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SWEET SURRENDER

Nostalgic Recollections from the Golden Age of Troilism

They had chosen their target carefully, in a pub some twenty miles away from home and Julie had eventually agreed, in the warmth of their bed, that if it had to be somebody, then he seemed nice enough.

Played it down well, thought Rich. With just a touch of reproach, even resignation in her voice. But when he still hadn't mentioned it two days later, her casual inquiry had been just a bit too casual.

"Don't suppose you've done anything about that guy we saw?"

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So he teased her, saying he was having second thoughts about the whole thing. And he watched her wipe down the table with a new intensity, her lips clamped tight as she worked out her answer.

"Well, like I said, we could do it in stages. No need to go mad. Just a quick session in the back seat, just like you and Maggie last Christmas. No need to go any further than you did."

Ouch! Finding himself alone with her best friend in the back of a car after a party, he'd taken full advantage of her drunken affections. He'd always fancied Maggie and within five minutes had finally got inside her pants. Just about the exact moment the door burst open and Julie and Maggie's husband got in.

He wondered if she'd seen how far he'd got in that five minutes. Far enough to know what a lovely little hot-pot Tom could tuck in to whenever he liked. If he bothered. Naturally, he had only admitted to a quick kiss and a cuddle. But Julie and Maggie had been friends since their schooldays.

Oh well, perhaps deep down he'd planned it all. Catching him like that gave Julie every right to get her own back. And that, he was beginning to admit, was what he wanted more than anything else. He'd always felt an unbearable lightness in his stomach whenever she flirted or danced with his friends. And yet he always encouraged her. It took several years and a particularly wild party before he came to appreciate that he actually enjoyed it. The revelation came when, quite by accident, he'd seen Julie going up the stairs, followed seconds later by Tom, their host. The two had been dancing closely at every opportunity and seemed oblivious to the knowing looks they'd been getting.

Heart pounding, he told himself it was just a call of nature but when neither of them came back down, he went looking for them. Only to find the bathroom door open and all the bedrooms shut.

So he'd sat there curled up in a ball at the top of the stairs, raging impotently at the betrayal, boiling inwardly, trying desperately to picture them together, wondering if this moment was the one when Tom unhooked her bra, or if this was the exact same second that she pulled down his zip. And feeling so full of love for her, so wanting to share those first, fumbling moments when she explored another man. And so abject, so cheated at being here on the wrong side of the door, excluded while it happened without him.

But if Richie was reluctant to act, Maggie, the hostess, most definitely wasn't. She swept past without even looking at him, opened a bedroom door and gave them both some frank and rather loud advice about not playing silly buggers in her home.

Not able to face them, Rich had slunk off down the stairs and into the kitchen, where he splashed some cold water onto his burning face, avoiding the pitying looks from the others, concentrating on pouring himself a stiff drink. Julie had appeared with her coat over her arm a few minutes later and announced that it was time to go home.

He'd never mentioned it since, not even during their rows. Things had been cool between the two girls for months afterwards. But not between Rich and Julie. The sex was, for a while, the best either had experienced. Ever. Even now, Rich could feel himself stiffening at the sight Maggie must have walked in on.

Had they or hadn't they? He'd spent many a happy hour torturing himself about that one. It was, he'd come to learn, only the deception that had really hurt. Produced the kind of pain that could break up a marriage. If only they had let him in on their secret, or better still made him part of it, so he would know what was going on, could have seen them together. He could have handled that all right. Oh yes, he would have enjoyed that.

But time passed and everything gradually got back to normal. Including the sex. They didn't go out with Tom and Maggie as friends much any more but their daughters went to the same school, so the two wives still met regularly.

But try as he may - and he didn't very much - Rich couldn't shake off the thought of Julie making love to another man. It was guaranteed to get him hard. If anything, over the years, it had grown into something of an obsession. Secret, shameful feelings that were now prompting him to shape events, to make it happen, to persuade his wife of fifteen years to open her legs to someone new.

Julie could hardly believe her ears when he suggested that maybe she was entitled to get her own back for his grope with Maggie. She thought it had been his revenge for that party. Maybe Maggie had been lying about him being sat outside, just to make her feel worse. After all, he'd never mentioned it. But no, that didn't explain the way their sex life had taken off. They'd been at it like rabbits for weeks afterwards. No, he knew about it all right and in some strange way she couldn't understand, it turned him on. Perhaps it was the male need for competition. She knew he liked her to show off, to dress provocatively when they went out with friends. Whatever it was, the sex had been brilliant and had brought them closer together than at any time before. Or since, come to that. Perhaps she should play along, after all.

"Well, I suppose if it's only a kiss and a cuddle ....as long as it doesn't get out of hand. And we don't know him. Probably never see him again."

Was she really saying this? Oh God, I hope I don't sound too keen. Honestly, men, she thought. Still, ever since they'd spotted the fair-haired stranger she hadn't been able to put him out of her mind. A quiet man with warm brown eyes that had followed her every move. She still looked good in a short skirt and had caught him looking at her long, slim legs more than once, from over the top of his paper.

Oh well, maybe they did need something to put a bit of spice back into their lives. They had been married fifteen years, after all. And it wasn't as if she was exactly blameless in the fidelity department. Fifteen years was a long time and she couldn't help it if men found her attractive. But with Richie watching? Oh well, as long as it didn't get out of hand, what harm could it do? Richie wanted her to do it, she was certain of that.

"I think you'd better sort out some ground rules with him first, Richie. And I don't want him back here, either. Anyway, he might not be interested ... I'm thirty-seven. He looked younger to me."

They hadn't been married for this long without him knowing when a compliment was called for.

"You're joking. He'll jump at the chance ... anyone would. And I could always take a few Polaroids along ... let him see for himself."

She stopped stacking the dishwasher and thought about it.

"OK, if you want. But I'll do the choosing... and not the porny ones."

Richie was stunned. He'd once asked if he could show some of the milder ones to the guys at work and she'd hit the roof and hidden them for six months. Things were changing fast.

So that same evening they found the pub and went in for a drink. But the place was nearly empty and the fair-haired stranger wasn't around.

Richie tried again on the Friday, this time on his own and the place was packed. Fighting his way to the bar, he didn't give much for his chances of finding him. The joint was jumping - not the sort of place for a man to be reading his paper. And yet there he was in the same corner seat. A quiet man, sipping his beer and enjoying his own company.

His easy, natural way with people had served Richie well as a salesman and striking up a conversation with a complete stranger was something he did every working day. Within minutes they were swapping stories like old friends and after a few beers the subject of sex had come up. Richie quickly produced the photos in case Phil mistook him for a queer.

Julie had chosen them well. Nothing crude, just sexy undies with plenty on show. Even at thirty seven she still packed her 36C cups to overflowing.

And so Rich told the story that he and Julie had dreamed up ... about a game of forfeits with some friends that had gone wrong on him. How he had tried to win half an hour in the back seat of a car with her best friend. And how he had lost and now had to arrange for his wife to have the same. But with a complete stranger because she was too embarrassed to do it with someone they knew. And they laughed at the way it had backfired on him and how it served him right..

From there it was easy to bring up the subject of the ground rules... just thirty minutes or so of fun, no going all the way, and a vague promise of more at a later date. They went their separate ways with the arrangements made, Richie thinking how well it had gone and the quiet man reflecting that thirty minutes was a lot longer than he normally took.

* * * * * *

The time Julie needed to get ready for a night out had always amazed and often frustrated Richie. The new outfit ... the appointment at the hairdressers ... the long bath. Anyone would think they were going to a wedding. But when he found her putting on some drop-dead gorgeous underwear he'd never seen before, his throat dried up and he could hardly speak.

"Wow! But if there's no fucking allowed, why all this?"

She reddened and carried on stretching the sheer black stockings upwards to the lacy black garter belt.

"You know me, I always like to feel nice. Anyway, you'll get the benefit of them afterwards."

I bloody well hope so, he thought. But this was all for someone she'd never even met before. Her laughter was too shrill, her eyes too bright and her chatter too loud. No sign of any reluctance now. Julie was on a high.

He hadn't seen her this excited for years, he thought to himself. Oh well, it had been his suggestion. The thought of her in the back seat with another man started the churning in his stomach. New black underwear? If she had any intention of keeping to her own rules, she could have worn jockey shorts and the quiet man wouldn't have been any the wiser.

His chest felt tight, his face was flushed and his palms were sweating. What the hell was he going to say if she asked if they could go a bit further?

That had been the deal. She had it all worked out. If she fancied him, the keywords would be "shall we give him a lift?"

And when they got out to the car, there was to be no messing around in case there were people about. They were to get straight into the back and he was to drive. Eyes on the road, no looking at what was going on in the back. He'd have to trust her on that. He needed a lesson and she was going to make sure he thought twice about groping her friends in future. But there was nothing to worry about. No undressing. Nothing below the waist anyway. And if she did want to go a bit further, she'd ask him first and he could always say no.

Which was more than he'd done when Maggie had climbed into the back seat with him last Christmas, she reminded him.

* * * * * *

The evening was a bit awkward at first and it took a couple of drinks before they could relax. But gradually they unwound and began to enjoy a lively conversation.

Phil was an educated, even cultured man, with a wicked sense of humor. And for two and a half hours they talked avidly about anything except what was going to happen.

Julie really came out of her shell after a few drinks and Rich felt proud of the way she easily matched Phil's sharp wit. Impressed, too, at the way she could flirt provocatively yet discreetly, without embarrassing him. And at how good she looked in the new dress she'd bought specially. Soft and silky, with pearl buttons all down the front. Buttons? He'd been thinking about those.....

As the drinks went down and the conversation became bolder, Richie noticed the way they kept locking eyes with each other and a cold, wriggling worm deep in his bowels told him that thanks to those buttons, this gentle stranger was going to get his hands on Julie's new underwear well before he did. Still, he admitted to himself, the thought of that wasn't entirely unpleasant.

Stuck with the driving, his two beers had to last all evening but Phil and Julie made the most of it and Rich reckoned she'd put away seven or eight large vodkas by the time she looked at him with hot, bright eyes and asked the question he knew was coming.

"Shall we give him a lift home, Richie?"

Not trusting himself to speak, he nodded and led the way to the car. There was no-one around and Phil and Julie giggled loudly as they got into the back.

Swallowing hard, Richie started the engine and turned the cassette on. She'd even chosen that. The joking in the back stopped the moment that he turned off onto the circuit of back roads they'd found the day before.

He stole a glance in the mirror but she'd picked the route well and with no street lights or passing traffic to light them, he couldn't see a thing. Or hear anything, come to that, because of the cassette. Christ, she'd thought of everything. Even a dress with buttons down the front.

But after a few minutes he thought he could just catch the occasional sharp intake of breath, a rustle of silk as they turned and twisted. And when he heard a low murmur from Julie, he knew that the limits they'd set were being tested.

Almost on cue, she broke the silence.

"All right to go a bit further, Rich? Say so if not."

His heart was hammering, his stomach tickling and he could feel the hairs on his arms standing up. Christ, he thought, I'm actually enjoying this! Trying hard to sound calm, he answered her.

"No that's all right. It's up to you."

And then a flash of brilliance.

"But I'm going around in circles. Why don't we go up to The Heath and park?"

Brilliant because he knew there'd be enough light from the town below to see at least something. And with the engine off, the cassette wouldn't work.

"Yeah, all right ... whatever ...."

She sounded in control but was breathing fast and trying too hard to be cool. He heard them shift in their seats and all went quiet again.

Soon there were street lamps and Richie risked another quick glance in the mirror. The shock of seeing the white skin of her shoulder nearly took his breath away. She must have taken her coat off, he thought. But when they passed through the next pool of light, he saw there was no sign of her dress either .... or the black shoulder strap of her bra. Buttons, eh?

"Careful, you two! There's lights here. Don't want to get arrested! He laughed nervously at his own silly joke.

But there was no response and even above the music he could have sworn he could hear the sound of one button after another coming undone.

Soon the lights of the town were behind them as the road climbed up to The Heath... and the picnic areas that every courting couple in the area knew.

They'd done their fair share of love-making here years ago and Richie chose an isolated pull-in they'd used before they'd got married. Quite romantic, really, he thought grimly.

The silence after the engine stopped and the cassette went quiet seemed absolute, save for the ticking of the exhaust as it cooled down. Suddenly another button popped and Julie giggled, breaking the tension.

He desperately wanted to turn round but that wasn't the deal. If she wanted him to look, she'd said, she would tell him to. So don't go spoiling things.

The sounds of their pleasure grew louder, making his pulse race and lips dry. Hard nasal breathing because their mouths were locked together. Silky rustles as eager fingers explored and undid. Creaks from the upholstery. And after an urgent whisper from Phil, another question for Richie.

"Er, Rich ...., is everything all right? I mean, we'll stop if you want us to."

"Nah, everything's fine ... really. You just carry on."

He couldn't believe he'd really just said that.

"Well, is it OK if we go a bit further, then? Not too far or anything ..."

She was going to have to pay for it, this time. He needed to see what was going on. To watch. To share.

"Well ... I mean, I don't know how far you've gone already, do I?" It sounded desperately like a whinge.

This time Phil spoke.

"Let him look, Julie, I don't mind. You've a lovely, passionate wife, Richie. And I'm afraid we've broken a few rules. What she means is, I'm trying to take her pants off. Is that OK, Richie?"

It all seemed perfectly reasonable, the way Phil said it. I mean, he could have just gone ahead and done it, thought Richie. Without me being any the wiser. It's better to know, after all. And to see.

Well, if they can break the rules so can I, he thought and turned in his seat. He wasn't prepared for the shock he got, though, for every button on her dress was undone.

Even in the dim light he could see the black garters taut against the alabaster white of her thighs and the twisted scraps of black lace that were her panties stretched tight between her open knees.

Her dress was wide open and down around her shoulders, her bra pushed roughly upwards. Her soft, heavy breasts hung free and naked. Phil was nuzzling the left one gently.

Shameless in her nudity, Julie was staring at him, a strange, intense look in her eyes, daring him to take control for once. That was the difference between them, she'd once screamed at him during a row .... I make things happen, you let them. You'd better stop it now, she seemed to be saying, right now or I'll make you pay.

Phil's right hand was somewhere up in the dark between her open legs, fingers deep in her lush black curls.

Things had already gone much further than they'd planned but Rich couldn't bring himself to stop it. Anyway, what was the harm? His wife was obviously enjoying herself and in a way he really didn't want to think about, so was he. He looked down to where Phil's hand was working gently away. He desperately wanted to see more.

"Well, perhaps another five minutes, Ju ..... I'll leave it up to you, love."

He wasn't sure if it was lust or scorn that made her voice tremble.

"Ooooohkay love....if that's what you want. But first take my pants off." And then quickly to Phil "No, not you ...him."

The bitch. It wasn't enough to just give him what he wanted. She had to humiliate him as well. Fine, if she wants her knickers off, fine. He wasn't backing down.

So he reached across , pulled them down to her ankles and as she lifted each foot to free them, took them off and dropped them on the passenger seat.

Phil leaned across her and they kissed deeply. With one last, strange look, she shifted her weight, settled deep into the seat beneath him and spread her legs wide. Transfixed, Rich watched Phil's hand sweep across the insides of her thighs, stocking tops and garter belt. Julie blatantly thrust her hips upwards to meet his hand, offering her mound in sweet, shameless surrender. She spread her legs even further and her quiet man plundered her slick, open pussy with eager fingers.

No need now for either to disguise the pleasure they were giving and taking. Julie's breathing grew faster, giving way first to cries and whimpers, then to groans that grew louder and louder. Even so, Rich could hear the soft sucking from Phil's fingers as they plunged in and out of her, thick with her juices.

If Julie's odd, last-ditch attempt to make her husband jealous had failed, she was rapidly reaching the point where she couldn't care less. Unknown to Richie, she had quietly unzipped her stranger within a few minutes of leaving the pub.

And now it was time he knew about it. That would give him a shock! That would teach him to let a stranger into her pants. Her orgasm wasn't far away but it could wait.

"Richie. . . ?"

Oh God, did she really sound that breathless?

"Mmmmm."

She would show him! This would call his bluff, make him put a stop to it. And if he didn't, well whatever happened, it wasn't going to be her fault was it?

"Why don't you come back here with us?"

Richie's heart was thumping so loud he felt sure they must be able to hear it. She'd asked for it! The one thing he thought she'd never do. And yet always hoped she would. Crunch time, son, a voice seemed to say. You wanted it, you planned it. Now, are you ready for it, or are you just going to play the whimp, let her win, let her make a fool of you?

The same voice seemed to answer for him but from a distance, from another reality. Surely it wasn't him speaking?

"Yeah. OK! Why not?"

Mr Cool, with the casual, laid back tones of someone who'd just been offered another beer. Not invited to take part in his own cuckolding.

As he reached for the door handle, Rich remembered that old joke about laying on your arm for a while before jacking off - so that it felt like someone else's hand doing it. That same numbness now seemed to be affecting his entire body.

And he remembered how he'd heard people recounting their near-death experiences on TV, how they seemed to leave their bodies and floated out there in space, in a corner of the room, watching themselves lying there below. That's how it seemed now, watching the thirty-seven year old man with two kids and a beautiful wife get out of the driver's door and climb into the back seat, where the same beautiful wife was with someone else, helpless with vodka and lust, too far gone to stop it happening, too weak to stop a stranger mounting her and entering her and emptying himself into her open womb.

And so Richie watched from his point in space as his other self sat alongside his near-naked wife and helped her off with the dress and bra and sat back in the corner of the seat, while she turned towards her stranger and lay back in her husband's lap and looked up at him and asked him if he loved her. And watched himself kiss her passionately and reassure her and stroke her big, milk-white breasts, while the stranger pulled and struggled with his pants until he pushed them down and pulled off his shirt and was suddenly white and naked too, with a full, proud erection; a beautiful, terrible god-head that bobbed and weaved as if searching for its prey, as Phil struggled to find the right position between Julie's open legs.

Fascinated, he watched as his wife finally gave him what he'd wanted all this time, watched her draw her knees up to her chest, watched her look downwards as if she, too, wanted to remember the exact moment that the swollen purple god-head pushed aside her labia and slid into her.

And it did, too.

No last-minute cavalry charge, no sudden change of heart, no cries from him to stop it, stop it, stop it. For even though the words were there, hanging in the air, they remained unspoken, as if the same creeping numbness had frozen his jaw, like it had dried his mouth. Helpless to stop it, he watched the stranger slowly sink his long, thick cock into his wife, watched as every inch of it disappeared, drawing a long, drawn-out groan of pleasure from her.

Instinct told Phil that he had been right to take his time, to arrange things so Richie could see every detail of his cuckolding. He fought off the urge to throw himself upon her, to smother her and taste her and kiss her, staying instead on his knees, as upright as he could, pulling in his belly, so they could all see the fuck happen.

And he knew he was on trial, too. That if he got this right, there would be more. So he found that slight detachment that Anne, his wife, had sometimes complained about but in the end accepted because it made him such a good fuck, gave him the staying power she so admired in a man. Slowly, deliberately, he started his rhythm, a full long stroke that made the woman underneath him gasp, followed by several shorter faster strokes. He licked his thumb and found her clitoris, circling it, mixing their wetness, feeling her push upwards into it.

Julie did her best to look deep into her husband's eyes in the dim light, to search for any sign of regret. But though all she could make out was the white face above her, she knew he was enjoying watching them together, for his hands were stroking her breasts, weighing them, smoothing them, making her nipples stand proud.

She took hold of his right hand and pulled it down to where Phil was playing with her clit, building up her orgasm.

The shock of feeling another man's hand there made Richie recoil instinctively but Julie persisted and Phil took his hand away, lifting her legs up into the crook of his elbows, fucking her long and hard and powerfully.

Richie's other self, the one up there watching all this happen to strangers, was coming back into him now. It was his hand, not some other's, that brushed across her springy, wiry curls and down between her thighs. And it was his fingers, the first and second, that felt the hard, wet piston of his rival plunging deeply into his wife's sex. And it was those self- same fingers that opened and gripped the smooth, slick shaft, feeling it pass through them in its coating of oil, feeling the hot, throbbing hardness slide past on it's way to ravish, stretch and plunder her eager pussy.

Julie was fast losing any semblance of control and pulled Phil down towards her, finding his mouth and sucking his tongue into her. Faster and faster, Phil began to pound her, making her gasp and groan as she matched his strokes, cry out and finally shriek with pleasure as the dam burst within her, his strokes blurring into one seamless, endless, powerful thrust, his belly slapping into the back of Richie's hand, trapped there between their heaving bellies.

At last he could hold back no longer and gave into the electric agonies of his orgasm, bucking out of control as she sucked his sperm from him in long silken ribbons, pulling them out by their roots from deep inside his balls, leaving him weak and spent and yet still trying to bury himself deep inside her.

Now Phil, too, felt that same sense of unreality that Richie had felt when he knew it was going to happen, knew only he could stop it, knew that he wouldn't. He felt Julie push him off her without actually feeling it. Felt Richie's hand around his softening cock, pulling it out of his wife. Heard them without really listening. Felt them twist and turn and push and pull until a door opened and he felt cool air on his skin and grass under his feet.

And as he stood there shaking, naked in the warm night, gulping in lungfulls of clear, clean air, he too became an observer, one step outside his own reality, watching another man take his place.

It had been Julie's suggestion and Richie had reacted instantly, bundling Phil out of the door, half following him until his feet were on the grass. Awkwardly, in this absurd position, he tore at his clothes, leaving some in the car, others scattered on the ground. Finally he realised that he would have to remove his boots in order to get the jeans off and calmed down a bit, reassured by the sight of his erection showing no signs of flagging. So he finished his undressing with as much dignity as he could muster and looked in the open door, at Julie with her legs spread wide, holding herself open.

And there, caught in the interior light that had come on automatically, there between her hands, between the pink, glistening folds of her sex, was the final, incontrovertible proof that she'd just been fucked. A small, precious pearl of fresh sperm, locked in the tight, oyster folds of her labia.

As he watched, it grew larger, pushed out by some inner force, welling up in the entrance to her sex, changing first to a tear shape, then to a warm candle-run that crept down and out of her open maw. Jelly from her belly.

"Fuck me, Richie . . . please!"

Julie's voice was a desperate whisper.

His erection curved upwards and outwards from him and he knelt clumsily between her legs. She was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, her fringe stuck to her forehead, her big, soft breasts heaving as she struggled for breath.

"Please, Richie! Fuck me, please."

She drew her knees up and held them from behind. Looking down over his erection, Richie saw the pearls creep downwards until they merged, became a trickle, and then a gleaming silver flow, oozing slowly from deep within. Suddenly he felt the first early warnings of his orgasm and pushed his prick down between her labia and slid it back up again, coating the swollen head in the slippery, translucent discharge, his rival's living sperm providing the perfect lubricant for the fucking of his perfect wife.

Julie watched the rapture flush his face, felt him twitch and tremble as she pulled him into her, felt his cock, hard and slippery and slimy, pumping into her. Held him tight as he writhed and rutted in helpless ecstasy, gripped and milked him as he came, feeling the sudden warm wetness as his sperm gushed and spurted inside her, blending with her stranger's. Crying out with him as she squeezed and sucked with her womb, draining him of his manhood, feeling him shrink and shrivel, suddenly lost in the dark, slippery vastness of her sex.

* * * * * *

Fifty feet away and some ten feet above them, a man in black lowered the strange looking goggles and rubbed his eyes. Night vision binoculars were all very well in the dark but the interior light of the car had burned too brightly and his eyes were sore.

Still, he had enough on this little trio to have some fun. They were all the same, these troilists. Once they'd done it, they needed it like a drug. They'd be back. And in the same place. And if he was any authority on the subject, which he was, at the same time next week . . . . .

* * * * *

Copyright David Cook 1997 All Rights Reserved E-mail d.cook@netcom.co.uk other articles and stories on a similar theme available




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