Chapter 8
DESERT ROMANCE
I arrived in Alexandria on the following day.
On landing, I had pleasure in finding Jessica Bowles.
Jessica was the wife of the manager of the British Hospital in the port.
He had been persona grata in King Farouk's time.
The later government had eliminated him because of his nationality and replaced him with an incompetent Egyptian manager.
The result had been something to see.
Within a month it was a real mess, with more deaths than cures at the hospital.
The government of the general understood.
Bowles was reinstated in his functions of director. Colonel Nasser.. .was intelligent enough to maintain the decision of his predecessor.
I had had the pleasure of receiving Jessica and her husband and had been their guest frequently in London at the time of the revolution, when they had fled Egypt, which had become dangerous for British subjects.
She was like a cute little blonde doll with a pair of big tits and a lush ass, impish and gay, whose motto was "make the best out of life and fuck all you can, while you can."
She was not really a friend, for I had known her too little to call her that, but, during the short time I had seen here a current of sympathy had united us and we had hit it off splendidly in a mad night of pussy-fondling.
That is why I had written to her to say I would be coming to Egypt.
Her husband, Webster Bowles was moderately tall and his hair was black so that at first sight one would not take him for an Englisliman.
They received me like a queen.
Jessica, laughing gaily, embraced me as if we were lifelong friends and, while walking away from the moored ship, she questioned me without stopping and often did not even wait for me to answer.
"Darling, I'm so happy to see you. We're going to spoil you, Webster and I. We'll take you sightseeing every where.. .Did you have a pleasant trip? You look a little off color, how is Peter?
"England, oh, England.. .you must tell me all the latest gossip, won't you? Webster and I adore scandals."
It wasn't tiring for me to answer all those questions, for I could hardly get a word in edgeways.
But, anyhow, it was a fine welcome, and that was the chief thing.
A superb Imperial took us from the harbor to my friends' house.
It was situated in the middle of the superb park of the Hospital.
The park was planted mainly with palm-trees which gave a lot of shade and created a picturesque splash of colors, with the blue sky as a background.
The butler got busy making me comfortable and soon I was in the guest-room that had been reserved for me.
Jessica left me alone for a while but not before giving my bush and pussy a lewd, impish feel with her hand.
Before I undressed and took a shower, I stepped out on the balcony and contemplated the magnificent view.
The Mediterranean Sea was unrolling its blueness before my eyes and, above it, the sky was of a paler blue, interrupted by small fluffy clouds, all white and chasing each other.
I also had a perfect view of the town with its flat, symmetrical terraces, dotted here and there with modern skyscrapers and some mosques from which the muezzins called the Faithful for the evening prayer.
After a long while, I reluctantly pulled myself away from the balcony.
I took a shower, put on some make up and slipped on a light dress with practically nothing underneath, and I went down to the parlor.
There, Jessica and Webster were waiting for me.
"Rochelle, darling, you're adorable," she exclaimed.
Webster was in perfect agreement with his wife's statement.
"Yes, you do look nice," he said and eyed me quite warmly.
They were a handsome couple.
They seemed perfectly united but I soon found out that there was a great liberty of sex perversions between them, under the veneer of a perfect marriage.
The supper was sumptuous and my two friends vied with each other in kindness to me.
It must have been about ten p.m. when Jessica said:
"Darling, some friends are going to come. Don't be astonished by the late hour: in Egypt, particularly during the hot season, we start really living at night, for, it's too hot during the day. Aren't you too tired?"
"Not at all," I said, "your wonderful welcome pepped me up quite a lot and besides I had a very soothing shower before coming down."
"Fine. You'll see our friends are really charming."
I knew later that what she had just said was true.
They came in and were greeted by the Egyptian servant who put his hand successively to his forehead, his mouth and chest. I was introduced to:
Lady and Lord Linley, a big shot in finance;
Signora and Signor Aldori, owners of a big store;
Countess and Count Delamaine, military attache to the French embassy;
Oh, yes, there were plenty of other guests, such as: Mister Fleeke and his wife (he was secretary in the Swiss Legation), Viscount and Viscountess of Metleigh, naval attache at the British Embassy.
Having introduced me to all these diplomats and their spouses, Jessica laughing:
"Darling, you're probably feeling quite at home with the representatives of the Swiss Legation on the one hand and the British embassy on the other, for those are your two countries, aren't they Swiss by birth and England by marriage."
She turned towards her guests and proposed a toast to "Her Majesty the Queen and to the Swiss President without forgetting our charming friend Rochelle Peters whom we welcome in this our home in Alexandria."
A triple hurray, preceded by the "hip, hip, hip's" sprang up enthusiastically and glasses were raised, soon to be emptied down thirsty gullets in perfect unison.
I had already noticed that it was a common trait, among all nationalities: all guests are endowed with remarkable abilities to drink up a great range of spirits for any variety of reasons.
I soon found myself at ease in this elegant, witty and gay atmosphere.
Svelte Mrs. Fleeke was born near my town of Lausanne, and she was only two or three years older than I. Of course, we discussed at length all the familiar places of our country.
We were chatting like old friends when we were interrupted by a man saying:
"Ladies, it's deplorable, if not indecent, to leave two pretty women chatting away while two representatives of the stronger sex are dying to take them in their arms."
We turned round and saw that Martin and the Viscount of Metleigh were inviting us to dance.
The tune "The Brazilian Samba" was blaring out of an expensive record-player.
Martin started dancing with me. After a few moments, he said:
"Rochelle.. .You don't mind my calling you that do you?"
"Not at all," I assured him.
"As I was saying, Rochelle, dear, I think we're going to become excellent friends, aren't we?"
"I'm sure we shall."
"Jessica is very fond of you, you know."
I gathered that from her charming welcome, as well as yours too, I must say."
"Yes, she's really fond of you.. .and so am I, Rochelle."
And, so saying, he held me closer in a tender gesture. He had a big hard-on just like all the rest. I could feel the head of his cock between my inner thighs.
I thought that this worthy spouse of my friend Jessica was going a little too fast, and too obviously.
I detest the idea of breaking up marriages. So I glanced round me to try and see where Jessica was.
I soon spotted her, dancing with Count Dela-maine.
And, from the look of her, she didn't seem to be finding the virile count dull at all.
She was nestling comfortably in the arms of the Count, and their bodies were very close and it didn't need a Sherlock Holmes to see that she was more or less rubbing her knockers and her brush where they would get him real hot and bothered.
Her eyes met mine, but although Webster saw that his wife's eyes were on us, he did not hesitate to place his cheek against mine, and shove his stiff shaft a little more definitely between my legs.
And, seeing her husband's gesture, Jessica smiled in an understanding fashion and looked conspiratorially at her husband.
Oh, that was it, then I was beginning to see the light. Fucking was to be free and easy, with no holds barred.
So, she was quite agreeable, and, come to think of it, I wouldn't be against it either, for I found Webster quite nice. But I couldn't help finding it rather funny to find myself rubbing my bush against my girl-friend's husband's pecker on the very evening of my arrival as her guest.
But that seemed to be the fashion all round in this welcoming house, for I saw people fucking around quite openly.
Apart from Jessica and the Count, I could see other couples behaving as if they had forgotten their legal bonds of matrimony.
For instance, the little Swiss wife was dancing the samba so that her partner was feeling her bare tits. The Signora Aldori whose black eyes were sparkling, was pressing her twat against the cock of Viscount of Metleigh and seemed to appreciate the touch of his hand caressing her ass. Perhaps she was also enjoying the touch of something else., her finger tips were deftly rubbing the head of Metleigh's cock.. .
To sum up, the atmosphere had become, let's say voluptuous.
Needless to say, Webster, who had invited me again for the next dance ( a tango), was not wasting his time.
After having concentrated on my ass during the samba, he was now caressing my tits, not, of course, with his hands, but (if one can call it caressing) with his chest and with the help of the voluptuous tango steps.
Then my body passed from hand to hand.
All the males present made me dance and all, without exception, practiced the consummate art of feeling my tits and ass while giving me a "dry fuck" with their eager hard-ons.
Most of them had been well endowed with lusty cocks by nature I felt the proof of it many times during the evening.
When the time came to say goodbye, my Swiss fried was slightly tipsy and the Signora Aldori rolled her black eyes more than ever whenever she looked at Lord Linley.
All the guests parted at about 4 a.m. in a state of mild drunkenness and all more than somewhat excited, sexually speaking.
When we were alone, the three of us, Jessica took my hands tenderly and said:
"Well, darling, did you have an enjoyable evening?"
"Excellent," I answered, "your friends are charming."
"Aren't they? But, darling, you must be dying with fatigue. We're going to bed now. Good night, dear."
She then embraced me tenderly and kissed me on the mouth.
I felt her sensual lips crush mine in a warm pressure, lovingly than a man's.
Well, well, well.. .
As for Webster, he gave me his hand to shake while wishing me good-night. But Jessica intervened.
"Kiss her, chump, you're positively dying to do so."
He needed no further encouragement, I can tell you.
He shack his hot mouth on mine and tongued me with a deep "soul-kiss."
After a long while I disengaged myself, breathless.
Whereupon Jessica exclaimed triumphantly:
"Doesn't he kiss divinely?"
"I'm glad you like it" she said, "for its only the beginning, darling, he's first-class in everything, darling, you'll see."
Upon those provocative words we went to our respective bedrooms.
I woke up late. It was about eleven.
The first thing I did was to look again at the fairy-like spectacle outside my balcony. The sun was, naturally, already shining brightly.
As I came downstairs, Jessica was ready to go out, and Webster was at the Hospital. She took me with her shopping in town.
Except for the bright light and the heat, we might have been in London or Paris.
The luxury and variety of the articles exhibited in the window-shops matched those of the big stores of the European capitals.
Jessica was in her element there. She handled and felt all sorts of materials for dresses and other clothes, breathed in the heavy perfumes and played kittenishly with gew-gaws.
Her natural beauty and exuberance made her noticed by all men, young and old, and she was obviously pleased to see in their eyes that she was being admired.
Our day was spent visiting Alexandria.
We went back home at 8 p.m. and I saw Webster for the first time during the day. His duties at the Hospital absorbed him completely.
After supper, Jessica said:
"I don't know about you, but I'm positively stifling. You'll excuse me, but I'm going to shed off a few clothes, and you'd better do likewise, ducks."
Hers was rather an odd statement.
For, after all, she was wearing a dress and nothing underneath, so, unless being in the nude, I didn't see what else we could wear in the way of lighter clothes.
But I had no time to think about it more deeply, for, at once, her husband approved:
"Darling, you're right." he said. "I'm going to undress. You too, Rochelle, won't you?"
"But, I don't know.. . " I said, faltering.
"Come, you must have a pajama or nightgown, haven't you?"
"Yes, I have that."
"Well, that'll be fine for the evening. We're not in Europe. Here, you know, here it's very hot, and, besides, we can be informal among ourselves."
I assented.
"Go, Rochelle, and come back quickly," Jessica said with a captivating smile and I noticed her big teats heaving with suppressed excitement.
I went to my room.
Should I choose a night-gown or pajama? I chose the latter.
A few minutes later I was back among them.
Webster had already preceded me. He had put on a superb bright-red dressing-gown with a gold-colored belt.
He really looked good in it.
Better than in his usual coat.
A few minutes later, his wife appeared.
What a deshabille.
She had put on a black silk dressing-gown which was so short and form-revealing that when she walked I could see her legs up to her thighs, and glimpse her bush.
At once she complimented me on my appearance:
"Look, Web, how pretty she is in these pajamas."
"Indeed, it gives her an appearance of, of-"
"Of a little boy," Jessica completed her husband's sentence.
His eyes shone as he put his arm around me, drawing my body to his.
"That's right, a little boy but a really pretty little boy."
Jessica sat down and then, without hesitation, she opened up her dressing-gown, revealing her naked breasts. Her tits were firm and round and I admired their large pick nipples against the white hillocks. Her stomach was very flat, and she was holding her legs slightly apart, showing her provocative pussy-lips, pink and moist beneath her big bush.
I looked at her in detail. I eyed her exposed pussy, noticing the cunny lips were slightly parted.
Looking at me, she lifted her big titties in her hands and told me:
"How do you like them?"
"Very pretty," I said.
She had a throaty chuckle.
"Webster likes them very much. Wouldn't it be fun to compare yours with mine? My lewd old man would ask for nothing better," she proposed.
I had a moment's hesitation.
Her hubby came up to me.
He put his arm around me and his hand slipped down my neckline. Sofly, he caressed my naked skin, soon reaching the summits of my flushed knockers.
I enjoyed his caress, especially on the nipples.
Suddenly I took the plunge and, of my own accord, opened up the top of my pajamas.
My bare tits could now be seen in full view.
Jessica looked at them with shining eyes and her mouth opened itself a little in wonderment.
As for Web he blushed deeply and, standing before me panting, he said:
Your breasts are pretty, very pretty, Rochelle, aren't they Jessica.
He came forward and put both his hands on my bare tits in an almost bestial gesture, his lips wet with desire.
His dick-head was thrusting stiffly out before him. I could see a creamy drip of glad-come in his pee-hole.
He was going to screw me in front of his wife.
I looked at her.
From her fixed look and heavy breathing, I realized she was laboring under a great deal of sexual excitement too.
She had by now taken off her dressing-gown, and, standing there stark naked, she was about to watch the spectacle of her husband fucking me.
Webster was also extremely aroused.
He had also opened up his dressing-gown widely and his tremendous prick was looming towards me in a gesture of lewd desire.
Then the telephone rang.
Jessica was the first to regain her composure.
She lifted the receiver.
"Hello.. .
Hold on, please."
She put her hand against the receiver and asked her husband:
It's from the hospital, they're asking if you're here.. . "
"Ask who it is."
She did.
"I'll see if he's here," she said into the telephone, "but why do you want him?"
". . . "
"I see, all right, hold on."
She turned to her husband, "It's an urgent case. The doctor in charge wants to speak to you at once. Shall I say you're out?"
"No." was his firm answer.
He closed his dressing-gown hiding his hard-on and took the receiver.
"Hello, Gilbert, it's me, what is it?"
"I see."
". . . "
"That's right. We're out of stock in blood group 3, number 2,554."
". . . "
"You're right, they may have some in the German or French Hospital. I'll handle it and ring you back. Meanwhile give the patient some shots of adrenalin and comphor."
He hung up and turned towards us.
The expression on his face had changed completely. There was now no trace at all of any voluptuous excitation. He was now the Doctor in Chief, the Director of the British Hospital.
"I'm very sorry," he said, "it's an urgent case in ward 3. The patient needs an immediate blood transfusion and we're out of blood of his group. I'll have to go and see if we can get some from the French or German hospitals. You'll have to excuse me."
His wife protested.
"But, darling, it's ll p.m. and you're not on watch duty to-night. I really don't understand "
She was interrupted briskly by her husband's harsh voice.
"Please, I've already asked you not to try to understand in such cases. I agree that I'm not on duty to-night. But when a human life is at stake, there is no question of being on watch duty or not. We may be able to save him yet."
The tone of his voice far from its usual softness and kindness, put Jessica on her guard and she did not dare answer back.
He dialed a number.
"Hello, German Hospital?"
This is the manager of the British Hospital speaking. Can I speak to Mr. Baum, please?" it it
"Thanks."
"Baum? Good evening. Sorry to disturb you so late. Webster here. Look, we have a transfusion case on our hands we're out of group 3, No. 250. Would you have any in stock by any chance?"
"Fine, fine. Could you let us have some for a few days?"
"Awfully kind of you. I'll be with you in a quarter of an hour. Thanks again." He hung up and said:
"I'll be back in about an hour, I hope. I'm going to the German Hospital, and, when I get the blood I'll do the transfusion myself.
"If you're tired, go to bed without waiting for me. Again, please accept my apologies."
He bowed a little, smiling, he left us without a single look at our naked disappointed pussies. no
When we were alone, Jessica told me: "There you are, darling, this is the lot of doctors' wives. You're probably getting the same from your husband, aren't you?"
"Yes, but we can't very well blame them, can we?"
"Of course, you're right, but what a pity to be interrupted just in the middle of a game which was shaping up quite nicely."
She stretched herself like a cat then purred:
"Come and sit near me, darling."
I obeyed and sat beside her.
She put one arm around me and our bare tits touched each other, the nipples rubbed together.
She lay my head on her shoulders and caressed my hair tenderly, and yet her gesture was not that of a Lesbian. In spite of our being naked, her caresses took on a tender aspect like that of a girl towards her sister.
While stroking my hair and throat, she asked me:
"Tell me the truth, what do you think of Web and me."
"But "
"Don't lie to me. You understood perfectly that, if it had not been for that unfortunate phone call my husband was going to fuck you in front of me, didn't you?"
"Yes, I did."
"Well, I'd like your opinion."
"Well, darling, you saw that I didn't react unfavorably, so that it means I approved."
"Yes, but there's a hesitation in your voice." She paused a while and went on: "Listen, I'm the culprit, I'll tell you why."
She nestled against me and, still stroking my naked skin, she spoke:
"I'm not a Lesbian," she said, "you can see that, for here we are lying naked close to each other, and I'm not touching your pussy."
"I wouldn't say that giving or receiving a skillful caress from a woman would be against my liking, on the contrary.
I was brought up in a college in England, and I can assure you there was plenty of lesbian caressing between us girls there.
I have often awakened, nestling naked in the arms of one of the other girls, with my mouth dry and tired, my cunny all afire and my eyes with a dark ring underneath. We had fingered each others tities and assholes while we kissed each others lips, and we'd fingered each other's cunnies, and then suck, or have a "daisy chain" or "super-sixty-nine."
But all that belongs to girlhood. I like man before anything else, the male with all his attributes.
I married Web when I was twenty. I'm not telling you this because he is my husband, but I can tell you he's a really nice man with whom it is pleasant to live and fuck.
"He's charming."
"I'm glad you think like me darling. So, as I was saying, he's the type personifying a good husband, nice tempered and not fussy (except for his work he's very touchy on that subject), a really nice man. Of course, he has defects: for instance, he's little too fond of whisky, easy women and poker but, on the whole all that isn't too important.
"In bed, well he fucks for a woman to appreciate him, and he's never demanding. We are in short, a good average couple. We don't have rows, we detest them. From time to time he fucks with an occasional woman, and I deceive him likewise.
"We pretend we don't notice and so everything is for the best in the best of all possible worlds."
That is, it was, until one evening.. .
We were invited by friends.
The evening was very gay and those friends were broad-minded. With the help of drink, I found myself, about midnight, on a sofa, and in my cunt the cock of a man I had made the acquaintance of only a few hours before, and nobody seemed to find that odd.
It was the first time I experienced an evening party of that kind.
He contented himself with kisses on my neck and shoulders. I gave him my mouth while he squeezed my tits conscientiously, but, as he was about to come, I made his cock slip out and jumped up.
I was not yet used to making love in public.
Nevertheless, the result was that on that evening I discovered in myself a vice which I hadn't known so far.
Indeed, while that man was caressing my twat, I was watching the other couples, and I found out I was no longer a shy girl, as it were.
One of the other ladies was doing exactly as I did. She was letting a man put his hand between her legs and she was obviously not opposing him at all.
Then I noticed it: the man in question was my husband. So it was his hand that.. .Oh, very funny. That dear, Webster he wasn't wasting his time. Neither was she. She had opened his fly and her hand was fondling his stiff dong.
Two or three other couples were fucking away with even greater abandon. In fact, I was the most reserved of all.
I had not let my man shoot his hot sperm into my cunny publicly.. .yet.
As I already told you, neither Webster nor I had ever seen such parties before.
The sight of those couples actually fucking and caressing each other gave me feelings I had never experienced before.
And what made the most impression on me was the sight of my husband whose hand was busy under the dress of that unknown woman: it really thrilled me.
Was it a complex? Or could one call it perversion? I don't know.
Perhaps both.
Even now, I still don't know.
Meanwhile, of course, the man who had been humping me was not wasting his time.
Since he saw he couldn't shoot in my thighs, he concentrated still more on my tits which he caressed with great art, I must admit.
Suddenly the silence was harshly broken by a strident laugh.
Disengaging her self from the arms of her partner a woman stood in the middle of the room.
She was beautiful, even very much so, but her beauty was strange she was slender and there was an eerie fixity in her look.
She laughed again with nervousness and spoke to all of us:
"Ladies, you're all there being content with the hors-d'oeuvre that is offered you by these gentlemen.
"But I refuse to be satisfied with so little. "I want the main dish.
"If you ladies don't dare, I will. I want to make love completely, and, to give it an added charm, I intend making the most obscene form of love in front of all of you."
I asked my companion:
"That woman looks odd, what do you think?"
"Indeed she is, dear," he said, stopping his caresses for a moment, "the reason is that she's 'high', I mean full of cocaine. She's a drug addict, you see."
"I had already noticed she looked strange," I said.
"Well, now you have the explanation. You know her, don't you?"
"As a matter-of-fact, I don't; when I was introduced to her I didn't pay attention to her name," I said.
"She's the famous authoress Anita Brown," my companion explained.
"You mean the Anita Brown who writes in the 'Daily.. . ' and 'Eve'? "
"That's her. She's got a remarkable intelligence and a high erudition. Besides she's very courageous. She was a war correspondent during the whole of the Korean War, and the result is she got wounded by shells in the thighs and one of her forearms.
"Apart from that, she has all the vices: she's a Lesbian, a pervert, an alcoholic, etc. All that would be all right, but then there's something much worse: she's a drug addict-cocaine, morphine, opium, this woman runs the complete gamut.
"But she's crazy," I exclaimed. "With her intelligence, she should know that it's fatal to become a drug addict."
"Yes, it's a shame."
"Indeed it is."
But the famous writer and woman columnist was continuing her little speech in the middle of the room, in a high-pitched, excited voice.
After a while, she declared:
"If you agree, we'll play a little game I learnt at a surprise-party in New York recently:
"The five gentlemen here will write their names on different pieces of paper. Those will be put into, for instance, this vase, and an innocent hand-not mine, anyway, haha-will draw one of those papers out. The gentleman whose name will be on it will make mad love with me in front of everybody in any way I want. OK?"
Her suggestion was warmly received by applause.
"Good," the girl continued, "will you please write down your names while I'm getting ready."
And she opened up her zipper and her evening-gown slipped down, revealing to one and all her naked sex.
She was too thin, but there was such a sensuality in her body, and she showed that she wanted a male, with her jutting nipples and her engorged cunny, you know, that she acquired a sort of beauty, like that of a witch.
I looked at my husband. He had a pencil in his hand, poised above a piece of paper, but with his eyes, he questioned me to know whether it was all right with me.
It's true that in every man there's a horny rapist, ready to fuck any hole.
Out of politeness and kindness, he was asking me for permission, but at the same time his eyes looked as if they were saying:
"Darling, you know, I feel like screwing with that woman very much, but as I'm a considerate husband I'm asking for your permission. But I would be great sorry if you said no."
Just like a greedy kid craving for a lollipop.
So I assented with a smile.
My husband beamed with joy and, very quickly, he inscribed his name on the scrap of paper.
"Now we want an innocent hand," the woman-writer shouted.
The nearest woman came forward laughing and took out a piece of paper, read it out:
"Webster."
So my honorable husband had won.
He was the cynosure of all eyes. He had, I saw, a moment of hesitation and wonderment. He looked at me a little uneasily. So I told him aloud, with a kindness tinged with irony:
"Mind, darling, don't be a disgrace to the family name. Live up to your hump reputation."
My crack was greeted with a general burst of laughter.
As for the woman author, who looked perfectly at ease in her stark nudity, she came near my husband, scrutinized him, touched him in different places and declared:
"He's all right, I could have got myself a worse man. Come on, boy, strip off and start working."
Then she went to the sofa and immodestly lay on it, opening her thighs wide, exposing her box, waiting.
Webster took off his clothes and joined her, his tool erect.
I admit that, like everybody, I had so far mixed laughter with sexuality.
But when I saw my husband's cock disappear into her twat, when I beheld their united bodies joined together with voluptuous spasms, a formidable sensation took hold of me, one I had not experienced before and which made me really vibrate as I had never done.
The sight of that orgy-like copulation triggered off in me a very strong voluptuousness.
I bit my lips hard, I drove my nails into the palms of my hands, and I had difficulty in not screaming under the violence of the feeling. I was feeling intensely warm and my belly and tits were agitated like a sea during a storm.
"The man who was holding me in his arms noticed my aroused state of mind and body, and took the opportunity to risk a precise caress. And, that time, I didn't oppose any resistance. He lifted my skirt, slid down my panties, opened his pants and drove his urgent throbbing prick all the way up my pussy. It was like a rape. I came nearly at once, in a formidable spasm that was nearly painful. He kept shoving his prong like a piston up my cunt until he stiffened and I felt hot successive spurts of his sperm fill my hole.
After we had left the party, when we were alone, Webster and I, in the car on the way home, my fool of a husband asked me:
"You're not angry with me, are you, darling?"
In answer, I put both my arms wildly around his waist (with the risk of making him drive us into a ditch), and with panting breath and wildly excited eyes, I nearly shouted:
"Promise me you'll fuck some other girl again in front of me."
And, my dear Rochelle, that's how I gave my husband a perversion he hadn't got.
And you can guess, of course, that the dear man is qui ted pleased with it.
Thanks to my perversion, he can fuck attractive girls in my presence. Of course, we only use persons we know well and who're broad-minded. Webster told me one day:
"I don't mind your being sexy, as long as you come this way."
And I believe that is the ideal solution for a happy life."
Jessica kissed me again softly on the lips, then suddenly she got up:
"He's back."
Indeed, one could hear the purr of an engine in the park.
A few moments later, her husband came in.
He kissed us in turn and, smiling, took off his coat.
"Was it all right?" Jessica asked him.
"Splendid," he answered.
"I operated myself. The patient will be saved, I think."
I could see from his face that he was satisfied with a job well done.
But gradually that expression changed.
His look became more fixed. He looked at us in detail.
I could see the gleam in his eyes that announces that a man is excited.
He touched his wife's tits, then mine. That hand, which, I'm sure, had not moved an inch during the delicate surgical operation, was now trembling at the touch of our naked knockers.
Jessica, laughing, disengaged herself.
"So, darling, you're glad to have saved that patient?"
"But, of course."
Hot in the grip of her sexual perversion and desiring release, his wife pushed him towards me and said:
"Well then, take your reward."
Webster advanced towards me. His eyes looked ahead fixedly and his hands were half open. He quickly undressed, and once again, his shaft was hard and eager to shoot into me.
Jessica was already very much excited, much more than I. She sat back, her legs parted and she was busily fingering her cunt.
Her husband took me in front of her and I could hear her moan with voluptuousness
Her husband's cock thrust into my moist cunt right up to his big balls. As his shaft rammed scorchingly in and out of my cunny-lips, Jessica stopped fingering her twat and came over close. She thrust her moist index finger right up her husband's asshole as he humped away, and her other hand slid up and down her drenched labia.
Suddenly I felt as if I were being stifled, Jessica put her hot cunt right over my mouth, forcing me to tongue her torrid pussy. Her stiff clitoris was like a little boy's stiff hard-on and I licked away at it. Shuddering, Webster began spurting hot jets of semen practically up my womb, groaning in a joyous come. At this, his wife's pussy heaved and twitched, drenching my mouth with her come as she shrieked ecstatically into a climax.
Only I was left out of the fun-full of hot sperm and hot pussy-juice, but unable to come too.. . . . .