I was determined to look my stunning best this evening—God only knows what Jill looks like now, but I intended to outdo her. I wore my sexiest jaw-dropping heels and dark stockings, a short skirt that didn’t exactly say Fuck Me, at least not until you saw me walk across the room in it. On the top, it was back to a skimpy quarter-cup filmy bra that Simon had bought for me, with a tight, buttoned cashmere cardigan that didn’t conceal too much, especially as the top three buttons were undone. It was a warm night so I only wore a short waist-length, black, single-buttoned jacket over this. My dark hair was glistening and my makeup was perfect as I parked outside their house and turned off my phone. This was it—into battle.
They both greeted me with open arms and big smiles. I was delighted to see that Jill hadn’t aged that well, mind you, she was at least five years older than me. Her face was lined from smoking and her magnificent breasts, though well propped up by her undergarment had the look of those big saggy tits of women of a certain age. With her hair piled high on her head, and her long thin face, I imagined her as a donkey with half-full saddlebags draped around its withers. My smiles and good-humoured greetings reflected my enjoyment at the fantasy.
Her legs were still good though and I was disappointed to see that her skirt was a similar length to mine, especially when I noticed that she was wearing stockings. She took me by the arm as Roger went to get the drinks and started to compliment me, just as in the past. Only this time she went as far as to comment on how sexy I looked—this struck an incongruous note. What could I do? I returned the compliment, of course.
Despite them both blatantly inspecting me during the meal, even with Roger making references to how terrific my body looked, I enjoyed the evening. The food was good and the wine was too freely flowing when Roger turned on some music and suggested we might dance. Absolutely, I thought, in my pretty inebriated state, I’ll show donkey-tits how a real woman can entice a man and danced opposite him in nothing short of a sexual frenzy.
Before I knew it, Jill, who, by now, was so pissed she could barely remain upright, had joined in and was rubbing her hands all over me as the three of us gyrated. When she slipped her fingers up my skirt to stroke between my legs in a moment of grinding together, one-upmanship required that I reciprocate. I was shocked to feel nothing but warm flesh bucking against my hand, warm wet flesh. Jesus, had my ex been fucking a lesbian?
Roger, meanwhile, was behind me rubbing his hands all over; cupping my breasts and alternately feeling my vagina in competition with his wife. But not for long. She stumbled against me, eyes rolling. I grabbed her as she passed out in my arms.
“She’s had way too much,” Roger said, manhandling her onto the settee. “I’ll put her to bed later. Come and I’ll show you where you’re sleeping.” He took my hand to lead me out of the room, but I pulled away and went over to where Jill was sprawled.
“I just want to see what the attraction was,” I said to him, as I pulled her skirt up to her waist, pulled her legs apart and dipped two fingers into her soaking twat. He was standing open-mouthed, so I swung around and wiped them on his tongue. Buttons popped on her blouse as I wrenched it open. I pulled her bra upwards allowing the monsters to cascade to her waist. “Just as I thought,” I said to him, grabbing his hand again. “Now, where are we going, you lucky man?”
He stuttered that I was sleeping in his son Jerry’s room as it had a bigger bed than in the spare room and Jerry was at his friend’s all-night twenty-first birthday party. “Lead the way,” I told him, sashaying up the stairs behind him. I felt totally in control again.
The curtains drawn and a discreet bedside light lit, he quickly stripped off. I kept him at arm’s length and sat him on the bed as I began a sexual masturbatory strip in front of him. I could see my reflection in the big sliding mirrored doors and I looked fantastic, writhing with my fingers playing with myself, clad in only my underwear, stockings and heels. I was barely aware of a car drawing up outside, but we both heard the front door scrape open and close too noisily. Immediately, footsteps began to clunk up the stairs in the direction of the bedroom.
Roger looked apoplectic. It was Jerry, home unexpectedly. “Get into bed, Lizzie. Jesus, I’ll have to hide in the built-in wardrobe, he’d see me if I leave the room now! Tell him we’re all in bed and he’ll have to sleep in the spare room,” he hissed in panic before sliding a door open, shouldering between the hanging clothes, and pulling it closed.
Fuck Roger, I thought, and turned to face the door as I heard it open. There stood Jerry, swaying, and obviously sozzled. He looked at me as if he was seeing an apparition.
“Hi, you must be Jerry. I’m Lizzie, an old friend of your parents—they’re in bed already. Too much to drink, Jerry?”
“Lizzie,” he slurred, eyes popping, “what’s happening?” He had his hands stretched out towards me as if he were blind
.
“I’m sleeping in your bed tonight, Jerry. Is that okay?”
He nodded and grabbed my hand, while his other one tentatively felt for a nipple. “Is this real?
”
I embraced him. “Suck it and see,” I said, and he duly did. In minutes, with a little help from me, he had my panties off and his cock out. I eased him down on top of me and with a little manual help brought him erect. “Fuck me, Jerry. Enjoy me, fuck me hard!” I moaned at him, not meaning a word of it. But it was worth it, knowing what his father was witnessing.
Still fully dressed he covered me and fucked me hard like only young drunk men can do—mechanically, and without any erotic finesse. There was only one way to deal with this: I began screaming in faux-orgasm, and he started to come as well. As he lay back onto the bed in the post-coital recovery position, he began his final disrobing in a drunken ungainly fashion. Yet, he struggled to keep his eyes off me, and I noticed with admiration that he still sported an impressive erection. I became aware of sounds of movement downstairs. That was when I had an idea.
I leaned over, stroking his erection gently, and whispered into his ear, “Do you like big titties, Jerry? He nodded eagerly, making clumsy gropes at mine. “That’s good, Jerry, for I’ve got a friend who fell asleep downstairs and she’s got stupendous ones—and I bet she’s just gagging for a fuck.” He struggled in a half-attempt to get up. “It’s okay, Jerry. You just lie there, I’ll go fetch her,” I whispered. “But, she’s a little bit odd, she doesn’t like the light on, and she prefers it if you keep your eyes closed. Is that okay with you.”
“Yes,” he wheezed.
“Good boy,” I whispered, still stroking him. “I’m going to fetch her now, but I want to make sure she’s not going to be disappointed, so you keep this big boy hard while I’m away. Okay?”
He nodded, and without missing a beat he took over manually where my hand had left off. I emphasised to him again that when he heard the door opening, he was to close his eyes.
As I went downstairs I could hear her moving noisily in the kitchen. She turned when she heard me call her name, and through her inebriation, I could see her eyes light up with lust.
“Come with me, Jill,” I said, straightening her up a bit, re-hooking her cantilevered bra and stuffing her fleshy mounds inside it. That sort of thing doesn’t seem to matter to most men, the presentation of giant globes is all they see, and I was sure Jerry would be just the same.
Of course, while I was doing this, she was groping me all over, even trying to kiss me, ugh, fortunately my extra height prevented that. Not having been fucked or mauled by Roger, I was pleased at how presentably sexy she looked as I helped her up the stairs. We stopped at the bedroom door. “I’ve got a sexy threesome for you in here, Jill. But apart from sexual noises, none of us are to speak to each other; and keep your eyes closed. Understand?”
“Oh, that sounds . . . dirty!” she slurred a chuckle.
I opened the door to ensure everything was the same as when I left—and it was. Jerry, now bollock-naked, was lying on his back stroking a flagpole erection. He closed his eyes when he heard me.
I eased Jill inside and dimmed the bedside light till it barely cast a shadow. I walked her around to Jerry’s side of the bed, took her hand and placed it on his roasting member while at the same time lifting his hand onto her brassiere-encased left breast.
In a frenzy of movement Jill was pulled over him, onto the bed, neither of them letting go. His lust at bursting point, he had her on her back in seconds, and was punching deep into her soaking cunt in a flash. I stood back in amazement, she fucked him like a demon, screaming obscenities in what sounded like a possessed voice, while her son pounded her into oblivion.
For a moment, I felt a tad inferior, not in the same league. Whatever, I had thought she lacked, she made up for in enthusiasm. No wonder she had led my husband by his dick. Fuck it, I was jealous! In a moment of insight, I realised I had a lot to learn.
Despite it having been literally a night of anti-climax for me, I had enjoyed at least one silver lining: getting a taste of revenge on Jill and Roger. I had grabbed my clothes from the bedroom when I left the familial fuckers hard at it—but had no idea what Roger was doing in the wardrobe. Had he fallen into an inebriated slumber, or was he beating his meat to the frenzied fucking on the bed in front of him? It made no difference to me. Once I dressed, touched up my makeup and pulled on my top coat, I looked much like any other MILF returning from a night out. I checked the time; not yet one. The night was still young.
……………………………………………………………………………
After the wine I had I knew I shouldn’t be driving, but at this time of night, at the weekend, I might have had to hang around for an hour in Roger’s house for a cab, and I needed to get away. I was on a high anyway, so decided to take the risk, after all, I hadn’t had that much to drink, and my last one was at least a couple of hours ago.
Getting into my vehicle, I took my phone from my bag, just in case Simon had texted me, but the screen was blank. I shook my head in annoyance at myself. Of course, how could I have forgotten that I’d turned it off just in case Jim, Pat or the biker brutes from the other night’s escapade had tried to call me? I shivered at the thought. It was late now, even they would’ve got the message that I wasn’t interested, and would’ve given up on me.
The screen glowed into action. Yes, I had several missed calls from around nine-ish, all from unknown numbers—my stomach began to feel a little queasy as I looked at them. There was nothing from Simon, though; he must be feeling pretty angry with me. He’d never been out of touch for more than twenty-four hours before.
There was also a text message notification from a number I didn’t recognise. Maybe Simon had lost his phone and had to buy a new one, one with a new number?
That would account for his silence—I opened the text. An embedded photograph of what was indisputably me, though my face wasn’t visible, lying unconscious on the classroom floor, my exposed breasts being groped by a half-dozen different hands, all emerging from blazered cuffs.
My queasiness increased at the sight. My God, was this the end of my career? Could my life ever recover from these few months of lubricious madness? Was this blackmail? If so, I knew I could never go to the police to make a complaint—it would definitely be the end of everything.
Below the photograph was an unsigned message: Re the Farwell Bukkake Evening. For logistical reasons, we’re arranging it sooner rather than later. Just a discreet, confidential gathering of eight or nine of us. Please let us know which night next week would suit you. We’ll book the hotel venue—don’t be concerned, it won’t be local!
I must’ve been holding my breath, for the sound of my exhalation startled me. I took a few rapid, deep breaths and felt the relief surging through me like a drug. Two words in the text: discreet, and confidential, seemed to grow and glow with significance. I was saved. I wasn’t about to be exposed after all. I just had to play along for a matter of weeks and I would be safe. Most, if not all of the boys in that class, were destined for university or careers away from here, and surely they would have a vested interest in keeping any shenanigans shielded from public exposure. Once they were gone I could revert to my staid existence of a year ago. I resolved to resist any dangerous urgings from Simon in the future and limit them solely to fantasies played out in the privacy of my own bedroom.
As I drove from Roger’s street I began to consider my sobriety again. It was a good five miles to my home, the most direct route passing through the centre of town, which was the most risky area with the highest likelihood of being stopped by the police, especially with all the pub and club activity at the weekend. No, the safest option, I decided, was to take the long way round, out into the countryside and skirt the town. It would make the journey twice as long, but safer.
There was little traffic on the narrow roads, but, of course, it had started to rain quite heavily, affecting visibility, so I had to limit my speed. I was barely a quarter of the way when I began to regret my decision. If I’d driven though the centre of town, I would be nearly home now—and I needed a pee badly.
I knew there were no laybys close at hand, and the road was so narrow I didn’t dare risk just pulling in to the side to empty my bladder—I’d be in full view of any passing traffic, not to mention being soaked by the relentless rain. A local forest park, about two miles further on, was my best bet. A busy place during the day with joggers and dogwalkers, I reckoned it would be deserted at this time on a soaking Friday night. I just had to hold on until I got there; at least the trees would provide refuge from the rain.
I hadn’t taken account of the ‘lover’s lane’ aspect of course. As I came to the parking area about a quarter of a mile off the road, the sweep of my headlights revealed five or six vehicles nuzzled into quiet corners. Embarrassed at disturbing them, I flashed my main beams in apology before turning the headlights off and slowly made my way toward one of the few private nooks remaining. This wasn’t easy, of course, as with no lights I couldn’t really see where I was going.
But I couldn’t wait any longer. I grabbed a handful of tissues, jumped out of the car and locked it remotely. The flashing of the indicators as it locked provided a moment of visibility when I could see a path to one side that would shield me from any newcomers driving in. Moving quickly, and virtually on my toes to avoid my stiletto heels sinking into the wet ground, I held my short jacket over my head to prevent my hair getting soaked—pretty much in vain as I was mistaken as to the amount of cover the tree canopy provided.
Another set of lights arriving drove me deeper up the pathway before I felt comfortable enough to hitch up my skirt, remove my thong, and squat down. Oh, the relief, as I peed! Even the fact that I was becoming totally saturated in the increasing downpour didn’t dampen my satisfaction. I wiped and stood up, feeling a little guilty as I tossed the tissue into the undergrowth. I’m turning into a litterbug as well as a drunk-driver, I mused, smiling to myself. What next?
My short jacket was uncomfortably soaked through, so I didn’t put it on again, and pulled my skirt down—not that anyone might notice the difference, it being so short. As I brushed myself down with the palms of my hands I felt the hard buds of my nipples protruding through my tight, wet cardigan. A frisson of sexual excitement shivered through me from the contact, just moments before I heard noises from the bushes in front.
I froze, just as a narrow flashlight beam blinded me. In reflex, I shielded my eyes. A wolf-whistle of admiration, was quickly followed by another from another position, and then another.
I’ve often experienced this before, of course, but only when passing building sites, and I must admit I’m never offended by it, rather the contrary, in fact. But this was different. Had I been followed? Could this be the bikers?
The flashlight was joined by another. Keeping my eyes averted I could see that my body was being scanned by flashlight beams, while mutters of approval coincided with the rustling of undergrowth all around.
“Get them off, sweetheart!” a croaking voice urged.
I jumped when two hands encircled me from behind and unbuttoned my cardigan. What should I do? Scream? Jesus, that might attract more of them! I knew what my mistake had been now—Simon had used this sort of situation as a bedroom fantasy scenario months ago, before me being fucked by pupils had risen to the top of his list. Those people parked in the cars weren’t just couples parking for a quiet romantic evening. They were participants in the dogging phenomena—another term, I’d been previously ignorant of—where couples would invite single men to grope and often fuck their partners in enthusiastic exhibitionism.
I felt my jacket being taken from my hand as my cardigan was peeled from my torso. Shadowy figures behind the flashlights advanced upon me. Gasps and admiring comments coming from them reassured me to some extent. There was evidently a protocol involved here—it no longer felt as threatening. They were very close now, some even asked permission to touch me, though, with my heart hammering, I remained speechless.
The person behind me had pushed my skirt up and was now kneading my breasts. A swoop of a light revealed two engorged penises in front of me being wanked. Still grasped from behind, I was bent forward at the waist. I felt my thighs being gently nudged further apart and a hot cock entered me. That’s when the frenzy began.
As you know by now, in private I’m as sexual as the next lady, and my months with Simon had widened my erotic horizons, as well as my cunt, more than I could ever have believed a year ago. It was strange how he came into my mind as they descended upon me. He would give his eye teeth to have been party to this. This moment was like an epiphany—I am now officially the most sexually experienced one of us—Simon is just a wannabee!
I felt in control—the pitch-blackness and the waterfall of rain soaking us all was like a magic cloak of anonymity. This was fulfilling fantasy to the fullest. Suddenly, there were no victims here. I was ridden, groped and spurted upon just as I pulled cocks and licked balls, encouraging anything and everything, even being laid in the mud to be cunt-fucked and arse-fucked in total abandon.
There couldn’t have been any more than five of them, so, in the nature of male orgasms, once they had been sucked and fucked to completion, one by one they drifted off leaving me dripping with semen and rain. It felt strangely anti-climactic despite having had numerous orgasms in the process—more than I could say about earlier in the evening with Roger and Jill.
I located my few discarded garments and made my way back to the car. In the momentary flash of interior lights when I opened the door, I could see what a mess I looked. Thank God, there’s no one at home, I thought, but I still have to get there without drawing the attention of the police.
