The car nosed slowly through the early evening London traffic. By my side my wife, Susan, pulled her kid skin evening glove up to her elbow. She pushed a hair that had escaped from her french plait behind her ear and smiled at me, genuinely happy at the prospect of the evening ahead. I am not sure why Susan had insisted we come.
On the dash laid the gold edged, embossed invitation:
‘Lady Marjorie Blanefield requests the pleasure of the company of Mr & Mrs…’
Susan was a member of a women’s literary group. Lady Blanefield led the group. I could picture her in my mind – a redoubtable, if tweedy, lady, probably a stalwart of the Women’s Institute. Still Susan clearly enjoyed the group as she passed several afternoons a month in their company.
“The Blanefields throw REALLY enjoyable parties,” Susan entreated me, “Trust me, you’ll be surprised.” With that she opened the vanity mirror to check her lipstick. Susan’s lacy black dress rustled, providing a flash of cleavage and a hint of her complementary black lace bra. I couldn’t help feeling her outfit was somewhat racy for a tweedy London dinner party. Even after twenty years of marriage Susan still had an appealing and feminine figure and I very much had the hots for her.
As the tyres crunched on the gravel drive, we arrived at the Blanefield’s Victorian Holland Park town house, I was dressed in black tie evening kilt as requested. At the door, I recognised Kate and Ian.
“How is academia?” I asked Ian.
“Same old, same old – corduroy jackets and ungrateful students,” Ian replied.
“God bless grandpa, saved us from a life of borderline penury,” Kate’s eyes and personality sparkled as she spoke. Grandpa had invented some widget that revolutionised the oil industry, leaving the whole family comfortably provided for. Lecturing was a passion rather than a necessity.
“Are you looking forward to this evening?” Kate addressed Susan and took her arm.
“Very much so, Lady Marjorie was so right to involve our partners in the literary circle’s activities,” Susan replied as we all entered through the imposing black front door opened by Hall the butler. Kate whispered in Susan’s ear. Susan nodded affirmatively. Ahead, a green silk dress shimmered as a willowy blonde with porcelain skin came towards us.
“Hi, I am Victoria – call me Vicky. This is Paul,” Vicky held out a slender arm. I kissed her delicate hand. Vicky was a lawyer, so was Paul. They acted as if they were married, but perhaps not to each other. Both Kate and Susan, checked the bulge in Paul’s trousers, hinting at significant endowment in the cock department. Less attention was paid to Paul’s well fitted double breasted dinner jacket.
“Where IS Anna?” announced Lady Blanefield with voice that demanded attention. From the top of the staircase a set of black heels emerged, then long stockinged legs, a black velvet dress with matching evening gloves followed. Black seemed to be the theme of the evening. A simple string of pearls danced around a tanned neck. Red bobbed hair and green eyes completed the reveal.
“There you are,” Lady Blanefield took charge, “Anna is just down from Oxford, she won a rowing blue”.
“Aunty, sshh,” Anna protested vainly.
Anna smouldered sex. I saw Susan eyeing her up. I smiled to myself and wondered if Anna had any idea of Susan’s bi proclivities. My wife, as well as being a soul mate, is a bit of a sexual adventuress, with a taste for pussy that nearly matched my own.
Dinner was announced by Hall and we were seated quickly. Over a sumptuous meal the conversation ranged widely. Ian extolled the merits of rare malt whiskys. The ladies whispered conspiratorially throughout. Finally, the conversation turned to the comparative values of ancient Greek and Roman society and to what extent women controlled those societies.
“Ladies, shall we withdraw?” – more of a command than a question. I was a somewhat stunned when Lady Blanefield suggested that the ladies withdraw to the drawing room. I hadn’t been to a dinner where that had happened for thirty years. But the ladies were up and out of the dining room before I could raise the first gasp of a post-feminist protest.
After a further round of the usual after dinner drinks: port, XO brandy and malt whisky. A little later, Sir Richard Blanefield stirred from his brandy, “Thank you, Hall, the staff may leave for the evening.” With that Hall left. The door closed behind him and with an almost imperceptible click locked – discreet and understated, just like the rest of the evening. Sir Richard checked his watch.
“I suppose we should think about rejoining the ladies,” said Sir Richard generally and to me, “I think Anna wanted to show you something in my book collection about your discussion of classical life. She’ll be in the library.” He indicated a door at the far end of the dining room.
I entered the library. Dark oak shelves from floor to ceiling were filled with leather bound books. Subdued lighting gave the effect of candlelight. At the far end was a ladder to reach the higher shelves. There, bathed in a pool of light, stood Anna leant against the ladder. The soft lighting accentuated her tanned skin and feline figure.
Anna beckoned me, “you may find this interesting,” as she pointed to a book on a stand just to her right. The title was in french: ‘Manuel d’érotologie classique’.
“It’s a first edition, there are some interesting illustrations,” – a silk ribbon directed me to a page – ‘Le cunnilingus’. The illustration showed a greek maiden in orgasmic rapture as a slave tongued her clit. Out of sight, while I studied the book, Anna silently gathered her dress up from mid calf to midriff.
“Do you enjoy cunnilingus?” My eyes snapped from erotic art to erotic reality. Silk hold ups and a smooth, shaven, pantyless pussy gave a charged meaning to the question. Anna parted her legs and leant back mimicking the illustration – God she was hot.
“Well, I…” I stammered.
“Alan’s a prude!” Anna announced over my shoulder.
“Not my experience,” came my wife’s voice, from behind me, as Susan put her hands on my shoulders. I reached back with my left hand to reassure Susan. My hand reached her thigh. Where there should have been a dress, I felt a suspender belt. Susan was virtually naked too!
“Show her what you are made of dear,” Susan whispered in my ear as she pushed me down to my knees and slid my jacket off my shoulders. Anna grabbed my bow tie, slipped the knot, and used it to pull me on to her jade gate.
I caressed Anna’s bottom with both hands and kissed her slit. My nose played with her clit hood and my tongue lapped at her wetness. As Anna purred softly, I teased, licked and flicked, working with her body to bring it to a rising orgasm. Above my head Anna pulled her dress off and tossed it aside. Anna and Susan kissed and fondled each others breasts – a gentle counterpoint to my increasing wantonness. This was urgent sex. Susan’s pussy rubbed against the back of my head and I could feel the rising wetness of her panties. With a deep sigh Anna shuddered as she came.
“Thank you darling, that was divine,” Anna kissed my forehead and sauntered off towards the drawing room, leaving me with a wonderful rear view of her tanned figure now clad only in hold ups, heels and evening gloves.
“Susan, I’ll catch up with you later,” Anna said as she departed.
“What the Fuck!” I said to Susan as I rose to face her.
“Ah, there you are my boy,” – No mistaking Lady Blanefield’s commanding voice. I was about to blurt out some lame apology when I realised, she too, was completely nude.
“I see the girls have shown you our little group is not all ‘Jam and Jerusalem’. Come and join us in the drawing room. Susan, let’s find you some more pussy and I have some serious cock riding to do – Tally Ho!” with that Lady B turned on her heel and led Susan out, calling over her shoulder, “Come along Alan, you have ladies to entertain and DO take off your shirt.” I undid my cufflinks, pulled apart the studs and discarded the starched dress shirt. As I followed them out, I was intercepted at the door to the drawing room.
“Found you,” said Kate, her voice desirably husky, naked save for a pair of red ‘Fuck Me’ shoes. Kate pressed her full figure against me. Kate’s soft bush brushed my thigh. Kate reached up and whispered in my ear.
“I love a man in a kilt – Susan promised,” Kate’s eyes twinkled. Kate knelt before me, proffered her ample bust, crowned with huge areolae and erect nipples.
“Cum over my breasts,” she demanded. I pulled my sporran to the side and lifted the hem of my kilt with one hand. One of the advantages of scottish attire is my cock sprang forth, liberated immediately. I began to stroke my manhood. Kate put one hand on my knee and the other slipped into her quim and fingered herself matching my rhythm. Occasionally her tongue touched the tip of my cock. At once part painful and part exquisite pleasure.
Behind Kate the drawing room was a bacchanalian tableau. Lady Blanefield had mounted a chesterfield armchair and was sucking Sir Richard’s cock with gusto. At the same time Paul was rogering her from behind. One could only envy his monster cock as he slapped it deep into her. With each stroke Lady B’s breasts swung wildly, like an orgiastic metronome, setting the beat as the threesome worked to a climax. To their right Anna was riding Ian cowgirl, dripping champagne from her fingertip into his mouth.
In the corner, on a sofa, Susan and Vicky shared a tryst, occasionally punctuated with soft schoolgirl giggles, kissing the way that only women can kiss. Vicky still had her silk dress on, although pulled from her shoulders to reveal her breasts – pert little globes of perfection. Susan caressed and circled Vicky’s nipples, while Vicky deftly fingered Susan’s womanhood. With a pianist’s fingers, the strokes were strong but supple. It was a beautiful and touching vignette. I locked eyes with Susan and she silently mouthed ‘I love you’. Susan bucked with an intense orgasm as Vicky’s fingering reached a crescendo.
All the while, I had been rhythmically stroking my cock in time with Kate as she fingered herself. My legs were trembling with the growing excitement. I gazed into Kate’s eyes, she smiled back at me.
“Watch me cum,” Kate added breathlessly. Kate began whimpering and shaking building to catches and little exclamations which announced that she had orgasmed. I spasmed, awash with tingles, as a jet of cum arced over her breasts. Spent, I knelt with her.
“Wonderful,” Kate gasped. Cum dripped down her décolletage.
“Let me clean you up,” I said. I gently cupped her breasts and sucked the cum from her.
“How gallant,” Kate smiled flushed with a post coital glow. “But you must share.” With that she embraced me in a deep french kiss and sucked the cum from my mouth. “Thank you again,” Kate gave me a big hug. “Now, I must try Paul’s mighty phallus.”
There was a side table with a selection of drinks. Still spent, I wandered over. Sir Richard was sipping a brandy, post threesome.
“Enjoying the party?”
“Very much,” I replied. “Certainly beats charades as after dinner entertainment,” I dead-panned.
“Quite, Lady B’s idea really, I find keeping her happy makes my life much more enjoyable,” Sir Richard replied, “Excuse the subterfuge, but Susan assured Lady B you would be up for it.”
“Thank you, yes, pleasuring the ladies is the key to a happy life.” With that I picked up two champagne flutes and made my way over to Susan and Vicky.
“I thought you might need some refreshments,” I passed the glasses to the girls.
“Perfect dear,” Susan replied, “I am just going to thank our host,” winking knowingly. “- Vicky is an absolute sweetie, you’ll have much to share,” Susan pecked my cheek and headed off towards Sir Richard.
“Paul seems popular,” I said “You can only envy a cock like that.”
“A good meal has many courses,” Vicky replied mischievously. Vicky stood up, letting her dress slide to the floor. Little sparks of static magically crackled and flashed within the silk as it fell to the carpet. Before me stood not just a sweetie, but a goddess – a sex goddess. Vicky had a Goldilock’s figure – ‘just right’. Vicky’s blonde hair framed soulful eyes and a wide smile. A delicate hand provocatively circled one of her perfect breasts. Perky nipples signalled ‘I am a hot woman’. Below, and almost invisible, a trimmed blonde triangle seemingly made of threads of gossamer crowned her womanhood. Sometimes, you just have to stand and appreciate great beauty.
Vicky kissed me full on the mouth. Her tongue teased my lips. I placed my hand softly against her pussy and held it there. We broke the the kiss.
“My hand is at the service of of your pleasure. Use it as you will,” I whispered.
Slowly, at first, Vicky moved her body. Vicky rode my hand with her pussy, my fingers sliding between her lower lips, as her body flushed with pleasure. With her right hand she undid the buckles in my kilt and seven yards of tartan fell to the floor with a thud. Vicky gyrated her abdomen more intensely.
“Umm, you’re so sensitive,” Vicky sighed. “Finger me!”
I slid one finger fully into Vicky’s soaked pussy. Then a second. I crooked my fingers and stroked her g-spot.
“Ooo, y-e-s,” Vicky sighed more deeply. “More!” she rasped, grasping my head with both hands and locking us in another deep french kiss, almost sucking my tongue out of my head. Vicky broke the kiss, “faster!” she panted. My cum covered fingers squelched as I worked her to a climax.
“Aaah…” Vicky gripped me tightly as she came. As she came down from her orgasm, I helped Vicky gently to the sofa. I passed her a fluffy, clean towel from the stack helpfully placed at the end of the sofa.
Susan appeared at my side. Susan knelt on the sofa grasping the back with her hands and pointed her bottom towards me. Coyly looking over her shoulder at me, she began:
“I’ve been a naughty girl and I need to be punished.” Susan’s heart shaped bottom was just too tempting. I stood. Thwack, I slapped her bottom.
“Thank you,” Susan responded, “I’ve been a VERY naughty girl, I have fucked men that are not my husband. I have had impure thoughts and fornicated with women and I LOVED it.” With that she kissed Vicky full on the lips.
“Well, my dear what you need is a good seeing to,” I replied. My cock was still hard from my intimacy with Vicky.
“Oh, YES please,” Susan pleaded with feigned contrition. Without a pause, I thrust my cock into Susan’s already moist pussy and grabbed the tail of her french plait pulling her head back.
“Oh, yes darling, FUCK ME,” Susan squealed.
“With pleasure, you naughty girl and thank you for a wonderful surprise, I do love you,” I finished.