Tuesday evening I received an email from an old colleague, Peter. He and his girlfriend Pam would be in the Leeds area over the weekend and wondered if Linda and I fancied supper with them on Friday evening. In our late 20’s at this point without children we had no ties but I checked with my social secretary (my wife) who confirmed the diary was free but suggested we invite them to our house and Linda would cook.

Peter had taken me under his wing when I first started at my previous job – he’d been retired but following a complicated divorce over his inability to keep his chap in his pants he’d been forced back into work. A real gent who we christened “Lord Peter”, his cloths all individually tailored on Saville Row, educated and spoke nicely as well as being more of a listener than a talker. Pam was the reason for his divorce, 18 when they’d met now 23, a gorgeous blonde with the perfect body. Peter now in his mid 60’s was well kept, tall, slim full head of salt and pepper hair but it was his ability as a raconteur and his personality that pulled everyone in, men and women alike.

The door bell rang whilst Linda was still to dress – dressing gown on working in the kitchen not wanting to stain her dress. Peter stood there, bottle of champagne in one hand and a bottle of red wine in the other. “Where’s Pam?” I asked letting him in.

“Sorry Andrew, she’s not feeling well so she hasn’t joined me this weekend. Anyway, where’s that lovely wife of yours?” as he walked into the kitchen, Linda putting the finishing touches to the dinner.

Peter gave me the bottles, “Come here my lovely girl, missed you Linda” full kiss on her lips, hugging her tightly and I noticed his hand slipping down to caress her bottom through the thin silk of her gown tracing the outline of her panties. Slapping his hand away playfully, “Enough of that Lord Peter, help Andrew with the drinks, I’ll be down in a minute” and she whipped upstairs to dress.

Peter and I took the champagne and glasses into the lounge with ice bucket, red wine opened to breath by the Aga in the kitchen. Linda arrived dressed and make up titivated. I was surprised to see her apparel – knee length black skirt with a very high thigh slit, red silk blouse – and stockings, the tops clearly visible as she walked. She caught my eye – and Peter’s too knowing the lecherous old git – “Sorry if I’m over dressed but I knew Pam would be very glamorous”

The champagne was finished in short order, “You chaps up to the dining table I’ll just get the food out of the warming over” and Linda headed out. I was half way there when Peter announced he’d just clear away the glasses when I heard “Don’t Peter, not when I’m holding boiling hot dishes” so ventured into the kitchen to rescue Linda.

Dinner served, we ate leisurely talking lots all going down well with the wine. Peter was keen to know what we’d been up to over the last couple of years in our new jobs and home. Linda had found herself without a job to come to so had been applying for various positions but not wanting to be stuck at home had enrolled on some courses that tickled her fancy. Peter was keen to hear all about them, I was cringing a little but the wine had loosened Linda’s inhibitions so she spoke freely. For fitness she’d thought it fun to take pole dancing lessons. And she thought she’s put to good use the ability once taught how to become a masseuse. She’d also taken an evening course in French – not that seemed to interest Lord Peter terribly.

The conversation moved on to what we did with our spare time, how we met new friends and so on. This is where it became a bit tricky. The wine bottle was empty and Peter suggested another – if we had one – so Linda sent me off for another bottle from the kitchen. I heard what was being said but was helpless to interrupt or change subject.

I can’t explain why but my “thing” is to see Linda with other men. Linda’s “thing” is to have numerous cocks to play with – preferring multiple creampies explaining “I feel so empty after one shoots and withers away, I just love the feeling of spunk hitting the head of my womb, so the more the merrier, slowly and one after the other but I do enjoy getting them hard in my hands and mouth first. I’ve even had one up my bottom and one up my pussy, Andrew loved that saying he could feel everything of the movement of the other chap. But I’m so jealous I couldn’t stand Andrew with another women, so we’re lucky our ideals match so perfectly.” At the time we’d used a magazine called Rendezvous to meet other men and had visited La Chambre in Sheffield figuring it was sufficient distance not to bump into folk from Leeds.

Having laid our secret sex life bare Linda started to clear the table. Stood next to Peter she froze as she was leaning over to gather some dishes together. Without moving she looked at me, then over her shoulder at Peter, “Nice as that feels Peter please stop” and he took his hand out from under her skirt.

We let Linda clear the table as I poured out the last of the wine. The three of us chattered some more, finished the wine and Linda suggested I get some coffee on the go and get the Remi out. As we stood, Linda laughed and pointed at Peter’s crotch, “What’s that My Lord?”

“What’s what?” Peter replied.

Linda stood next to him and rubbed the front of his trousers, “That rather large swelling”.

“Polite appreciation of the beautiful company I’m keeping”.

I arrived with coffees and brandies, Linda sat on the sofa, Peter next to her so I took the armchair opposite. Linda sat with her legs under her, the slit in her skirt wide open, stockings and a suspender clearly in view. I was feeling nervous and sexual excitement as I looked at my tipsy wife. Drink loosens her inhibitions. No. More than that. It makes her horny as hell. She fumbled for the TV controls, dropped them and I went to pick them up, “I’ve got them” exposing her panties as she reached to the floor. Red and I noticed for the first time the black stockings had a red seam. New.

“What are you doing Lind?” I enquired.

“Just putting some music videos on”. I dreaded what would follow but was grateful we didn’t have a pole in our living room.

I’d forgotten – and maybe Linda had too. Still in the video player from the previous weekend was a great film “Pretty Peaches”. A classic from ten years previous but that’s what we started watching.

Linda sprawled out on the sofa, feet on Peters lap. “Your skirt is getting crumbled Linda and it’s not hiding anything” Peter remarked.

“Quite right she slurred, stood and undid the button and zip letting it fall around her ankles, picked it up, folded it and put it on the back of one of the dining chairs. “My shirt’s getting crumpled too” as she undid the blouse and slipped it off leaving it with her skirt. Back on the sofa she stretched out again, feet on Peter. Her red bra was transparent, as were her matching red panties. Moreso it seemed as she was tanned from our week away in the sun a couple of weeks back – her white bits shining through the thin material, her nipples dark red and flaccid in the warmth, smooth and as dark as cherries. Her long curly auburn hair crowned her face and fell over her small right breast. The whisp of hair not shaved from her pubic region could also be seen clearly through the translucent panties.

As we watched the film, my cock was getting harder and harder. Peter has started stroking Linda’s stocking clad legs but not yet reaching the bare flesh above. It would only be a matter of time. It felt kind of wrong but I didn’t want to stop what I was hoping would transpire. As the minutes passed so Peter’s fingers inched ever upwards. Linda was either half asleep or I suspect pretending to be. Finally Peter had reached the slit of her pussy, he stroked it through the material, edging himself towards Linda along the sofa. Now between her legs his hands ran from the inside of her thighs to the outer, his fingers inside the waist band of her panties and as he gently pulled downwards, Linda, eyes shut lifted herself and they slipped off easily. Peter continued to fondle Linda’s legs, manoeuvring slowly ever further towards her pussy. Linda’s hand slid down almost involuntarily toward her clit. She played with herself as Peter’s hand moved ever closer. He opened her lips, moist and glistening soft and velvety smooth, his fingers then inside her, first one then two then three. His head moved down on her, she move her fingers off her clit and Peter’s experienced tongue took over. One hand moved up to her breasts fondling them through the thin material of her bra. I was about to come in my pants. Linda’s head was moving side to side, she had hold of a handful of Peter’s hair, thrusting herself at him, pulling his face into her before loudly reaching her climax. She slumped as if shot and Peter sat up licking his fingers. “Wow” he said.

“That was brilliant Andrew” said Linda.

“I’m over here!” from the arm chair.

“God I must be pissed I thought it was you. Oh Peter! Thank you.”

“Happy to oblige my dear”.

The film was finished. Linda was putting out her post coital fag and Peter said it was time for him to take his leave. He stood, Linda looked at him, then to me, “We can’t let him go to the hotel in this state Andrew” as she was undoing his trousers. His cock leapt upward as she released it from his underpants, sliding it’s length slowly up and down. I noticed it was bigger than mine but took solace from the fact mine was thicker. Looking up at Peter Linda traced her fingertip over the hole and around the head, “Look it’s all shiny with pre-cum” before taking it in her mouth. Linda’s a whizz with her mouth and tongue but from experience I knew the best for Peter was yet to come. Linda can milk a cock with her cunt muscles, very little movement required. “Get that shirt off and come and rock my world My Lord” Linda smiled, unclasping her bra and tossing it on the floor. Peter sat down, Linda straddled him looking at me and rode his cock, her back to him, his hands reached round to take turns on her small breasts, tweaking her nipples and playing with her clit. I could tell when the moment arrived as his saggy big balls contracted and he shot his load into her. She had eyes closed, moaning in ecstasy, holding his hand which were holding her pert little breasts. She refused to dismount until he withered and slipped out, “God I hate that” she said.

Moments later Peter was dressed and a taxi arrived to take him back to his hotel.

“Bed?” I asked.

“Not bloody likely mate” leading me back to the sofa by the arm.

“Well I’m not washing up tonight!” I jested naked by the time I’d spat out the words.

“No Darling. Sloppy seconds for you. Slow, take your time. I want to go to bed with my pubic bone sore tonight”. We made love three times before I had to call it a day.

It was getting light as we tramped up the stairs to bed and to sleep the sleep of the dead.