Used by a Married Couple

I'll be forty next year. What I'm about to tell you happened eighteen years ago. It's only after reading other people's experiences online that I'm beginning to take ownership of that event.

All through my twenties I was disgusted by the memory of what I allowed that night, but these days those memories burn white hot and I find myself wishing it could happen again. But I'm no longer a lean, muscular young man, so I doubt it ever will.

Back then my particular thing was the thought of fucking another man's wife. It wasn't that I had trouble getting laid - I didn't, not an issue. I was an extremely attractive young guy in those days. Girls my own age were okay, they came and went, but what I really hankered for was to fuck another man's wife in their bed. My ideal scenario would be to call around the home of some early thirties Yummy-Mummy after hubby had left for work and fuck her until lunchtime.

She would be just back from running the kids to school in the Chelsea tractor, would be elegant and sophisticated, wearing designer clothes even for the school run. It was my favourite wank fodder to imagine fucking a woman like that in the marital bed, the odour of her hubby still on the sheets.

Anyhow, it never happened quite like that - and is not what I'm telling about. But it gives you an idea how I got myself involved with the married couple in this story.

I was just twenty-three and studying for my an M.A. in economics at a northern university. Four nights a week I waited tables at one of the big chain pubs, situated on the ring road. It was where all the new empty-nesters dined with their recently nest-flown student darlings, and the place I met Mandy and Mark.

This is how.

Mid-week. Just another middle-aged married couple eating out with their late-teens daughter. Nothing unusual about that. I saw families such as their's most nights; yet there was something about these people that piqued my interest. Mother in her late thirties, hubby a little older. They'd looked after themselves, dressed very well indeed. Their daughter a blonde tall girl, a sturdy girl but with the prettiest face - all genetic gifts from her mother, who could be her older sister.

I found my eyes travelling back to their table whenever I had a moment. Playing happy family they were all laughter and warmth, the three genuinely seemed pleased to be together again and chatted incessantly, not like some of the families who dined at the pub, who would sit and eat in strained silence.

Anyhow, while they got on with the main course the mother caught me looking. Our eyes met and I held her gaze, which seemed to take her by surprise because she glanced from me to her daughter and then back at me. I smiled for her and a subtle smile of astounded amusement erased the momentary confusion I had seen a seconds before. There was such intensity in that look that I felt myself blushing. Quite fazed, I quickly turned away and went about my job.

After that I couldn't keep my eyes from the mother. While I cleared tables or took orders I would check her out. At one point our eyes snagged again, and this time I held her look as long as I could. But what her eyes did to my inners made it imposable to return her stare for more than what must have been only seconds.

After eating they lingered late chatting over coffee and mints. When they were readying to leave and the husband came to settle-up, mother and daughter making for the door while he sorted the bill. When she passed where I stood at the cash desk, the mother gave me one last compelling look. I managed a smile and wished her good night.

Hubby inserted his card into the hand terminal and keyed his pin. Transaction complete, he looked me dead in the eye and said he'd seen me looking at his wife, said it in a way that momentarily unnerved me. I didn't want trouble, he looked fit, like he could handle himself. Then he smiled and said his wife liked me looking at her and that he didn't mind either. He said it made him feel special to have a wife who could still catch the eye of a young, good looking guy like me. Then he asked if I wanted to look at her some more back at their hotel room, give her the attention she deserved.

I asked about his daughter. What would she think. He said they were taking her back to her halls before heading back to the hotel. They would be all on their own later.

They were staying at the Rochester, a five star hotel in town. He gave me his phone number and told me to ring if I was up for a nightcap when my shift was done. He said he had a twelve year old single malt back at the room.

I told him I'd be finished at eleven-thirty. I tried to let my eyes show I understood what he was implying. He said, "Good. We'll run Hattie back to her halls and look forward to seeing you later at the hotel."

His name was Mark, his misses Mandy. I said my name was Martin.

When they'd left, Jeff the barman looked at me oddly and asked if I knew them. I said they were people from back home, friends of the family.

When I got to their hotel later that night I called his phone from the lobby to let them know I'd arrived, and to ask for their room number. My guts churned when I stood outside their room door, nearly chickened out, turned and walked away. But then the it opened and Mark was standing there smiling a warm, welcoming smile. He hugged me hard, in a male bonding kind of way, and told me to come in. He said they'd only just got back themselves.

He took my jacket and placed it near the door on a hanger. Mandy was sat on an armless but plush chair, sipping something with ice from a tall glass. I can still see her as clear as anything: her legs crossed, knee over knee, which hitched up the hem of her dress showing lots of thigh. Pivoted at the knee, one leg was swinging lightly up and down with her toes pointed towards me. Her strappy heels lay discarded by the chair leg. At first I thought her legs were bare but when I looked closer - in fact I could not take my eyes of those long shapely pegs of hers - I saw she wore nude-look tights. The light of the bedside lamps skimmed and reflected over the fine mesh. I've always had it bad for women in hosiery.

There and then I got hard for her.

She stood up and walked over to where I was now standing by the foot of the bed. She looked me in the eyes and said, "Martin? Isn't it?" Without waiting for my reply, she continued, "I didn't think you'd come, but Mark was certain you would. He does annoy me . . . He's always right about people."

Before I could respond Mark asked if I would like a drink. I said that a scotch with ice would be good.

I stood face to face with Mandy becoming increasingly intoxicated by her presence. The sound of the ice falling into glass came from a place far away. Her eyes had captured and I saw an awful, wicked, daringness alive in her look. I felt like a mouse between the paws of she-cat - a well fed cat, but one that could still muster a kill if the whim took her.

"Don't be nervous," She told me, now smiling more warmly, less the vamp. She came closer and circled my waist with her arms, resting her hands on my back, her palms warm through my white shirt. "You don't have to worry about a thing, Mark and I will look after you."

I turned my head to look at Mark now approaching with my drink. He handed it to me while fixing me with his steel-grey eyes. I took the glass and said thanks. I gulped it down in one go. It burned my throat but softened those jagged mental edges. Her head still rested on my chest as I swallowed, "You smell delicious" she murmured. My cologne was no longer fresh, I hadn't showered since six that evening. It had been a long night.

I reached out to put my glass down on the dresser but could not reach. Mark saw and came and took it from me. The I placed my hands around her and let them come to rest on the small back and pulled her to me tight. My hard cock pushed obtrusively against her belly through my pants, and I let both hands slip down to squeeze her buttocks with the full spread of my fingers. They were soft and ample, a complete delight, heavy and wonderfully curved, a womanly arrangement of so much more flesh than on the college girls I was used to. My head went into a tail-spin, my breath and heart began racing each other.

"Do you like me, Martin", she whispered in my ear.

But no words came.

"I think you do. I think you like me a lot."

She kind of moaned as she pressed against me, "I can feel that you do." And she smiled and closed her eyes and pulled me even closer. Then she kissed me, her tongue quick between my lips. I thought my legs might fail, that I might pass out. I had never been so excited. The knowledge of her husband standing behind me watching added to the heady sense of something forbidden.

For a while we just kissed and kissed, but then she disentangled herself from my arms and turned around while over her shoulder, saying, "Undo me please, Martin."

Now it was she whose breath betrayed her arousal, her breasts rising and falling with each inhale she took. I remained behind her and undid the long zip of her dress in one deft swish and then helped her ease herself from the garment by coaxing it off her shoulders and squeezing it down over her heavy hips.

I unclipped her bra with less than dextrous skill. I'd removed many a bra during my time at uni' but none had contained breasts as large and soft as these. When they broke free I palmed both those sumptuous dumplings, lifting them simultaneously to feel their weight, their substance. I massaged them gently while I kissed her upper back, tasting her wonderfully warm silky skin. She had the finest down to her flesh, a veneer of blonde which reflected the lamplight and made her almost shine. Her nipples between my thumb and two fingers became larger, harder. They were the tits of a real woman, so different than those of the girl's in their late-teens and early twenties I had previously known.

Soon each nipple became a proud soldier at attention and she moaned gently as I simultaneously kneaded both. I loved the feel of their yielding pliancy beneath my fingers. All the while she pushed her sheer-lycra clad buttocks against my groin and gently rotated her hips. Slowly she reached behind herself searching for my zipper, almost fumbling for a moment but soon back on course, unzipping me. A great liberation.

I was taller then she and my cock pressed against the base of her spine, my balls grating against the fine material of her hosiery. But all the time I was aware of Mark, who circled us like prey as we kissed, stopping from time to time to watch intently, and all the while sipping his single malt. And then I suppose I must have become so engrossed in the deep French kissing that I lost all sense of time and place.

The taste of her mouth, sticky and sweet from her tart red gloss, along with the juniper aroma of her just drained cocktail, intoxicated me utterly. I was in bliss to have her wonderful full body in my arms, my unleashed cock pressed flat against her lycra-sheathed belly - so it was an utter shock to be brought back into the world by Mark's hands on my back.

He began to massage my shoulders while I continued to kiss his wife.

Then his mouth on my neck moving with small bites, his chin stubble gently grating as his lips travelled and began to nibble my ear. Both his arms encircled me, squeezing between myself and his wife, going down and finding my recently released cock.

Then they were sharing me completely. She forcefully turned me to face her husband so that he could kiss me fully on the lips. My first taste of his malt infused, sweet-sour breath made me almost gasp. His tongue accepted no barriers and I quickly capitulated putting up no sustainable defence. But as quickly as he had ransacked my mouth I was returned to hers again to once more enjoy her soft luscious tongue. And while this simple switching of me between their mouths played out, I marvelled at this unforeseen juxtaposition, imbibing the contrast between the kiss of a man and that of a woman.

Now they began to undress me slowly as they passed me to and fro. Any notion of me being the seducer of a married woman now evaporated and I abandoned myself to utter passivity, understanding that I was now their plaything. I had always been proactive when it came to women, always initiated a relationship. Now for a the first time in my life I was reactive to their lead. I was being ravished as only I had previously imagined a woman could be ravished. Not even at the back of my mind was there any kind of resistance, my usual one-of-the-blokes-me became subsumed in a tsunami of passion that their blatant desire for me caused.

They undressed me expertly, teamwork par excellence. I was naked but still standing, their hand and mouths all over me. Then they were both on their knees side by side taking turns to take my cock into their mouths.

"Oh, GOD!" I called out. Quickly they realised I was close to ejaculating. They slowed put a temporary lid on their ardour for me. Even in my own heightened state of arousal, I could still sense their overwhelming lust for me. It was off the scale, a thing complete and unstoppable. It turned my head to know I could arouse such passion in two sophisticated, mature individuals such as these people undoubtedly were.

So they coaxed me to the bed and while I made myself comfortable with pillows at my back, they undressed each other. He removing her tights and knickers with practised ease, she then undoing his shirt and unzipping his pants to release his cock, now heavy with his blood and lust. And they held each other close and tight and kissed with passion. I lay on the bed and watched, my cock having been left alone no longer was on the brink of eruption.

They approached me at last from either side of the bed, he kissing me first, then addressing his wife, said. "I told you he would be perfect, exactly what we like."

"Yes, a wonderful boy," she added. Then both their mouths and all their hands were travelling from my head to toe. Lapping me up, they licked and bit, stroked and scratched. sucked every inch of my flesh while all the time one or the other of them was telling me what a handsome boy I was, how perfect I was, how much I pleased them.

Then she straddled me: wriggling to position herself just-so, his hand on around my cock guiding me into her. Then her soft full-hipped rotations while he moved up to my head with his cock and in my face, the full meat wiped around my cheeks, my nose, then feathering my lips with the raw end. And all the time his wife ripe melon hips rose and fell, they twisted and gyrated, grounding my butt down deep into the mattress.

He held my head in place with both his hands, turned it so that the right side of my face was flat against the pillow, my eyes looking directly into the eye of his blotted cock. With insistent fingers he shaped my lips to make my mouth a cunt for him to use; shaped just so, an "0". The full silky-meatiness of him on my tong was like nothing I could ever have anticipated. And while he his cock glided slowly in and out between my lips his wife increased her pace, fucking me like a winning jockey rides his mount on the Grand National home straight. But it was not enough and soon her own fingers found her clit, rubbing frantically as her hips rose and fell, lurched forward and back, until she came with protracted convulsive shudders.

As his wife cried out from the midst of her orgasm, he let lose the flood of cum he had been holding back until his wife's moment had come. And I gagged as it clotted in my mouth. I did not knowing if to spit or swallow, but his cock kept pumping and so a decision was forced on me; I swallowed in greedy gulps feeling sick and disgusted with myself.

My own orgasm astonished me. From the midst of that swallowing I sent my own Jizz pumping up into the depths of Mandy's cunt. I twisted my head away trying to escape his cock even as my thighs rose and fell in response to her movements. Then his cum dribbling from my mouth while my hips bucked beneath her my final in spasms.

I lay in silence, he to my right, she my left.. There was talk between them, them both saying things to me, sweet calming things. They must have seen the self-disgust that now began to undermine my composure. Gently they stroked my body with parental concern, kissed me lightly and affectingly on lips and neck.

And so I lay between them for . . . I don't remember for how long it was. I became calmer, stopped berating myself for having let Mark use me. I had been fine with him watching me make love to his wife, but to endure his tongue and have his cock in my mouth had been a revelation about what I might be. I was ashamed.

They used me twice more that night but by 3:00 am they were asleep. Full of self-disgust for what I had allowed I dressed and stole away into the night.

Soon after that I packed in my job at the pub. I was terrified that they might come back and claim me. But now all these years later I realise I could not have experienced a more perfect evening. And as I said at the start, I would give anything to have it happen again.