Nostalgic Recollections From The Golden Age Of Troilism
Sleep never came easily to Pam. The collection of little brown bottles on the bedside table bore witness to that. But tonight no amount of sleeping pills would stop the endless stream of images running through her brain.
Memories of a stranger's hands running smoothly over her breasts; warm brown eyes that tried to hold her gaze but were drawn irresistibly downwards, to where the tight black curls of her sex were on show. Images of her husband's expressions as he watched her being mounted, the disbelief in his staring eyes, the seedy, grubby fascination, the way he kept licking his dry lips. Glimpses of the compulsion that had driven him to arrange his own cuckolding.
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But Sam, at least, had no trouble sleeping. He was on his side, turned away from her as usual, breathing deeply and slowly. Back there on The Heath, as she took the stranger into her, as she gave her husband his first piece of fresh cream pie, she'd vowed he'd pay for his pleasures, that she'd make him clean up every last drop of the sperm she'd taken for him. But like most of her plans, it hadn't happened. As soon as he'd come, he'd lost all interest. As usual. And when she'd not taken her shower but come to bed with the stranger's semen still inside her, he'd shown no interest, even when she tried to blow him, which usually worked. I bet the cunning bastard knew what I'd got planned for him, she thought.
So she'd laid there for hours, listening to the clock, re-living the action, still stunned that she'd actually done it. Wanting to talk it through with him, to understand. Wanting to clean herself up and yet needing to keep something of Mick inside her. It was him that had made the difference, she decided. Tipped the scales, made her decide to go through with it. She hadn't expected him to be so young, or smell so good, or be so gentle, or make it last so long. Or make her come the way he had.
I bet Ginger wasn't expecting that, either, she thought, smiling a slow, contented smile and slipping her hand between her legs. Yes, it was still there, though it was a sticky wetness now, not slick and slippery like at first. She sniffed her fingers, trying to recall the smell of him but it had been hours ago and the scent was no longer fresh.
Ugh! Time for a shower. She swung her legs off the bed and walked naked into the bathroom.
Ginger slept on, oblivious.
* * * * * *
The events of Tuesday night provided virtually the sole topic of conversation for the rest of the week. Ginger could be boring at the best of times but he wouldn't let the subject drop and drove Pam to distraction. Within hours, it had become a total obsession and she listened with mounting concern as one plan replaced another.
They'd advertise in contact mags. They'd join a nudist club. He could take Polaroids. No, better still they'd use some of that money his father had left him and go to Amsterdam. They had clubs there where you could just walk in and fuck whoever you liked. And they ought to get a video camera. And anyway, he'd heard rumours that there were parts of The Heath where couples put on shows while guys watched. Even joined in if you wanted them to. And there wasn't just Mick either. What about Mark? You two certainly seemed to hit it off last Christmas at the firm's party. Yes, thinking about it, they shouldn't stick with just one man. You never know what might happen. You might develop feelings for each other. Yep, we ought to stick to strangers, thinking about it. Safer that way.
Pam felt her spirits sink as one grand scheme after another unfolded. She knew resistance was useless once her husband locked on to a new craze. He would just keep on and on and on, wearing her down until she gave in. The only way out was via the bedside bottles of sleeping pills or through the door. And she'd tried them both before and failed. She was thirty eight and fading fast. She couldn't support herself on her salary as a part-time medical receptionist. Not in anything like the lifestyle they enjoyed now. A wimp, a failure. She couldn't even give him the children they'd both wanted so much. And the sex had been going downhill for years.
Until Tuesday night, that is.
On Tuesday night she'd done the unthinkable. Given herself to a man she had never met before, an old school friend of her husband's. And actually enjoyed it. No, more than that, she'd loved every minute of it. Once she'd realised that she was not being offered like some ritual sacrifice to a dirty old man with bad breath. No, the stranger had been a man she would have fancied across a crowded room. A man she would have relished an affair with.
Not that there'd been many of those, lately.
Not like in the early years, when she first realised that marrying Ginger was the biggest mistake of her life. She'd still had some spirit then. Nothing too risky, of course. Friends and neighbours mainly. Oh and a couple of memorable quickies with a gorgeous lifeguard at that expensive hotel in the South of France. Once even while Ginger was in the same room as them, flat-out dead drunk on the couch where they'd left him, while they used the double bed just a few feet away. Ironic, really. There she'd been, pulling the pillow over her face as she came, so she wouldn't wake him up and yet all the time he would have enjoyed watching. Especially, she now realised, if she'd let him follow the guy in. Given him - what was that expression he used? - oh yes, a nice slice of cream pie.
Just like the one she'd given him on Tuesday night.
And now he wanted more. And he didn't seem to care too much who supplied the cream. That worried Pam. The sex with Mick had reawakened long-forgotten feelings and she had readily agreed to do it again. A bit too readily perhaps. Maybe Ginger was already suspicious. Maybe she'd enjoyed herself a bit too much.
Now he was talking casually about offering her to complete strangers. Well OK, maybe Mick had been a complete stranger on Tuesday but he wasn't now and she badly wanted to see him again. To do it with him. Just the thought of it started to make her feel moist.
* * * * * *
Ginger finally got through to Mick on Friday morning. He'd sensed Pam cooling off when the subject got around to orgies and gang-bangs and after all, Mick was a nice guy with a wife and two kids. He wasn't going to risk all that by doing anything stupid.
But he'd asked Ginger to phone him at work rather than at home and was proving a difficult man to track down. The session he and Pam had planned for Friday lunch-time looked like it wasn't going to happen, after all, which was a pity because they'd both arranged the afternoon off. As he told Mick, what with it being such short notice and all, he'd understand if he couldn't make it.
But he could and he did.
Actually, he was a good twenty minutes late and they'd almost given up on him. It wasn't quite how Mick had imagined it, either. Instead of Pam floating into the room on a cloud of perfume, dressed in something diaphanous, she was in the kitchen, peeling potatoes for the evening meal. Ginger was still his usual leery self though, and invited him through to the lounge while barking at Pam to go and get ready because their guest was here.
"We've been thinking about you a lot since Tuesday, Mick."
That high monotone gave Mick the shivers. Poor old Pam, living with a dick-head like Ginger.
"And guess what we found in the spare room?"
Shit, thought Mick, not his fucking Abba albums. He was boring bastard, Ginger. He really was.
It was an old black and white school photo, dating back to the early sixties. And there, circled in red crayon, were their faces. They'd been closer then, despite the two years between them, and sharing the same girl for six months had just been a practical teenage thing. There was no birth pill in those days and girls who'd do it without a rubber, like Carol Dean would, were in short supply.
Then they'd gone their separate ways until, some twenty years on, Ginger had phoned him out of the blue, asked him how was he, how was the family, how was business, how was the dog, oh and by the way, would he like to fuck his wife? Never did have a lot of finesse, did Ginger.
So why did he feel uneasy about this little arrangement? After all, it had worked just fine on Tuesday night up on The Heath. Even if Ginger had thrown him out as soon as he'd done his stuff. He had a good idea why, too. Perhaps that's why he was feeling a bit nervous. What if his old buddy turned out to be a shirt-lifter? Fuck that, he'd deck him if he just so much as touched his ass.
Still, Pam was a good looking woman and with no kids to fuck her up, her body was still taut and firm. Especially her tits. She had tits you could stand your beer on. Not like Josie, his own wife. The good bits had all started heading South the moment their first one was born. A nice enough woman, and a great mother to her kids but oh, with an arse like a barn door. No, she was a bit of all right was Pam, and Mick had every intention of fucking the living daylights out of her this afternoon, Ginger or no.
That's why he was late. He'd spent those twenty minutes in a car park, spraying his dick with 'new improved Stay-Spray - for those who like to linger longer'. Who wrote crap like that? Mind you, the stuff was fucking good. Trouble was, he might just have overdone it. Sat there looking at this stupid fucking photo, knowing Pam must be undressing for him, he couldn't feel a lot happening in the underpants department. Suddenly Ginger took the photo back and said in that leery nasal whine of his,
"I think she's ready for you Mick. Go on in and enjoy yourself. Don't mind me if I pop my head round the door, will you?"
As long as you keep your hands off my bollocks Ginger, thought Mick, you can do what you want with your fucking head. But touch them, mate, and you're fucking dead.
* * * * * *
The curtains were closed, cutting the light down to a mellow glow. Pam was lying on her side in the middle of the marital bed, her head propped up on one hand, watching with interest as Mick undressed.
He had a certain style, you had to admit. Ginger would have left his socks on and walked around with his dick swinging about, arousing laughter rather than desire in her. No, Mick was definitely different, leaner and more muscular and he left his briefs on too, for her to take off. He got onto the bed and she lay back and reached for his hand.
Mick had forgotten his worries about the Stay-Spray, for he could feel himself beginning to stiffen just looking at her. She was naked except for a gold neck chain and a silky slip that clung to her like a second skin, and she smelt of flowers and lemons. They kissed long and deeply, taking their time, stroking each other, she quivering each time his hand swept along her flank, his fingertips leaving little sparkling trails of pleasure behind them, like the wake of a ship.
They parted for breath and he nuzzled into her neck, pretend-biting her with his lips, tracing little circles in her ear with his tongue.
Suddenly she wanted it to happen now, right now, before Ginger came in. Wanted her new lover to herself, to take him right now, with no-one watching, denying her husband his strange little pleasures. She reached down for him, clutching his balls through his briefs, squeezing, making him gasp with pain and pleasure, running her nails along the outline of his cock, feeling him twitch and harden under the thin material.
Mick pulled at her right shoulder strap and she let go of him, bending her arm to slip the strap off, pulling his head down to her exposed breast, shivering as he suckled on it. Soon the slip was down around her waist and his head was buried in the deep, fragrant valley between her breasts. Again she tried to hurry him, pushing his head down towards her sex. Hot and moist and open for him. Naked under the silk.
Mick slid down the bed, biting her gently all the way, feeling her mound pushing up through the silk, and at last, lifting the hem to claim his prize. As he did, Pam closed her eyes and spread her legs wide, bending her knees to offer herself at the best angle. She could feel his hot breath on her curls, a slight scrape on her thigh from the stubble on his chin. She shuddered as his warm, wormy tongue started seeking out her wetness, finding it and burrowing into her, deep, really deep inside her, circling and thrusting and fucking her like a miniature cock.
Mick was in his heaven. She tasted not of the sea, like some women, but of honey and warm cream. He gorged himself like a parched man offered a juicy, succulent fruit, twisting his tongue this way and that, sometimes going deep, sometimes sliding it up the groove, pushing aside her labia, searching for her clitoris. And finding it and feeling her jump with pleasure as he opened her up with his two thumbs, peeling back the skin of her hood and teasing her tiny pink jewel with the tip of his tongue.
Soon he felt her pull on his hair, pull him away as if she couldn't bear it any longer, and she sat up and twisted somehow, turning so that her feet were at the top of the bed, showing him she wanted a sixty-nine. Within seconds she'd pushed down his pants and taken him into her mouth. He wasn't quite there for some reason, not quite hard enough but no matter, she'd had plenty of experience of that with Ginger. She knew what to do.
Gently she worked on his knob with her lips and tongue, nibbling and biting and sucking. His cock tasted so different to Ginger's, like he'd put some aftershave on it. Yes, that must be it, that surgical, steely taste. Very clean, anyway. She took almost the whole shaft into her mouth and bit him gently at the base. Then she sucked so hard she thought she'd hurt him but he didn't flinch, so she sucked even harder, drawing the blood into his erectile tissues, feeling them fill and swell and harden.
At last he was ready and she pulled away from him, sitting up and pushing him back on the bed. Suddenly she realised Ginger was in the room, over by the door. Naked. And holding his new camera. Damn! Still, he wasn't going to spoil it now for her. If he wanted a show, she'd give him one. Show him how a real man could turn her on.
She straddled her new lover and reached down for him, guiding him, slipping on to him easily, lowering herself down the length of it, slowly, to relish the taking of every inch of him, putting her hands either side of his head and looking at the pleasure on his face. Mick cupped her full breasts and she lowered them onto his face. Without so much as a sideways glance towards the door, Pam began to fuck him.
Somewhere a million miles away a camera flashed and whirred but neither of them took the slightest bit of notice. They only had eyes for each other. And teeth and tongues and lips and nails. Hot, sucking mouths and hot, sucking, sex. Faster and faster she rode her man, feeling him buck and rise up to meet her downward strokes, riding the long, thick cock sliding into her, stretching her, penetrating, shafting her. Trying to fuck him faster, harder, deeper, until he bruised and hurt her, making her grunt and gasp with the glorious physical lust of it all.
But if Pam was losing control, Mick had all he needed. The anaesthetic spray always improved his staying power but he'd never done three applications in twenty minutes before, and his cock felt like a dead tree-root. The pleasure on his face was not coming from the nerve-endings in his prick but from the sight of Pam, flushed and sweating and radiant, her naked white breasts swinging and jiggling and bouncing with a life of their own. And pleasure, too, of a different sort from the expression on Ginger's face over there in the corner, as he watched his wife taking a better fuck than he had ever given her.
Yeah, that was the real crack. The hurt in his eyes, the envy and shock on his face as Pam lost all self-control. Christ, she was a noisy mare! He grinned at his old school chum. He'd show the bastard! It was time to move up a gear.
He sat up and whispered to Pam. A few twists and turns and she was flat on her back across the bed, her legs over his shoulders, while he stood, feet planted firmly on the floor at the side.
"Let's give the photographer a wave, Pam!"
And they did and Ginger took the picture and Pam still has it tucked safely away somewhere, the three-quarter view of her taking her first stranger on the marital bed, his dead tree-root cock quite clearly visible, well into her. It's the only one left from the whole series. Ginger destroyed the rest. Couldn't tear up or burn the Polaroids, so cut them all into little pieces and scattered them to the winds one night, over three miles of motorway.
In later years, Mick would come to understand why. Once it had happened to him. No man who ever offers his wife to another really expects to be bettered by him. And Ginger had expected his old school friend to give Pam a quick one and be out of the house within half an hour. Leaving the pair of them to spend the rest of the afternoon together.
But it didn't quite work out like that.
Instead, he learned the hard way that inviting a second man into a relationship is a strategy not without risk. Oh, if it works it can be wonderful, deepening and enriching the love and trust between husband and wife enormously. If all three partners approach it with respect for one another; if all three are honest and open with each other; if everyone sticks to the rules; if both men work together to pleasure the woman, instead of competing, trying to outdo each other.
But that's a lot of "ifs". And instead of sharing a life-enhancing threesome with his wife and friend, Ginger got the other, raw, end of the deal.
He may have been a boring bastard but he thought the world of his Pam. And it must have been a shock, as Mick later came to learn for himself, to watch the woman he loved take the best fuck of her life from a rival male.
Amazingly, it didn't put them off threesomes for good. Just slowed them down for a while. Made Ginger realise that no matter how good you think you are, there's always someone better. Made Pam aware that no matter how she enjoyed herself with other men, she must never again show it so fully.
Eventually they even got briefly involved with Mick again, though it was never quite the same, after that Friday afternoon. But no matter how many men she took between those long, slim legs of hers, and there were many over the next twelve years or so, Pam always kept a special, secret place in her heart for her first stranger. Just as he does for her, to this day.
Ginger and Pam went on to become a regular attraction on The Heath and for a time she even held the local gang-bang record, taking six wet fucks in a single night. Well, Dover's a small, conservative kind of town and even six must have taken Ginger a lot of trouble to arrange.
Mick serviced them as a couple occasionally and Pam individually many times. She often told him that, for her, the best cream pies she ever served up for Ginger were the ones he didn't realise he was getting. The affair just kind of fizzled out when Mick moved away and became, as some readers may well have begun to suspect, a writer. And these days, he takes it easy on the Stay-Spray.
But back on that Friday afternoon, as Ginger watched his bride discover a level of pure, carnal, physical pleasure she had never known before, all of these things were far into the future.
Right now there was nothing to do but watch.
Watch his wife lose control so completely, so utterly, that she ended up crying hysterically as Mick pounded relentlessly into her, taking her through orgasm after orgasm, each one more intense, more gut-wrenching, more violent than the one before.
Watch her wild-eyed, lathered in sweat, helpless as the spasms of one climax merged into the next, tearing at Mick with her nails until he bled, urging him on until she was hoarse, to fuck her, fuck her, fuck her, even though she couldn't bear for a moment longer the exquisite agony of his dead tree-root cock slamming into her, splitting her, stretching her, reaming out her unbearably tender, exhausted pussy.
Watch as she lay whimpering and trapped under a strong man, too floppy and too weak to stop him buggering her. Watch as Mick just pulled it out of one hole and slipped it in another without asking anyone. And Pam bent almost double, her long legs over his shoulders, squealing like a stuck pig, helpless to resist as he pushed through her sphincter and up into her tight rectum. And watch as he took her to another climax, made her come right there in front of him, turning her around, pulling her buttocks apart to show Ginger where they were joined, how hard he was and just how deeply he was embedded in her anus.
And then making her come again, fucking her violently, remorselessly, in a frenzy of sweating, animal-grunting lust, ignoring her pitiful pleas to stop, until the feeling returned to his tree-root cock and at last he burst inside her, spilling his sperm into her bowels, jet after jet, until his balls were drained dry.
* * * * * *
Mick slunk out of the house and back to his car like a thief in the night. Christ Almighty, what was all that about? He'd been invited in to screw her and he'd done just that. Enjoy yourself, wasn't that what Ginger had said? So he had. And given her a right seeing-to while he was at it.
So why the big row? Why the "never darken our doorstep again" bit? He always knew Ginger was a funny bastard, right from their school days but for a minute back there, he thought he was going to try and get fucking physical with him.
Fuck that for a laugh, thought Mick. You do an old friend a favour and look what happens. It'll be a long time before I give him a lesson in screwing again. Serves him fucking right. If he can't do the job properly, there's plenty who can. Me especially.
He started the car, reversed into their drive, swung out onto the main road and headed for home
Well, perhaps I did go a bit over the top, he eventually conceded. It was that fucking spray. I couldn't feel a thing. Still, it showed him who's the boss.
I'll give it a week or so then give Pam a ring at work. I didn't hear her complaining…
* * * * * *
Ginger came back into the bedroom with a wet face flannel and a towel and began to gently wipe his wife down. She'd stopped crying now and except for the occasional sniffle, seemed calm enough. Exhausted, though. Her short blonde hair dark and matted with sweat, soaked right through. So shattered she didn't resist as Ginger rolled her onto her front and started drying her back.
He was feeling ashamed at not having intervened sooner but, he reasoned to himself, she was having the time of her life until the bastard had buggered her, something he'd never been allowed to do. It must hurt like hell, being fucked like that. Still, that didn't stop her coming another couple of times, did it? Perhaps he should check she was OK, in case the bastard had split her and she was bleeding. Gently he eased her buttocks apart.
And that was the moment that all his well-intentioned remorse seemed to evaporate. For though her sphincter looked red and sore, there was no blood. But instead of the tight little star of muscle that he was used to seeing, it was enlarged and slightly open, as if she couldn't quite close it. And there in the centre of the ring was what this had all been about. A glistening, translucent pearl of sperm, welling up from inside her rectum.
Instantly he felt himself stiffen and he let go of her buttocks, closing them on her secret. He couldn't. Not after all she's been through. She'd only just stopped crying.
But what had it all been for, if he didn't? And anyway, she'd had her fun. Hours of it.
Pam lay there passively, not resisting. She was calm now and knew what was coming. She could read him like a book. The tender loving care was just Ginger's clumsy attempt to check her out down there, to make sure Mick had left him something. Which he had, of course. And Ginger would have to have his cream pie and she would have to serve it up. Even though it was going to hurt like hell.
"Sam?" She only called him Ginger when their friends were around.
"It's all right. Go ahead. Do it. I don't mind, honestly."
He knew she was lying and in pain but the temptation of that sperm oozing out of her ass was too powerful. He just couldn't stop himself. "Well, perhaps if I'm gentle. Not like him."
"No, not like him. Gently. Go on, I want you to."
"Well, perhaps if you knelt on the edge of the bed. Just to make it easier."
Somehow she found the strength to move, to rearrange herself for her second man of the afternoon. She knelt on the edge, legs open and lowered her face down to the cover, presenting her rump to him.
And as he slipped into her stretched, lubricated rectum, Pam bit her hand to stop crying out. Through the tears of her pain she could see her way out, the little collection of bottles on the bedside table. But as the sucking, squelching sounds of her husband enjoying her grew louder, a worm of pleasure awoke in her bowels; a restless, wriggling worm that grew stronger with every stroke. And suddenly there was no decision to make.
Screw the sleeping pills. She'd never realised till today just how good sex could be. Even with Ginger. She had a lot of lost time to make up. And not so many years to do it in. If cream pie was what he wanted, cream pie he was going to get. As many helpings as he liked. And fuck it, who cares who supplies the cream? The worm was wriggling furiously now, deep inside her intestines, sending waves of glorious animal pain into her belly.
Gritting her teeth, she gripped the bed, tightened her arse and pushed back into him, hard as she could.
* * * * * *
Copyright David Cook 1997 All Rights Reserved Email firstname.lastname@example.org