Sauce for the Goose

Let's save each other some time: Experience tells me that there's a section of the readership who prefer their erotica to take place far beyond the eyes of their chaste and virtuous wives; or at the very least, well below the pedestal upon which they believe wives should be placed. If that includes you, then you're really not going to enjoy this story, so save your own time in reading it and my time in reading the inane comments that you'll post if you do. For the rest of you, here we go:

Hi, the name's Adam and my wife Jill and I are... ordinary, no different to millions, perhaps tens of millions of other couples around the world: We met in school, dated -- albeit not exclusively -- through our teens, got serious at twenty-one and married at twenty-three; by then I was a fully qualified electrician and Jill a nurse working for the National Health Service.

Our married lives progressed in the same 'ordinary' vein: I started and built up a domestic electrical business, Jill remained in the NHS and is now a Ward Sister -- Jill could've gone much higher, but refused any promotions away from the 'front line'. Between them those jobs have earned us enough to pay off the house and raise and educate three kids; our eldest is working and has completely flown the nest, the twins are in their final year at university..

Jill loves the house, our kids all seem to be happy and well adjusted, we get on with our extended families, are surrounded by good friends and neighbours and after twenty-odd years I've finally got another motorcycle. OK, I'll concede that Jill's not happy about that, but all in all, everything's rosy in our garden. Even our sex life has re-energised a little since the twins went off to college, but hey-ho, that too might well be described by some as ordinary.

Of course there have been bumps and pot-holes along the way -- professional, financial, health-wise and personal -- but even our problems have been pretty ordinary, with nothing life-changing and all satisfactorily resolved. This story begins with couple of those bumps -- albeit minor ones -- that befell us in early-January:

Tuesday evening and Jill came home from work spitting feathers. To allow those nurses with younger children to stay home over Christmas, Jill along with some other more mature staff members had worked a half-dozen additional shifts. The deal being that they could take time off in lieu at a time to suit themselves later in the year. Today, those staff had learnt that 'later in the year' was sometime in January, after which their lieu-days would be forfeited

A couple of days later, I had a call from the Client whom I was working for the following week to advise of a delay on his project; we wouldn't be able to start on site until a week later. Jeff was a good and regular client, very apologetic and even promised an ex-gratia payment to offset the disruption and buggeration; a quick rehash of our workload and I managed to utilise most of my guys elsewhere, or if I didn't work... all of them

As so often in our lives it was Jill who saw past the lemons to the lemonade: We both had some free time and a little extra cash to play with, so Saturday afternoon saw us sitting on a plane, winging our way across the Atlantic to Jamaica.

Our destination was chosen for its guaranteed sunshine and it not needing any visas or inoculations for which we didn't have time; but it was a helluva step for a couple who'd never before got further than Spain. Even that had been six years ago -- all those college costs!

We were booked into a small all-inclusive hotel complex on the island's north coast, chosen in part because it advertised as being 'strictly adults only'. I know what you're all thinking and the answer's 'No!'.

We wondered the same, so enquired; it was a normal, nothing saucy, by-the-book hotel, but no kids were allowed. Just what we wanted to hear, having got away without our own kids for the first time in over twenty years, we didn't want to be tripping over anyone else's.

What we hadn't considered was the likely demographic of the other guests; a good proportion of folks our age do still have kids in tow:

There was a few who were fifteen years or more older than ourselves; you saw those at meal times, lounging around around the pool during the day, but rarely after about nine in the evening. The vast majority however were a good fifteen years or more younger, mid-twenties to early thirties. Those rarely appeared before lunchtime, but could be heard partying long after we'd called it a night.

Don't get me wrong, everyone was very friendly and sociable, but we weren't likely to meet and make any lifelong friends amongst out fellow guests. We pretty well kept to ourselves, alternating days on the beach or beside the pool with organised trips around the island: Rose Hall, Dunn's River Falls, the James Bond guy's house, we even crossed the island to the House now a museum where Bob Marley grew up; man oh man, but Kingston is a shit hole!

After dinner in the evenings we spent our time in and around the bar, there was usually entertainment of some sort and a disco afterwards, but we invariably headed for our bed before things began to get too lively. We did agree that we should attend the Foam Party that was being held in and around the main swimming pool on our final night.

It wasn't the first foam party the week, but it was the first one at our own hotel; we'd overheard some very racy anecdotes about those that'd gone before.Our hotel was one of three along the north coast under the same ownership, each hosted a weekly foam party and guests from the other two were invited, with transport being provided by the hotel.

Those courtesy buses didn't return until almost three in the morning, so a little too late for such as us There was a second bus that looped between the hotels at around ten the following morning to repatriated those guests who'd either not got back from the host hotel, or had been delivered to a hotel other than their own; the stories from those folks were some of the raciest!

We took dinner early, then went back to our room to catch an hour's sleep in preparation, then headed down to the pool around eight-thirty, Jill wearing a bikini, though not her skimpiest one. Things got lively from the off and It wasn't long before many of the ladies were topless - a few even bottomless too! - but Jill couldn't be persuaded to follow suit. A pity as even in her late forties Jill possesses a body far more appealing than many of those that were being more blatantly displayed:

Jill is auburn haired and tall at almost 5' 10"; back in our schooldays Jill was both the girls' high-jump and long-jump champion, which perhaps best indicates her figure as a teenager. The cruellest of Jill's... more shapely classmates knick-named her 'Beanpole' or 'Stretch' back then, though thirty-years later I suspect that they'd now green with envy.

Those intervening years and motherhood have proved beneficial to Jill's contours, with her boobs, hips and bum developing beautifully; that coupled with her active and healthy lifestyle, has seen Jill mature into the archetypical MILF.

We abandoned the swimming pool around ten and while I went to the bar once more, Jill popped back to our room to grab some additional clothing; a polo-shirt for me along with a spaghetti-strapped camisole top and calf-length cotton skirt for herself, even still damp the tropical night was far from cold.

After that, we spent our evening dancing by the poolside, drinking more rum-punch and watching the high-jinks that continued in the water; even the foam's camouflage couldn't hide just how steamy things were now getting in there.

It was close to midnight when I was dispatched to the bar yet again: We'd each had a couple more rum-punches than were good for us and those, along with the floor -- or to be precise 'pool' -- show had tempted us into having a couple more; besides, these though we agreed, would positively-definitely be the last ones before heading to our bed.

The bar was packed and it must've been twenty minutes before I got served and back outside; looking over the pool area from the terrace I couldn't see Jill anywhere, she certainly wasn't where I'd left her.

Despite Jill's height and hair colour I must've scoured the crowded dance-floor for a couple of minutes before I spotted her and then immediately saw why: Jill was dancing between two men, the one between myself and she was even taller -- well over six feet -- and both were pressed close around her; far too close for propriety.

Even as I watched the tall chap behind Jill bent his knees slightly and began to grind his crotch against her bum. The one in front I now saw had a leg thrust forward between Jill's thighs and was sliding it back and forth against her pussy. No! An instant later I realised that it was Jill rubbing her groin along his thigh!

I was still asorbing that, when the tall chap slid his hands upwards from Jill's hips and they quickly disappeared beneath her camisole top. As the fabric's movement made it clear, they soon arrived around Jill's breasts; not so much stroking or caressing them as mauling them harshly.

Had I groped Jill in that way she'd soon have told me that I was being 'too rough' and to ease-off or even stop. Jill instead looked back over her shoulder and lasciviously smiled; the guy responded by kissing Jill on the mouth, a kiss that my wife eagerly matched.

Their kiss only broke when the music stopped and Jill pushed both men away from her and looked around frantically, most especially in the direction of the bar. I was surprised at her not seeing me there, then realised that the lights were far brighter where she was standing and that from her position, I was to a degree masked by some dangling foliage.

Don't ask me why, but rather than waving or even moving out into the open, I instead drifted further behind those dangling plants. Jill searched and stared for a full thirty seconds before finally turning her attention back to the young men; she did so with a broad grin.

Thereafter I eavesdropped on their conversation from my hideaway. I couldn't hear a word of course, but their body language and hand gestures said it all:

An arm waved generally toward the building - 'Are you staying in this hotel?'

A hand pointing in the vicinity of our room -- 'Yes, up there'

An arm waved in the same direction -- 'How about we go to your room?'

A firmly shaken head and a raised left hand, ring finger waving -- 'Not a chance, I'm married!'

A protracted look around from the taller guy, a shrug of the shoulders and an all ecompassing wave of the arm -- 'I don't see him anywhere, there must be somewhere else we could go?'

Now it was Jill's turn to look around, her gaze more intense and directed specifically towards the bar terrace; a wicked smile then settled on her face as she grabbed the tall bloke by the wrist and turned away -- 'This way and quickly!'

Jill was already heading towards the walkway to the beach, with the taller guy following, when his friend threw both arms upward -- 'Hey, what about me?'

Jill paused, scanned the terrace once more, then another wicked smile as she gestured sharply for him to follow -- 'OK, but be quick!'

All three scurried down the boardwalk, with Jill frequently looking back over her shoulder and the two lads blatantly kissing and groping her as they went. When they reached the cover of the palm trees Jill stopped and stared long and hard back in my direction; she and the two men were no more than shadows, an instant later they were gone.

So you ask, why didn't I intervene? Actually, that's an easy one: Melanie Brooks. I mentioned earlier that there had been a few bumps and pot-holes in our marriage and the three biggest ones revolved around acts of infidelity; all had my name on them and Melanie was the most recent. That was last summer, but it was only over this last few weeks that Jill had finally stopped mentioning Mel's name; a clean slate for the New Year perhaps?

Whatever, I knew damned well that had I stepped in and made an issue of Jill and those guys, Melanie Brooks' name would've entered the conversation inside thirty seconds. It was the final night of our holiday, we were thousands of miles away from friends and family, perhaps Jill's turn to have a little fun?

Even if those guys were British, the odds of their living anywhere near us were long, while the odds that they were looking for anything beyond a quick fuck with a hot-MILF were infinitesimal. I finished my rum punch, assessing that they'd be back in fifteen minutes, whereafter Jill may or may not confess to her fling. Either way, should Melamine Brooks' name ever be raised again I'd have some ammunition of my own.

Realising that I'd be directly in Jill's eyeline when she returned from the beach, I moved back down to the pool side, but down the opposite end; discretely positioned but with a clear view of the boardwalk. Waiting there I worked my way through Jill's rum punch; she wouldn't be wanting it right now.

I was proved half-right: It was about ten minutes later that the tall guy came striding back up the boardwalkand went immediately to a bunch of guys, but from where I was now standing, I couldn't even see their conversation. It was a short one though, as less than thirty seconds later, he was heading back toward the beach with five other lads in hot pursuit.

Oh shit! What had Jill got herself into? Or indeed what had I allowed her to get herself into? I set off after them, but by the time I'd regained my faculties and then worked my way through the crowds around the pool I was a good four or five minutes behind. Finding them though wasn't likely to bea problem:

Not far from the walkway's end there was a small clearing with a couple of picnic benches amongst the sea-grape trees, Jill had got me or one of the hotel staff to drag a sun-lounger in there for her most afternoons; it allowed Jill to enjoy the sea breeze and view, while affording shelter from the heat of the afternoon sun and had been Jill's favourite spot all week.

This time my guess was spot-on, though my wife wasn't on a sun lounger tonight: Jill was on her hands and knees in the soft sand, with her skirt and top both scrunched-up about her waist; there was no sign of her bikini pants, but the top lay discarded on the sand a few feet away.

There was a guy at either end of Jill, both on their knees and each with their cock buried deep inside of my wife. The rest of the men were lounging on the picnic tables and benches shouting advice and encouragement... Oh shit!

The lads had firm grips on Jill's hips and hair and were takiing her hard, far harder than I'd ever dared, or been allowed; even around the cock in her mouth I could hear Jill's wails and moans of distress. But what could I do; how could I stop seven guys from gang-raping her?

As I stood in open-mouthed quandry the guy fucking Jill's pussy straightened-up and released a bestial roar; I could see his arse-cheeks clench and jerk as he unloaded into Jill while the sound of his climax was lost beneath the acclaiming cheers of his friends. If the sight of my wife being savagely spit-roasted had left me stunned, a moment later I was floored:

In the relative silence which followed his climax the man eased away and so allowed Jill to push herself free of the cock invading her mouth. Jill turned to face the lads watching from the benches, her gaze moving over them all before she raised a hand, pointed toward one of them and called out: "Him, I want you next... the black guy."

The man chosen leapt up with a whoop and was peeling off his shorts as he moved, while the rest released another round of lewd cheers and advice. I watched him drop to his knees and quickly mount Jill; while the lad perhaps didn't fulfil the urban legends, he was certainly well hung. He still slipped into Jill like a hot-knife into butter.

This wasn't a rape! My wife was more than consenting to their assault and as if to prove that further, Jill casually caught hold of the cock swinging before her and steered it back between her lips. Beyond the trembling in my legs, I couldn't move; hell I could barely even breathe!

The black guy was pounding into Jill's pussy, so hard that I could see her breasts swinging and bouncing against each other with every penetration. That too Jill resolved for herself, grabbing the hands of the guy fucking her mouth she guiding them to her swinging boobs; this lad too groped Jill's breasts and twisted her nipples with a violence that I'd never known her to countenance.

Listening to Jill's wails and moans with fresh ears, I now realised they were expressing anything but complaint, Jill was hot to trot and enjoying every second of this gangbang! Confirmation arrived soon after: My wife went rigid for one moment, then unleashed a primeval scream which even the cock in her mouth couldn't quell completely, before twitching spastically through a massive orgasm; I'd never witnessed Jill coming that hard!

Perhaps in part because of Jill's body-clenching orgasm, the black lad with his cock buried between her legs climaxed only a few moments later. With Jill screaming, he roaring and the other blokes cheering in approbation, it was perhaps not surprising that the guy in her mouth had called out two or three times before his question registered: "Do you want a turn pal?"

I returned his stare, but was by then beyond speech. "Well do you? She's hot as hell, offering a turn to everyone; Micky and Carl are next in line, but once they've been through her you're welcome to a ride."

I remained speechless as I glanced left to see Micky -- or perhaps Carl? - drop down behind Jill, but then looked back and silently nodding 'yes'; the guy nodded back and grinned.

Neither Micky or Carl lasted long, indeed the second of the two didn't even penetrate Jill; he climaxed as he was dropping to his knees, sending sprays of semen arcing across her back and shoulders. No doubt disappointed himself, but the watching crowd found his loss of control hilarious; I took a couple of deep and steadying breaths, adamant that I wouldn't do the same.

Jill was still distracted by the cock she was sucking and hadn't even glanced around when the guy had spoken to me. Jill clearly had no idea that the hands now grasping her hips, or the cock nuzzling at the entrance to her pussy were her husband's; or by that stage she perhaps didn't care, mine was just one more cock.

Pressing forward my cock slid into Jill with a sensation that I'd never imagined and certainly not experienced; she was so wet I was almost listening for the sound of a splash! Jill's snatch was distended and full to overflowing with spent semen and her own juices, a world away from the snug sweet channel I knew and loved; it was like plunging my cock into a bucket of warm yoghurt!

My distaste must've shown in my expression as the face of the guy in fornt of me split with a barbaric grin and he called out: "Her cunt a bit slack mate? I'm not surprised, she's had five cocks unload in there already. If you wanna wait I'll soon be done at this end, mine'll only be the second load in her mouth and she swallows those anyway, a greedy little cum-gobbler is this one."

Those words were one more discombobulation: Jill had often sucked my cock, albeit never with the enthusiasm she was displaying tonight, but she had never and I mean NEVER, allowed me to come in her mouth; that had always been a red-line with Jill.

It was perhaps hearing of this proscription being waived which turned my mind to my wife's other great sexual taboo; returning the guy's grin I growled "Either that, or maybe I'll just fck her in the arse; that still looks tight."

The atmosphere changed in and instant as the guy snarled "Don't even fucking think about it! Tony asked earlier and the lady said 'No'... This isn't that sort of party, we only take what's offered." The watching crowd had fallen silent and felt equally threatening.