There’s nothing like the presence of a camera to make you hyper-aware of the positions you normally use during sex. The angles and curves of your bodies. The way the light catches when you twist this way or bend the other. Suddenly it isn’t just about your perspective and your pleasure, or those of your partner—there’s a third perspective now too. The camera. The lens with its watchful, unblinking eye, drinking in the sight of things that you normally keep private. I find it deeply thrilling. It’s almost like we’re taking our tentative first steps towards a threesome. I like to imagine that the camera itself is a person. Wait, that’s not quite right: the camera itself isn’t a person, I’m actually imagining there’s someone sitting behind the lens. An eager observer who will be sent our erotic movie to watch later, as if it’s an audition tape and if we put on a good enough performance then they might come and join us for the encore.
My one request when we decided to film ourselves was to do it somewhere other than our bedroom: a hotel or rented flat, with a huge bed and plenty of space and luxury. I wanted somewhere I could focus on our bodies and faces and all the incredible things we were doing rather than getting distracted by the mundanity of our everyday lives. It’s far sexier to create art on a blank canvas than to doodle it in the margins of a to-do list, and I worried I wouldn’t be able to fully let go if I could see yesterday’s laundry piling up or that picture leaning against the wall in the corner of the bedroom because we’ve not yet got round to hanging it properly.
Andy came through spectacularly: a rented room with a giant king-sized bed, fresh white sheets, and—best of all—one wall entirely covered in mirrors! Not only would the camera bear witness to our performance, we too would get a front-row view of every single detail. Beautiful.
When she asked me to find a hotel room for our little filmmaking project, the first thing I knew we needed was white sheets. A giant bed with a huge blank expanse to serve as backdrop: all the better to see every curve of her body in each different position. That’s why I wanted mirrors too—even more angles that the camera can capture!
I love watching her, and I have to confess that the idea of filming the pair of us together appealed mostly because I wanted her to be able to see herself as I do—that playful face twisted in the throes of lust, the way her beautiful breasts jiggle while she rides me, the curve of her back as she arches it. I thought I’d seen her from every possible angle already, but even for me, a self-confessed connoisseur of her exquisite figure, the film we made had a few extra surprises in store. In short: I never expected her to show me the same in return. The shapes my own body made while we fucked, and the expressions that I pull when I’m hovering on the edge of orgasmic oblivion.
We begin as we always do: playfully. Testing out different angles and positions in front of the mirrors. He’s setting up at the foot of the bed, adjusting and adding books to the stack that sit beneath the camera to make sure the frame of the shot will capture all of the action. I’m watching his dextrous movements and admiring his bum in those tight white boxers, occasionally glancing at myself in the glass too. I look so tanned against the pale desert of the sheets—Andy made a great choice with the room. Flicking my eyes back and forth between my achingly sexy man and my own naked form in the mirror, a brief flash of mischief washes over me and I almost wink. At who? Myself? The camera? The person I’m imagining who might watch this tape in future? The future versions of ourselves as they review the rushes? I’m not sure. But there really is something about being observed that brings out my naughty side.
By the time he dives onto the bed with me, I’m so hungry for him I positively devour his lips with mine. Stretching out, catlike, I press the full length of myself against his fabulous taut frame and we meld together, reveling in the moment. I suspect he’s angling me so that the camera gets its best view of my bum, and I grin into the flurry of kisses.
By the time he starts fluttering his lips down my neck and to my chest, I am certain he’s adjusting me for the lens. Gently nudging me to just the right position so the shot will include both my nipples, the curve of my breasts, and every single inch of the rest of me, from my loose flowing hair right down to my toes. There’s something intensely flattering about that: can I admit to getting a bit horny for myself? I think so. I’m used to seeing myself naked, and I’m accustomed to looking down at what is (in my opinion) the most beautiful sight in the world: that of his head, bent in worship as he presses his lips against my tits, my stomach, and finally the glistening slit of my cunt. But I’m not used to seeing all that from a third person’s perspective. It feels like the pair of us are performing on a pedestal, and that makes me horny for the porn stars we appear to have become.
I can’t get enough of the taste of her. Though I always start off with a few gentle, long licks up the center of her pussy, once I’m there it doesn’t take long for me to want to bury my whole face in her mound. Diving in between her legs so I can feel her soft skin against my cheeks, and press my wet lips firmly against her clit, flicking tongue from side to side and gripping tight to her thighs with my fingertips.
I don’t even need to glance in the mirror as I flip her up and backwards, rolling her almost over onto her shoulders to give me access to as much of her pussy as possible. I know this is going to look exceptional when we watch it back. I can feel my dick, solid like steel, tenting the fabric of my underwear and I figure this is going to look incredible in profile too. I know it’s a cliché to say, but I am throbbing. Hurting to be released from my pants and allowed to soothe the ache of rigidity by sliding inside her wet mouth. As if I’m acting out that very idea, I start to suck on her toes, and—oh Jesus yes—she starts to toy with my cock. It twitches at her touch, and almost involuntarily I grind against her hands. Begging with my movements for her to unleash that prick and swallow it down.
By the time I get to devouring his cock, he’s so hard there is barely any resistance. The firm, g-spot perfect curve of his dick is locked in, like he’s carved from granite. But he moans as I tease him with my lips and tongue, holding off from the moment when I suck it all the way down just because I can’t get enough of that gorgeous desperation. Ironic, isn’t it? The harder he is, the more eager for wetness and satisfaction, the longer I hold off from giving him exactly what he wants. I just love driving him crazy with it. As he fucks forward, wetting his shaft against my willing lips, I wonder what our viewer (or viewers? Who’s to say there must only be one?) might make of this display.
And it really is a display: ever mindful of the frame of the shot, he spreads his thighs to allow for the easiest cocksucking—with everything in full view. He even twists my body to make sure that I’ll be shown off in profile while I’m sucking his dick. When I go down on all fours and he bends forward to slide his fingers neatly and firmly into my cunt, I can’t help but feel as if I’m being shown off. Like a trophy.
My turn now, though. There’s only so long I can suck cock before I start getting horny for my quid pro quo. And nothing delivers that like a 69.
My dick twitches again when she straddles my face, and I don’t even stop to wonder whether the camera’s captured the best angle: I trust her positioning and I know. Perhaps this position is too much, too soon. Licking, sucking, fully making out with her pussy while she goes to town on my cock—that’s hot enough as it is. But the knowledge of what the camera might be capturing while my face is busy and buried in her dripping wet crotch almost tips me over the edge. It overwhelms my senses and I’m worried I might shudder and come too soon. I pull away slightly, taking in the sight of her straddling my chest, bent over with my cock down her throat. Deep breaths to steady myself, pausing the oral for a while as I bring one of my hands up to where she’s bent above me so I can strum her clit with soft but rapid finger motions, back and forth the way I know makes her tremble with need.
Her feet are so close to my face in this position, so I take the opportunity to trace around the soft pads of her delicate toes with my tongue. I cannot get enough of her feet: they’re a part of the body that’s simultaneously innocent and seductive. Usually hidden from view. Soft and vulnerable. I can never resist kissing her toes when they sit so tantalisingly close to my face.
As I indulge myself in a little foot worship, she stretches out and kisses her way down my body until her cunt’s in the perfect position to slide my cock between the wet lips of her labia and proceeds to slide up and down me with rapid, grinding strokes. The sensation of it sends me practically feral with need and it’s not long before I realise that I have to be inside her now. I guide myself into her sopping wet cunt and moan as she immediately starts to ride – powering up and down along the shaft with such practised movements. Honed over years of experience with this cock and this cock alone. I’m a fucking lucky guy.
When I lean back and start to ride him with serious energy, there’s a brief flash of worry as I wonder whether the cameras beside the bed will shake. No time to dwell on that, though, because the delicious thrum in my cunt as his full girth stretches me out distracts me too quickly from considering the viewer in the scene.
I flick back and forth like this for much of the fuck, to be honest: one minute absolutely at one with him and fully present in the moment, the next idly contemplating how this will look when we watch it back. It’s like layers and layers of different experiences competing to be top of the bill. Present and future working together to add that extra atmosphere which turns this fuck from something special to something truly memorable.
I shift him down the bed slightly so his head is hanging off the edge and in sight of the lens, wondering how he’ll react when he sees his perfect pleasure-face captured on camera.
I had never considered before whether my own face was hot while I’m fucking. If you’d asked me before we set out on this adventure whether I’d like to see it, I’d have said ‘no’, it’s too vulnerable a thing to see. Too embarrassing, maybe? Definitely ‘too’ something. But my Baby is a genius because she angled me with my head off the edge of the bed so well that not only can I watch my expression, I can also see the shaft of my swollen cock as it is enveloped, over and over, by her cunt. She rides me hard, like I owe her money, and in the blissed-out expression that’s captured on film, I can relive exactly how that felt in the moment she did it. That’s what I meant at the start by ‘surprises’: I was keen for my Baby to see her own face while she was coming, that gloriously transcendent joy that pulses across it with each wave of her orgasm as it hits, but I hadn’t expected to receive a similar gift in return. My own face, seen through the lens, in the state she enjoys it most: blissed out and luxuriating in the sensual thrill of being buried balls-deep in her cunt.
We take brief pauses between bouts. And it does feel like ‘bouts’ here, as if we’re in a ring. But instead of fighting it’s fucking, and in lieu of pain we’re dispensing rounds of pleasure. The next rounds take in so many of our favourite things. For me, having him cup my breasts while I ride him, pinching my nipples between thumb and forefinger just firmly enough that they jiggle but don’t escape from his grasp; the firm power in his muscles as he manoeuvres me from position to position; his hand pressed tight against the aching ring of my ass as he pounds my cunt from below, forcing little cries out of my lungs as I come good and hard around him. For him: the clenching twitches of my pussy around his prick as that happens, but then more—so much more. My lips around his balls, wide licks up his perineum with the flat of my tongue, and then finally the thing I know he craves more even than my lips around his cock: my face buried between the cheeks of his arse as I rim him.
It feels so good to have her tongue there—like a wet, pinpoint massage for one of the most sensitive parts of my body. I stretch out full-length, basking in the sensation as she licks me into a frenzy that nudges me closer to coming. Soon, eager as ever, I’m up on all fours so I can spread myself for her tongue, and she uses her hands to start tugging at my cock too.
Later, watching it back, I’ll marvel at the faces I was making in front of the camera. Admire the way she’s got me so the tape will capture my expression. I can see what she means now when she tells me I get ‘dazy’ when I’m about to orgasm: my face takes on a kind of dreamy, hazy lust, one which leaves the viewer in absolutely no doubt that I’m in desperate need to come, and come soon. Her tongue alone won’t do it, though, and even with her hand now working frantically to milk the spunk from deep within me, I really want to finish in a way that does justice to the beautiful porn scene that she and I have written together.
Mission accomplished: I manage to drive him so utterly insensible with horn that he’s incapable of waiting any longer, and he grabs me then pushes me down onto my back. Plunging in, good and deep, in the position most likely to make him shudder and come.
I hold my legs taut and still, clenching my cunt around his prick to try and tease the first shots of spunk from him.
I slam it home, over and over, relishing the sudden thrum of blood in my muscles and tingles at the base of my dick as I feel those first waves of orgasm build and build and get ready to crash across my body.
Looking back at the tape later, I’ll notice the look on my face to match his—one of pure joy, pure abandon—as he grunts and shudders and lets his climax take hold.
Pushing her legs back to get the perfect angle, I can feel myself tipping off the edge and over into the abyss of pleasure.
He’s not done just yet though—instead of finishing inside me, he pulls out and hurries towards my gleeful, upturned face! Stroking his cock and dropping hot, thick squirts of come all over my lips and cheeks.
One rolling wave, and then another, and another—I empty myself onto her with as much precision as I can when I’m gripped in the throes of ecstasy. One shot, then another, then another, as she—and the cameras—capture every. Single. Drop.
The End

Ariane smiles as she tells me she has a job for me, cleaning for Madame Fanta in the 16th arrondissement. Madame Fanta, her most demanding client, her best client, she needs a good job to be done, she knows I will do it, she has chosen me specially. She tells me Madame Fanta has ordered a deep clean and smiles again. I feel a little uncomfortable. But I need the money. I have come to Paris from provincial Angers and quickly found a flat. My first job didn’t work out and I signed up with a domestic cleaning agency, cleaning the homes of the wealthy and privileged. Some clients are fine, some treat you like dirt, but most have one thing in common. They are messy and untidy. One client is, as I realised, a high-class escort who uses her flat to see clients. But bagging up used condoms wasn’t the worst job I have done. You might say it’s demeaning but I enjoy doing menial work for difficult and demanding people. I love putting on rubber gloves. The smell of a fresh pair is intoxicating. My job enables me to live out my submissiveness. And so I come out of the lift in the luxury apartment block and knock on Madame Fanta’s door.
I am Fanta. I get my way. Always. I always get the cleaners I need. Some cleaners I actually get to do cleaning. That’s when I order a clean. When I order a deep clean Ariane knows to send me a pretty, submissive girl who will be my plaything for a couple of hours. Do they know what awaits them here? I rather think they do. Clemence does I am sure. Clemance is a very pretty redhead. Her hair is gorgeous. Everything about her demeanour screams submission. She gasps audibly at the sight of my gloves and boots. She bows her head and curtseys. I think for a second that her legs are going to buckle and that she will prostrate herself on the floor before me. I beckon to her to come in, saying nothing. Who needs words? Sometimes, that kinky, sexy vibe is in a world beyond language. She knows why she is here. I push her gently down onto the sofa, motioning to her to say nothing and keep still. Then I speak, ask if she is OK and she bows her head and the ‘oui Madame’ that comes out is barely audible.
Green gingham dress, boots, that severe bun. Those gloves, I cannot take my eyes off the gloves, the gloves whose gleam says, Clemence, you are mine. I look around the room. It is clean, it is immaculate, and I realise what I am really here for. I am relaxed, I sense that Fanta is going to use me, even before she takes the rope out. I want to be used. Even as I packed my bag with cleaning materials and two pairs of rubber gloves I had a nagging feeling that I might not be using them.
I love shibari, I love the ritual of the tying, I love the way restraint takes people out of themselves, how each knot chips way at their ego, the more knots the greater the humiliation. I give Clemence plenty of knots. Not that she needs humiliating. She is humble and submissive already, she does not resist as the ties go round her, as I map her body, her lovely body that I am already exploring with predatory eyes. I look into her eyes, see resigned acceptance, see a hint of fear too. I love the look of fear in a submissive’s eyes, I feast on it, the look of someone who knows they are safe in my hands, safe and happy in the sweet cocoon of the rope yet feel a nagging doubt. That doubt is the seed the dominant plants in the mind of the submissive, the seed from which grow the sweet flowers of deep submission, deep joy. I finish the tie, take the ball gag, open her mouth and push the ball in. I pull the straps round, fasten it at the back. She is motionless. She is anxious. She has no need to be, of course, she is here to serve me and what more could she want? She is starting to dribble. I want to laugh but know I can’t. I will retain a stern demeanour, I will remain poker faced.
As the rope is pulled tight the first time I feel release, I will be safe in her hands, I will submit. The room turns soft and hazy as the ropes tighten around me. I drift into a world where only Madame exists for me, a world of service. I can’t think, try as I might, what she is going to do to me. I just know I want it. By the time the strap of the ball gag has been pulled tight and I am dribbling. A little stream of submission flows down between the stiffening peaks of my breasts, irrigating me just as I know I am getting wet inside. I have known Madame Fanta for ten minutes. I know I adore her. I know I need her to take me, use me.
Domination is a performance. I go to the table and begin to trim a pot plant. Nature too must bend to my will. The scissors are the tool I use, the scissors. She sits with her back to me, sits in that dreadful uncertainty that will heighten her submission. I cut a little branch here, a leaf there. I let her anxiety build, knowing her mind will let me in to mould it, shape it as I trim the plant, make my will her will, so that already craves the things I want to do to her. To use that uncertainty to build into desperation and neediness. To use a woman is only half a delight. To make her want it first is a total delight. She has to want me because I want her. I lift my dress, slide a gloved finger underneath and into my wet, juicy cunt. I am gagging for it. I slide a shoulder strap down and expose one of my little breasts, its nipple hardening as I look at her, still, silent, waiting. I stop, pause a little longer, then I walk round. I can’t wait any more. I press the cold blades of the scissors against her flesh, feel her shudder. I cut through the rope where it binds her legs. I look at her again. There is a moment of tension, But I think she knows what is coming next.
Someone told me once that the control of a man, ownership of his soul comes through denying him. With women it is the other way round. You make a man plead for his orgasm, edge him, deny him, and break his will. With a woman, they said, edge her, edge her again but then make her come and the power of the orgasm will make her yours. As soon as I see Madame Fanta looking at me with intent, as soon as she moves that gloved hand, gleaming in the lights, I know she will break me with orgasms. I gasp as a finger goes in, gasp as she touches my clit. She puts a finger inside me. I am wet, very wet, the gloves glides into the slick of my juices. She works the finger in and out, she massages my clit with her thumb. She brings me to the edge and leaves me there. I don’t look at her, I can’t, I mustn’t. I have no voice here, I have no say, I am not a person anymore, I am her plaything. A thing, I want nothing else.
I bring her to the edge, she gasps and whimpers. I am going to leave her there for now. But I need to spank her. I desperately need to spank her.
I feel another coil of the rope loosen and fall away. I want to stay tied, I want to be immobile and helpless, I feel vulnerable as I am stripped of the ties, as she takes me over her knee, and hard slaps of her hand land on my buttocks. My clit is engorged, it is rubbing my dress, it is rubbing her. I want to come, I long to come, I need to come, yet I must not. I tighten even as I need to relax into the spanking. It stings, it hurts but I need it to hurt, I want to suffer until I enjoy it. I wriggle on her lap, I rub my clit until I feel orgasm approaching.
I feel Clemence wriggle, I know what she is doing, I feel it, and I know I must stop it. She will come when I decide, maybe I will make her come and come again until she begs for it to stop. Or maybe one orgasm will be enough, a resolution of the agony. I take away, I give and she thanks me for both as her submission grows. But first, she has to pleasure me. I turn her over, remove the gag and ride her, make her lick me, then suck my clit. I will then come again.
She is on top of me, I smell the bouquet of her cunt, perfumed with arousal. She has denied me again, but I cannot deny her. Her face is full of desire for me, for the orgasm she rightly demands. By the time I leave her, I will be more than her cleaner. I will be her slave. I love the feel of her stubble against my cheek as I take her clit into my mouth, I suck and taste, as I feel her coming, she rides me more and more vigorously.
God, I am so horny, I am needy as never before. I ride her, ride her hard, feel her tongue against my labia, against my clit before she takes my bud and sucks, sucks until I can take no more. I edge myself as I edge my subs, I hold myself back as long as I can then let myself go. I come with a long moan.
That moan is performance I know, but only half performance. She is as needy as me, it is neediness that binds us together, and that is the most powerful bond of all. I need to come again, please let me come Madame Fanta please release from this torment of seeing you enjoy what you deny me. I need it too, I do, I do. Then her hands go in, her fingers, two fingers in my cunt, her thumb on my clit. This time I know she will not deny me. I work her clit even harder,
I come. But I have not finished with Clemence. I pull her up onto the sofa. The ropes around her upper body now hang loose, she is away in those distant lands of subspace, but I am not going to let her enjoy it, yet…
She grabs a handful of my hair, and yanks my head up. It hurts. God how it hurts. I am pulled back to the moment I was drifting away from. The moment in which I stare my subjection in the face. She twists my hair again. I let out a cry. She is overwhelming me with sensations. And then she spanks me harder than before. She wants to make me suffer, she is making me suffer. I yelp, I start, she has taken me to the point where pain and pleasure have blended into one, but she denies me still, she denies me orgasm, she denies me subspace she denies me even as she gives.
My God, I love this woman! She takes whatever I want to give her, she is here for me, I have never had a woman so lovely, so submissive, so…
I am spent. I have no more to give, nothing, but she wants more, and I must keep giving…
She gets to come. She gets her reward before I torment her further. The rhythmic rubbing of shaven pussy on shaven pussy, the gymnastics of slim, toned bodies. I work out daily, that is the pain that earns my pleasure, the sculpting of the body that makes any woman want me, that gives me the suppleness to take up any position, and we move against each other and come together.
The orgasm explodes through me. I am still feeling the aftershocks. She sits me up, reapplies the gag and ties me again. But I want this. The calm after the storm, the safe harbour of the ties, the place where I can focus on Fanta, like how, as a pious little girl, I knelt in church and adored the Blessed Sacrament. My body is mute and immobile and my mind, as it processes the sensations and the emotions, slowly comes to rest, to rest in her presence, to connect with her devious mind. To worship.
I take her to the table. She is spent. I have one more torment for her. She will watch me eat cake, she will sit opposite me, bound and gagged. She will have it burned into her brain that when she is with me, I am in charge. I do what I like. She does what she is told. She is in a state of post orgasmic bliss mixed with deep subspace and I will keep here there. I love her. I will look after her.
Madame Fanta has tea, camomile tea I think. I like camomile tea and I am thirsty; my tongue is dry from pleasuring her. But I must sit here motionless and watch. She has cake too, a soft confection of cream and jelly, shiny as her gloves in the glare of the lights, the consistency of lube, luscious as labia. I like cake but being denied cake as she eats is not the point of this. She is denying me what the cake represents. She takes me to climax. She denies me. She ties me up to set me free. She gags me to make my soul sing. As she takes a slice of cake in her hand, squeezes it to a mush in her gloved fists, pushes it into her mouth so that jelly and cream dribble down her chin and make me want her to kiss me, to take the cake into her mouth, draw me close, and feed me as we kiss, feed me with the fruit and jelly. I feel I could come without being touched, but I fight it and the longing makes me want her more.
I untie her, remove the gag and she mentions cleaning. Cleaning! Clemence did you really think I book pretty young girls like you to do my cleaning?
I knew she had booked me to use me and, once I realised what she wanted, I wanted it too. But I want to clean for her, I need to clean. I could stay here all night, my knees digging into the hard floor as I scrub and scrub until her floors gleam like her gloves and my hands are raw. Please, Madame Fanta.
I pick up the plate with the remains of the cake and tip the mess of jelly and cream onto the floor. I tread it in with my boot and order her to lick it up, polish the floor to a shine and clean the boots.
Oh my God, the boots! She sits down, tugs the boots off and throws them to me. She puts on a pair of flat sandals and leaves, telling me she will be back in an hour to check my work. I kneel and lick greedily at the cake, the cake that she has kneaded in her shiny gloved hands. I am eating of her magnificence, and this feels good. The hungry She has filled with good things.
I shut the door behind me and make my way to a nearby café where I order a café crème and take out my phone to watch her on my home CCTV. I see her on her knees, naked, polishing the floor, working quickly and diligently before starting on the boots. She takes polish on a brush which she moves in quick small circles, bringing my boots to a shine. I know this is a work of love. When she lies on her back, draws up her knees and parts her legs, taking the boot and massaging her clit with the low heel, I know I have to join her. I put out my cigarette, go to the toilet where I sit down, pushing my knickers to the side. I am wet again. I rub my bud in synch with her and we come together. Yes, she is mine, but I know too that I am hers.
Exhausted by orgasms and cleaning I must have fallen asleep on her floor. When I come round I am lying on the sofa, curled up in a blanket. Madame Fanta stands over me, kissing me gently.
You have done a good job Clemence. Thank you. But you need to go now.
I know I have to go even though I don’t want to. At home in my tiny room, I play the day back in my mind. I put on the new yellow rubber gloves I didn’t use when I cleaned for her and frig myself with the grip pattern on the palm. I am about to come when my phone rings. It is Ariane. Madame Fanta needs another deep clean tomorrow. Am I available? Yes, Ariane. Yes. Yes! Yes! One more rub with my rubber-gloved hand, and I come with a loud moan.
The End

The very first thing she did when we moved in was to run into the garden, hands in the air, as if she’d just scored the winning goal in a cup final and shouted, “I just love this garden!”
She turned to me with the broadest of smiles and said, “It’s ours. It’s actually ours.”
She said that pretty much where I’m sitting now—just outside the patio doors, which lead to the kitchen.
She was always more interested in the garden than the house. She kept saying that it had so much potential. I could see her planning borders and vistas in her mind as we were shown around. She hardly looked at the rooms.
And as she flung her arms around me all those years ago, kissing me excitedly, ignoring the celebratory champagne that I was holding out for her, she whispered, “This is a garden to fuck in.”
Eventually she took the glass and raised it towards me. “We are going to have such fun out here.”
And she was so fucking right. We had a ball.
The first thing she wanted to do in the garden after we’d moved in was to create a wild flower area. She always liked meadows with the red of the poppies clashing with the bright blue of the cornflowers, held together with the frothy blooms of cow parsley and wild carrot.
Nothing could sum her up better than that meadow she created in the area on the brow of the small hill. Colourful. Wild. Natural. Like those wildflowers, she grabbed any opportunity to grow and flourish.
Not that the rest of the garden was wild. It had several different areas, each reflecting parts of her character.
Looking back, my personal favourite was the cottage border near the patio. It was more formal that the meadow, packed with perennials. Delphiniums, irises, geraniums, lady’s mantle. All neatly layered in clumps.
But, to be honest, it wasn’t really the flowers that did it for me. It was one particular memory of what we did there, which was anything but formal.
It was a warm June morning and she’d rushed out of the house upon waking and spent the first few hours pulling out a few weeds and sharing cups of tea with the birds, listening to their calls and being part of nature. She slept nude and she’d not bothered to dress. She didn’t need to, given the temperature. And she loved being naked outside.
I caught her walking back to the kitchen to make another brew. She looked so hot—magnificent boobs, curvy arse. She scolded me for missing the best part of the day as she filled the kettle.
“Join me on the patio,” she said. I was about to throw on some clothes first, but she made it very clear that we should be out in nature, as nature intended.
So, I took a tray with teapot, mugs and a jug of milk, and put it on the table by the wall.
We hadn’t been at the house long, and it was one of the first times I had sat there. I noticed from my chair that I could almost be seen from next door’s bedroom. She was totally in view.
Well, of course she was.
A few months earlier, I might have suggested she pulled her chair closer to mine, but by now, I knew it best to leave her be.
And then she waved. The guy next door was opening the curtains. I’ll never know who saw each other first, but my hunch is that she saw him and instinctively snatched the moment.
“You must come round and have a cuppa with us,” she shouted. “It’ll be your last chance to see the peonies, they’ll be over in a day or two.”
She loved peonies. They bloomed for a brilliant, blousy, eye-grabbing few weeks. And then they were gone until next year. She’d planted a row of a delicate cream variety, which had a subtle, lingering scent when they opened.
Astonishingly, our neighbour came around. To this day I am amazed that he appeared. Was it her exuberance, the peonies, or her nakedness that lured him through our unlocked side gate?
I was about to get up to grab some boxers, but she placed a firm hand on my thigh. I was to stay exactly where I was. When it came to sex, she was the boss.
Her brazen approach to all things sexual had been what attracted me to her. I was intrigued by her naughtiness as she described it. She did what I’d like to do, but never had the nerve.
She often did outrageous things and I was learning, slowly, to go with the flow and fight my natural reaction to hold off, consider the risks and be more measured. “You’ve got to go for it,” she used to say, “you never know how long you’ve got.”
Our neighbour was a good-looking chap, a few years younger than me. He was in his usual smart attire—branded polo shirt and shorts.
“You’re over-dressed,” she teased, adding, “I hope you’re OK with us like this…”
She pulled up a chair and asked if I would go and get a mug. I felt awkward being naked in front of him and didn’t want to move, happy to be shielded by the table.
But she gave me a shove. I had to get up. I gave an embarrassed smile and tried to avoid eye contact, but noticed that he was taking a peek at her breasts.
When I returned, he was seated at the table, taking his top off. “I said he should take it off, just to even things up,” she laughed. “And the bottom half,” she added cheekily. “It’s so much more fun.” He paused, so she gave him a similar shove to mine, only less forceful.
He shrugged, gave half a laugh, stood up and pulled his shorts and boxers off, folding them neatly on top of his shirt.
And so we were sitting there, naked, having a cup of tea in bone china mugs and talking about her cottage border, in which her peonies were currently the star of the show.
As she started talking about the heleniums and astrantias, which would provide late summer colour, I felt a finger on my thigh. It started to crawl upwards towards my cock, pausing to trace small circles, like a vine tendril searching for a grip.
By the time she reached my balls, I was hard. Fucking hard. And then she started to run a fingernail up and down the opening in my helmet, teasing out my ‘nectar’ as she called it, before smoothing it over the rest of my nib. I flowed and could feel my wetness make its way down my shaft.
She made cheeky eye contact with me, and I knew she was working up to something sensational. She raised an eyebrow towards me as if to say, hold on, trust me, jump with me.
This amazing nervous energy pulsed through my body and into my limbs. My head felt dizzy. I was trembling. My foot was tapping. My breathing was short. I was tingling all over. And my thighs were soaked with nectar.
I had no idea what she was going to do next, where she was going to take me. Her. The three of us. But I just knew whatever happened next, whatever magic she was going to conjure up, it was going to be fucking hot and fucking naughty.
And then she stopped, and I can remember this next bit so clearly. She took her hand away and left my prick alone.
My erection remained solid as I was wondering what she was up to, before realising that she working on our neighbour’s prick. While she held a mug of tea on one hand, elbow on the table, I could see her other arm move rhythmically. She was wanking him. And that was such a turn on. Countless fantasies about what the three of us might do were forming in my mind.
I needed to be fucked so much. The tease had gone on as far as it could. I needed to be sated.
Suddenly she cried out, “How rude of me! Biscuits! I made some shortbread yesterday. Who is going to be a darling?” She eyed us both, clearly expecting one of us to go and fetch them.
Instinctively, we both stood up. Our two erections pointing at each other across the table, nodding in anticipation.
She took a cock in each hand and said in that mischievous tone of hers, “Fuck shortbread, I prefer cock. And now I have two to enjoy.”
And she took our neighbour’s cock into her mouth. She sucked him for a bit, then turned to me and took me into her warm, wet mouth. I kept thinking that he had only just occupied the spot.
Looking up, she pulled away and asked, “Would it be OK if I took you together?”
Our neighbour, picking up her comment about the biscuits, said that it would be rude if she didn’t.
So she pulled our two cocks to her mouth and I closed my eyes, lost in elicit bliss.
I could feel her tongue flicking away at my frenulum, but then I was aware of the warm bulb of flesh next to my helmet. It was the first time my cock had touched another. And because this other cock was in her mouth, and because she was the one who was connecting us, it felt all right.
You know if felt more than all right. It felt unbelievably fucking horny.
I was periodically aware of her tongue but increasingly of the soft, damp warmth of the other crown pushing against mine. Her mouth felt drenched. I guessed our pre-cum was mixing together as her tongue continued to tease us.
We’d had threesomes before, often with another guy, but I had never been this close to another cock before, and the more I thought about what we were doing, the more I wanted to come. I desperately wanted to explode over his bellend and in her mouth.
But it was our neighbour who came first. I heard him groan. I felt him jerk against my cock. She seemed to urge him on with a moan. And then a delicious warm cascade burst over my cock.
I was visualising his sticky come mixing with her saliva as she milked his every drop.
And the knowledge that my cock was right there in her mouth while all this was going on was enough to push me over the edge. I think I muttered that I was coming, and I felt her hand pumping me. I exploded.
As I did so, I opened my eyes and saw come dribbling from her lips. Streams of it were running down her chin, clinging to her neck and breasts. A pool collected on a nipple before dropping onto the table next to the teapot.
I gazed at my neighbour’s drooping cock. Semi firm, tip pointing down, trickles of come sparkling in the low morning sun were dangling from it.
Fuck, that was such a moment. And in case you were wondering, yes, we did have the shortbread afterwards with a cup of tea—loose leaf, orange pekoe.
While that was one of the best moments in the garden, there were others, such as when she decided to have an alfresco dinner party. She wanted as much of the meal to be home-grown as possible.
We had asparagus for starters, followed by an amazing salad with rocket, basil, watercress and kale.
I knew what was for dessert—red currants, black currants, strawberries and raspberries. I had helped her pick them. She had made a rich syrup. She’d told me it was going to be summer pudding, of sorts. But with a twist.
After the main course she disappeared into the kitchen. I’d no idea what she was up to, she kept it totally secret. She liked to surprise me. “It’s all part of the fun,” is what she’d say.
She called me inside, and I found her draped over a serving trolley, totally naked. She insisted I pour the desert over her. I got so hard ladling it on to her belly and watching it flow toward her pussy. She squeezed her thighs together to prevent leaks, and got me to coat her breasts with cream.
There were two piles of dessert spoons, which she asked me to fetch and, taking them in each hand, I wheeled her outside as she shouted, “Dessert is served.”
You should have seen our guests’ faces. And yes, we did have sex afterwards. All of us. She had her first DP that night. And her second. I have to admit that I was in both, and it was utter heaven.
But right now, the moment that I’m thinking about as I stroke my hard cock gently is a far simpler affair. It was just the two of us, and it was one of the last times we made love.
And it was exactly that—making intimate love. Not the hedonistic erotic excesses that we’d enjoyed in the garden in those early years here. This was profound love, expressed in the most intimate of ways.
She’d been resting on the bed in a shepherd’s hut that I’d bought her as a birthday present. It seemed appropriate in the circumstances. A bed right in the middle of the garden.
It was one of her good days. It was high summer, and the Mediterranean garden she’d designed looked, smelled and sounded fabulous. The rosemary and lavender were in bloom and had attracted dozens of bees.
Her washed denim dress—a favourite of mine—picked up the colours of both herbs—the silver of the rosemary and the blue of the lavender.
With a Panama hat on her head and a wicker basket in hand, she looked quite the gardener. She cut some lavender stems and brought them inside. Their aroma filled the hut.
I have to be honest, I was being a bit lazy and was lying on the bed and then I saw that look in her eye. It was the same look as when she’d invited our neighbour round all those years ago.
She tossed her Panama on the floor and slowly crawled on top of me, her breasts grazing my legs as she moved. She started to kiss me and the thought of sex with her after quite a drought brought my member to life.
Like a thirsty plant after a shower, he began to perk up and started to make his presence known through my chinos. She smiled in appreciation and slowly unzipped me and eased him out. He was growing wonderfully and under her breath she muttered, “Beautiful.”
She pulled my shorts off and continued to kiss me. Gentle kisses. Her tongue pushed apart my lips to seek out mine. The touch seemed to connect a sexual circuit between us.
Instinctively I unbuttoned my shirt. And in turn, she started to stroke my cock. Tender strokes to match her gentle kisses. We both knew exactly what we needed to do to turn the other on. And this time we didn’t need others to heighten the pleasure. The garden, the moment and each other were all that was required.
As she kissed my chest, she began to work harder on my prick. The strokes turned to pumps. She’d watched me pleasure myself so many times, she needed no directions.
She held my head in her arms as she gripped my cock. And then, the act of a sexual genius, she eased behind me and with her legs astride me, slid her arms under mine and upped the tempo.
It was as if her hands were my hands. It was the most fabulous hand job and I can almost feel her fingers working me right now. Within a few moments, I reached my climax, and bursts of spunk splattered my belly.
She mopped me up, and tossed the sodden tissues on the floor. It was her time and I was determined to make it as satisfying as possible. She’d not come for weeks. Not surprising, of course, given the circumstances.
She pulled her favourite vibrator from under the covers where she’d secreted it earlier. It was only then that I realised that all this had been planned.
The tissues.
The toy.
The dress.
And the panties.
I bought them for her on Valentine’s Day a few years back. They were embroidered with flowers.
We swapped positions so I was sitting behind, legs around her just as she had been with me. I slipped my hand under her floral knickers and held the vibrator against her lips, just as she liked it.
She relaxed into me and I just tried to keep that vibrator next to, but not quite on, her clitoris. Indirect contact was what always worked for her.
As she got closer, she pulled her knickers to one side, giving me full access to all of her smooth pussy. And with that she came. How good that felt. It was as if her orgasm was partly mine, too.
But, I knew she wanted more and so I undid her dress. I was never very good at buttons and bras, so she helped and eased out her astonishing breasts.
Her nipples were quite amazing. The image of them covered in cream flashed back into my mind from that supper party. Perhaps the same thought came to her too, who knows, but she came again, only this time it was harder and more intense.
We had burst into flower together that glorious summer’s evening.
And the memory of that magnificent last time we had sex starts to push me over the edge. I leave the shepherd’s hut and hurry to the right place to deposit my load. Her peonies. I moan as my come sprays over the leaves.
She’s still here in the garden. I sense her on my daily walks around the borders she created. I hear her in the birdsong. I see her in the wildflower meadow.
Her ashes, even now, are nourishing those glorious peonies of hers.
What could be more appropriate—her remains scattered in the soil beneath her favourite plant, providing the essential nutrients for next year’s blooms.
A down to earth ending for a woman who was anything but, and who I’ll love until my dying day.
The End

I’ve always loved hearing my own voice. It shocks people when I say that. Almost everyone else I know absolutely hates hearing themselves. I think it’s a real shame. You’re really missing out on one of life’s true and deep pleasures. Your voice is a powerful tool you know, you should get to know it—let it wrap around and slide deep into that erotic part of your brain that allows you to just let go and feel pleasure.
Yes, I know, I sound like a crazy woman but I’m telling you, your voice truly is a gift to you.
It was Oscar who made me realise the power the sound of my words held. Not just the words but the way they were said.
He told me he loved my accent, so different to his own deep Irish lilt. But thinking back, it was the sound of his voice that melted my heart and my loins. I should have realised right away that if he could turn me on with his words, then surely, I could do the same.
Let me tell you a story of the first time the switch in my head flicked and at once I could feel the power on my lips.
Oscar was working late at the university, his lecture theatre long empty of students. I was a bit pissed off with him as he’d been promising to meet me for a drink one night. Well, the nights had marched on and still no drink, just late-night phone conversations that went on too long and left us frustrated and restless. The night before, I suddenly realised that hitch in his breath that always happened near the end of the call, wasn’t a stifled yawn, it was something else. Something much naughtier he was trying to hide.
Well, after I’d put the phone down, feeling rather shocked with a blush rising up my throat, my mind wandered to imagining him running his hands down his torso, switching the phone to the loudspeaker and taking himself in hand. The cheeky bastard! You’d think he’d have asked permission or incorporated it into our chat, got some proper dirty talk going, but no, he’d tried to hide it. Well now I knew, I made a plan to confront him.
I wore my highest heels and relished the way they clack-clacked on the polished floors, echoing through the long haughty corridors. Ancient musty dark paintings of drab looking intellectuals stared disapprovingly at my ridiculously tiny skirt and braless breasts bouncing with every step, nipples hardening pleasingly through my silk blouse. Who knows, maybe those looks weren’t those of disapproval after all.
As I thought about all the old men’s (and they were all men, I noted with an eye roll and tut) eyes all on me and my wanton costume, it made me tiptoe a little higher, spring a little further. By the time I made it to his theatre, my heart was thundering at the fantasy of a hundred peeping Toms watching me and knowing of my plan.
I peeped through the glass in the door. There he was, studiously poring over the lectern, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose, fingers tracing along the lines of information he was trying to decipher. A frisson of lust spread through me as I imagined those fingertips tracing a path from my nipples to my pussy.
Oh yes, all the way down to where I was suddenly yearning for his touch. I was panting heavily and stepped back a little to try and calm my breath and lower the heat that was starting to build. The thought that I really oughtn’t to be here fanned the flames of desire now burning in my pussy.
I rubbed my thighs together, acknowledging what I’d already suspected. My own wet lust smeared over my inner thighs. I took a breath and pushed the door which opened with an almighty creak.
Oscar was startled and jumped back from the lectern, a look of guilt passing across his face, I noted.
“Katana?” He gasped and pushed his glasses up his nose and ran his fingers through his mop of floppy prep-school hair.
“Oscar…” I purred, tipping my head the side and very slowly sashaying towards him.
“What… what are you doing here?”
I just smiled and went up to him, lifting his tie and let it slide through my fingers as I turned and made my way to the steps up the centre of the tiered viewing benches.
“Kat…” He started but I cut him off.
“Sh.” I slowly and deliberately continued to the stairs. I was a little overwhelmed by my surroundings. It was like something out of a movie or museum. So frozen in time, I was glad I’d chosen a classic look to complement the place. My heels echoed around the wooden pews and I slinked up, stretching my toes so he’d get a good view of my taut ass and calves. When I reached the top back row I sat and crossed my legs to the side, regarding him from above.
He really did look stunned. Just standing there gaping, adjusting his stance loosening his tie. He was confused, expectant. This shook me a little, I was sure I had had a vision of what I was planning to do on this little visit, but for the life of me, my bravado had suddenly evaporated. The silence between us had taken on a strange life, echoing and magnifying around the patinated wooden surfaces.
I tried to disguise my hesitation with a shuffle in my seat and found the dampness there, jolting me back into my plan.
Again, Oscar made as if to speak and again, I halted him.
“Oscar, I want you to stay silent and just listen to me.” I kept my face impassive, my tone as commanding as I could keep it while my heart raced in my chest and my cunt clenched as a flash of excitement crossed his face.
“Oscar, if you understand, nod once.”
He did. Fuck. Thoughts, words, images raced through my mind and all battered up causing a block in my throat. How was I to start this. How did this start? Ah, I remembered what triggered my little adventure.
“I want to tell you something, Oscar.”
I waited for some sort of acknowledgement, which he delivered by cocking his head to the side, in a, go on then, kind of dare.
“Oscar I know you wank to the sound of my voice when we talk on the phone at night.”
He turned a strange sickly shade of grey and it unnerved me. He looked like he was going into bloody shock.
“Katana, I’m sorry I…”
I held up my hand in a ‘shut up’ motion and he stuttered out more words about my voice being sexy.
“Stop Oscar.”
“It’s… your… voice.”
“Oscar!” I snapped out his name like the crack of a whip and he stopped dead.
“Oscar, listen to me. I am going to talk now.”
He was shaking but the colour had come back into his cheeks, his hands released their tight grip on the wood, allowing his body to relax a bit. He removed his glasses, placing them on the lectern then moved to the side so I could see him fully.
“I want to tell you a story. A story of a very naughty boy who got caught listening in to something he shouldn’t. Would you like to hear that story, Oscar?”
He was blushing hard now, as well he should, but he nodded once. His gaze was lowered but just raised enough to be looking at my shoes. I pointed my toes and jutted them up, signalling him to look me in the eye. He did.
“So, this naughty boy was walking past an open apartment window, and he caught the whisper of some naught words. Pussy… breasts… he couldn’t help but stop and listen in. Ears straining up to grasp the sexy sounds of illicit mutterings drifting his way. ‘Yes, yes that’s what I want, open me up press your fingers into my panties, pull them to the side… now you can see how much I want you, you can see my pussy glistening like a wet shell on the shoreline.’”
To enhance the story I uncrossed my legs and shifted to part them wide as he watched.
“The boy couldn’t hear any other voices in the apartment so could only assume she was on the phone to her lover. ‘Yes, that’s it, you like to hold me open as you inhale my damp scent, I’ve been thinking about fucking you all day, my knickers are soaked with my juices and now, I can make you hard just by giving you one sniff.’”
I looked down to his crotch where there was most definitely a bulge beginning to show.
“You see, this boy developed a thing then for voices. Oscar, I want you to take out your cock as I talk.”
He shifted his eyes around darting them to the door then windows even though the place was deserted.
“Oscar do you want to hear this story or not?”
Oscar looked at me directly in the eyes while he tugged his shirt free of his trousers and unbuckled his belt. Now there’s a sound to get me going. Unff. The click and slide of a good leather belt being freed from its holdings, giving you that sweet anticipation of what might be coming next. A thrill shuddered through me—we were going to do this.
I decided to ditch the sex story and tell him straight.
“The boy now stands before me. He’s been bad, he knows it. And now he’s going to get his punishment.” I licked my lips then widened my thighs even further, pulling my thong to the side, letting him see my juicy cunt all puffed up and ready for a fucking. “Do you see?”
He nodded and reached into his flies, his shoulders hunching up to one side in the fucking sexy way that tells he’s having trouble pulling his hard dick free of the fabric. My mouth waters, his dick is truly a gorgeous sight to behold.
“My pussy is wet as I watch him fist his hands around his cock.” He did as I described and slowly tugged his fisted dick up and down, revealing the shining head which I’m sure I could see a glistening drop of precum even from up here. It’s all I could do not to pounce there and then.
“He’s ashamed at being caught masturbating to the sound of my voice on the phone.” Another flash of recognition crossed his face and he had the good grace to blush. He knew at that moment I wasn’t telling that story anymore. So I was definitely right, he had been jacking off at the end of our calls. Excellent. I prepared myself for the next round of sweet sexy revenge.
“I’ve done things too.” I licked two of my fingers seductively and he paused in his own ministrations. I nodded and cocked my eyebrow, urging him to keep stroking himself while I curled my fingers deep into my mouth and coated them nicely making them good and wet.
“But never mind about that. We’re here about your transgressions.”
He picked up the pace, a twinkle in his eye as he smiled crookedly, lifting the corner of his mouth to the right in that way that told me he’s enjoying it. Thoroughly.
I’d have to be careful to maintain my role as the one in control, lord knows he undoes me with one look sometimes so I took my time and inhaled slowly, giving him a measured look, keeping my face straight so he’d be brought back to my mercy.
He bowed his head.
“Oscar, do not look away from me. Look at my cunt. Watch what you make me do.” He lifted his gaze and I stretched open my pussy, feeling like a wanton hussy, but I was invested in this role and I rubbed my clit around and around, teasing and coaxing my little nub of pleasure to become erect and responsive.
“Oscar, drop to your knees and make me see that you worship me.” He did, his cock became strained at the crease where his trousers folded into his crotch.
I rolled my eyes. “Kneel up, Oscar for heaven’s sake.”
Oh, that glint in his eye. I maintained focus and decided that now was the time to explain exactly what I wanted him to do.
“He’s here, watching me as I rub and tap my clit, opening up my beautiful pussy for him to watch. I spread my lips and slide two fingers down, pushing them inside, scissoring them back and forth inside myself while he grows thicker and harder. Oh, how good it feels to hold myself this way.”
I kept my gaze directly on him watching, daring him to keep staring between my open thighs. Juicy wet sounds released from my soaked hole and he shuddered, letting me know my arousal turned him on. His big cock was getting treated to a lovely firm handjob and my pussy was aching for that beautiful dick inside.
“I’m fucking myself now. Ugh, it feels so good, so deep. I know he wants to come and lick me, fuck me, but this is so perfect. If he takes off his clothes he might be rewarded.”
I’d never seen him work to fast—he stripped like a feral thing, almost tearing off his uniform, shirt buttons pinging while he shucked off his shoes, socks and trousers in record time. He jerked at the knot of his tie, all to the sounds of me telling him what a naughty fucking boy he was. The tie knot grew tighter and stuck just too tight to pull over his head, but enough to drag out his shirt beneath.
He worried at the little collar he’d made for himself and I leaned forward a little, fingers still buried deep in my desperate pussy.
“Leave it. It might be useful.” I said and relaxed back into my pose, legs wide, and lifted my chest to thrust out my swollen breasts. His gaze flicked to my beaded nipples and I smiled, drifting my free hand up.
“You want to see my titties huh?”
He nodded, cock in hand, looking vulnerable and powerful all at the same time. I was pinning him there to that spot with only my voice, my words and it was a heady kind of knowledge.
I slowly undid my blouse, taking care where he tore, exercising restraint where he’d clawed at his apparel.
It was excruciating. When the buttons were open to my waist, I pulled the fabric to one side exposing my left breast and trailed my touch over my nipple sending sparks to my clit. I slipped my fingertips into the lace at the top and pulled the cup down to free my whole breast and then massaged and played with it while I kept fingering myself.
“Ah, yes, my tits are so perfect, look how perky and responsive they are. My nipples are so sensitive, I wish you would come and suckle me.”
He jerked forward a little and looked like he’d taken it as a command.
“But he can’t, he’s being punished,” I said quickly then let my head loll back on the wooden bench. It was hard and uncomfortable and I had to shift around to get the best spot where I knew I was in the perfect position to be watched as I fucked myself.
“He’s lucky he’s being allowed to even touch himself right now.” I opened one eye just a slit to check he was, and oh, he was indeed.
I kept whispering sweet words of fuck, and chastising him for being such a naughty voyeur and what would his students say, but it was getting too much.
My cunt was lurching, clutching—desperate for something thicker and deeper than my own skinny fingers. And my nipples were straining between my pinched fingertips but it simply wasn’t enough.
“Come here and fuck me Oscar.” I blurted out and as quickly as I’d said it, he was there, guiding his cock to my entrance, grabbing my shoulder to balance himself as he dipped low before me then speared my cunt deep and hard. I grabbed the tie at his neck, ensuring he knew it was still me calling the shots.
It was animal, feral, raw. He raked at my clothing, trying to free both breasts while sucking nipping biting my nipples hard and growling as he did so. Ah yes, this is what I craved, his absolute savagery.
“Yes, Oscar yes, fuck me.” And with our bodies bumping and grinding against the hard antique wood, we fucked. I reached to my clit to give it a tweak and he withdrew quickly, seeing I needed attention. He dove to my clit, his tongue a ravenous warrior battering at my need, bringing me up quickly, feasting on my desire as I became completely undone.
“Oscar, I’m coming I’m coming, quick shove your thick dick back in and fuck me.”
And my climax was so strong that it kept rising as he unlatched his tongue and shunted back inside, stretching and pushing me beyond myself. He lifted my legs up and spread them until I thought my hips would pop, and rode me hard. My senses became one as I reached the tipping point and crashed my orgasm out and all over him. Fuck, he knew how to take me.
I rode the wave over and over again as he shuddered and rounded his shoulders, lifting and pulsing as he too let go and spilt his pleasure inside me.
He collapsed onto me and we slithered off the pew and onto the staircase, softening and gently laughing together.
“How did you know?” Oscar asked into my shoulder, obviously still feeling a little ashamed.
“About what?” I replied stupidly forgetting for a moment what this entire scene had been about.
“You know…”
“Oh, that you’d been wanking while we talked on the phone? That? Well, I could hear you,” I said as I stroked his hair, soothing him, “And here’s the thing, I had been too…”
He relaxed as if he was giving a full-body smile.
“I bloody knew it!” he looked up and grinned, straining for a kiss.
And that’s when I truly understood the power of my words.
The End

As she slipped into bed next to me, she was flushed and trembling. Her breathing was still hard, nervous and excited. I propped myself up on one arm and brushed a lock of hair lightly away from her face. I paused a second.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?” I ask her. She knows the rule. I can see her squirm, her body adjusting in the bed, her breath still quick and shallow.
“Yes,” she says finally. Then, a second later, “Fuck I’m so fucking wet.”
I trace my fingertips slowly down her body, watching her chest quiver as it rises and falls, until they slide softly down the top of her thigh to her knee. Then I draw them teasingly up the inside of her thigh, feeling the heat pulsing from between her legs. I can tell she’s not lying just from letting my fingers hover nearby.
“Did you fuck him?”
She gives a soft, whispery moan.
“Did you?” I’m almost taunting her now, and she knows it.
“Yes.” Her voice is hushed.
“Did he make you cum?”
She nods.
“Say it. Did he make you cum?”
“Yes.”
“How many times?”
I can see her blush even in the semi-darkness.
“Twice…Wait, no. Three times.”
“Did he cum inside you?”
She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she grasps my hand in her own and gently pushes it into the wetness oozing from her labia, drenching my fingers.
“Yes,” she whispers.
***
She had told me not to come to the final night of the production. “The cast party is afterwards,” she had said hurriedly as she pulled on her skirt and fastened her bra before heading to the show. “Lots of drunk actors and inside jokes and theatre talk. No need to come. I’ll be late. Don’t bother waiting up.” Of course, that was code that meant exactly the opposite: she had her eye on some guy and she planned to get what she wanted.
I noted the black lace panties she had chosen, as well as a see-through lace bra that she knew flattered her. I also observed that her nipples were already alert and erect through the delicate fabric as she shared the night’s plans. I guessed that she was already soaked as she considered the evening ahead. She had never been so eager to get to one of her community theatre performances, and she certainly had never worn that level of lingerie to a show. The little black dress she pulled on hurriedly left just a little to the imagination; at any rate, I knew my imagination would be busy all night.
She gave me a soft, lingering kiss and whispered that she loved me before she hurried out the door.
“Enjoy, my darling!” I had called after her as her footsteps echoed down the hall.
***
My cock was rock hard as she slowly pushed her sopping mound against my fingers. I slipped a finger easily inside her.
“Tell me.”
She told me, reciting her hotwife sex story, that he was the property manager of the building where the theatre was located. She had mentioned him in passing before: He was a business owner, with the ripped body of a construction worker who was very hands-on and attentive to the needs of his tenants. He happened to have a particular interest in theatre, had been a stagehand when he was younger, and he had become very involved in their modest community theatre project, suggesting several ways to adapt the building to improve the production. She had noticed him watching her during rehearsals. He had complimented her on a dress she had worn, and she had become more brazen, flirting with him, touching his arm and chest and back whenever the opportunity arose.
At the dress rehearsal before the final show, they were the last two in the theatre. He had been using his power drill to repair a bit of scenery and she had been putting her street clothes back on—a dress with a zip in the back. She had called him over and asked if he would zip her up. Her heart had pounded as he put down his drill and walked slowly over to where she stood in front of a makeup table with a mirror. She almost cried out when she felt his sure hands on her back, and his masculine, muscled presence behind her.
“Were you wet?” I ask her, my finger sliding slowly deeper into her.
“Fuck yes.”
He had slowly brought the zipper up and brushed her hair to the side, and softly kissed her neck. “I’d much rather zip the other direction,” he’d said. She’d felt faint, she told me, her breathing shallow, heat rising in her cheeks and between her thighs. She knew her aroused nipples poked through the thin cotton of her dress. He’d stepped back and slid his fingertips appreciatively down over the small of her back and over the curve of her ass.
“What did you do?” I asked her, sliding a second finger inside her dripping hole.
“Nothing,” she gasped, quivering.
“Tell me why not.”
“Because I liked it,” she gasped. “I loved it. I wanted him so badly.” She was breathing hard.
“What did he do next?”
“He slid his hand under my dress, between my legs, and slowly ran his fingertips up the insides of my thighs.” She could feel them hovering over the crotch of her panties, almost touching but not quite, and her perfect pussy pulsing and throbbing next to them. He’d reached around with his other hand and cupped her breast, running his fingers roughly over her hard nipple as it poked through her dress, then pulling the top of her dress down, baring her breast.
“I was so fucking wet,” she said. He slid her sopping panties to one side and touched her. As he did, he growled softly in her ear: “I’m going to fuck you so hard… I’m going to make you cum around my hard cock… I’m going send you home to your husband filled with my cum.”
“I came so hard,” she gasps now, recounting the moment to me. She gushed against his fingertips, her heat and wetness throbbing into her panties for a few moments. His hard cock smouldered against the small of her back. She had wanted desperately to fuck him right then and there, but they heard the jingle of keys as the cleaning crew opened the front door of the theatre. After a moment, they had pulled apart and she had fixed her panties and her dress.
She had managed a “See you at the cast party, then?” and he had nodded and winked. They said their goodbyes and had walked out of the theatre as if nothing had happened.
***
I told her to spread her legs, and she did so, her knees bent so that the creamy wetness of her pussy was open wide for me. I slowly kissed and licked my way up the insides of her thighs and let my tongue tease over her swollen mound and lips, tasting her, kissing her, sucking her. She moaned softly. I told her to get on her hands and knees and slowly slid my cock inside her from behind.
“Tell me what happened at the party.”
“I… I found him in the kitchen. Our eyes met right away, and he nodded his head to follow him. We got a drink from the bar in the living room. It was crowded. Loud. He leaned into my ear and whispered, ‘You’re going to follow me to a room upstairs. And listen, I want to be clear: once we get inside the door, you are mine. You will do exactly what you are told. I am going to spank you, and fuck you, and I am going to cum wherever the fuck I want. Do you understand?’ I nodded.”
I could feel her getting even wetter around my cock as she talked. I thrust deep inside her, making her cry out. “So…you followed him?”
“Uh-huh.” She began to move her hips around my cock. “He led me to an upstairs bedroom and shut the door. He told me to take off my shoes, slide my panties off from under my dress, and to get on my knees on the bed.”
I slid my hand up her back and grabbed a handful of her hair, moving my cock in slow circles inside her. “Did you do as you were told?”
“Yes.”
He knelt behind her and had slowly traced his fingertips over her body—down her back, over the curve her ass, over her breasts, up the insides of her thighs—until she was writhing and moaning for him. Then he unzipped his jeans and told her to slowly slide her tongue up his cock. She did, and then he put the head of his cock against her lips as she slowly took his shaft into her mouth.
His cock was big, bigger than she expected, bigger than mine, salty, hot, hard.
He swelled in her mouth, and he began to move back and forth, fucking her face. He moaned and she was sure he was about to cum in her mouth, but instead, he pulled out and told her to turn around and get on her hands and knees.
He pushed her dress up around her hips and let his fingertips tease over her bare ass in slow, lazy circles. Then he paused for a second and, with a quick flick of his wrist, gave her a sharp slap on her ass. She cried out and he spanked her a second time, and a third. The shock of it made her gasp for air. He slid his hand up her back and grabbed a handful of hair, and pulled her head up to kiss him, while his other hand lightly caressed her body, wandering down over her breasts and belly and hovering in front of her wet pussy. The heat and hardness of his cock resting against her ass again reminded her how large he was and how badly she wanted him inside her. She pushed back against him, whispering, “Fuck me now. Please fuck me.”
He gave his fingers a quick flick, lightly smacking her wet slit, causing her to inhale sharply.
“Ask me again,” he commanded in a flat, even tone. “I didn’t hear you.”
“Please fuck me! Please,” her voice still breathy.
“Do you want to feel my cock inside you?”
“Yes! Yes, I want it. Please!”
He pushed her face down into the bed so that her ass was high in the air, then positioned the head of his cock against her hard clit, rubbing it and her wet slit with it before placing it at the soaked entrance to her silky hole. He pushed it in slowly, savouring the moment as she cried out, her cries louder and higher pitched the deeper he penetrated. She came before he was halfway inside her, and the flood of wetness around his cock made him almost frenzied, and he fucked her hard, his cock filling her and stretching her. She could feel how full of cum he was and began to spasm with another orgasm. When he finally came, his hot seed pumping into her, overflowing, she came again.
“How much did he cum?” I ask her, my own cock ready to burst inside her.
“A lot. So much. I felt him dripping out of me the whole way home.” Her voice an urgent whisper.
I fuck her with slow, hard thrusts until I explode inside her, adding my own seed to his.
***
Three weeks later…
I can see her hands trembling a bit as she pulls the brush through her hair. I can’t help but stare at her wedding ring, my fingers idly fidgeting with the strip of silk blindfold, wrapping and rewrapping it around my own fingers. She’s quivering as she slips the silk robe over her shoulders and passes her brush through her hair. She bites her lower lip, lost in her imagination. I watch as she shifts in her seat and wonder how soaked her panties are already. I know what she is thinking about, of course. I’m thinking about the same thing. I check my phone again. He’s parked nearby, waiting for word from me. There’s a taut tension in my chest, and my cock begins to stiffen in my jeans. I slide my fingertips tenderly up her arms, wanting her more as every second passes.
“Happy Birthday. Enjoy, my darling,” I whisper.
I have to consciously steady my own hands as I pick up the silk blindfold, gently brush her hair out of her eyes, and tie it behind her head. I can hear her breathing and realise my own heart is pounding. Both of us are too nervous to say much. No matter how many times we do this, the before-feeling is always the same, a tight, exhilarating anticipation. I swear I can literally feel the blood pumping through my body. I lead her to the sofa, where she sits, her hands resting on her lap.
I sit across from her and tap out the texts on my phone: my wife is waiting for you. I tell him the apartment number and remind him the door is unlocked. We sit in silence. She squeezes her thighs together and then slowly spreads them, her hand wandering slowly between them, up them. She wants to touch herself. I wonder again how wet her pussy is, what it would look like if she pulled her panties halfway down her thighs as she sat in front of me. I imagine sliding a finger slowly inside her, her soft moan as I touched her. I’m hard now.
The click of the door lever startles me back to the present. He enters the flat slowly, deliberately, with a self-assurance I had not expected. He acknowledges me, barely, with a brief nod, and then turns his focus to her. I raise my phone, remembering suddenly to film them.
He touches her back with a light caress, then her face, lightly running his fingertips through her hair. He moves slowly, never abruptly. I wonder if she can recognise him from how intentionally he moves. If she knows his scent.
It wasn’t difficult to find him: his name was on the program, and I knew the director, so getting his number was easy. It had been a bit tricky explaining what I had in mind for her birthday surprise, but he got the idea quickly and he was clearly interested in seeing my wife again.
I watch through the camera now as he kisses her with practised, tantalising slowness: first her neck, then, a moment later, her shoulder. A few seconds later, a light caress of her breasts. Her nipples are already aroused. She opens her legs for him, trembling, and his other hand slips stealthily between them. For a second, I recall that moment in bed when I had pushed my hand against her after she had returned from being with him, the desire literally dripping from her. I had never felt her so turned on, and I wonder if she is the same way now. He bares her breasts, kissing them, and she gasps softly.
The bulge in his trousers is obvious as he runs his finger over the crotch of her panties and then begins to rub her pussy through them. My wife’s lips are parted, and she moans repeatedly as he touches her. I can feel my own cock throbbing in my jeans, watching as another man makes my wife cum in front of me.
He unzips and guides her hand to his hard cock. She must know his cock, I think, but there is no sign she recognises it as she takes it in her hand and slightly strokes it. I can tell she is impressed with its girth and hardness, and I watch her tenderness as she touches it. It’s as if she can feel the heat coming off of it and is savouring the anticipation of having it inside her mouth and her pussy.
After a few moments, he stands up and positions himself in front of where she sits on the couch, his hard cock in front of her face, and I feel a rush of pleasure and desire as she kisses the head lovingly, letting her tongue roll softly over every curve and ridge, and then sliding his hot, hard member deeper into her mouth. I am on the edge of exploding as she tastes him, feeling him throb against her tongue and lips.
His cock is swollen and ready to burst too, and he moans softly. He still hasn’t spoken, per my instructions, but he clearly can’t stop himself from groaning as she takes him deep into her mouth. I can hear his breath as he gently pushes her head back, taking his cock out of her mouth and stepping backwards, and then kneeling between her legs and slowly, deliberately, sliding her panties down her legs and off. He looks at my wife for a few moments, his cock stiffly at attention. She is a glorious sight to behold, laying back on the sofa, blindfold still on, her legs spread and her swollen, sopping pussy open and waiting. Her nipples are still rigid, and I know she is desperate to feel his cock inside her.
He kneels between her legs and kisses softly up the insides of her thighs, his fingertips teasing her slit. She cries out and spasms a little. They are completely oblivious to me now as I sit in front of them, doing everything I can to keep my hands on my phone and to continue filming. I can see my wife’s hunger for him in her face.
She gasps as he tenderly kisses her engorged cunt with maddening laziness, feeling her need and torturing her with slow licks and deep kisses, savouring her, holding her knees back and spreading open to plunge his tongue inside her.
It’s all I can do to stop myself from getting up and going over to join this man in fucking my wife. I want to bury my cock in her mouth while he slides his cock inside her, to fuck her everyway there is to fuck, to see my cum on her face, her back, her ass.
He laps gently at her honey pot one last time and then stands, unbuckles his belt, and slides his trousers slowly off. His cock, stiff and heavy, sways as he pulls them over his feet. He positions himself above my wife’s splayed body, kisses her lips, and then pushes the head of his swollen cock inside her. My wife cries out, moaning as he slides inside her, stretching her. My cock is pulsing, straining to be released as he fucks her with deep, slow strokes, making her gasp with each thrust. She strokes his chest and face adoringly, her moans are high pitched and desperate.
He holds her face for a second, and then slips off the silk blindfold. I can she her shock for a moment and her smile as she sees who it is. She looks over at me, and her eyes light up as they meet mine. She grabs his buttocks, pushing him deeper into her. To watch another man make your wife come is an extraordinary sensation: I watch the ecstasy in her face as he moves his cock inside her, each thrust sending her further towards the edge. I struggle to restrain myself from stroking myself, though I am rock hard. I know the slightest touch will cause me to blow my load in my jeans.
He pulls out and turns her around to take her from behind, and she is looking me in the eye when he slides into her. She is so slick from him. Her gaze locks on mine as he fucks her. His cock is large, larger than mine, and he clearly knows how to use it, and I see him filling her, stretching her in front of me. She moans, gasping as she rises to climax, staring into my eyes.
He explodes inside her with a grunt, filling her to overflowing. I know this because I can see his cum dripping slowly from her. She is still on her hands and knees, her ass tilted upwards for him, and for me, when he gets up and pulls on his trousers and walks out silently out of the apartment. She’s still breathing hard as the door closes and latches behind him.
She slowly turns over, laying back on the sofa and letting her fingertips tease over her nipples and licks her lips. I stand up and unzip my jeans. She spreads her legs wide for me, and I watch as his cum seeps from her swollen opening.
“Enjoy, my darling,” she purrs.
The End