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Her name was Amanda – not Amy, not Mandy, always Amanda – and I wanted to watch Frank fuck her from the first moment I met her.
She was the new girl at my office, working in the accounts department, and she was exactly the sort of girl Frank liked (when he didn’t like girls like me, that is). Amanda was petite and fine-boned, with a peaches-and-cream complexion and strawberry blonde hair which curled around her sharp little face and long, slim neck.
She laughed often and had a crooked, slightly sardonic smile, and drank her coffee black with sugar. I liked her instantly and completely, and told Frank about her as soon as I got home from work that day.
I’m a little taller than Amanda and a lot less thin. Not in a miserable self-loathing way, of course – my curves are lush and beautiful, and Frank adores them. I have dark brown hair, long but kept tied back from my face usually. My eyes are a light hazel. Frank’s are as well, so I suppose if we have children some day they’ll be bound to inherit that trait. The rest of the mix between our genes will be less predictable.
Frank is tall and broad, and makes me feel tiny beside him. He has a neatly trimmed beard of a sandier, more golden blond than Amanda’s hair. His own hair is the same shade as his beard, shot through with the first strands of silvery grey. He’s older than me by 15 years, and I’m 35. He doesn’t look 50, but there’s a distinguished wisdom in his expressions sometimes which makes me feel like the naughty young student who has somehow managed to seduce the professor.
Amanda wasn’t the first woman I’d wanted to watch my husband bed, by any means, but she was one of the most exciting to pursue. I began to find out little pieces of information about her, like a spy learning the background Intel on a mark.
‘Mark and I got married last September,’ she told me one morning when we were catching a few moments of fresh air during our break. ‘We wanted to wait until he finished his degree. I was such a wild girl before him – I know it’s hard to believe that, now.’
Amanda chuckled self-consciously, tucking some hair behind her ear and ducking her head away from my gaze. As if she was worried I’d laugh at her or something. But she wasn’t anywhere near as boring and sedate as she seemed to think she was. There was a subtle sensuality to her movements, a richness in her laugh, that spoke volumes about secret facets of her personality.
‘In fact,’ she went on. ‘I’ve joked with him sometimes that I stole his innocence. He’s only two years younger than me, really, but I was his first girlfriend. I couldn’t believe it when he told me that; how could someone as beautiful as him be ignored?’
I’d seen the photo of Mark she kept in her wallet. Like Amanda, he had an unassuming, mild sort of face, the kind that is more pleasant than compelling. I understood how he could have been ignored by the girls of his school and university; the charms of a man like him were only visible to an eye like Amanda’s, just as her beauty was apparent to me but hidden from most.
‘He didn’t steal your innocence in return?’ I asked, already having a fair guess as to what her answer would be.
Another throaty chuckle. ‘Not exactly.’
I could have made a move then, an arch overture hinting at the delights which Frank and I could offer the younger couple, but I left things as they were and filed the newly discovered information away for later use.
Frank heard all about the conversation that evening, my words broken by stutters and gasps for air as he bent me over the arm of one of our soft leather couches and entered me from behind. My crisp pinstripe skirt was shoved up to my hips, the fabric bunching up in unrefined wrinkles as his broad hands held me exactly where he wanted me. My tights were a tangle at my ankles, along with my black satin panties, and I was so wet and ready that I felt as if all the blood in my body was flushing the plump lips of my labia, making them fat and slick and purple.
I moaned, I bit back screams, I came and came. And between the unrelenting, almost cruelly wonderful waves of ecstasy, I told Frank about Amanda and about Mark.
‘She told me they have a weekly date night. They go to a film and then a late dinner,’ I managed to grunt out, the short nail of his thumb flicking back and forth over my clit as he fucked me hard.
‘Date night? Kinky?’ Frank joked, his own voice breaking a little as another orgasm made me clench down hard around his cock.
‘I think we should gatecrash them,’ I decided. ‘Sound like a plan?’
‘An excellent plan,’ Frank agreed. After that, we gave up on talking, and let our baser instincts take control.
And so we did as we’d planned, and invited ourselves along to Amanda and Mark’s date night. It was easy enough to show up at the same movie theatre I knew they went to, and to feign surprise at running into them. There was a suspicious cast to Amanda’s eyes as she looked at us, but that didn’t deter me: the charade had always been largely for Mark’s sake, because I thought it was fairly likely that Frank and I could have had Amanda in our bed without any pretence at all. It was her husband who required seducing.
I sat beside him in the darkened theatre, let my leg brush against his with each of my movements, let myself arch and stretch in just the right way to make my chest thrust forward. My nipples were hard, pressing against the silk lining of my dress, and I let myself make a small purr of pleasure at the chill of the air conditioning against them. I wasn’t wearing a bra, and the sensation was making it harder and harder to concentrate on the plot of the film.
After the credits rolled, I stretched my arms above my head and said, ‘I think I need a cigarette. Anyone want to come with me?’
As I suspected she would, Amanda just gave me a small, crooked grin and shook her head. ‘I’m good. How about Frank and I wait here, and you two go?’
So Mark and I headed out for the roof-top parking lot, underneath a scatter of stars and right in the path of the wind.
‘Amanda’s told me about you,’ Mark said as we lit our cigarettes and inhaled happily. ‘And your husband, though she hasn’t met him before tonight.’
‘All good things, I hope,’ I joked gently. It was like trying to catch a skittish rabbit. If I came on too strong, I’d frighten him off completely.
‘She says she thinks you might be swingers,’ he replied, and there was something in his voice that told me the unspoken half of his story: these conversations between them had taken place in their bed, after fucking. Or perhaps even during, judging by the excited glimmer in Mark’s eyes.
‘What do you think?’ I asked. ‘Think she’s right?’
He laughed. He sounded a little nervous, but not so much that he was going to back down.
‘I think we’re skipping dinner,’ he said.
Our bedroom is large and comfortable and furnished in simple, no-nonsense style: it has a big bed, and a closet set into one wall, and an en-suite bathroom, and that’s it.
Amanda was clearly more at ease with the situation unfolding than Mark was, so I let her and Frank take the first initiative and move towards the bed, while I pressed Mark up against the solid wood of the now-closed bedroom door and kissed him gently, trying to be as soothing and unthreatening as possible. Finally, after what seemed an age to my already maddened blood, I felt him begin to properly relax, for him to harden against my hip.
I pulled my dress up over my head and started to unbutton his shirt. He did his best to help with the task but his fingers were clumsy, fumbling, so I pushed them away and did the work myself. When he was naked to the waist, I sank to my knees and unzipped his fly, slipping his pants down and off and then following them with his shoes and socks.
He smelled clean and neat, but with an edge of something sharper – this was the sort of boy that a girl like Amanda fell in love with, after all. There were secret complexities to him, secrets in the hitches of his breath and the hectic flush tinting his delicate cheekbones.
‘Amanda said she was your first girlfriend,’ I remarked, looking up at him from my position in front of him, letting my hands roam restlessly over the sparse dark hair on his pale thighs. The front of his navy blue boxer-briefs was tented, straining where his cock pushed out.
Mark was trembling, ever so slightly. I thought it was probably from the effort of holding himself still, of not arching into my touch. His restraint was charming and infuriating all at once.
I’ve never been one for restraint myself, and that moment was no exception. My mouth was already watering from greedy lust. ‘Mark?’ I prompted, letting one of my hands slide up over the fabric of his underwear. Over the leg, as far from his aroused penis as I could force myself to be (I wanted him so much my self-control was shaky at best), up to the elastic waistband. I began easing it down slowly, over skin that shivered with desire at my touch.
‘Yes,’ he choked out. ‘Amanda was my first.’
‘Kind of like learning to drive on a Ferrari,’ I smirked. ‘You must be something special to get a girl like that.’
I rubbed my thumb over the now-bared crease of his hip, then followed the same line with my nose. Smelling, rutting. The scent of him was stronger here, less complicated.
Mark was watching Amanda and Frank. They were quite the sight to behold, golden on golden, her compact thighs spread across his broader hips, riding him in graceful rocking thrusts. Her head was thrown back, her breasts straining against the black lace of the bra still covering them, Frank’s fingertips pressed against the curve of the small of her back.
I sucked a wet kiss against Mark’s thigh, jolting his attention back to me, reminding him that his wife wasn’t the only one who was going to get her brains fucked out tonight.
Mark’s knees trembled violently, threatening to buckle. I was charmed and flattered by the involuntary response, even as it made him blush and stammer with apparent shame. I shushed his apologies away and stood, leading him over to the unoccupied side of the bed, where I guided him down to sit on the edge.
I could have had him lie down, next to Frank, and climbed atop him, but now that I’d given myself the thought of sucking Mark’s cock I couldn’t easily shake the anticipation for it. The fucking could wait for another night. I was determined this would be but the first of many such adventures between the four of us.
I sank down again, the sensation of carpet under my knees enough to send a jolt of want shooting straight down from my belly. It’s amazing how powerful sense-memories can be, when we know they’re probably the prelude to something wonderful.
A lot of people don’t like sucking cock. They’ll do it in exchange for a back rub, or because it’s their husband’s birthday, or for one of a thousand other reasons. But they don’t like it.
Not me. I love it. I love the weight in my mouth, the taste, the way my jaw begins to ache after a little while, the slickness of spit on my lips. I love the noises men make when I do it, like the strangled moan Mark gave when I swallowed him down in one movement.
With one hand, I held his thighs steady. I used the other to play with his balls, to stroke the skin just behind. He was gripping the edge of the bedspread, white-knuckled, and so I pulled back and let his cock slip from my lips with a spit-shiny pop, looking up into his dilated eyes.