Written by Linda

2 Nov 2011

Growing up I was always nervous of the girls changing rooms after hockey. While all the other girls were developing boobs and curves, I remained small chested with a boys bottom. Now 38 I am still only 5’2”, size 10 with a “B” cup. My husband, Andy has always told me how attractive I am but my adolescent years of bullying by other girls and being ignored by the boys until my late teens have left their mark. Simply put, I guess I lack confidence.

But I am very lucky – I have a great sex life, I always climax when making love but always want more. It’s so unfair on Andy because once he’s shot his load, that’s it for a few hours. And selfishly, so unfair on me because I have a gut wrenching need for more. After our first couple of years together Andy has suggested that I might need to take on a lover to satisfy my need. I was appalled! I knew nobody else would fancy me to start with – and I feared it was Andy’s way of creating a situation where I couldn’t object to him screwing around. That would kill me – I am such a jealous person. Anyway, his is the only prick I’ve had and I know how to please it. I might not be any good with another prick and that would be horrid. As close as we’ve got to doing anything is talking about it. For fifteen years or more, Andy has said things like, “Go on Lind, suck his cock” as he’s fantasised during our love making. Weird I know but we’ve shared our fantasies and I know he wants me to shag another man. (My rather tame fantasy is to make love in a poppy field with Andy, again and again and again!)

A few months ago we were cuddling up in bed one morning and Andy started on about wanting to see me fucked by a couple of other guys. He was playing with my clit at the time, I was approaching orgasm and I wanted twenty cocks at that particular moment, gasping I told him, “Bloody well arrange it then!” I came, we cuddled, his cock throbbing against my bum. He slipped it in to my soaking pussy from behind, fondling my boobs and whispered in my ear, “Do you mean it?” The delicious feeling of his willy filling me was gorgeous. I felt full and wanted more. The excitement was building. I didn’t answer him. He turned me over, hands now under my buttocks pulling me to meet his thrusts, my legs wrapped around him, his head next to mine. “Well?”

“Yes please.” With that I could feel him starting to spurt, our hips grinding together, my clit trapped in a beautiful cycle of movement, we came loudly together.

Cuddling afterwards, “O.K. you arrange it Andy but you will have to be with me to look after me. I don’t want to get hurt and they’ll have to wear condoms. And no one we know or will see again and no other women. Otherwise forget it!”

“We have a deal” he smiled, smugly. “I’ll arrange it for sometime in the next few months Linda but I’ll not tell you where or when it will be. O.K.”

“O.K.” Part of me was hoping the whole silly idea would go away.

The weekend after we’d made our pact, I was getting ready to go out with Andy and another couple to the cinema and then on for a meal afterwards. Sat at my dressing table, applying some lippy, the thought suddenly occurred that “Tonight might be the night”. I panicked a bit, quickly changed into a shorter skirt and removed my bra. As we walked from the car to the cinema, I could feel my nipples erect from the cool evening air, brushing against the cotton of my blouse. I was surprised by the blast under my skirt, I must have been feeling aroused at the prospect of what might be, my pussy juices up easily, the cold air on my soaking panties giving me quite a start.

We sat through the “King’s Speech” with our friends Moira and Dave, had a curry with them and went home. Andy and I had great sex, twice that night. And so the pattern continued, week after week for a couple of months. Then out of the blue Andy took me to Paris for the weekend – I was convinced this was it – but it wasn’t, although we had a great weekend. A few weeks later we were off to Amsterdam. This simply had to be the weekend I was going to get royally screwed by another man. But no. It was a horny weekend with us visiting the red light area and going to a couple of shows but Andy’s was still the only cock I’d known when we came home to Leeds. We were having the best sex of our lives. Then I guess I decided it was never going to happen, perhaps because Andy could find anyone to fancy me. My self-esteem dropped and with it my libido and with that our sex life reverted to once a week on a Sunday morning. Andy kept telling me it would happen when I least expected it. But I wasn’t sure.

Andy’s job isn’t looking too secure and he’s been looking at starting his own consultancy business. One evening a couple of months ago we were sat watching television and the ‘phone rang. I answered to a French guy call François wanting Andy. After the call Andy explained a mutual friend had suggested that this François should call. Evidently he would be coming over to Yorkshire to meet some other consultants and he wondered if Andy could spare some time to meet with him and his colleagues. Andy had obviously agreed and suggested an evening meeting the following Wednesday at our house over supper. I was less than pleased at the idea of cooking for four Frenchmen, such is their reputation for good food, but had little choice. I understood with Andy working a day time meeting would be difficult and we were watching our pennies, so entertaining at a restaurant or hotel didn’t make sense.

Wednesday morning came, Andy trundled off to work – and I went to the shops. I decided on sautéed king prawns and scallops in garlic (French remember!) followed by a very English beef in horseradish sauce stew with an assortment of vegetables. For desert I would simply offer a cheese board with fruit. Shopping completed I was at home enjoying a cup of tea and a much needed cigarette contemplating what the hostess should wear.

I spent an hour trying on cloths in the bedroom, finally deciding on back court shoes, black stockings, above the knee black skirt, white panties and bra, white silk shirt. Thinking about it now I must have looked like a waitress but that wasn’t my intention.

Back in the kitchen, preparations were made, the table set in the dining room, the white wine in the fridge, the red wine opened on the Aga warming, I was feeling nervous, so decided on taking a leisurely bath and prepare myself for an evening where I’d need to entertain so Andy might get some consultancy work.

Andy arrived home just as I was applying the finishing touches of make-up. “You look lovely Linda” he said pecking me on the cheek as he undressed to shower. I dressed and went back to the kitchen to make sure all was in readiness. Two bottles of Champagne were now in the fridge which Andy must have brought in – I found the flutes in the back of the cupboard and polished them up ready to serve our guests. “Do you know who’s coming?” I shouted up to Andy, now dressing. From the landing, “No, just that there is four of them, François is the owner and he’s bringing three colleagues.”

Andy and I were sat nervously waiting for the doorbell to ring, saying little but enjoying a last cigarette before our guests arrived. The door bell rang. We both jumped up, Andy opened the door and greeted our guests. I was hiding in the kitchen when Andy called me through. “Gentlemen, may I introduce my wife, Linda – François – Jean – Gwenael – Alain.” I smiled, shook hands and was delighted to hear that they all spoke good English. Andy was off to pour the Champagne and I was left to talk with the guests. François was a charmer, late fifties, trim and around six foot, his tanned features lined, his head topped by a full head of salt and pepper hair. I had little chance to talk with the others. Glasses charged for the second time I was starting to relax – I excused myself, donned pinny and fried up the king prawns and scallops, plated and called Andy to help serve. All was well, conversation flowing as readily as the wine and my food was going down well too. I was clearing the plates after the main course, probably sooner than was necessary because the conversation was turning saucy. When I came to stand next to François, he was telling us all that French Ladies are very classy and very sexy. “Why do you say that?” Andy asked. “They know how to dress to please a man without looking like a professional. They always wear stockings” a hand was running up the back of my leg reaching the top of my stocking as I reached over for his plate. I gasped, surprised by the feel of his touch on my skin. He pulled his hand away without breaking his sentence, his hand now on my skirt, his fingers tracing the edge of my panty line across my bottom, “and rarely wear panties – if they do they use g-string so as not to spoil the line of their cloths”.

I hustled off to the kitchen with the plates. So tonight was the night that Andy had agreed to arrange. I was excited and nervous. I quickly slipped my panties off and put them in the cutlery draw before returning to the table with the cheese board. In my absence the conversation had turned to work. I sat with a cigarette and a glass of brandy, undressing each of these four Frenchmen in my mind’s eye. God I was horny! I imagined how the evening would unfold ………

To my surprise and immense disappointment our guests left after coffee. All very polite and gracious in their departure, François hugged me close and I could feel his manhood throbbing against my tummy, he whispered in my ear as he squeezed my bottom, “Mmm, we’ll make a French Lady of you yet Linda!” Clearly he’d noticed my panties had gone. He kissed me on both cheeks, shook Andy’s hand and walked away to join his colleagues at the taxi.

I told Andy what had happened and we shagged for England that night, both of us so turned on. But now I wanted more than ever to experience being a real slut for a night with other men poking me until I could come no more.

We woke tired but happy. Andy showered and dressed as I made breakfast. The kitchen was a depressing tip – we’d not cleared up from the night before. Andy devoured his breakfast and ran out of the door to work. I showered and dressed before planning tackling the bombshell downstairs. The doorbell rang as I was coming down the stairs. I opened the door to find François on our doorstep. “Bon jour lovely Linda” he smiled, “I discovered I’d lost my wallet last night when I came to pay for the taxi. May I?” he pointed into the hall.

“Of course” I stammered as I blushed. My thoughts were of him stroking my stocking clad leg, fondling my bottom, feeling his meat throbbing against my tummy as he said his farewells last night. My features must have turned crimson as I recalled imagining it was him thrusting into me as Andy and I had moaned our way to orgasm after he’d left.

“Would you like a coffee François?” I managed to ask.

“That would be lovely, merci. Black no sugar please”. I put the kettle on and before I could turn around I was aware François was stood behind me. I didn’t dare move. He stroked my hair round to one side and bent down to kiss my neck. “You are very beautiful Linda”. I turned to face him, looking up into his strangely exotic lined features. His lips touched my every so gently, my eyes closed and our tongues were intertwined. His touch was firm but gentle, demonstrating I suspect his vast experience with his “French ladies”. The kettle was boiling on the Aga, I turned and lifted it off the hot plate, “Coffee?” I enquired.

“Later”, he took my hand and led me upstairs into our bedroom. We kissed again, his hands now mauling my bottom through my jeans. I pushed away from him unbuttoning his shirt as he wrenched at my belt and undid my jeans. He pushed me back so that I sat on the edge of the bed, grabbed the heels of my jeans and pulled them off, smiling and tutting as my black panties were now on display. “You didn’t listen to me last evening Linda – either no panties or a g-string”.

“You’re about to fuck an English girl not a French lady François” I said fiddling with his trousers desperate to see what he had in store for me as he threw off his jacket and shirt as one. In frustration François resorted to getting rid of his trousers and white boxers as I pulled off my t shirt and bra.

His knob was bouncing away at face height as he stood in front of me, sat on the bed. He was completely shaved down there. Considerate. I shave for Andy but he won’t – scared of what his mates will say in the shower after football. I took hold of him. It was different to Andy’s – longer and thinner. It must have been about 7” – like Andy he was uncut. Slowly and holding it tightly I pulled it back revealing its angry red head. It was moist, a little drizzle oozing from its tip. I stroked him like this for a moment or two, looking at it, savouring it, looking at his balls which hung low in his sack. They were big, one much bigger than the other, his scrotum velvet smooth to touch. I took a ball at a time in my mouth, sucked gently and licked while being careful to maintain a slow movement back and forth on his cock. I cupped his sack in my left hand and moved my mouth to the end of his cock. I pursed my lips and suck on his drizzle like an ice lolly, my tongue running around the edge of his helmet all the while maintaining that steady hand movement. He was moaning and running his fingers through my long brown hair, starting to thrust towards me. I took a breath and forced my face forward swallowing as his cock hit the back of my throat. I bobbed my head back and forth a few times before starting to gag and pulled off him, thick spit running down my chin and all over his prick and balls. “Now then Frenchie, have you got any French letters?”

“No” he looked frustrated.

I reached over to Andy’s bedside draw and pulled out a pack (he’d bought them for our planned adventure) and handed him one. I watched as he put it on without fuss. He threw me over onto the bed; I was lying on my back as he pulled my panties off and dropped them on the floor. He knelt between my legs, I could feel his breath on my pussy, “You have a real beauty down here Linda” he said smiling.

“What do you mean?”

“Beautifully tight lipped, your outer lips are glistening with horny juice, not a hair in sight, so smooth”, he put his hand to me, a finger either side and he opened me up “And pink is my favourite colour” with that he went down on me. His face a little rough against the inside of my thighs but easily forgiven for the ecstasy his tongue and fingers were delivering. His two fingers were thrusting firmly but slowly inside me, his tongue playing with my magic button. He moved so his thumb was now in my pussy and discomfort a finger entered my rectum. Slowly I relaxed. Soon a second finger joined the first. He was expertly finger fucking my ass, thumb fucking my pussy and licking my clit. I came moments later in a flood. Such a big orgasm, the biggest of my life, as much to do with the situation as his technique.

Far from being drained I wanted more. François was soon on top of me, thrusting his long weapon inside my pussy. I had feared I may not feel it as Andy’s is much thicker but my fear was unfounded. It was wonderful in itself but perhaps all the more so because it was different. I was soon at the point of no return and again enjoyed a big cum as François ground his pelvis against mine. We lay together for a few moments, François turned me over and I was too much enamoured to refuse him. He put his prick inside my dripping cunt and then pulled out. I could feel him knocking at my back door. I tried to relax but couldn’t. His narrow girth did not feel so narrow as he pushed the end of his meat into my bum. Slowly he edged it further and further in – after a few gentle strokes it started to feel more comfortable. And I was in such a dirty mood, the filthier things were the better! Soon he was banging away, his balls slapping against my pussy as I went on all fours on the bed. He reached around and played with my clit as I pushed back towards him meeting his forward thrusts. I was coming again. Another sizeable one but not as gut wrenchingly wonderful as the first. But hey, I was fulfilling my lusty needs in a way I had never experienced before. He pulled out of me, “Where do you want me to come?”

“Where do you want?”

“All over your face and those little cherry topped titties”.

“Hang on” I pleaded, grabbing my ‘phone from my handbag, “Take a picture of me first” handing him the phone in camera mode. “Click”.

“Now one with you inside me”. He came closer, knelt at the end of the bed as I positioned myself on the edge, legs either side of him. He slid inside me and took a few pictures. I took the ‘phone off him and captured him fucking me from a different angle. “Come on then” I beckoned him to straddle my chest.

The condom was whisked off and I took hold of him, maintaining that steady rhythm he’d like at the start of our morning’s fun. I tickled beneath his helmet with my tongue, mouth open ready to receive whatever he shot at me. Suddenly he cried out, his whole body jerked and there was one massive spurt, some in my mouth, my top lip splattered, a streak of it up across my nose, stingingly in my eye, across my forehead and in my hair. For a second that was it, all was frozen in time. Then I was engulfed as his cock twitched and spat spunk all over my face and in my mouth. I wouldn’t swallow, so was spitting in out, letting it run down my chin and onto my boobs. He opened his eyes and looked down at me. Without being asked he picked up the ‘phone and took some more pictures of me covered in his spunk, licking the end of his cock, all the while I was smiling.

I washed and put on my dressing gown and as François showered and dressed I looked through the photos. My pussy lips were swollen and red from all the stimulation, my nipples were hard and an angry purple from the mauling they’d received. But the prize pic was me slurping on François’ cock, my face dripping in spunk. We had a coffee, and François left with the words “If Andy and I can do business you must come out to see us in Lyon”. He pecked my cheeks and left.

My confidence was certainly boosted – although it did occur that I’d just shagged a bloke old enough to be my father. I sat in a daze – still with the washing up form last night to confront. That didn’t thrill me but the bigger thing to confront was what would I say to Andy?

Ten days on and I’m still not sure. Do I show him the photos? Will it turn him on (as he claims) to see me with another man? With business involved will he be angry with me? Was it just a fantasy of his and he’ll be heartbroken? Should I offer to organise an evening of fun with a few guys off the internet and say nothing of my morning with François? Or just let things take their course and say nothing at all?