting for:

'Jerk yourself off'

I was rock hard, and the experience had been stimulating beyond belief, so I knew it would not take long. Her instruction was not finished, however.

'Cum in your hand and hold it so I can get shots.

I wanked furiously, knowing she would need a very fast shutter speed to avoid blurring my hand. She moved in close, firing off rapid, continuous shots, desperate to catch every spurt.

I came hard and quickly, holding my hand to catch every drop.

As I finished, she pointed the lens at my hand, capturing the semen within.

'Hold it to your mouth and touch it with your tongue and hold it there.'

I did as directed.

'Now lick right into it. Perfect. Lick again. Lovely. Don't get any in your mouth.'

Her precise instructions made me suspect she had planned this all along.

'Pour it in your mouth and hold it on your tongue.' Click, click. 'And swallow.'

I was about to say something when she added, almost as an afterthought, 'Go back to trying to suck yourself and see if you can squeeze out one last drop.'

I did as I was told, and was rewarded with the comment:

'That has got to be the best yet!'.

I stood and joined her to look at the small screen on the back of the camera. It was an amazing image. My cock, stretched by my hand forcing out the final drops of cum, which hung in a string from the small opening, forming a connection between cock and tongue as I drunk my very last drop.

Gradually, my cock twitched down to its flaccid state. Claire gathered my clothes, but rather than bring them to me, as I expected, she headed towards the path.

'Claire,' I hissed, 'come back. Anyone could be there. She turned and laughed.

'Better be quick then!'

She strolled away, leaving me with no choice but to follow her, hissing her name and offering all sorts of threats and no small number of promises to get her to return.

The risk of being seen was huge, but she barely seemed to care, as I made my naked way to the car, keeping to the cover of the bushes wherever possible.

As luck would have it, we met no-one, until we got to the car park. There, I spotted a small car, next to which were two ladies of a similar age to Claire and myself, chatting casually.

I estimated there was roughly 25 metres to the car. Far enough to be seen, but near enough for a quick dash. Claire sat in the car, holding the door wide for me, and beckoning me over to her.

I decided I had no choice, and drawing a deep breath, I began my dash to the car. Almost the second I broke cover, I heard a wolf whistle and laughter. I knew I had to continue, cupping my cock and balls in my hands. I had almost reached the car, when...

Claire slammed the door and locked it.

Immediately, I tried the door handle, desperate for cover, but quickly stopped as Claire got out of the driver's seat and calmly locked the doors.

She waved to the other two women. 'Natalie, Marie, lovely to see you. Come and meet my husband.'

It was a set up. The two smiling women approached us, and I was forced to shake hands with them and stand with my hands by my sides while they admired my physique.

After a few minutes of light banter between the women, mostly at my expense, Natalie, an attractive blonde with eyes so blue that it would be simple to get lost in them, nudged Marie and stage-whispered:

'I think someone's enjoying it!'

My cock had, as ever, developed a mind of its own, and was semi-hard again, standing unsupported, yet curving down and still spongy.

The three women disintegrated into a giggling mass, and it was only the sound of another car approaching which brought their amusement to an end.

'Come on,' said Claire, 'we'd better go before you get arrested.'

As she drove, Claire giggled constantly as I struggled into my clothes in the passenger seat. I did my best to appear affronted and embarrassed, but as with most men, evidence of a very different was betrayed by the full erection, which Claire could hardly help to notice -- especially as I pushed my hips high off the seat to get my boxers on.

'Who the hell were those two?' I demanded.

'Friends of Emma's,' she giggled, 'she thought it'd be fun before our next evening. Don't worry, they're not going to bump into us at the supermarket or down the pub and they've been told to say nothing.'

In all honesty, I could hardly keep pretending to be annoyed. It was pretty obvious that I'd found it a huge turn on, and even if they did tell others, mine was a business which would not be harmed by such things. In fact, a photographer who photographs models might even find it a career boost if those models know that he doesn't mind posing himself. And that he has a nice cock, of course.

We drove in silence for a while, as I finished dressing. Considering the situation in which I had been landed, I had to admit, it was quite a turn on -- two unfamiliar women seeing me naked and enjoying it was part of a fantasy I had often enjoyed. Admittedly, the next part of the fantasy involved them getting more 'hands on', but this was certainly a good start.

I turned to Claire: 'How did you feel about it?'

I suppose her grin should have told me everything I needed to know.

'It was hilarious,' she began, 'the look of panic on your face when I shut you out of the car was classic. Then as they came over to us and I told you I knew them...' she was overcome by giggles again.

'Fine,' I said, not fully satisfied still, 'but was it a turn on for you as well?'

'Fuck, yes,' she shot back, 'I'm so wet now, and just want to fuck you stupid when we get home.'

'What if they'd wanted to take it further?' I probed, 'You know, touch me and stuff. I know you're ok with Emma and Karen, but other women we don't know. How would you feel?'

She suddenly became quite serious. 'I don't know. For a one-off, maybe, with my supervision, but not as a regular thing,'

I nodded. Like many fantasies, living it once might be fun, but to make it a lifestyle... well... perhaps not.

'I know what you mean,' I agreed, 'at what point does sex with strangers become a bigger issue?'

'Precisely,' she nodded, 'you're not a typical sub, I don't think -- just a horny old git who wants to try out a couple of things before you're too old and knackered.'

'Exactly,' I nodded, before realising what she had just said, 'Oi! You cheeky cow! Less of the old and knackered. You're going across my knee when we get home.'

'Mmm...' Claire murmured seductively. 'Yes please.'

And so it was, when we got home, we laughed and struggled, pulling off each other's clothing, before I got her across my knee, just below my hard cock, and spanked her bare ass to a fine, rosy red before sliding my hands down to her soaking pussy and allowing a more egalitarian type of fucking to take place -- the type which gave us the most pleasure.

In the days leading up to our hosting the next evening with our friends, we were busy. As well as cleaning the house thoroughly, we had to get in drinks and snacks, make sure we had attractive, yet functional covers for the furniture, and even bought a cheap rug for the living room. It might seem a bit much, but we both felt that throwing away items marked with bodily fluids would be preferable to cleaning them.

It was pleasant not to have a dress code for the evening, but this time, I think, the men felt we should make an effort -- simply because the women always did. Tonight was no exception.

Of course, the main issue for men was that 'making an effort' with clothing usually means wearing pretty much the same thing, this was the case tonight. We all wore dark, two-piece suits, white shirts and ties. At least the ties were different.

The ladies, however, all dressed differently, but looked equally sexy. The first I saw was Karen. She wore a white skirt, knee length, but split to top of her thigh. Not a narrow split, but a wide one, which exposed an entire leg, sheathed in a black, fishnet stocking, topped with around two inches of flesh and the narrow strip of a black suspender belt. Her top was black, but sheer, exposing a black bra. If these ladies wanted their men hard, it was one hell of a start.

I showed Jeff and Karen into the living room and brought them drinks. I had hoped Claire would be ready by now, but she was still, clearly putting the finishing touches to her outfit. I had just told our guests to help themselves to snacks when the doorbell rang again. I apologised and went to admit our other pair of visitors.

Emma, as expected, had surpassed herself. She wore an incredibly short mini skirt of black leather, laced at the sides, leaving a gap of about one and a half inches through which her bare thigh was plainly visible -- what was not visible was any panties -- either the string of a thong was artfully hidden by a lace, or her pussy was fully exposed. Below, she wore red, fishnet hold-up stockings. Her midriff was bare, and her breasts were covered by a red halter neck top, twisted in the middle, and loose enough to allow her breasts to bounce as she walked.

I escorted Emma and David to the room where our other guests were waiting, and had just served drinks when Claire made her grand entrance. I think my chin hit the floor as I gazed at my magnificent wife.

Like Karen, she had chosen a sheer top, but had matched it with a sheer bra. The effect was to shadow her breasts, but still allow a very decent view of her nipples beneath. With her generous endowment, those nipples pressed firmly on both sets of fabric, but rather than being flattened, the erect nubs pushed the material out, emphasising their firmness and showing clearly how much she was looking forward to the evening.