Remembering that particular scene brought a glow to my cheeks all over again, but when it came to it, I intended to ask Grant for something a little less predictable. I thought of the fantasies I’d never shared with him. Now we were venturing into edgier territory, desires I wasn’t sure I would be entirely comfortable confessing to him.
How would he react, I wondered, if I told him about those visions I had of him lying face down on the bed while I fastened a long, thick dildo into the harness around my waist? There would be a tense, excited silence in the room as I slicked lube along the length of the dildo, before dribbling a generous amount down the crack of Grant’s arse. The breath would catch in his throat as my fingers gently probed his tight rosebud, slowly opening him up in preparation for receiving my fake cock. I wanted to feel him writhing beneath me, moving to the rhythm I set, learning how wonderful it felt to be filled to the brim.
Even that was tame in comparison to the fantasies where I brought a lover home. In my mind, this was always some faceless hunk, never a specific person. In truth, I didn’t have any friends or work colleagues I found as attractive as Grant; with his intense blue eyes, dirty grin, and world-class arse he was everything I’d ever wanted. So the man who stalked these fantasies was a composite of every pouty underwear model with a sculpted six-pack and a suspiciously generous bulge in his tight white briefs, and he wanted nothing more than to make me his submissive plaything.
Sometimes, Grant would be reduced to a bit part in these fantasies, tied to a chair and unable to do a thing about it as my lover took me in every position I could think of. Grant’s cock would be almost impossibly hard, aching for the merest touch and continually frustrated. In other versions of the fantasy, he was given the privilege of licking me clean of my lover’s come after I’d been reduced to a sweaty, thoroughly satisfied mess.
The scenario I loved the most, however, the one that never failed to have me fingering myself to orgasm after orgasm as I pictured it, saw both Grant and me being required to suck my lover’s cock. He would have us down on our knees in front of him, wrists cuffed behind us so we could only use our lips and tongues to satisfy him, then he would move from mouth to mouth in turn. The kinkiest depths of my imagination pictured this as some kind of contest, each of us using all the tricks we knew to bring him off. Punishment lay in wait for the loser. I had no idea what it said about me that, almost every time, it was Grant’s mouth my lover filled with his seed.
Even without what I saw as the sheer impossibility of finding someone to be the third party in this delightfully depraved ménage, I knew this wasn’t what I would present to Grant as my ultimate fantasy. When I finally realised what I actually wanted from him, it was something much simpler and yet infinitely more complex.
‘You want me to what?’ Grant asked, the Sunday afternoon I clicked off the TV and presented him with the “ultimate fantasy” Love Note.
‘Like I said, I want to watch you pleasure yourself the way you do when I’m not around.’ I’d been thinking about this for a few days now, and every time I did I felt my knickers growing sticky with the sheer naughty perfection of it. I knew Grant enjoyed wanking – the dog-eared stash of porn mags he kept tucked away in a box under the bed was more than enough evidence of that – but in all the time we’d been together, I couldn’t remember him ever doing it in front of me. Maybe the odd tug or two to get himself fully hard before he sank his cock into me, but never all the way from start to finish.
‘And how is this going to work, exactly?’ Grant was clearly baffled, and I could understand why. With all the outrageously filthy things I could have asked him to do for me, this must have seemed so mundane in comparison. But it was what I wanted: the chance to see the man I loved enjoying a private moment alone with his right hand. Somehow, I was sure that sharing this fantasy would move our relationship on to a whole new level.
‘Well, I’ll make myself comfortable in the wardrobe and you … You just do whatever feels good.’
‘If you’re absolutely sure this is what you want.’
‘It is,’ I assured him, and with that, I went into the bedroom, leaving him to follow me. By the time he arrived, I’d made myself a cosy hiding place in the wardrobe, the hangers pushed to one side and the door left slightly ajar so I had a good view of the bed, less than a foot away.
Grant looked a little embarrassed as he shucked out of his jeans, throwing them over the back of the chair in the corner like he always did. He rooted under the bed, bringing out one of the magazines I was sure he believed I didn’t know about. For a moment, I wondered whether he had any idea about the books I kept in my bedside drawer, the erotic anthologies with spines so bent and broken they automatically fell open at my favourite stories. Then my attention was drawn to the photos Grant had chosen to get him in the mood for what he was about to do.
The magazine was clearly at the amateur end of the market, packed with women posing in suburban bedrooms that weren’t so very different from our own. They might have looked plain and ordinary in comparison to the models in the glossy wank mags, but the men in their life were so crazy about them they just had to show them off to other readers, appendix scars, cellulite and all. As I looked more closely, I realised Grant obviously had a type. With her shoulder-length blonde hair and small-breasted frame, the girl in the spread bore more than a passing resemblance to me, though I didn’t possess any lingerie as tacky as the cheap-looking red lace bra and panties she wore. The photos showed her with her tits pulled out of the cups of the bra and the crotch of her panties pulled to one side, revealing the vivid pink split of her shaven pussy. There was a little silver barbell through her left nipple and some random Chinese character tattooed just above her hip bone. Her expression was one of undisguised lust and wanting, and unlike that of a professional model, it clearly wasn’t faked.
I was still digesting the implications of Grant’s choice as he peeled down his boxer shorts. His cock hung between his thighs, head still partly covered by its sleeve of skin, just beginning to rouse from its slumbers. As I watched, he hunted round for something on the bedside table, giving me a tantalizing glimpse of his bare arse beneath the hem of his faded black T-shirt. He picked up my pot of hand cream, unscrewed it and scooped out a generous amount of the contents. Lying down on his side, facing me, he slowly stroked up and down the length of his cock with his cream-covered hand.
I’d always wondered how I managed to go through that hand cream quite as quickly as I did. Now it all made sense. Making a mental note to treat Grant to a decent bottle of lube for his private moments, I was drawn to the way his cock was rising and stiffening. He almost seemed unaware of what was happening, his concentration solely on the anonymous girl in the photo. He turned the page, selecting a shot where her panties had come off and she was spreading the extravagantly frilled lips of her pussy with two long, acrylic fingernails.
What was Grant thinking as he looked at that photo? Was he imagining what it would be like to have her there in reality, splaying her cunt so wantonly for him, or was it me he wanted to see like that, stripped down to nothing and displaying my readiness to be fucked? So many questions, so much I hadn’t thought about when I’d asked Grant to masturbate for me. But this was how I would learn about his needs and desires; this was how our relationship grew and strengthened, I was sure of it.
And watching him was having another, equally powerful effect on me. I was getting horny. It was hard to stay detached when the man I loved was so close, so thoroughly wrapped up in the act of giving himself pleasure. Any thoughts he’d had that this was a crazy idea on my part had clearly been forgotten as his hand moved rhythmically along his cock. I’d played with him many times, but I’d never wanked him in quite the way he was doing now, fingers close to the spot where the head met the shaft and moving in a rapid sequence of long and short strokes, like some erotic form of Morse code.
My pussy was heating up nicely, juice trickling into the pyjama bottoms I wore for loafing round the ho
use. Eyes glued on those shuttling fingers, I rubbed myself through the material, pushing the thick, double-stitched seam against my clit and enjoying the thrill of the friction.
Grant had flopped on to his back, heels drawn up close to his arse, T-shirt rucked up almost to his hard little nipples. The magazine was forgotten as he concentrated on bringing himself to his peak. One hand cradled his balls, the other pumped his cock ever faster. What were the images his mind was projecting on to the screen of his tightly closed eyelids, and how closely did they match my own? I pictured myself, decked out in that cheap red lingerie, two fingers pushed up into my pussy as a third danced on my clit. Grant watching me; me watching him. Breathing fast and heavy, tension building as Grant ordered me to remove the fingers from my cunt and thrust one deep into my arse instead. Such a dirty request, but one I’d be only too happy to comply with.
Part of me wanted to step out of the wardrobe and join Grant on the bed, taking his cock in my mouth to finish him off, but that wasn’t part of our arrangement. My knees had gone weak, and I had to steady myself against the side of the wardrobe, almost as close to coming as Grant appeared to be.
His face was screwed up, veins standing out tautly in his neck, and in that moment just before his orgasm hit, I thought I’d never seen him look so masculine, so magnificent. ‘Roz … Roz …’ he grunted, lost in some place that was peculiar to him alone. ‘Oh fuck, Roz!’
With that, his cock jerked in his fist and his come shot out, landing on his belly in thick, creamy ropes. I couldn’t stay hidden any longer. I stepped out of the wardrobe to join him on the bed, so I could dabble my fingers in his quickly cooling spunk.
‘Thank you,’ I murmured, planting a long, sensuous kiss on his mouth and feeling closer to him now than I ever had in all the time we’d been together. ‘Thank you for living out my fantasy.’
It gave me such a boost, such a reinforcement of the bond between us, to know that at the moment he came, I was all he was thinking about. He put an arm round me, pulling me into an embrace, during the course of which I kicked my pyjama bottoms away.
His fingers sought out my soaking pussy. I shuddered as one brushed lightly against my clit, enjoying a swift, fleeting orgasm that left me hungry for more.
Grant pulled his hand away. ‘I’m glad you enjoyed my little performance so much, but what about putting one on for me? Why don’t you get out that vibrator of yours, show me just how you manage to go through so many batteries when I’m not around?’
As I reached for my trusty vibe, I thought of the remaining blank Love Notes in the book, and all the fun I could have filling them in. Or maybe I should give a couple to Grant, let him come up with some kinky requests for me. After all, now he knew my ultimate fantasy, all bets were off. And when I went to buy the lube for him, perhaps I’d throw a surprise toy into the basket. A toy that strapped into place around my waist …
Smiling wickedly, I spread my legs and started to play.
Between Friends
by Roxy Martin
Everyone loves Jen. She’s pretty, funny and smart. The only unexpected thing about her is that she’s single. We met in the school playground, I was there picking up my daughter, Jen picking up her son. Our children got on well, my Sarah being a little bit of a tomboy and more than happy to play at action heroes with young Ty.
Jen and I fell into an easy routine of coffee on Monday mornings, an exercise class on Wednesdays and a bottle or two of wine on a Friday night, while my Mike went down the local for several pints and a game of darts. Jen and Ty often came home with us after school and stayed for dinner, and Mike never complained. He said it was nice that I had a new friend.
One Friday night, Jen and I were halfway through our second bottle of wine, when a documentary about infidelity came on the television.
‘Do you think Mike would ever play away?’ Jen asked.
‘Why? Are you interested if he did?’ I’d replied with a flippant laugh – then stalled as I saw the look in her eye. ‘You fancy Mike?’
Jen had the grace to blush. She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Well, you must. He is your husband, after all.’
‘Yes,’ I said. Then, hiding behind the rim of my glass, I confessed, ‘But I’ve sometimes wondered what it would be like to see him with another woman.’
‘Are you giving me your consent?’
‘Well, if I’m going to watch him with anyone, it might as well be you,’ I replied.
As we poured a glass each from a third bottle of wine, a plan was hatched. Maybe I should have been concerned by Jen’s eagerness, but I put it down to the drink, and it had been my suggestion, so I could hardly back down now. Plus, I had one more confession to make, though not to Jen just yet. I was giving my consent because I fancy her, and had often wondered what it would feel like to kiss her. So far, I’d got no sense that she was into women, so I thought the next best thing would be to get my pleasure watching her with Mike.
Mike always gets home at just after eleven and likes to join us on the sofa for a shot of whisky before going up to bed – I wondered how upset he’d be to walk into the house and find the downstairs floor dark and empty.
‘This could go badly wrong,’ Jen said, as she stripped off and pulled my black nightie on. I tried not to look at her too much. She patted down her hair. ‘Well?’
I smiled and replied, ‘Just get into bed and we’ll see what happens.’ Then I spritzed her with my favourite scent.
‘Are you really sure about this?’ Jen questioned, chewing her lip.
I nodded, just as we heard Mike coming in downstairs.
‘Sally, if you don’t want–’
‘Shh!’ I put a finger to my lips.
I step out of the room and pull the door gently behind me, though not fully shut, then I go into Mike’s office, where I wait. It doesn’t take long for him to come upstairs. I hear the floorboards creak and I stand with my hand over my heart, trying to hold my breath and be quiet. I wait for Mike to go into our bedroom then pad silently down the landing, careful not to be seen as he steps out of his trousers and pulls his shirt off over his head.
Our bedroom is lit by moonlight. I’ve never liked the dark since suffering nightmares as a child, so we only have thin nets at the windows. An orange light glows in a plug socket, once a nightlight for our Sarah. Mike steps out of view but I hear him climb into bed. I imagine him pulling the covers over himself and draping an arm over Jen, maybe kissing the back of her head.
The suspense is killing me – and turning me on something rotten. I half-expect Jen or Mike to leap out of the bed. Instead, I hear Mike softly murmur, ‘’Night, love.’
I swallow, not too loudly I hope, and dare to move to my right. I can see the two shapes in the bed, my husband and my best friend. From under the covers, Jen stirs. She inches back into Mike, like I told her I do when I’m showing him that I want sex. I almost gasp at the thought of her bottom, covered in nothing more than a lace thong and my nightie, pressing against the front of Mike’s boxers. It never takes him long. I’ve told Jen that for sex, my Mike was born ready. I bite my lip.
He could, as they lie under the covers, release his cock, and slide into her hot pussy, and I could be standing here, oblivious. His fingers could be probing her at this very moment, and I’m presuming her pussy is hot, because she must be wanting sex with Mike. Otherwise, wouldn’t she have sprung out of the bed by now?
I watch, mesmerized, waiting for something to happen, then I hear movement. Mike is putting his arm around her. His hand, I know from experience, will fall on her breast. When, I am eager to know, will he realise it’s not me in our bed? Will he care? What will he do? How will he react?
Jen groans gently. Again, I have told her that this is what I do. A soft moan, the sound of encouragement – is that what I sound like? I hold my breath and wait to see what happens. I shift slightly, wanting a better view. Jen has pulled the covers down slightly. I can make out the shape of her bare shoulder, and Mike leans in to kiss it
.
‘Sal?’ Mike questions, and I know he is a little drunk, but not too drunk. In any case, I’ve never known drink to affect his potency. If anything, it makes him hornier.
‘Hmm?’ Jen replies, and shuffles further back into him. Mike pulls the covers back down to their waists, and I see that they are spooning. Surely he must realise that he is pressing against another body and not his wife’s?
‘Sal?’ He questions again.
‘If you’re going to do it, then just do it, Mike,’ Jen replies in a sexy growl, and I sense him faltering. He must know now, and I know he’ll be pressing hard against her.
Just as I’m wishing they’d throw the damn quilt off completely, so I can see better, Jen, maybe reading my mind, does just that. She kicks it down the bed and positions herself back against Mike.
He has a hand on her hip. He has no excuse now. He has heard it isn’t me, he can feel it isn’t me. I wonder where his loyalties and his passions lie? Will he turn her away? Push her away? Will he be enraged that she’s trying this on with him, that she’s offering herself for sex?
He moves, and I fear he is going to get up, that he’s caught me out, but Jen whips round to face him. She puts her hand on the side of his face.
‘She’s in with Sarah, said she’d be there all night,’ Jen says, her voice heavy with temptation. We planned that she would say this to him when he realises who he’s with, if she feels there’s a risk he might run scared.
‘And you’re in my bed because …?’
She silences him with a kiss, and I feel my quim shudder with delight.
If he is going to turn her away, then he’s taking his sweet time about it. She’s running her hand through his hair, through the thick, dark curls, down his cheek and across his jaw, and then he’s returning the kiss. His hand drops down over her shoulder, follows the contour of her body, over her hips, along her thigh, and then it returns upwards. It comes to a halt on her bottom.
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