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Nostalgic Recollections from the Golden Age of Troilism

You can always rely on Friday night for something, reflected the man driving the gray van. The traffic on the ring road was at a standstill, as it always was at nearly six. Particularly on a Friday.

Last week he'd got three, all on video, he reflected. The best one was the young couple in the old Ford. They were so hot for each other they couldn't wait for it to go dark and he hadn't needed the night sight attachment. These new camcorders were amazing and even though dusk had been falling, he'd got near perfect colour pictures of them folding back the passenger seat and making love.

At first he couldn't see much because the guy had covered her. But after he'd come, he'd got off and sprawled back in his own seat, leaving her laid out, practically naked, tits on show, legs spread for all to see. Well, anyone perfectly hidden fifty feet up the hill above them, with a long lens and a polarizing filter to kill the reflection off the screen. Yeah, that was the best of the three technically but the last one, the threesome in the Renault, had intrigued him the most.

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Plenty of couples came up to The Heath for sex. He'd been watching them for more than ten years. And he was not alone. Most of them had their fun and left an hour or two later none the wiser that they'd been providing arousal for anything up to five or six voyeurs, or toms, as the man called them. Voyeur was not a word he used lightly. He considered himself to be the only true voyeur on the whole of The Heath. The only professional. The only one never to have been spotted by his victims. Well, except the once. And then he hadn't had to run or fight - they'd just burned rubber all the way off The Heath. The rest, the toms, were just amateurs, crashing through the undergrowth, getting too close, fucking things up. Just peeping fucking toms, with no fieldcraft whatsoever.

But organized threesomes were bit out of the ordinary. Sure, The Heath had its regular exhibitionists, a dozen or so couples who put on shows for the toms. And sure, occasionally a door might be opened, an invitation issued and somebody's wife might get fucked by whoever was doing the watching. He'd seen it dozens of times. They'd just kneel on the passenger seat, go down on their old man, stick their ass out the door and take the fuck. Usually without wanting to know who was doing it. Which was just as well, he reflected grimly.

Sometimes these impromptu threesomes even developed into gang bangs, with the word going round and three or four more turning up. He never joined in himself. That would have meant making himself known to the others. And in all the time he'd been working The Heath not one of the toms had ever spotted him on a couple. He was that good. And he wasn't going to change things by joining a line of sad old bastards taking turns on some sad old tart who had had to get falling-over drunk before she could go through with it. Just to keep her old man happy.

But the one last Friday had been different. For a start, the woman had been beautiful. And either they didn't realize that they were being watched or didn't care. Probably the former, he decided. They were too wrapped up in their little back-seat orgy to consider that they might be providing the evening's entertainment. And when the men had come tumbling out of the back door to change places, they hadn't realized how close they'd come to catching Stan, the old dick-head who only came up The Heath on Fridays. He'd had his nose pressed up against the glass of the driver's door for so long he must have left snot all over it. Stan's trademark was a runny nose that he cleared regularly and loudly, regardless of how close he was to a couple. And Stan got far too close for his own good. It was only a question of time before he got hurt. And if he fucks this little trio up, thought the man in the van, it might well be me that does the hurting. Still, he'd got away with it that time. Though for the life of him, the man couldn't work out how the woman hadn't seen Stan. He'd been bobbing up and down like a fucking Red Indian, directly in her line of vision.

The traffic started to move at last and the gray van slipped off the ring road and headed out to the country. Remember, you're the invisible man, the spooks had told him on one training course. Mr Nobody. Keep your head down, never stand out from the crowd. Go to work the same time every day, pay your bills and live your cover. Never carry anything you can't explain and always have a reason for traveling at night.

Oh and don't take a life unless you have to. It attracts attention.

* * * * * *

Ever since Friday, Rich had found it difficult to concentrate and had one of the worst sales weeks of his career. Had they really gone through with it, done all that? Gone all the way? Would she ever do it again? Tonight? Not if her reaction all last week-end was anything to go by. She hadn't been able to look him in the eye and had gone to extraordinary lengths to avoid being on her own with him, even inviting friends around at the last minute on Saturday evening. Whenever he'd tried to steer the conversation around to it, she'd changed the subject. Full of remorse and regret, she hadn't been able to talk about it until Sunday evening, after the girls had gone to bed and they'd shared a bottle of wine. And at last it had all come pouring out - the shame, the embarrassment, the self-loathing. Rich had been his supportive best, listening to her outpourings, calming her, reassuring her. And they'd gone to bed and had the best sex they'd ever had. In the warm afterglow, she'd relaxed and he'd told her time and again, no, it didn't change things, no he didn't think badly of her. And yes, of course he still loved her and yes, he did want to do it again. And before they fell asleep in each other's arms, she'd come round to admitting that well, yes, she supposed it had been fun really, and yes, she had actually quite enjoyed it and well, if he really felt like that, really wanted her to do it again, well she'd have to think about it. There in the traffic of the ring road, Richie reflected that she'd put up quite a fight. The complete U-turn of opinion had taken nearly forty-eight hours, much longer than it usually took her. The traffic started moving again and at last he could see the first signs to his turning. About time too. They were meeting Phil at eight and he didn't want to give Julie an excuse for backing out.

Now Friday was here at last, he felt more relaxed about things. The arrangements were made. And it was a bit late to start worrying about it now. It had already happened, the week before. His lovely Julie, his faithful wife of fifteen years and wonderful mother of their two daughters, had given him the surprise of his life. In the back seat of her car she'd opened her legs and had let a complete stranger fuck her, just to satisfy his fantasies. He shuddered. But in revulsion or ecstasy? He didn't even want to think about it. He just wanted it to happen again. Tonight.

* * * * * *

A mile or so away, stuck in the same slow-moving traffic, the man in the gray van stared at the back of the stationary truck in front of him and wondered what the coming night would bring.

It had been ten years since his medical discharge from the Army and these days he was a maintenance engineer for an intruder alarm company. A logical choice for a soldier whose special field had been the construction of booby-traps. He was respected rather than liked by his colleagues - not least because of his willingness to take their places on the night call-out roster. Nights suited him fine. He had no family, and call-outs gave him every reason to be driving around in the small hours, doing his watching and boosting his income with the occasional burglary. He lived alone in a cottage on what had once been a grand estate and was now a Golf and Country club.

There were no neighbors to speak of but he'd gone out of his way to befriend the head green-keeper, who lived in a similar cottage half a mile away. You could never be too careful. He kept himself to himself and hardly ever used the local village. And he never watched any of the couples that would sometimes park in the woods around the golf course.

Instead, his favorite patch was the two square miles or so of The Heath, some ten miles distant. And he'd be there tonight, like most nights. Yeah, you could always rely on Friday for something.

* * * * * *

The Roundhouse was packed and Phil was already there, watching the door, waiting for them. He bought the drinks but there was nowhwere to sit and the music was too loud to talk. So they drank up and Julie suggested a wine bar she knew in the city center. In a twist that Rich hadn't expected, Phil didn't know the way, so Julie suggested she went along in his car, to give directions.

Rich wasn't too happy about this. What if they shot off somewhere and he never saw them again? But it was the only practical solution. Even so, he kept a close eye on the mirror during the five minute journey.

* * * * * *

Ten miles away, the man in the van changed into black overalls and carefully checked his batteries. Then packed his camcorder in one toolbox and his night sight and adapter in another. The night vision goggles went in the glove compartment. If you were an alarm engineer on a call-out in the middle of the night, they wouldn't be difficult to explain.

He checked his watch. Eight o'clock. An hour before dusk. If he got his skates on, he might catch that young couple in the Ford. The ones that couldn't wait for it to get dark.

* * * * * *

Richie was beginning to relax. Phil hadn't whisked Julie away the second he got the chance and the wine bar, he had to admit, had been an inspired choice. It was expensive and exclusive, with alcoves that seemed designed for planning assignations such as this. Strange that he'd never heard her mention it before. Julie ordered a bottle of her favorite white wine and even though he was doing the driving again, Rich poured himself a glass. He needed it.

But no-one seemed in the mood for the sort of heavy drinking they'd done the previous week. Phil was good company and charmed them both with stories of his clashes with his wife Anne's middle class ways, her wealthy parents and stuck-up friends. But they were just killing time, waiting for it to get dark. The second bottle lasted until ten o'clock. Julie decided she had to do something.

"Shall we make a move, then, guys? Our baby-sitter can't stay tonight, Phil, so we can't be too late." She lies so well, so easily, sometimes, thought Rich uneasily.

"Yeah, right. Your car? I'll leave mine outside."

* * * * *

The drive up to The Heath was in silence. Phil had tried to get in the back with Julie, the same as the week before, but she'd told him to get in the front with Rich. Put firmly in his place, he'd done as he was told and they were well on their way up the hill before he'd realized that she'd been right, there'd been people about and it would have looked odd to have made Rich sit in the front on his own, like a chauffeur. As they turned onto the narrow road that led up to The Heath, Julie broke the silence.

"Richie, can we go to the same place as last week, love."


It hadn't been a question.

* * * * * *

From inside the car, The Heath looked completely black.

But outside, thought Julie, there'll be enough light for him to see everything, if he was there again. If he got close enough, like last week. But once the two men climbed into the back with her, one on either side, she had other things to think about. Phil was eager to claim her first and ever the gentleman, Rich sat back, while his wife kissed Phil deeply and passionately.

The buttoned dress she'd worn last Friday had been ruined by their semen stains and tonight she wore a cream silk blouse and flowing summer skirt over the white underwear Rich had chosen for her. "Get in the back straight away this time and join in," she told him. "But let him go first. OK, Rich?" He agreed eagerly but it was a tight squeeze and their bodies were touching, so it seemed entirely natural to turn towards her and run his hand up and down her thigh. Through the thin, silky material he could feel every detail of her garters, even the texture of her stocking tops and the line where they ended. Delicately he traced his finger tips higher, trailing them across the exquisite smoothness. His wife and her lover parted briefly, Julie gasping quietly, and tilting her head back to offer Phil her neck. And, Rich noticed, lifting his hand up from her hip and placing on her right breast. She was breathing hard now, her eyes shut tight. But her mind wasn't on either of them. Was he out there, she wondered, her secret voyeur? Watching her like last week? Watching her make love to two men at the same time? Wanting her, hard for her? She shuddered with pleasure as. Phil's hand found the buttons on her blouse. She'd left one more than usual open to make the most of her cleavage and Phil and Rich hadn't been the only ones in the wine bar to notice. She always enjoyed watching the effect her breasts had on men. And now she was going to show them off again. And not just to the two men in the car. She felt two more buttons go and Phil found her mouth again. And oh God, what was Richie up to down there. . . .

Phil broke away again and pushed her back into the seat, while he finished undoing her blouse. She stretched her arms out and put them behind her men, wanting to feel trapped, helpless to stop them taking their pleasures. Powerless as the eyes of her secret admirer feasted on her breasts, gloating as they came into view.

Rich jumped as the heel of her shoe scraped his instep, when his wife opened her legs and put one foot either side of the transmission tunnel. He reached down for the hem of her skirt and slipped his hand up inside, feeling how wide apart they were, sliding it up to her stocking tops, skimming the warm silken skin of her inner thigh, the dampness where her legs had pressed together. Phil had got her blouse off now and was mouthing her breasts through the delicate white lace of her bra, biting softly into the valley of her cleavage. Julie was looking strangely at Rich, as if she knew he was there but couldn't see him. Offering her wet, open mouth. Willing him to kiss her.

He did and she pushed her tongue into him instantly, pulling hard with the hand behind his head. He could feel Phil nuzzling her tits, inches away from him, feel his hair brushing against his face as he went from one breast to the other. Still she pulled him deeper, kissing him passionately until at last, they had to breathe and pulled apart.

With her right hand Julie pressed down firmly on Phil's head and he responded, sliding to the floor, licking and nibbling her stomach, his hand well up her skirt. Both of her boys were working on her thighs now and she wondered who would be the first to slip under the elastic of her knickers and claim the prize.

She pulled Rich's head down to her breasts. What if they are still wet from Phil, she thought, it serves you right.

Where was he, her secret lover? Was he outside, watching? She looked over Rich's head and saw that the glass had steamed up. Without thinking, she reached out and wiped it with the back of her hand. Still nothing. Perhaps he was waiting for her to show a bit more before taking too many risks. After all, he'd nearly been caught last week. She pulled Rich's head up.

"Help me with my bra, love."

She arched her back and he found the catch and popped it one-handed. Not waiting for him, she pulled it up and over her breasts. They slipped into view , soft and fat and white as milk.

"One each, boys." she offered breathlessly and lay back as they both suckled her noisily. Rich had been too slow and when he reached the top of her thigh could feel Phil's wrist working vigorously. He ran his fingertips across to where her pants should have been tight across her mound but instead found his rival's knuckles. Desperately wanting to see, he slid his hand back down to the hem of her dress, catching it in the gap between his finger and thumb, working it upwards, as he smoothed and stroked her thigh. But Julie was getting impatient and brought her hands round, gathering the material and pulling it up to her waist. Looking down, Rich saw Julie grip Phil's wrist and pull on it. Then she arched her back again, to lift herself off the seat. Hooking her thumbs into the elastic of her panties, she pushed them down. Phil took his hand away and between the three of them, they managed to get them off.

Shamelessly, Julie settled back into the seat and spread her legs across theirs. She smiled in the dim light and thought of the effect it would have on her secret admirer. As Rich kissed her, he felt her push Phil downwards again.

Julie had made it quite clear what she wanted from him and Phil was delighted to oblige. His wife considered anything like this to be a capital offense and it had been years since he had really tasted pussy. And never one as good as this. She smelt of flowers and lemons and tasted like honey and cream.

He gorged himself, pulling her further down the seat towards him, forcing his tongue deeper, faster, until the little rib of muscle underneath it split. Ignoring the pain, he plunged his tongue in and out, up and down, until at last Julie had to tear her mouth away from Rich and stop him before she came. "Please, Phil, please!" She pulled on his hair and he surfaced, his face shiny with her juices. "Come up here, where I can get at you. Come on!"

He climbed back onto the seat while Julie changed position, kneeling sideways on the seat between her two suitors, facing Phil. They kissed deeply and she could taste the sharp tang of herself on him. Richie lay back, with Julie's knees between his legs, her naked pussy filling his left hand. Instinctively he slipped two fingers into her. As she went down on Phil, Julie pulled her dress over her hips, blatantly presenting her full, round ass to the darkened window.

Her hands went to work on Phil's pants, her fingers searching for his zip. She found it and pulled it down, then went got busy on his belt and buttons. Within seconds his manhood, hard and proud, was out in the open, and she tugged and pulled at his pants. When they were clear, she took him into her hand, drawing back his foreskin, squeezing and stroking his hardness.

Richie felt her push backwards, impaling herself deeper on his fingers, as she made room to bend forward, her head going down, down, into Phil's lap. In the crush and the darkness, he missed the moment her mouth closed over Phil's cock but knew exactly when it happened, for he, too, had made the same sound many times, taken the same sharp intake of breath that Phil took, as her head slid slowly downwards, engulfing him in the warm, wet suction of her mouth.

But Phil had spent too long with his tongue up her pussy and was already on the brink of coming. Desperately he tried to bring himself under control, to slow her down, but Julie would not be stopped and she sucked and pumped until every nerve-ending was agonizingly, exquisitely alive. Pumped and sucked until he could feel his life force, his seed, being pulled from deep within, pulled up by a vacuum pleading to be filled, erupting into her mouth , feeling the spasms begin, helpless in his ecstasy.

"Julie, be careful! Oh Christ, I'm going to come. Julie!"

But Julie had always intended to drain him this way and wasn't to be denied by Phil pulling upwards on her hair. She felt him throb and twitch and thrust upwards as the first hot pulse of sperm erupted in her mouth, coating her tongue with the taste of soft bleach. Two, three, four spurts and finally a fifth, weaker one followed, filling her mouth with warm, salty manhood. She never swallowed Richie's normally, pushing it back out, onto his prick. Except for once or twice, on special occasions. And what was this, if not special? She came up for air and gulped it down, along with his sperm. Feeling him soften, she squeezed hard and went back down for the last drop, the single precious jewel she knew would be there. Then she took the whole of his shrinking cock into her mouth and thrust backwards, into Richie's fingers, forming themselves into a fist. . . .

At last she pulled away from him, shattered. She felt so weak, so tender that she couldn't bear to let it go on. She knew Richie was still hard but she was quite beyond caring. She was due some selfish pleasures. Always so eager to get it over with, Rich never spent long with his head between her legs. Not like Phil had.

But Phil had recovered fast and was already thinking about the time. He wanted to discretely check his watch but it was dark and he could hardly ask Rich to put the light on. Still, he ought to broach the subject.

"Wow, that was something!" His legs were stiff and he sat up with difficulty. Julie started to get dressed. Suddenly it all seemed very cramped in the back of the car.

"It must be getting on. Any later than twelve and I can expect trouble when I get in."

"Did you enjoy it? " asked Julie softly.

"It was fantastic, Julie. First time ever for me." Please God, don't let her want to kiss me, he thought. But it was Richie that Julie had plans for. Transfixed, he watched as she turned and came to him, taking her hot, tainted kiss automatically until at last her tongue found his and teased a response from him. His erection was painful but she drew away with a smile and a final squeeze of his prick.

"Come on," she said. "Phil's got to get back."

The drive down to the town was quiet and relaxed. Phil knew he mustn't kiss Julie goodbye in public, so he turned round and reached between the seats and their fingers touched.

"I'll give you a ring next week, Phil." said Rich. "We'll try to sort out something a bit more comfortable." They said their good-byes and pulled away. Julie had made no effort to get into the front. Richie hoped and prayed she'd ask. He'd had a hard-on for hours.

"Richie. . . . ?" Her voice was soft and dreamy.

"Can we go back up The Heath?"

* * * * * *

The same sudden silence, the moment he switched the engine off. The same deserted pull-in, where it had all happened less than an hour ago. And suddenly the same metallic ticking from the exhaust. He turned around. Julie was sprawled across the back seat, her legs open, her skirt high up and her hands slowly going up and down the insides of her thighs. But her head was turned away from him. She was looking out of the window.



"Stay where you are for a bit."




"Do all men like to watch?"

"Yeah. Guess so. Why?"

"Well, don't lose your temper or anything but I think someone was watching us from over there, just now, when Phil was with us."

Rich instantly reached for the door handle.

"Don't Rich!" she shouted. He froze, his fists clenched in anger.

"Don't be such a hypocrite." she said, in her little girl voice. "He's no different than you. He wanted a good look and so did you."

The same silence, the same slow ticking. Richie's heavy breathing.

"Anyway ..." Her voice was softer still now, teasing.

"How d'you know that I didn't enjoy it? Actually, I did. Knowing he was watching. Knowing you and Phil didn't know. He was over there, on your side, so you couldn't see him. But I could. He ducked down when he knew I'd spotted him. But he was soon there again. I looked straight at him and smiled. He must have had a lovely view."

This was a Julie he'd never known before! So that was the strange look on her face. She hadn't been looking at him at all but over his shoulder. He remembered how shamelessly she'd spread her legs when they'd taken her panties off. Richie's mouth was dry. This was getting too complicated. Julie's hands were working faster now and the skirt was higher still, showing the white thighs above her stocking tops. Rich sat perfectly still. Speechless. Watching.


"Mmmmm ..."

"D'you think he's still out there?

"Maybe ..."

The thought bothered him but he had other things to think about. This faithful wife, this perfect mother, was behaving like a complete slut and all he could do was sit there fascinated, hoping for more. He felt his erection returning.

"If he is, d'you think he can see anything?"

She pulled her skirt up higher. He could see her plump mound stretching the white lace of her pants.

"Well I can, so I suppose he can. If he's still out there. I can't see anything."

"No ,don't turn around! You might frighten him off."

The skirt came up over her hips and around her waist. Now he could see her white belly. Her hands went back to the insides of her thighs, her gaze never leaving the window by his shoulder.

"P'raps we should put the light on, Rich. Give him some encouragement. What d'you think?" Both hands were down the front of her briefs now. He pulled the switch and the interior light came on.

"That's better. Now keep still and don't look round. I'll tell you if I see anything." Her hands went back inside her knickers. Still she stared out at the blackness. "Mmmmmmm .... oh God Richie ..... oh God this is so horny."

Rich felt as high as a kite. What the hell was going on? How was he supposed to react? Shout at her? Stop her? What? But oh Christ, she looked so good! She was a beautiful woman in the prime of her life and she was his and he loved her and felt proud of her. She was right, it was horny. Oh, what the hell, he thought. Let him watch if he's out there. What if it did turn her on? Where was the harm?

One by one the buttons of her blouse opened up again, revealing her big, beautiful breasts, packed tight in the new bra that pushed them together so well. Still staring over his shoulder, she sat up and slipped the blouse off her shoulders, making a show of taking it off and draping it over the front seat. She leaned forward, kissed him deeply and reached behind her for the bra clasp. Richie heard it give as the tension released. With her bare shoulders right under the central light, no-one could have mistaken what she was doing. She pulled back from him and slipped it off, draping it over the dress, her breasts swinging free. Then she wiped away the mist that was forming on the window, pressed her face against the glass and peered into the darkness.

After a while, her eyes adjusted and she could make out the grass flats that formed the picnic areas; the shrubs, bushes and trees that provided cover. And slowly it dawned on her that some twenty feet away she could see a shape in the darkness, a man sitting on a low wall. Watching. And though she couldn't swear to it, she thought his hand was working away in his lap.

"Turn the lights up a bit Rich... please."

Her secret lover was watching and she wanted to show him more. Close up to the glass, she waved slowly to him with one hand, shielding her eyes with the other, to see better. There was no mistake, he was waving back. The blood pounded in her ears. There was no going back now. She was going to show him everything. Slowly, deliberately, she put her forefinger into her mouth, in and out, in and out. Then, with the same wet finger, beckoned him.

"It's working Richie. He's coming over. Don't move a muscle. Lets have some fun with him."

Mesmerized, Rich sat watching, as still as a statue.

Never taking her eyes off the window, Julie lay back in the seat and ran her hands up and down her body, pushing her soft white breasts together, showing off her bush of black curls by pulling her panties to one side, then pushing them down to her knees and finally taking them off. Spreading her legs, she pulled her sex wide open, her labia glistening in the interior light. Wetting her right index finger with her tongue, she started working it around and around, opening the soft petals of flesh, coaxing back the hood and teasing her clitoris into view. She built up speed, her breathing getting faster, until she was groaning with pleasure, plunging her fingers deep inside, opening herself wider. At last she couldn't wait any longer.

"Oh Rich, fuck me Rich! Fuck me! Oh God I need your prick! Fuck me Rich!"

Rich was already pulling at his clothes, his own needs suddenly becoming urgent. But it was too cramped and knowing that he would come soon, he gave up and tried to force his way between the seats. But they were too big and he couldn't get over them because of the head-rests. In desperation he opened the door and virtually fell out, his shirt undone, his pants halfway down his legs. The watcher had backed off, ready for trouble. But Rich could only think of his Julie and Phil and her mouthful of cream. He wanted the same as Phil, to feel the same sensations that Phil had, to fill the same hot little mouth with his cream, feeling her suck and swallow, mixing their sperms together in her belly. Ignoring her desperate pleas for him to fuck her, he stood at the open door.

"Suck it, Ju, please! Swallow it, like you did for him. Please, Ju."

Julie froze in shock, as if someone had thrown cold water over her. The bastard. The selfish fucking bastard. Well, if he didn't want to fuck her, she sure as hell knew someone who did. Her voice was cold and brisk. "OK, get inside. Come on, lie down."

She moved to one side and he dived into the back. She pushed him onto his back, lengthwise across the seat. "Wait, there's no room. I'll get cramp like this. There, that's better." She twisted around and slowly worked her long, stockinged legs backwards, out of the open door, running her tongue down his chest, his belly and finally his prick. Her feet touched the ground and she opened her legs and stuck out her rump in a mute but eloquent plea to her secret admirer.

"Don't come yet, Richie!" she pleaded, "Close your eyes. I want you to come in my mouth. That's it, now keep them shut tight. I promise I'll swallow, if you don't open them."

The inside of Julie's mouth was, Rich had discovered long ago, the closest he was ever going to get to Heaven. The sensations were so delectable, the waves of feeling so endless, that time stood still and fantasy and reality merged in an unrelenting stream of pleasure. Pleasure so intense it almost hurt. He squeezed his eyes shut to enjoy the dream the better, letting her go to work with her lips, tongue and sharp little teeth, building up his orgasm, while he floated weightlessly in space.

But if Rich was on his way to the stars, the watcher's feet were planted firmly on Earth. A few inches behind Julie's. And his prick was hard in his hand.

Neither Julie or Rich knew that some couples came up here for just this and there was usually someone like Stan around to provide any services required. Not that it usually went as fast as this. Usually they built up to it gradually, first putting on a show to attract the toms, then later on perhaps opening a window and eventually the passenger door. Stan had fucked ten or twelve over the years but never one like this. This one was young and beautiful, a description you couldn't apply to most of them. Her soft, white buttocks thrust back invitingly, framed perfectly in white stockings and garter belt. Even so, he waited till she waved him forwards with her free hand. Instinct and experience told him that this was new, dangerous ground. Surely she wasn't going to do it without her man knowing? She fucking well was! Christ, this was risky! But still, if that's what she wanted, he was ready for her. Actually he'd been ready ever since they made eye contact last week during her threesome.

And now here she was waving him on. Well, if that was her game, he was her man. If only he could stop himself coming. Still unsure, he stroked the back and insides of her open thighs, up and around, feeling the thick bush of curls and her wetness on his fingers. But she obviously wanted it fast and rough and reached up between her legs, grabbed his wrist and pulled him in. She was hot and wet and open and took three fingers without flinching. Christ, he could even feel her cervix as she pushed back into him. What if the guy opened his eyes? Fuck it, she was between them and he'd have a good start. And he knew every inch of this heath, even in the dark. If only he could hold back a bit longer.

Bent forwards, legs apart, she presented herself perfectly to him. He pulled back his foreskin, dipped his knees, found the entrance, straightened his legs and slipped smoothly into her, just as he started to come. Grabbing her soft, fleshy hips, he pulled her onto him in full penetration, clenching his teeth, trying not to pound her, trying to come quietly, without thrusting, his knees shaking, as she took one jet after another of his hot sperm into her. Almost before he'd finished, certainly before he'd squeezed the last drops out, he felt her hand pushing him away and she leaned forwards, disengaging abruptly. The same hand then made a frantic, unmistakable gesture for him to go. Obviously she was terrified that her man would realize what had happened.

So Stan backed off, zipped himself up and went back to his wall. The danger had passed and the whole sordid episode had taken no more than a minute. And he'd been inside her for less than half that, he reckoned. His chest was heaving and gusts of stale sweat rose from his old camouflage jacket. And his nose was running again. He hawked the snot back with a snort. Not bad for someone his age. She could only be about thirty. Another one on the list. He shook with relief as he realized the danger had passed and he'd got away with it. He'd had plenty of threesomes up here but never one like this. Not with the other bloke not knowing. Fuck me, you took a chance Stan, he told himself. His hands still trembled. What about that poor bastard with her! It didn't seem right somehow. She must be a right little whore.

"Are you going to come yet?" Her voice broke into Richie's dream.

"Yeah . . .I can't last much longer."

Julie climbed into the car and straddled him. She was calmer now her watcher had gone, in control. Richie could forget about coming in her mouth. She had other plans for him. Watching him intently, she positioned herself just right. This is just for you, Richie, she thought. This is for fifteen years of coming too quick. For wanting another man to do the job for you. Well now two of them have, my love. And that's just in the last seven days. I won't mention the others that have done it for you in the past, darling. I haven't got time. Now, let me introduce you to my new man, my secret lover. So secret even I don't know who he is. But I do know he's a real man, Richie, I do know he likes to fuck me, because that's exactly what he's just done, darling, while you were busy thinking about yourself, as usual. And Richie darling, he's left something in there for you. A present. A nice fresh slice of warm cream pie. Enjoy! She lowered herself and slipped easily onto his prick. Mmmmm, fresh cream, Richie. The perfect lubricant. "That nice, Richie? Am I wet enough for you?"

Christ she was hot! He'd never known her cunt so smooth, so slick before. She felt full of warm, silken oil, full of a thousand miniature mouths sucking away at him. Helpless, he exploded into her, arching his back, thrusting blindly upwards, emptying his balls into the warm jelly of a stranger's sperm that was already filling her womb. And never suspecting a thing.

Even in the dim light, Stan could see every detail from his viewpoint on the wall. Julie's beautiful white buns pumping up and down, Richie's cock going in and out. Even the white collar of semen, his semen, forming around the base.

He sniffed hard and laughed softly to himself. And when he heard Richie cry out as he came, he laughed again, louder this time. What was the name for guys like this? Cuckolds, that was it. The poor bastard's wife had just taken a wet fuck off another man and he been so busy enjoying his blow-job he didn't know that a complete stranger had crept up and had his wife from behind. Filled her classy little pussy full of common come, just so the little whore could serve it up to her husband moments later. A generous helping of sloppy seconds for you, old son, courtesy of a man twice your age!

Cuckold, that was the word. He vaguely remembered reading about them somewhere. Was it in Shakespeare? How in medieval times, men whose wives had been caught in adultery were objects of fun and derision, and made to wear the horns of the cuckold. A pair of antlers would be strapped to their heads and they'd be paraded through the streets for everyone's amusement, where they would pelted with rotten vegetables and have full piss-pots emptied over them. Then the unfaithful wife would be put in the standing stocks on the village green and left out all night, her head and hands trapped, her ass stuck out invitingly, to be mounted and fucked by all and sundry under cover of darkness.

Yeah, that's how they dealt with faithless wives and cuckolded husbands in the old days. They didn't wear horns any more but the man he'd just cuckolded was wearing a white collar of another man's sperm around his wilting prick and the sight was just as funny. He laughed again, softer this time, now their cries of pleasure had subsided. The cuckold's collar, that was the modern equivalent of the horns. How many other men had left one down there for the poor bastard to wear?

It was time to disappear before the youngster recovered, there was no point in pushing his luck. He repeated the car's registration number several times to himself. He'd write it down when he got back to his car, just in case they came back one night. And no telling the rest of the toms, either. This one was for himself. He didn't want sloppy seconds. Mind you, he thought, I don't suppose her old man did, either. He laughed again and started the engine. Cuckold, that was the word!

* * *

From his vantage point above them, the man in black overalls watched Stan's lights fade away. The couple in the Renault were beginning to recover and had started looking for their clothes. He crawled backwards a few yards to the cover of a bramble bush and stood painfully upright. He'd been crouched motionless for most of the evening and his knees were stiff. Keeping below the skyline, he worked his way down to the path and ran silently the quarter of a mile to the public car park where he'd left his van. From the cover of the deserted toilet block he scanned the area for a full minute. Satisfied that no-one was staking it out, he took off the night vision goggles, packed them in his waterproof hold-all with the rest of his kit, and stashed it behind a waste bin by the roadside. He'd pick it up on his way out, once he'd cleared the car park without being challenged.

By his reckoning they'd be another ten minutes at least. Plenty of time to get into position. He started the van and drove slowly onto the access road. Stopping at the bin, he switched off his lights, picked up his bag, took out his night vision kit and stashed the rest in his big, lockable tool box. Then he slipped off the trendy covers from the spotlights recessed into the radiator grill. In the dim glow of the distant sodium lights the glass looked black, the same as in the odd looking goggles he was wearing.

* * *

At last, tired and contented, Rich and Julie started the ten mile drive home. It was nearly two in the morning and there was no-one around. If anyone had tried to follow them down the narrow, winding road that led back to town, Rich would have spotted their lights.

But there were none, even though he was cautious enough to check. Can't be too careful with peeping toms about, he thought.

But the road behind them was dark and he relaxed, enjoying the warm afterglow. Things hadn't quite worked out as planned but he wasn't complaining. It was still another first. Phil had just left the cream pie in her mouth, that was all. The same mouth that had then kissed his mouth and engulfed his prick.

* * *

The man in black waited until they drove past and gave them a five hundred yards start. Their rear lights were uncomfortably bright in his goggles and he winced each time they braked. His spotlights were on their maximum downwards adjustment and their dark red filters cut the light down to a practically invisible, dull red glow.

Through the infra-red goggles, however, they lit up the road ahead in a flood of bright green. The isolator switch he'd fitted made sure no other light on the car was live.

The road from The Heath ended at a T junction with a busy main road and the Renault turned left and went down towards the town. The road was well lit now and he took the goggles off before the lights blinded him. He clicked the secret switch and his normal lights came on. His eyes hurt, nothing unusual after wearing his night vision rig for several hours.

There were hardly any other cars around at this hour, so he could afford to stay well back, varying his distance, closing up each time they approached a traffic light. Just in case he had to jump it.

* * *

Rich drove at a steady pace. There was always a chance of getting stopped at this time of the morning and he didn't want to spoil a perfect evening. Who'd have thought it, eh? Who'd have thought the quiet little mouse he'd married would have spent all evening acting like a hooker, just to please him! And what about the show she'd put on for that peeping tom? That had been un-fucking-believable. It was almost as if she'd enjoyed it. This was the woman, he reminded himself again, that was so shy she wouldn't even take off her bikini top on a quiet beach. It was all very complicated. He'd really have to sit down and work this out. All kinds of possibilities had opened up. Not so much a Friday night out, as another milestone in our marriage, he thought to himself.

At last they pulled into the drive of number seventeen and as quietly as they could, locked the car doors and went inside. Julie left him to unwind with a well-earned drink while she crept upstairs, slipped out of her clothes for the third time that night and got under a hot shower. A very hot shower. Suddenly she was desperate to feel clean again.

Out in the warm summer night, the man in black was still watching. Making mental notes of the number of the other car in the drive, the simple cylinder lock on the front door, the exterior phone cable and the absence of an obvious burglar alarm.

Unlike Stan, he didn't write anything down. He didn't need to. He let out the clutch and drove quietly home. Yep, you could always rely on a Friday night for something.

* * * * *

Copyright David Cook 1997 All Rights Reserved E-mail other articles and stories on a similar theme available

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