Part 1- in which my dear teacher wife, with a little help from me, gets herself into an interesting situation. My brain was suffering from information overload. There was just too much to take in at one time. I had hoped that I would get to see Helen perform with the two younger men from the holiday apartment next door, and this wish had definitely been granted. I had wanted the dark side that I knew was there to emerge, but it had been far darker than I could possibly have imagined. Not only had my dear wife allowed herself to be unceremoniously taken by both Steve and Brian, she had revelled in being used and abused vaginally, anally and orally. The finale had, frankly, shocked me; my Helen, lying there stained and soaked in the emissions of three different men, being called a slut and a bitch whilst commanded to masturbate, and cumming like a train by so doing. There was more: who in the name of God was the fat man? I had watched in amazement as this character had appeared unannounced on the scene, and, without Helen apparently even knowing about it, had fucked her hard. She had even gushed as he did so! I was, truth to tell, feeling guilty about this. Should I have intervened and stopped it happening? I’m neither physically weak nor small in stature, and have been told I don’t look like a person to fuss with. I could certainly have handled the two young men and the fat man. I chose not to, and the reason was of course that I was aroused to the point of spontaneous ejaculation by the sights I had witnessed. Helen of course was blissfully unaware that I knew any of this, just as she hadn’t realised that it was fatty that had made her squirt onto the floor. She was then her normal self as, having arisen and showered, I accompanied her to lunch at the holiday complex. We decided to stroll down into the centre of Los Christianos and on to the seafront afterwards. Those who know the centre of the town may also know that, in a street that runs roughly parallel to the main road, there was, and might still be, a lingerie shop. Because of the meandering nature of our stroll we passed this, and stopped to peruse the window display. The usual mannequins, clad in all manner of knickers, bras and negligees, were on show, and I paid little attention to be truthful as, after a brief look, we went on our way. After whiling away some time doing the things that tourists do we strolled back towards our apartment, and once again found ourselves outside the shop. It had opened again after closing for the siesta, so we stopped and Helen announced that she wanted to go in for a look. I made to go in with her, but she told me to go to a bar across the road and she would join me there later. She’s her own woman with her own money, so I complied, though I was wondering what she was up to – she always brings a fair selection of lingerie on holiday to wear in the evenings. After about an hour she reappeared carrying several bags, and joined me for a drink. I had to ask what she had purchased, but she, with a winning smile, told me that I ‘would just have to wait and see.’ I suspected, after recalling some of the conversation of the night before (was it only last night? So much seemed to have happened since!) she had had with Steve and Brian that stockings and suspenders were involved, but was in the dark as to what else she might have purchased. We left the bar to go for something to eat, and she ensured that the bags were kept well away from me. After returning to the apartment I showered and changed ready to go out for a drink, then waited outside for my darling to do likewise. I sat looking at the spot on the wall where Helen had been brusquely fucked in sequence, and attempted to see if there remained any sign of the liquid evidence I had noticed that morning. There wasn’t; the maid had been in and mopped the balcony. I was recalling the events, and feeling definite twinges in the trouser department, when I heard Helen call from inside the lounge; ‘is it just you out there?’ she asked. I presumed she was wondering if our neighbours were around, but I told her that I was all-alone and she strolled out and gave me a twirl. My jaw dropped! Starting from ground level; she had on a pair of red stilettos, not ordinary ones but those mega-heeled platforms that female porn-stars wear a lot. Her legs were clad in tan coloured stockings of the old fashioned kind with the seam up the back, which, to disrupt the sequence for a second, were secured by the suspenders of a red lacy waspie that stretched from just below her breasts to just above her pubic region. She also had on a matching bra, or an ‘almost bra’ to be exact. The quarter cups, though they pushed her breasts up and out in no uncertain terms, didn’t have a front or top so that her nipples were totally uncovered and poking straight at me like the proverbial chapel hat pegs. The entire ensemble was completed by a pair of small knickers in the same material as the rest. ‘Do you like it’ she asked flirtatiously, before attempting to move back into the apartment on her impossible shoes before I could catch hold of her. She failed and we stood in the doorway kissing passionately as I ran my hands up and down her body. She normally has to look up to kiss me as I’m about nine inches taller than her, but since there was only a couple of inches in it now, I figured that her shoes must have added about six or seven inches. They also, as such things are intended to do, made her look much taller and slimmer and her legs just went on forever. I was, truth to tell, astounded, and felt the twinges in the nether regions increase in intensity. She laughed and told me to stop as I pushed my hand down the front of the knickers and rubbed her smooth mound. Helen doesn’t shave, but rather uses some sort of depilatory cream, so that she never really feels stubbly, and I think she must have reapplied some tonight, as she was silky. Giggling and squealing she removed my hand and told me to behave myself, and then, looking very serious, she asked me if she would do? I, equally seriously and entirely truthfully, told her she looked magnificent, which of course went down extremely well. ‘I take it that you’re not going out like that’ I said, to which she replied ‘why not?’ The look on my face dissolved her into laughter again; ‘only joking, I’m only joking’ came the response, which, to be honest, was a shame, even if a probably a little risqué for the complex we were staying at – or at least in the public areas! She carefully walked back into the apartment and went up to the bedroom, returning a few minutes later in a long, vee-necked, sleeveless dress that buttoned up the front. It was the same colour as the lingerie, and she had left a couple of the buttons undone to display an impressive cleavage. The material was thin, which meant of course, that what looked like a couple of bullets were poking through the front. We obviously weren’t walking very far with her in her porn-star shoes, and so we dropped into the bar on the site. The face of the barman at the sight of Helen dressed all in red and standing about six foot tall, was a joy to behold, and the more I saw of her the more my guilty conscience over the morning’s events receded. No longer was I feeling confused about what had occurred, and the blood began pushing its way southwards as an image of her flashed into my mind. My Helen, laid out and stripped of the dress, with her knickers around one ankle and stockinged legs high in the air, being fucked hard . . . very hard. We sat at the bar stools again, and as she crossed her legs the unbuttoned portion of the dress fell away from her legs. She hadn’t bothered to do up very many of them, and was revealing a great deal of thigh. She revealed a bit more as I reached over and undid one more, which she didn’t resist at all, and sat there almost, but not quite, showing off her stocking tops. She has always liked being nearly exposed in public, and, though we hadn’t done it for a while, it began to feel like old times. The bar was quiet, and I began feeling more adventurous. I told her to stand up, and when she did I knelt down, and, reaching up under her dress, pulled her knickers down to her ankles in one swift movement. She gasped at this, but didn’t object as I tapped her ankles in turn for her to raise her feet so that I could remove them completely and put them in my pocket. As we both returned to the stools I was keenly aware that her nipples were poking through the cloth even more than previously, if that were possible, and that she had developed a slight flush. This increased as I opened another button at the top of her dress, so that her breasts were exposed to the extent that her bra, where it connected at the front, was in view, as was the inside slope of her rounded curves. As we had another round or two of drinks, I began rubbing her thighs, pushing the dress aside and feeling around her stocking tops, bringing her to a high state of arousal. The bar began to fill up somewhat, though being seated where we were there was nobody to see our fun (apart from, possibly, the barman, whose eyes were out on stalks every time he served us), until we heard the familiar voices of Brian and Steve calling from the other end as per the previous evening. They sent over a couple of drinks and walked around to join us, and their faces were a real picture when they saw Helen. We were talking inconsequently, and they were ogling her thighs and breasts, when someone else whom I recognised appeared; it was the fat man from this morning. He was dressed in trousers and a white shirt this time, and he came straight over to where we were sitting. An attractive woman of about my age accompanied him. She was slim and about Helen’s height, with blonde/grey hair, large blue eyes, wearing a black knee-length wraparound skirt and white sleeveless blouse. Helen hadn’t seen his face of course, and I wasn’t supposed to have, so when Steve introduced him as Terry, and his wife as Pam, I tried to keep my face expressionless. I don’t think I succeeded too well, as I fancied he looked somewhat quizzically at me when we shook hands. I thought he looked somewhat strangely at Helen also, though I put this down to the fact that he knew that she didn’t know that he had fucked her for around ten minutes that morning, both anally and vaginally, and squeezed a gushy orgasm out of her of whilst so doing. He didn’t know that I knew of course, and as we chatted I sized him up. In terms of looks he was something like a slightly older version of the English actor Simon Rouse, but without the hair (Rouse plays Jack Meadows in the long running British police series ‘The Bill.’). He was also much fatter, weighing in, I estimated, at about 17 stone (240lbs). For what such judgements made at such short notice are worth, I felt that there was something about him that indicated he wasn’t a very nice person. Perhaps it was his attitude towards Pam, which I though was very offhand and dismissive. To me, she resembled an older version of the TV presenter Ruth Langsford (as with Rouse, US readers will have to Google the name) and I couldn’t help noticing similarly heavy breasts, encased in a white ‘wonderbra,’ visible through her blouse. She seemed rather quiet and he hardly acknowledged her at all, whilst being rather voluble himself. Brian and Steve could hardly keep their hands off Helen, though could scarcely get too overt with me in the company, whilst I saw Fat Terry ogling her on a few occasions, though with at least a modicum of discretion. Pam noticed this too, but didn’t react in any way, and I was reasonably content to let things take their course. My earlier thoughts about seeing her getting a hard pounding were still there, but I had no way of knowing if this might come to pass or indeed how. The place started to slowly fill up and, as the volume of the music also increased, Steve and Brian asked Helen and Pam if they would like to have a dance or two. Off they went and one or two dances became three or four, leaving me alone with Fat Terry. We talked about this and that, he telling me that he owned a bar in Adeje, which was adjacent to the Playa de las Américas resort. He had moved there from mainland Spain a few years previously, where he had owned a smaller bar, and was doing reasonably well business wise. He knew Steve through being a friend and former business partner of his father in the UK, and had been asked by the father to look Steve up whilst he was in Tenerife. That of course went some way to explaining how he had turned up at the flat that morning. We watched our respective wives as we talked, and they both seemed to be enjoying themselves, though how Helen maintained herself upright in her shoes I don’t know. Both the lads were making a fuss of them and flirting madly, though mainly with Helen as far as I could tell. I got the feeling Terry wanted to broach a subject with me, but was finding it difficult to find an opening. It was during a slow dance number, and whilst Helen was dancing close to Brian who was none too surreptitiously rubbing his hands up and down the backs of her thighs and buttocks after undoubtedly discovering (or having been told!) that she was wearing suspenders and stockings (but not knickers?), that Fat Terry came to what I suspected was his point. ‘Your wife is a pretty impressive woman’ he said to me. I could only nod, knowing full well that whilst I find her immensely attractive and a big turn on, she is no conventional stunner at her time of life. ‘She certainly enjoys the attention she is getting from those two’ he added, ‘and I’ll bet she has lots of admirers who wouldn’t mind swapping places with them.’ ‘She’s always liked dancing’ I replied, before adding ‘and I like to see her enjoying herself.’ He swallowed some of his drink then looked at me; ‘I like to watch my wife enjoying herself too.’ The emphasis had been on the words ‘enjoying herself’ and whilst I played dumb I had no doubts what he meant. ‘I dares say a lot of blokes do’ I replied in a non-committal tone. ‘Some more than others’ was his cryptic response, before he took a deep breath and plunged right in. ‘Look, don’t take this wrong’ he murmured, ‘but I think you and I are talking the same language here, and if you and Helen would like to come back to my place for a private party later, then you are very welcome.’ I looked at him without speaking for a few moments, and I could see he was more than a little worried that I was about to flatten him. I didn’t, and merely asked him to explain what he had in mind. ‘I have a back room at the bar, and occasionally put on shows there for invited guests only’ he went on. ‘What happens is that I get a local working girl, or sometimes a couple of them, in to entertain a select audience of around ten guys. These are a great success, but now and again, and usually for a smaller audience, an ordinary wife or girlfriend is persuaded to . . . provide the entertainment.’ I said nothing and didn’t look at him as he added: ‘I’ve watched Pam do it a few times now.’ I kept my voice steady as I asked him how many men had he watched Pam ‘entertaining?’ ‘Five or six usually’ he answered slowly, ‘though there were seven on one occasion.’ I felt a definite twinge in the underpant region as I considered his words, but was forced to reply to the effect that, whilst I was around, Helen wouldn’t do anything, and she was unlikely to go off without me. ‘Well, you’re still invited to come over and see the place’ was his rejoinder, ‘and we’ll see how it goes.’ I considered for a moment, and then told him that it was OK with me, but it was Helen that he would have to persuade, and that I would go along with anything that he could persuade her to do. His opportunity was not long in arriving, when the four sweaty dancers arrived back where we were sitting. As Helen resumed her perch on the bar stool I noticed that another button had been opened, and a stocking top complete with red suspender came into view as she crossed her legs. She made no attempt to cover her thigh, and lustful thoughts filled my head as she continued to openly flirt with Steve and Brian, though in a somewhat understated manner due, I had no doubt, to my presence. Fat Terry joined in the conversation with Helen, and I began talking to Pam who seemed a little left out. She was sat to the right of me on another bar stool, whilst Helen was seated to my left with the three men standing clustered around her. I stole the odd look and was unsurprised to see that one or the other of them had managed to undo yet one more button, and there were a good couple of inches of thigh clearly visible above the stocking top now. I couldn’t fail to note fingers caressing the area and fiddling with her suspenders, which, it has to be confessed, was giving me an erection, particularly as her knickers were in my pocket. Pam wasn’t that easy to chat to, but once I managed to get her talking she soon relaxed and appeared to have a very pleasant personality. She too could see the way things were progressing in terms of Helen, who was laughing and giggling as she was teased, flattered, and touched up by Steve, Brian and her husband. ‘Are you two coming back to the bar?’ she asked me, and when I said we might if Helen agreed, she sort of shrugged and, glancing to see if her husband was watching, brought her mouth up to my ear and whispered that ‘Terry could be a bit of a bastard sometimes.’ I whispered back, asking her ‘what did she mean?’ and she replied simply that he could be ‘tough on women.’ I frowned at this; whilst I was certainly in the mood, and it was getting stronger, for watching Helen get a good seeing to, I wasn’t prepared to countenance her being mishandled – or not too much anyway. I consoled myself with the thought that if anything developed that I wasn’t happy with I could always intervene. I glanced around to see how Helen and the three men were getting on, and saw that Steve was standing behind her massaging her shoulders whilst Brian and Terry were on each side of her as she sat facing the bar. I couldn’t see what they were doing as Fat Terry was in the way, but she was flushed and was responding very positively to Steve’s fingers. I also noticed that the buttons at the top of her dress had received even more attention, and her dress was now open to the extent of completely exposing the inside of her breasts. Needless to say, her erect nipples were straining through the thin material that barely covered them. Fat Terry had obviously broached the subject of going back to his bar with Helen, for it was she who leaned over towards me, incidentally revealing to anyone in the vicinity that she was wearing a quarter-cup bra, and asked whether I wanted to go. I said I would if it was OK with her; shortly afterwards the six of us found ourselves in Fat Terry’s SEAT Alhambra heading towards Adeje. The establishment, located in the Torviscas area up the hill from the beach, was much bigger than I had expected and it was very busy. There was basically a single large room with a dance area, several pool tables, and a long bar at which we managed to find some space. Being with the owner we got served quite quickly, and as we drank Terry asked me if I would like to look around the place. I told Helen that he was showing me around, and he led me to a locked door marked ‘Privado’ situated to one side of the bar. After opening it he led the way in. The room we entered was fairly unremarkable; being about thirty feet long and about twenty wide with a bar, complete with high stools, in the centre of one of the long sides. One of the shorter walls was taken up by a slightly raised stage with curtains at the back, and there were about six rectangular tables with sets of four chairs around them. The only really noteworthy features were two huge flat screen TVs mounted each side of the stage, four black hemispheres protruding about nine inches from the ceiling and set equidistantly in it, and a fairly extensive selection of lingerie pinned up on the wall behind and around the bar. Obviously my eye was drawn to the latter, and a glance told me that there were all kinds and colours of thongs, knickers, bras, suspender belts and even a black basque displayed there. Seeing my gaze Fat Terry grinned and merely said ‘souvenirs.’ He went over to the stage, which was empty apart from what looked like an oversized height adjustable weightlifters’ bench, and drew back the curtains. There wasn’t much behind them; apart that is from a large ‘X’ shaped frame with various chains and straps dangling from it. There was no mistaking what that was for, but before I could think of anything to say Fat Terry shut the curtains and beckoned me over to another door leading out of the room. He led me up some stairs and we entered what I took to be a storeroom above the private bar. It was only about two-thirds the length of the room below through having had a partition wall with another door constructed across it. This was unlocked and we went in. The room contained what looked like a sophisticated video editing suite complete with another two large flat screen TVs and a computerised mixing and control desk. There were two high backed black leather office chairs, and Fat Terry sat on one. He took a DVD from a rack and, inserting it into a PC, forwarded it to the portion he wanted me to see. One of the TVs flickered to life; the scene showed a woman being double penetrated on the weightlifters’ bench on the stage downstairs; she was laid on her back on top of one man whose penis was buried deep in her anus whilst another was standing between her splayed legs thrusting in and out of her vagina. The picture quality was excellent, as was the sound indicating that the room was properly miked up, and the action was obviously the result of mixing the input from several cameras. As I watched a third man approached and pushed his erection into her mouth. As the shot moved into close up to capture this the identity of the woman became clear; it was Pam. Terry moved the recording along to scenes of Pam being penetrated in just about every conceivable way by several different men, and ended with her fellating them all, six in number, two at a time, to orgasm. The recording ended with her semen drenched face smiling to camera. Another recording was played showing Pam strapped, face up and legs spread wide, to the bench whilst a heavily built muscular man knelt at the end and penetrated her with a large black vibrator. This was pretty full on bondage stuff as she had clamps on her nipples, clitoris and inner labia; the latter pulled towards her thighs and taped, so holding her wide open as was evidenced by several close up shots of the black device working in and out. This was obviously a ‘forced orgasm’ scenario as the man was shouting at her telling her, in what sounded like a German accent, she must ‘cum now, cum now.’ Pam was moaning ‘no, no’ and obviously resisting his commands, until he began tugging on her clitoris clamp, which had the effect of forcing her into a magnificent climax. There were several racks of DVDs on the walls, equating to many hours of recording I reckoned. I looked at Fat Terry quizzically, and he explained that there were half a dozen remotely controlled cameras in the ceiling of the downstairs bar, which accounted for the hemispheres I had noticed, and there were three hand-held devices that could be used for close-ups and detailed shots. All in all, I had to concede, he had an impressive set up, and had indeed recorded some exciting pornography if the examples I had just viewed were anything to go by. He turned off the replay and the view on the screens changed to a view of the bar below. He showed me how the various cameras could be panned, zoomed and focussed to display images from virtually every part of the room, and how the various lights mounted down there could, in addition, be controlled to give optimum levels. There were also cameras in the large room that we had first entered, which he demonstrated by switching to one directed at the bar. A picture of Helen, Steve and Brian came into focus, showing my darling wife being shamelessly pawed by the two young men. Steve was standing behind her and had his hands around her chest inside her dress, whilst Brian was sandwiching her from the other side, and kissing her passionately whilst groping her generous derriere. I also noticed that the barman was the well-muscled German-sounding man from the DVD. I was by now rampant, but unsure of how to proceed; it was obvious that Fat Terry wanted to get my Helen into the bar downstairs so that he could join in with Steve and Brian in fucking her. But I knew that whilst she thought I was around she wouldn’t allow anything like that to happen. I took a deep breath and looking around the video-editing suite noticed there were two doors. ‘Where does that door lead to?’ I asked, indicating the one that didn’t go back into the upstairs room. ‘To an outside stair’ replied Fat Terry, who now, I noticed, was beginning to perspire. ‘Unlock it’ I said. He did so and I looked out and found myself on a small landing at the top of a set of stairs as he had described. ‘How do I get to this from the street?’ I questioned, and, leaning over the handrail, he pointed to an alley between his bar and an adjoining property. ‘Is there a gate?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Give me the key.’ I took the proffered bunch, and keeping a grip on the one he had identified put them, and my hand, into my pocket. I led the way back through the storeroom, down the stairs and through the small bar into the main room. As I approached my dear wife and the two young men they quickly disengaged, and I effected not to notice that Helen’s dress was now almost completely open down the front, exposing her down to just above her navel and up perilously close to her (knickerless) crutch. ‘Hiya darling’ I smiled, though with a thudding heart and mighty erection, ‘I hope you won’t mind if I leave you for a little while.’ Helen looked puzzled until I went on, ‘Terry has just asked me if I wouldn’t mind going with one of his men to pick someone up at the airport as he doesn’t know the route.’ It was a truly pathetic excuse, and I knew it. However, Helen’s mind, as I suspected, was on other things and though she had the good grace to look disappointed and ask me how long I would be gone, ‘two hours’ was the answer, she opined that Steve and Brian would look after her. I kissed her briefly and, after quickly turning to Fat Terry who had appeared beside us and telling him meaningfully that I would see him ‘in two hours,’ I went out of the main door and into the street. I swiftly located the gate next to the building and, removing the key still held in my sweaty grasp, unlocked it and headed for the stairs up to the video room after securing it behind me. I entered the suite and sat down in one of the chairs. Being literate in such matters in general, though obviously unfamiliar with this equipment in particular, I had only a little difficulty in remotely controlling the various cameras and putting their output onto one or the other of the large screens, or indeed utilising split screen mode. I noticed an adjacent laptop amongst the equipment and, having checked, ascertained that it was set up to record the output from the equipment downstairs onto hard disk. Using the camera in the large room, which was not of the same quality as those in the room underneath, I watched Helen by the bar. There was no sound but I could see that she was laughing at whatever was being said, in between, that is, bouts of kissing Steve and Brian who were now quite openly putting their hands into the front of her dress. Fat Terry and the muscular barman watched from a short distance whilst they conversed, and it needed little imagination to deduce the subject matter. Other staff were on hand, and I saw Fat Terry beckon to one and say something to him. The man nodded, and moved out of shot whilst Fat Terry moved to speak to Helen. He gestured towards the door, and she cocked her head inquisitively as she listened. I saw her nod and five figures moved towards the door; Fat Terry leading the way with the muscular barman bringing up the rear. I switched cameras, and watched as the door into the small bar opened and my respectable wife, with her beautiful red dress virtually undone, and the four men entered. They went over to the bar and Helen sat herself down on one of the bar stools, casually crossing one leg over the other and exposing stocking top, suspender and a large area of her outer thigh. I could hear them talking as Fat Terry went behind the bar to get drinks, with Helen asking what all the underwear was doing on display. Nobody answered, until he returned to the front of the bar and stood facing Helen. She was sitting side on to the bar and about two feet away from it, with the muscle man directly behind her, Steve and Brian to her left and right, and Fat Terry in front. He reached forward and tugged lightly on the front of her bra where the two (quarter) cups joined, and told her that ‘lots of ladies who come in here leave behind a souvenir or two.’ Helen laughed at this, but stopped when he asked her if she would like to ‘maybe donate her knickers.’ ‘I’m afraid I can’t do that’ she replied in a mock serious voice. There was my darling wife, sitting only very partially clothed amongst four men, one of whom was ‘tough on women’ and one who was some kind of bondage master. Not only that, but the location was a fully equipped porn studio with what looked like a complete set of dungeon gear behind the stage. ‘Oh dear’ I thought to myself as I started the recording equipment and freed my straining erection from the confines of my trousers, ‘what has she got herself into here?’ Part 2 – where my beloved Helen is prepared for a journey, and not just one of self discovery I suspect. Fat Terry didn’t reply to her, but merely nodded to the other three and moved to uncross her legs. She didn’t try to stop him, probably because Mr Muscles behind her began massaging her neck and shoulders, eliciting a very positive response. Groaning huskily, she closed her eyes and threw her head back as he kneaded away, whilst Terry parted her legs and moved between her knees. There were only about three buttons, at about pelvis level, holding her dress closed at this stage and he quickly undid these allowing the garment to fall away on either side. Helen had flinched somewhat when she felt the material sliding from her, but when Terry motioned to Brian and Steve, and they each took hold of a leg at the knee and pulled up and back, she gasped loudly and opened her eyes in alarm. She couldn’t fall off the stool because of the large form behind her, but she must have been only too aware that her gaping and totally naked vulva was now completely exposed to view. She squeaked and moved her hands in an attempt to cover herself, but was prevented from even making the effort when those on each side of her used their free hands to hold her wrists. I zoomed in the camera to get a close up of her engorged sexual parts, which were clearly indicating a state of massive arousal, but Fat Terry’s head blocked my view as he bent to inspect and lick her. As his tongue went into action her feeble injunctions to stop were replaced by sighs and moans, and she began to move her pelvis up and down. He kept at her for only a few seconds before pulling his head away and standing back up, and I could now see that he had at least three fingers inserted into her clearly drooling vagina. I expected him to unzip himself and replace his fingers with his penis, but he refrained from doing so, merely withdrawing his glistening fingers and offering them to Helen’s mouth. She made to turn her head away, but Mr Muscles removed his hands from her body, he had ceased working on her neck and shoulders and had been giving her nipples some attention, and held her head so that she couldn’t avoid Terry’s approaching digits. He got her to open her mouth by dint of pinching her right nipple with his free hand, which he must have done rather roughly, causing her to gasp and allowing his fingers to slide between her lips. The five of us watched as Helen, perforce, suckled her own juices from Terry’s fingers, whilst he continued to grasp and tweak her nipple with his other hand. I was rock-hard as I watched this amazing scene, and was fully expecting the four of them to start giving her a good pounding, probably all at the same time. I had already seen my dearest being taken by three men that day, though only two that she was aware of, and now, so I thought, was going to see the scenario repeated with an extra body. Fat Terry though had other ideas and directed Steve and Brian to release her arms and legs, whereupon, by tugging at her nipple, he made her get off the stool and move towards him. She stood, in her ‘porn-star’ stilettos, a good few inches taller than him as he reached to her and, assisted by Steve and Brian, completely removed her dress. She was now clad, though without her knickers, as I had seen her earlier that evening at the apartment, and, I thought, looked a most excellent sight, standing tall in her red quarter-cup bra and waspie, the latter holding up her seamed stockings. Terry leaned up slightly and kissed her long and slow whilst embracing her tightly, though this apparently tender manoeuvre was, it seems, merely a ploy to force her to her knees as he used his not inconsiderable weight to make her legs buckle. As she slipped down, he lowered her to the floor before releasing her and standing back, leaving her kneeling there. My expectations this time were that he would get her to fellate him, but again he did something different by merely motioning the two young men forward. ‘You two’ he told them clearly, ‘can fuck her arse and mouth, but do not touch her cunt and do not, whatever you do, let her cum.’ He then moved away. Hearing these words, and perhaps finding them uncongenial or offensive, Helen started to get up but was prevented from so doing by Steve and Brian, who had now freed themselves from their trousers. Steve took Terry’s place in front of her and guided her head onto his erection with both hands, whilst Brian knelt behind her and moved his hands around to manipulate her breasts. Steve withdrew from her mouth momentarily in order to kneel, whilst his partner continued to grip her from behind, and then pulled her head down onto himself, forcing Helen onto all fours. Brian knelt behind her, spread her stocking clad legs, made her raise her rear into the air a little, and, ignoring Terry’s instructions by the sound of it, penetrated her vaginally. I say ‘by the sound of it’ because the soft squelching noises he made as he thrust in and out were clearly audible over the system. Having ignored the letter of these instructions he did not however ignore the spirit, as, after lubricating his shaft in her profuse juices, he withdrew and entered her anally. I watched with ever-growing arousal as these two young studs reprised their activities of the morning, using the camera controls to view the scene from various angles and zooming in and out as necessary. I watched raptly as her anus was deeply penetrated by Brian’s slick penis, focussing in closely to observe her tender flesh being stretched by the young man’s slow thrusting. Indeed, both of them were taking their time and although, viewing from above, I couldn’t see Helen’s face as clearly her widely spread, generously proportioned, buttocks erotically framed by the red suspenders, Steve too was only slowly pushing himself in and out of her mouth. Her hands were on the tiled floor supporting her weight as she was penetrated at each end, and the silence was broken only by the sound of their occasional grunting and her intermittent gagging as she deep-throated Steve’s erection. Both men continued their deep penetration for several minutes without speeding up, until Brian announced that he was going to cum. He upped his pace until the sound of his abdomen contacting her buttocks made a loud slapping sound, before emitting a loud groan as he emptied himself deep into her. Steve too appeared to be nearing his climax as he began to increase his rate, and then, holding her head in position with a handful of hair on each side, ejaculated into her, his semen dribbling out of the corners of her mouth and onto the floor as he pulled back. There was a third orgasm; the sight of my lovely darling being unceremoniously violated on the barroom floor pushed me over the edge too. I, in my anxiety to observe the events in the room below, had neglected to ready a tissue. I was thus forced to allow my emission, which was painfully small given the events of the morning, to trickle down onto my belly. As I came back down to earth, for it had been incredibly intense, I nearly suffered heart failure when a hand holding a Kleenex suddenly appeared in front of my face. I must have leapt to my feet with the shock, for I suddenly found myself face to face with Pam, who, it seemed, had entered the room quietly whilst, quite understandably, my attention was fully directed elsewhere. It was incredibly embarrassing to be standing there, trousers and underpants at around knee level with a penis dripping semen onto the furniture in front of this, relative, stranger. I began to stammer something, you will understand when I say that my brain was hardly focussed, but she merely reached over and put her fingers on my lips. ‘Shhh’ she whispered softly, ‘just keep watching.’ Taking the tissue from her whilst at the same time feebly trying to pull up my clothes, I turned back to watch the action on the monitors. Steve and Brian had helped Helen back to her feet whilst Fat Terry and the big German had reappeared in shot, the latter carrying a small bag. The two young men were paying her a good deal of attention, caressing and kissing her as she stood more or less sandwiched between them, and she seemed to be amenable to their attentions, holding onto the back of Brian’s head as he leant forward to suck one of her nipples for example. Terry’s voice came through loud and clear, as he told them to stop and bring Helen over to one of the tables. Holding one arm each the two walked her over to the nearest piece of furniture where the two older men were waiting. ‘That’s Harry’ Pam said to me, pointing at Mr Muscles, which seemed a strange name for a German sounding chap, ‘and, as well as working for Terry sometimes, he also keeps a bar of his own just down the road.’ I nodded, whilst still attempting to rearrange my clothing and watch the scene on the monitors, as she went on: ‘They are going to take Helen there’ she continued. This was a piece of news I was neither expecting nor happy to hear. ‘No way’ I replied to Pam, ‘they aren’t taking her anywhere out of my sight.’ ‘Don’t worry’ came her reply, ‘it isn’t far away and they’ll only be gone about half an hour.’ ‘They won’t hurt her’ she added quickly, seeing that I was serious. ‘Why do they want to take her there?’ I asked. ‘Its just a game that Terry likes playing’ she answered, ‘he is really into . . . playing in public’ she added after searching for the right phrase. ‘I did warn you he could be a bit of a bastard sometimes’ she cautioned. The possibilities inherent in the term ‘playing in public’ caused a sharp twinge in my seriously depleted sexual organ, and I was well aware that public display – at least to a certain degree - was a serious turn-on for Helen. I was not at all keen however for this to happen whilst I wasn’t around, not least, as I was forced to admit, because I wanted to be able to watch the action. Pam it seems was only too well aware of my voyeuristic tendencies, for she quickly offered up the information that Helen’s ‘public playing’ would be recorded and I would be able to watch it later. Again I felt a pang down below as I imagined what might happen to my beloved whilst I waited for her to return. This thought, together with the knowledge that it would be recorded for my (and others no doubt!) later pleasure, caused a powerful surge of emotion that, physically, translated into a definite twitch of my still exposed penis. This manifestation was noticed by Pam, who, without ceremony, reached across, took me in her hand and began working back and forward; I jumped as I felt her caressing touch, but she smiled and told me to sit back down. I did as she bade, and she pulled the other chair next to me and sat herself in it sideways before reaching across again to grasp my semi-erect penis. She continued to masturbate me whilst her head lay on my shoulder, and we both watched as Helen was, unbeknown to her, prepared for her journey to Harry’s bar. Fat Terry was now seated on the edge of the table to which Steve and Brian had led her, and she had been turned around so that her back was to him. He was holding her arms behind her back, whilst Harry, as I now knew him, was removing some items from the bag I had seen earlier. Steve and Brian were deployed on either side of her, apparently watching the unfolding scene as raptly as Pam and I were. Harry took a thin, about one inch wide, collar from his bag of tricks and slipped it around Helen’s neck, pulling her head forward so that he could buckle it at the back. ‘Stop, what are you doing’ she protested as she felt the leather tighten, but the German shushed her and told her it was alright and that everything would be OK. He then grasped her left breast in both hands and bent forward to suck on the nipple, which was already very erect. Helen moaned at his ministrations and Pam and I could see him pulling and tugging at the distended flesh with his teeth. Having extended the responsive bud as far as it would go without injury he slipped an adjustable clamp onto the base and tightened it, keeping it elongated and erect. Again Helen protested feebly, and again she was quietened as he repeated the process on her right breast, before clipping two fine chains between the clamps and the collar. He adjusted these so that her sensitive nipples took the full weight of her breasts, causing her to wince loudly. This portion of her anatomy taken care of, Terry released her arms and moved to one side. Harry then pushed her backwards until her thighs came into contact with the table-top and, with the aid of Terry, continued to drive her backwards until she was laid out on the flat surface. Steve and Brian were motioned to each side of the table and told to take a leg each, which they did, and once again they moved her legs up and back so that she was splayed out with her most intimate parts clearly on view and gaping open. The muscle-bound German gazed momentarily at this wonderful sight, before using his thumb to pull back her clitoris hood, fully revealing her swollen, most-sensitive, and thus far totally ignored, sexual part to the attentive audience. Selecting a glass tube with a black rubber bulb on one end from his bag, he placed the open end over her exposed clitoris and proceeded to pump the bulb. The suction drew this already engorged organ up the tube until it must have been protruding around three-quarters of an inch, at which Helen began howling, saying that it was hurting and asking for him to stop. He released the suction a little, allowing her clitoris to shorten somewhat, until she quietened down and then placed a small clamp at the base and tightened it. There were two fine chains attached to this clamp, the purpose of which soon became clear. Pam had worked my penis back to a state of semi-hardness as we watched this unfolding scenario, and I glanced across to note that, as she sat there, her skirt – she was wearing the clothes that I had first seen her in earlier that evening – had slid open revealing a fine pair of bare thighs. Her gaze however was riveted on the monitors, and I swiftly returned my attention to them also. Harry released the suction in the tube and removed it, leaving her clitoris protruding further than it seemed possible, and next selected a large toffee-apple shaped device, which he gently inserted into her vagina. Despite this having a spherical head around three-inches in diameter it slipped in fairly easily, the handle, to the end of which was attached a wire connected to a small box, protruding slightly. He clipped the box to one of her suspenders, before reaching down once more and returning with a large butt-plug. He lubricated this with some jelly, before, again gently, introducing it fully into her anus. Helen gasped and moaned at these intrusions, but otherwise made little sound as he threaded the chains from the clitoris clamp through small brackets in the base of the toffee-apple shaped gadget and finally fixed them to the butt-plug. His ultimate accomplishment, before telling the other three to move her off the table, was to attach two small weighted clamps to her inner labia. As Helen stood there, looking tearful and somewhat shaken, Harry completed this programme of plugging, clamping, collaring and chaining by using a ‘Y’ shaped chain to connect the two nipple clamps with the one on her clitoris. He tested the arrangement by grasping this at about navel level and gently pulling, whereby Helen was forced to totter towards him. She could hardly walk properly in any event due to the height of her stilettos, and the various devices inserted in, or clamped to, her genitalia and anus didn’t help. The sight of my Helen standing there adorned with all this regalia, with nipples and clitoris cruelly and forcibly extended beyond their normal limits, sent a powerful surge to my own sexual organ. Feeling this, Pam increased the speed of her hand and, somewhat to my surprise, I felt myself getting slightly harder, though was nowhere near a decent erection. Steve and Brian, who had meanwhile re-dressed themselves, were directed by Terry to take up position on each side of her, and, taking an arm apiece, these two young men, who were almost as wide eyed as Helen, began to propel her towards the door, followed by Harry. She wailed at this, crying ‘stop, stop, what are you doing – I’ve got nothing on.’ This contingency had been taken into account however, and Terry began putting a white beach-wrap type garment onto her. This had an overlapping open front, without fastenings, but the halter neck was arranged so that the straps tended to keep it shut – or almost. It reached to mid thigh level on Helen and so would have been relatively concealing had it not been for the thinness of the material. As she almost staggered towards the door between her two young escorts I could clearly make out the lines of her suspenders taut against her buttocks. Imagining what the view would be like from the front occasioned another twinge. As Terry opened the door into the main bar, Helen once again began to sob, asking them in a pleading tone what they were going to do with her and where they were going? The sound of her imploring voice stirred my conscience, and I began to make a move to get up. I was stilled however when I felt Pam’s lips slide over the head of my penis, and her soft mouth began to suck me. I glanced at her, and noted that as she changed position she had unfastened the waistband of her skirt. She was kneeling on her chair now with her head in my lap, and I could see the rounded globes of her buttocks bifurcated by a white lacy thong. As she continued to suck and masturbate me, I felt myself beginning to rise to the occasion. She was good I had to admit, very good, though probably not in the same class as my Helen, who had now, along with her four companions, disappeared from view as she began her journey.