Sweet Surrender · Part 2

Sweet Surrender · Part 2 (2/2)
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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…..

Sweet Surrender · Part 2 (2/2)
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