The Smirk

There was a smirk on my wife's face as she informed me the chair in front of our king size bed was there for me. She intended to tie me to the chair back, while she masturbated in front of it. She wore another smirk while she tied me firmly in place, that wasn't the smirk I meant either.

It wasn't the smirk she gave me as she dropped her satin dressing gown to the floor to reveal the hundred quid set of Janet Reger underwear I had bought her as part of her birthday present last month. I immediately got a stiffy thinking about the bit after she released me, the smirk on my face wasn't the one in question either.

Nor was the smirk where she produced her brand new "King Dong", a nine inch dildo. I knew she preferred the real thing and, as I could "hit bottom" with my seven and a half inch chopper, the extra length was just a hand hold, there was next to no difference in girth.

The smirk she gave me as she bound my torso tight to the back of the chair wasn't the right one either. Or the one she gave me as she walked passed me, strutting in her come fuck me 5inch stiletto heeled court shoes to open the bedroom door

Jimmy Marr, the supercilious twat; followed her into my bedroom. I knew she'd been fucking him these last three months. The smirk he gave me as he walked into our bedroom was definitely not the right one. I see you Jimmy Marr and I know your game, the smirk I wore as I suppressed my feelings had nothing to do with the one and only, genuine smirk either.

The smirk she gave me while fastening the strap to hold the ring gag tight in my mouth was getting nearer but it still wasn't quite the smirk this story is about.

She sat on the bed with Marr's horny calloused hands mauling her tits and almost got there with the smirk that was followed by her saying don't worry darling I've not left you out of the fun. With that Reece Nielsen, a guy I've known nearly all my life walked into the room, he was stark bollock naked.

Reece has a bigger cock than me and Marr put together, the problem with Reece is that he bats for the other side, that cock goes in places I don't even want to think about. Bound to the chair as I was, with the ring gag holding my mouth open I would be unable to resist Reece's oral invasion. He had the biggest smirk seen today by a good margin. Reese held his erect trouser snake just under my nose while Marr and my slut wife just couldn't quite match his current first place smirk of the day. They turned away to enjoy each other's carnal pleasures.

Marr smirked again, then pushed my wife onto her back and stuck his face in my wife's crutch. She closed her eyes and started ohhing and ahhring straight away under the ministrations of his tongue.

Being openly gay Reece has had a hard life. Having had to endure quite a bit of abuse and not a few beating, He has taken measures to look after himself. One of those measures is a six inch blade he habitually carries, I was looking at the wicked bastard thing now. My wife was calling for God with her eyes screwed shut and Marr had his tongue as far up my wife's axe wound as he could get it.

Reece winked at me and smirked again. "You were right mate, they are well past fucking stupid.

Now dear reader I have to stop the flow of the story just to fill in a little bit of background. I remember meeting Reece, for the first time when we were three years old, my mum let me out of our back door to play in our garden.

At that same moment Mrs Nielsen my mum's best friend and our next door neighbour opened her back door and let Reece, her three three old toddler out to play. We became friends that day and despite the fact he's as queer as an eleven pound note he is still my friend and the best one I've ever had. I think probably, our respective mothers may have had a little smirk each as they witnessed the seed of our life long friendship germinate.

That knife belonging to Reece is wickedly sharp, it slid through the leather strap holding the ring gag like it was cutting butter. It then with minimal effort sliced through the ropes holding me to the chair.

Now when I said Reece bats for the other side, that here in the UK is a metaphor to reflect his sexuality. Reece and I play cricket for the town's first team, Reece is a very elegant stroke player and is as sharp as a sharp thing running between wickets and rattling up the score. On the sports field he bats for the correct side, namely, us.

Unlike my lifelong pal, my batting is not elegant and apparently effortless, brutal, possibly; powerful, yes but you will see no classic strokes from me. My old man calls me the last of the long handled batsman, that comment is usually accompanied with a proud father to son smirk. As I discarded the remains of the rope my wife had used to bind me. Reece pulled out one of my Gray-Nicolls Legend bat from its hiding place, under the bed, he did that with only a slight smirk. If there are any yanks still reading at this stage, think Babe Ruth's 54-ounce hickory bat.

I managed to climb on the bed without disturbing the lovers. Using that fine piece of willow I hit Marr in his hanging plums with the best straight drive ever seen outside a test cricket ground, definitely brutal.

Marr, without a sound passed out, my wife, she screamed, Reece nearly pissed himself laughing and as I looked in the mirror I saw upon my face, the very best smirk of the day.