Barbarella

When full penetration was achieved they paused for a time and then she started moving herself up and down upon him. Soon, with justification, he pleaded to have his blindfold removed so that he could watch. Knowing that my close participation was at an end, I retreated to the bathroom and when I was out of sight, Babs allowed him to regain his sight.

I could have watched the reflection of them fucking for less than ten minutes before it came to a sudden end. The combination of friction and being so completely filled caused her to cum and in a chain reaction, the spasmodic contractions of her vaginal muscles in turn triggered him. With a great roar he thrust his loins upward so violently that had her heels not been hooked under the backs of his thighs, she must have been catapulted from the bed.

Babs flopped forward upon him and after regaining her breath, reached out to release his wrists. His arms immediately closed around and his hands began exploring. Pierre rolled her over bring himself on top and it was obvious that he intended to leave his dick in situ while it stiffened for a renewed onslaught. Babs guessed too. "Sorry lover, you've got to go," she said trying to push him off. "No matter what my husband said, he never leaves me alone for too long."

Her words acted like magic. Pierre was out of the bed and cramming his legs back into the shorts as if the devil was at the door. Without a word of thanks or even mention of a rematch, he exited the premises stage left. With forward planning I had already undressed in the bathroom and now I ran to the bed, eager to occupy the stall which he had just vacated. Before I could mount her, Babs grabbed my dick and looked thoughtfully at it. Even I could see that it seemed little more that half the size of the other mans member. "I suppose that it will have to do," she said but the humour and love in her voice negated the cruelty of the words.

To those who read about the above incident askance I ask - 'Have you never watched happily as your wife pleasures herself with a large dildo?' What the hell is the difference?

My lovemaking lacked quite the ferocity of our wedding night but it came damn close. While we screwed, Babs enthused about her youthful partner - or rather about his over generous endowment. "It has got to be the biggest dick that I've ever seen," she sighed, "I've certainly never felt so filled before. He even puts Rory in the shade. I know that Rory is nine inches because I have measured him but darling Pierre has got to be well over ten. And he's so much thicker - Rory stretches me but I never had trouble actually getting it inside like I had just now."

Every remark inspired me to greater effort. Her cunt was now badly distended and very wet but I had previously learned that going for penetration with my limited size was futile and I had developed a technique of keeping a constant but variable degree of friction upon her clitoris. Whether due to my efforts or from mentally reliving her earlier encounter, Babs had a couple of pretty decent orgasms. Usually I could feel her cum increase the lubrication, but that night her induced internal juices were lost within the squelchy hole into which my cock plunged with uncaring eagerness. I am pleased to report that we had a couple more shags before sleep claimed us, each more or less an instant replay of the first.

The next morning by the pool, Pierre looked like the cat that had got the cream, constantly hovering near us and requiring irate shouts to drag him to the opposite end of the pool. He carefully avoided my eyes but kept manoeuvring into positions where he could mouth something to Babs without me seeing. I am ashamed to say that I took a rather sadistic pleasure in frustrating him. My wife was aware of the game and when we were left alone she grinned, "Stop being mean to Pierre. You weren't so unkind to last night."

"I just don't want him expecting too much of a good thing," I quipped back.

"Well you needn't bother. It's a pity but I am quite capable of letting him know that he has had his ration."

The following day our young gigolo disappeared on what turned out to be a five day break and this coincided with a change to cooler or more cloudy weather. Belatedly we started getting round to see the sights and, compensating for our earlier lethargy, we rather over did it. In consequence three nights out of the five we returned to the chalet far too tired to even consider sex. As if by divine intervention, when Pierre returned to duty, so did the sun. On his first night back, (he was now on the evening shift), just the sight of him must have reactivated memories from before, because in bed we caught up on the screwing neglected during the cooler spell.

All through the next day, I was aware that this would be our penultimate night but Babs did not seem to have realised this fact. However, shortly after Pierre came on duty and some of the heat was fading out of the sun, she said pensively, "It's almost over."

"But we had a good time," I replied trying to sound more cheerful than I felt.

"It has been fantastic," she agreed but then added after a pause, "There is just one thing that I regret."

With my mind a blank, I enquired what that could be. Babs looked me in the eye and said, "I don't think that we were very kind to Pierre."

"I laughed. "Not kind? I reckon that you made all his dreams come true."

She shook her head. "It doesn't matter whether he enjoyed it or not - we used him. We treated him as a toy for our own pleasure. As he was tied all the time, apart from his body, I have no idea if he is good in bed or not."

I felt a tingle of excitement. "What are you trying to say?"

"Nothing - I just regret that we did it that way." Now she was deliberately avoiding my eyes.

"You want to fuck him again," I accused.

"I would like to - yes, but it's out of the question. We agreed that last time was a one off thing in special circumstances. I just wish that I had released him quicker and let him stay longer. Then I would have known what he can do."

"You can have him again if you want. We're still on holiday and those rules still apply."

Babs looked at me and smiled. I don't know if she had angled for this but whether or not, her eyes were filled with love, gratitude and the heat of anticipated passion. "Shall I mention it to him when we get our next drink," she wondered, a slight tremor in her voice.

I shook my head. "How do you explain me? I can hardly pretend to go sight seeing at this time but I want to be there and I don't want him to know you are doing it with my agreement."

My wife's face fell. "Then it's impossible."

I grinned and tapped my head to indicate that I was thinking. I mused for a while with her eyes hopefully on me and then said, "Got it - I'm going to get pissed out of my scull."

"How will it help for you to get falling down drunk?"

"I will only appear to be falling down drunk," I told her, "but I'm pretty sure that our Iberian lothario will try to take advantage of the situation."

Ordering our next drinks, I remarked loudly about wanting to celebrate and ordered a double whisky on the side. From then I employed a latent acting talent to put on a convincing display of gradual decent into inebriation. At one point I stood and toasted the other tables and later seemed on the point of falling into the pool before Babs rushed forward to drag me staggering back to my chair. I kept the drinks coming and although consuming some to help the illusion, the bulk was easily disposed of round the roots of a palm behind my chair. My wife made use of Pierre's many duty visits to our table to lick her lips temptingly and gaze soulfully into his eyes.

One by one the other couples left the pool until we were the only ones left and the shutters were being dropped. I lay with my ahead on the table amongst the glasses but still able to see Pierre hovering hopefully close by. When Babs asked for his assistance to get me to the chalet he came at the run. They took an arm each and, although I managed a few staggering steps to help them, they had to drag me with trailing feet for most of the way. Once inside I was dumped unceremoniously onto the bed while they engaged immediately in other matters. I had not counted on it being quite so dark and due to the position in which I had been left it was impossible to see a damn thing.

Banking on them being too preoccupied to notice, I eased myself so that I could look towards the bottom of the bed, but was rewarded by only the vague outline of them grappling together.

Denied visual confirmation of their progress I was forced to depend upon the verbal component and was grateful that both felt a need to provide commentary on what they were doing. To start with it was mainly kissing and then I gathered that they were undressing each other. I heard Pierre say almost with reverence, "They are gorgeous, I didn't get a real chance to feel them before. I want to suck one." Then a short while later Babs' voice thrilled, "God, it's even bigger that I remembered - I've just got to get it in my mouth."

It was several minutes later when I heard my wife protest, "No not on the floor. The bed's better - Stuart will never know - he is well out of it. Help me shift him a bit nearer to the edge." The next moment hands were upon me as I was rolled onto my back and eased sideways to make more room for them. My head flopped to the side and through half closed lids I could see Pierre's proud prick swinging about like the jib of a crane uncomfortably close to me face. The enamoured pair now moved round quickly to occupy the space that I had vacated leaving me with the problem that my head was facing in the wrong direction. This was soon solved because, as their combined weight depressed the mattress, I allowed gravity to roll me into the valley with them. I did not actually move far but I had been given the perfect excuse the reverse the position of my head. Also, either due to moonlight outside or simply my eyes becoming accustomed to the darkness, I could see everything with far greater definition than before.

The Spaniard was too eager because Babs had to caution him, "Slowly lover or else you're going to split me with that great thing," but not long after she was moaning, "Oh that feels so good." A had a close up view of him pressing her marvellous tits together and greedily sucking the nipples but soon they got down to serious business. My wife's hand wriggled sideways to find mine and for a time she squeezed my fingers as he humped away. When the pace quickened, I was abandoned as her arms went round his neck as, in a reverse of her previous sentiment, she begged, "Fuck me hard. Impale me. Split me in two."

Now I must make the first of two desperate confessions. The violence of her orgasm again triggered him and as they clove together in mutual passion, my own cum spurted to make it a three way thing. My only excuse is that my prick was more than stiff, it was painfully constricted from the way I lay and my whole body was being rocked in response to their motion causing friction to my cock. Whatever the reason, I disgraced myself by shooting a load into my pants.

The second confession is possibly even worse and I can only use in mitigation the fact that I had possibly imbibed more alcohol than intended. I remember them kissing with him still lying on top of her but then I must have fallen asleep.

I awoke in bright sunlight to find that there were still three of us in the bed with me pressed close against a male back. Babs and Pierre lay facing with legs entwined; his face snuggled between her breasts and her hand grasping his cock. Reaching carefully over him I tapped my wife on the shoulder. Sleepily she opened her eyes and I watched them widen in shock at the realisation that I was peering at her past the other man's neck. She shook him roughly saying, "Wake up Pierre, we went to sleep. You have got to go quickly," - I made convincing 'waking up' noises to emphasise her words. The cuckoo in our nest slowly extracted himself from the bed taking care not to rouse me but then put on his shorts and left the chalet with even greater alacrity than before.

As I sat up Babs came and sat on the bed, her face wreathed in smiles. "What a terrific night. He had me three times, possibly four. It might even have been more because we seemed to be at it solid, one way and another. What do you think?"

"I don't know, I think I lost count," I muttered anxious to conceal my dereliction of duty.

"I'm sorry that you didn't get your share," she said apologetically. "Several times I said that it was time for him to go but my heart wasn't in it. I rather thought that you would make some 'coming round' noises to back me up but you didn't. You were very convincing with your drunk act. All those times we had to stop and push you away because you had rolled almost on top of us. If I didn't know better, I would have sworn that you really were unconscious."

You will understand that I delayed no longer in collecting at least part of my share. If anything my fervour was increased by the frustration of having sacrificed so much voyeuristic pleasure. The large wet patch on the sheet gave some indication of what I had missed and then, when I had entered her I wondered if being severely stretched for a protracted period might have ruined my wife's lovely cunt forever.

After breakfast, sitting again by the pool, I asked, "Now that you have made a fair test - which is better, Rory or Pierre?"

"Rory by a long way," she replied without needing to consider.

"But ... I thought you said."

"Pierre's cock is quite a bit bigger but he hasn't got a lot of finesse where Rory knows so many ways to set a girl on fire. Pierre will get better but at the moment he depends too much on his size. Most women will be more than satisfied with that but I hoped for more. I really did enjoy doing it with him but he was a long way from sending me crazy."

"So you would have preferred that Pierre was Rory?"

Babs shook her head emphatically. "No I don't. Pierre was sweet and I think that he enhanced our honeymoon but Rory would have ruined it. I don't really like Rory at all - apart from the hold that he has...had on my body, he is mean and unpleasant and I think that he could have a really cruel streak."

During the day, on a couple of occasions, Babs said coyly, "I keep thinking about last night - do you fancy going for a lie down?" Our last night was also pretty hectic, without the presence of a third party - during the evening I had sadistically watched Pierre's eagerness diminish as I persisted in ordering relatively soft drinks.

While I finished the packing, Babs went to leave gratuities for the waiters at the bar. As we were leaving, Pierre stepped forward from where he had been lurking near the gate. To my surprise he came to me. Grasping my hand he said, "It has been so nice having you - I hope that you will visit us again." Then, turning to Babs he bent gallantly low and kissed her fingers. "Thank you for everything, lovely Senora," he said sincerely - but then, feeling my eyes upon him he mumbled, "- for the tip I mean."

When we were arrived home, after eating, Babs sat me on the settee and took my hands in hers. "You are far too trusting and generous for your own good Stuart," she said. "My past life is over and the honeymoon is over. Out married life together begins here now."

I just nodded because there was nothing that I could say but I knew that she was gently telling me that I should grant her no more latitude.

We fell into a contented routine, work, watching television in the evening and then bed. I am not saying that we had no hectic sessions between the sheets but generally both of us were happy with a gentler kind of loving. One night every week we went to see her old friends or to visit my parents but none of these excursions were without trauma. My parents, particularly my mother, were very dubious about Babs, mainly due to the daring clothes that she continued to wear. One time my mother said loudly to my father within our hearing, "I don't think that girl is any better than she should be. She certainly couldn't show more if she was walking the streets. I don't know why Stuart puts up with it."

Meeting my wife's friends was still an ordeal because they invariably made me feel an object of derision. If a man has sexual relations with a woman however casually, always thereafter there is a certain familiarity if only in a glance. I found that there were no males from Babs' side of town without that look in their eye. Some were more forthright, letting me know either by innuendo or explicit crudity that they had known her in the biblical sense. I suffered even from remarks not intended for my ears. I heard one guy say, "I think he's a lucky sod - she gave me the best shag of my life," to which his friend replied, "That's not her only talent - it's well known that nobody gives head like Babs."

When, after about six months, Babs suggested that I visit my parents by myself, I quickly agreed attracted by the reciprocal agreement that I would no longer be forced into the company of her one time companions. After a couple of months Babs arrived home much later than usual and explained that she had been for a drink with some old school friends.

"I've been thinking it would be nice if I could have a regular girl's night out. Let my hair down a bit." I think that I must have had a dubious look on my face because she quickly added, "You can trust me - I promise that I will behave myself." What could I do but agree?

It was some months later when I heard Babs get home earlier than expected - it had just gone nine when usually she was after eleven. I looked up from the television to find that she was not alone for behind her stood a tall hard faced man with a long yellow pony tail. My heart sank but I jumped up prepared to go through the motions of politely offering a welcome. The rough looking stranger just looked at me without emotion, obviously not willing to offer any pleasantry himself. My wife grabbed my arm and pulled me into the kitchen and then turned to face me. Her face looked strange - I would have said 'tense' but it was more than that. "I've brought Rory home. He wants to fuck me," she blurted out.

I took a long swallow and asked in an almost steady voice, "Do you want him to?"

There was a long pause and then she said slowly, "If you say 'No', I won't do it."

Foolishly, ignoring her words, I repeated, "Do you want him to?"

Something changed in her eyes and I could not tell if it was relief or regret. At first she just nodded her head and then she said, "Yes.".

"Then you can," I heard myself say. A strange look crossed her face - I had never seen it there before and yet it rung a bell. For a moment I was reminded of smokers, flooding out of buildings to mill on the pavement, desperately pulling cigarette packets out of their pockets. But then suddenly I knew exactly where I had seen that expression before. Some months before I had watched a television program where the camera followed a reformed addict through a year of rehabilitation, charting his periods of despondency but showing his determination to succeed. Towards the end he lapsed. The television team followed him to the dealer and back to the house. For a long moment the camera played full on the man's face as he sat at the point of no return, clutching the fix in his hot sticky hand.

"Thank you," she said simply with a happy smile. For a moment I experienced a tingle reminiscent of a sensation enjoyed twice on our honeymoon but it quickly died as I realised that this was completely different. Brief though it was Babs must have read the thought because she warned quietly, "Rory does not like being watched."