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So. You’ve opened the envelope. This is the letter I promised you for when I am away. The story we were talking about. I hope you’re sitting comfortably and have got some time to spare. I think you’ll enjoy this.
The fantasy begins here …
Let’s start like we were saying the other night. You and I have been out for the evening. A meal and the theatre, let’s say, for my birthday. We’ve dressed up a bit: you in the suit you wore to Craig’s wedding, me in the little black dress I showed you the other day. We decide to finish the evening with a few drinks at the usual place. We walk into the pub. You see him first, recognising him from the pictures I once showed you. He’s on his own, sitting at the bar. “Babe, isn’t that …” you begin to speak but I interrupt. “Oh my God, yes, it’s Paul, I don’t believe it … I had no idea he was in London. Sweetheart, I’d like to say hello to him, is that OK?”
That’s fine, you say, and we walk up to him. He and I give each other a very big hug. I introduce you, you shake hands. And it’s you that asks him if he’d like to join us for a drink. So we sit down, and you offer to get the drinks. When you get back to the table, he and I are sitting close together, chatting very animatedly. Occasionally I touch his knee. You sit down opposite us.
“So, Ian,” he says, “…you’re the guy who finally tamed Leanne, eh? Respect, mate. Good to meet you. I’m really glad she’s found someone, a good man. You must be pretty special to keep her happy.” He puts out his hand for you to shake. You look at him. Similar age to you, height and build too. Casually dressed, a bit scruffy, even. He manages to be the centre of attention without trying. He ought to seem arrogant, but he doesn’t. He has very beautiful green eyes – even you can’t help but notice. You’ve heard a lot of stories about Paul, my old boyfriend from University days.
“Tamed?” you say, smiling rather awkwardly. “Dunno about that. But we’re pretty happy, aren’t we, sweetheart?” I smile in agreement, but say nothing.
Paul carries on: “Well, I know it was a while ago now, but when we were at Uni this one was a real wild child. It was all I could do to keep up with her, if you know what I mean.”
“Paul, really!” I cry in mock outrage, obviously delighted at his flattering recollection of my younger self.
“Honestly, Ian, don’t believe everything he says. You know what it’s like, tall stories from student days,” I said.
Paul laughs. “Fair enough, Lee. But I’ll just say one word: Berlin.”
“Paul,” I say, “we’re not going to talk about Berlin now, OK? It wouldn’t be fair on Ian.”
“Yeah, true,” he says. “And if anyone overheard us, it would probably get us arrested …” I dig him in the ribs. The conversation moves on.
The three of us drink a lot. Really a lot. Paul and I stay sitting very close together opposite you at the small table, our thighs squeezed against each other. I seem constantly to be touching his arm, his hand, his leg. My eyes are on him all the time, and his on me. You wonder whether this is a performance for your benefit. OK, you think, I’ll go with it for now. The pub bell rings for closing time. You get out your phone to call a cab. There is a whispered conversation between Paul and me, then I say to you, “Ian, it’s OK if Paul comes back to ours for a drink, isn’t it, darling? It’s just we’ve got so much to catch up on and we’re having such a lovely time.” You say it’s OK by you. You don’t feel you can refuse, and you’re not sure you want to.
You deliberately take the front seat in the cab so that Paul and I can sit together in the back. We are quiet during the journey. At one point you look round to see that I am resting my head on Paul’s shoulder and he has his arm round me. He kisses my head, tenderly. We look like lovers.
We get to the house and go inside. You offer to get some drinks from the kitchen. As you are pouring them, I come in. “Ian, sweetheart …” I say.
“It’s OK, Leanne, I know. You want to sleep with him, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I say, quietly, seriously. “I want him, I need him, more than anything else in the world. I’m sorry, Ian.”
“It’s all right, my love,” you reply. “Just one condition. I want to watch. If you let me watch, I won’t mind what you do. Here, these are for you and him.” You hand me two drinks. You hang back slightly as I go through to the living room. You want to give me a chance to explain the situation to Paul. When you do walk into the room, Paul is standing behind me with his hands on my shoulders. We are both looking at you. I say, “Paul’s agreed. You can watch.”
“OK,” you say. “I’d like it to be here, in the living room. Not our bedroom, Lee. It’s OK for visitors to be in this room. And one more thing.”
“Yes, my love?”
“I get to masturbate, if I want to, while I watch.”
I look up at Paul. He nods. So do I. You sit in an armchair, drink in hand. “Right,” you say, “Paul and Leanne, it’s all yours.”
And so it begins.
I push Paul playfully in the chest and he drops back to sit on the sofa. I hitch up my dress around my hips and straddle him. You can clearly see the bare skin of my thighs between the tops of my hold-up stockings and the black lace of my knickers. I lean forward and we kiss very deeply, our tongues writhing against each other. I push my breasts together with my upper arms so that they bulge over the top of my low-cut dress, and shove my cleavage in Paul’s face. He kisses the white skin of my breasts as I grind and gyrate on his crotch. In all our years of considerate, well-mannered sex, you have never seen me as raw and horny as this. You are beginning to get aroused, but you do not touch yourself, yet. You sip your drink and carry on watching.
In an obscene, sluttish gesture I reach down to Paul’s crotch and grab the lump that is forming in it. “Well well, somebody’s excited,” I murmur. I slide back off his lap until I am kneeling in front of him. I stroke his big bulge through the fabric of his faded jeans. Your trousers are tenting too, now, although not quite as impressively. I fumble hungrily at his belt buckle, get it undone, then pull at the buttons of his jeans. He raises his hips from the chair so that I can pull his jeans and underpants right down to his ankles. His cock is fully exposed now, and erect. As he is sitting down it’s difficult to judge how big it is – not porn star gigantic, but definitely a lot bigger than yours, and much, much thicker. “Mmm, yes,” I lick my lips theatrically, bow my head over his groin as if just about to start sucking him off, then suddenly stand up. “Not quite yet!” I say with a wicked smile.
I reach round to the zip at the back of my dress, but I can’t quite get to it. You had helped me put it on, of course. As Paul sits there with his hard-on jutting out I turn to you and quite normally ask, “Ian, sweetheart, could you give me a hand with this dress?” Obediently, if a little awkwardly because of the erection in your trousers, you stand and unzip the dress for me. As you are standing close behind me I whisper, “You can get your cock out any time you like, darling.” I pass the dress to you; you place it neatly on the arm of your chair, being careful not to crease it too much. I take off my bra and pass that to you as well, then finally my knickers. This is no tantalising striptease. I just want to be naked in front of Paul.
Wearing only my stockings, high heels and necklace, I start to parade up and down in front of Paul, proudly and brazenly flaunting my body. He is watching me appreciatively and stroking his cock. You can’t resist either – you unzip your flies and get your short, stiff, stubby dick out. Paul says to you, “You know, Ian, when Leanne and I were together I used to reckon she had the best tits I’d ever seen. And it’s still true. You’re a lucky man, Ian.” I’m pulling my shoulders back to really emphasise my big heavy boobs on my slim body. My nipples are puckered and hard. I’m wiggling my hips as I walk. “Nice to see she still keeps her bush, too.” says Paul, “Just a little trim round the edges. I love dark pubes on pale skin.” I smile at him as I show myself off.
I drop to my knees in front of him. I say, “Well, Paul, if you always rated my tits then I must say I always loved your cock.” I look at you and say, “Big, isn’t he, Ian?” And I go down on him. You know from experience how good a cocksucker I am. I need to adjust a bit because he’s so much bigger than what I’ve been used to with you, but I get into a rhythm, my head bobbing gently back and forth, my saliva glistening on his shaft. He is gently stroking my hair. He says “Fuck, she’s good. I’d forgotten just what a Leanne blowjob was like. I tell you, Ian, it’s a privilege, getting your cock sucked by this woman.” By now you are really hard, stroking yourself, aroused and fascinated. Paul is breathing heavily and you get the impression that he is working hard to hold his orgasm back. You seem to be right, as he now makes a change of pace.
“You’re a wicked little tart, Leanne,” he says. “I think you know what’s coming to you.” Gently he lifts my head away from his cock. He stands, helps me to my feet, and we kiss deeply again. You can see our tongues. He grabs my bum and his cock juts against my belly. “You need to be punished, young lady,” says Paul with a lecherous leer. He grasps me by one wrist and leads me to the dining table. “Bend over,” he says.
I widen my eyes and put on a soft, innocent voice. “Oh but sir, please, I didn’t mean to do anything wrong.” You have never seen me play-acting like this. Our sex is always loving, tender, mostly wordless, progressing through foreplay to intercourse in a comfortingly familiar manner.
Paul assumes a stern voice. “Leanne, you’ve been blatantly sucking another man’s cock in front of your husband, who was good enough to invite him into your house! How can you possibly claim that you’re anything other than a cock-crazed little slut? Bend over and take your punishment!”
“Oh sir …” I whine, but I bend over the table and stick my bottom out. Paul stands behind me and starts to spank my pale, round buttocks. For a second you are furious, and want to protect me, but you can quickly tell that my yelps and cries are of pleasure, not pain, and that Paul is an expert at sharp slaps that make an impressive sound and cause my arse cheeks to quiver attractively, but do not risk damaging me. My bum is turning a rosy pink colour. You had no idea I was into this. Oh fuck, you think, how frustrated must Leanne have been with years of vanilla sex? Paul, naked except for his t shirt, and with his cock jutting grossly in front of him, turns to you. “Ian, would you like to help me punish her? She is your wife, after all.”
Your heart is in your mouth as you step up behind me. You have never, ever even thought of doing this. You are terrified that you will get it wrong – too hard and you will hurt me, too soft and you may disappoint me. You take a deep breath and aim what you think is a medium-strength spank at my left buttock. I give out a little whimper. You do it again, a fraction harder. “Oh yes,” I moan. Encouraged, you carry on. The feeling of my bare arse on the palm of your hand with each slap is one of the most insanely erotic things you have ever known. I’m encouraging you with moans of pleasure. Your cock, protruding through the flies of your trousers, is straining and throbbing. Paul is looking on, stroking himself, smiling at you knowingly. “You’ve discovered a hidden talent there, mate. She’ll love you for it for the rest of both your lives. But I think maybe she’s taken her punishment like a good little slut now, and she’s earned the right to some pampering. Leanne, turn round.”
I seem to know what is coming next. I turn round, lift myself up so I am sitting on the table, then push myself backwards and lie down on my back. I lift my legs and spread them very wide. Paul stands between them and inserts two fingers into my vagina. He finger-fucks me while rubbing my clit with his thumb. I groan with pleasure. “Fuck,” says Paul, “you are so fucking wet. You loved that spanking, didn’t you, you randy little whore? Here, Ian, you feel.” He withdraws his hand and beckons you over. You take his place, looking down at my naked body on the table, at my heavy breasts in repose and my pink, swollen labia showing through my damp, matted pubes. Gently, you push a finger inside. Paul is right. I’m wetter than you have ever known. The inside of my cunt is so slick with juice that there is almost no friction on your finger. “Ian,” says Paul, “I need a taste of that.”
You step aside again. Paul kneels with his head between my spread legs. I whisper to you, “Come and watch, darling.” With your cock still protruding, you stand next to the table, by my head, and watch Paul assiduously licking me out. Your own attempts at cunnilingus have always been well-meaning but tentative. He is clearly confident, thoroughly enjoying himself, and driving me to uncontrollable pleasures. I am whining and writhing as he probes and explores my soft wet folds with his lips and tongue. A heavy aroma of cunt hangs in the air. I reach down and pull myself open with my fingertips to let him further in. As I do so, my upper arms squeeze my tits together, fat and soft and white with large, thick nipples. In between my gasps I manage to say to you, “Ian, darling, I love you so much … you are so sweet … so sweet to me … letting me fuck Paul … I’ll never forget this, my love … here, come on, baby … have a nice suck … you deserve it … you have a nice suck on my big tits, darling …”
You bend your head to my luscious breasts, take one big nipple in your mouth and suck, steadily and gently. That’s one thing you know I like, and you know you do well for me. I let out a shuddering moan. “Ohhh …. yes yes yes … fuck yes … I’m going to come … Oh fuck I’m going to come ….” You bury your face in the soft warm flesh of my tit and suck harder. You feel me catch my breath. My body tenses and twitches, my back arches off the table. I give a high, wordless whine. It seems a long time before my body goes limp and I exhale. All that time you have my nipple in your mouth.
Paul says, “Fucking hell, Lee, you needed that, didn’t you? I could feel your pussy going crazy against my mouth. That was a real Leanne special, wasn’t it? Oh, and nice work on her tits, there, Ian mate.” You stand up. I am still on the table, a glazed look in my eyes. Paul’s mouth and chin are glistening with my secretions. He says to me, “Lee, do you still like being fucked after you’ve come?” I nod wordlessly. “OK then babe,” says Paul, “let’s get you on the sofa.” He takes me by the hand as I stand up and walk, rather unsteadily, to the sofa. Unprompted, I take up a position on all fours, my bottom protruding outwards. Paul, still erect, positions himself behind me and guides his cock, slowly but firmly, all the way inside me.
I let out a long, low moan. He starts a steady, rhythmic thrusting, with long strokes so that his thick shaft, wet with my juices, is clearly visible each time he pulls back. Each forward thrust makes my buttocks quiver. My breasts jiggle and swing underneath me. Every so often he lets me have a spank as he fucks me. You watch, masturbating now, not far off climax yourself. He thrusts faster. His breathing starts to become ragged. “Paul,” I gasp, “come where Ian can see it. I want him to see you come.”
He speeds up again, a couple more very hard thrusts, then pulls out and holds his cock steady over my reddened buttocks as he sprays a prodigious amount of spunk over them. You would not have believed it possible that a man could produce so much jizz in one go. For a moment it seems that his cock will never stop spurting. Finally the eruption subsides. My bottom is plastered with semen. It flows down the cleft of my arse towards my pussy. Streams of it slide down my buttocks to my thighs, and soak into the tops of my stockings. Ian sits back onto the sofa, his prick still swollen.
I look at you. “Ian, my sweet boy, thank you so much,” you say. I sit down too, spreading Paul’s sperm all over our brand new sofa. “Ian, let me help you come,” I say. “You really have earned it.” You stand in front of me as I lean forward and take your stiff little cock into my warm mouth. It does not take long. Half a dozen expert strokes of my tongue are enough to coax from you the usual couple of modest spurts, which I let you drip onto my breasts.
For a moment, we are silent, the only sound our heavy breathing. Then I say to you, “Ian, would it be OK if Paul stays for a few days? In the spare room, of course. Not in our bedroom …”
So, my love, I hope you enjoyed that. I must say I got pretty excited thinking about it and writing it, and ended up making myself cum a couple of times. I’d love it to have the same effect on you. And if you still need more after that and can’t wait till I get back – well, you can always think about Berlin. That usually works for me!
I love you, Paul, I miss you, and I promise you all kinds of good things when we’re together again.