Felicity Pinned

I sit ankles crossed comfortably in the armchair, perhaps a little over-warm, but I love this suit and it’s not yet time to take it off. It’s a three piece in a navy blue herringbone so dark that it’s almost black. It fits me like armour, just so. No nips or slack folds, well-tailored. Snowy white shirt, gleaming long-nosed brogued oxfords, midnight silk socks. I am as thoroughly dressed as the others are thoroughly naked.
The bedroom is bathed in the flickering heat of a blaze of candles laid in rows along the dresser, filling the room with the wide, smooth, clean smell of melting wax. The ancient flame-light gilds the figures on our bed, making them seem like gods.
There are three figures on the bed – my wife Felicity pinned between two men half her age. They make a seamless whole, and from their conjoined selves rises a throb of urgent gasps and grunts and the timeless music of bodies joined, the scent of mingling people. Flick is on her knees, hands wrapped tightly around a massive curve of thigh, fingers digging deep into bronze buttocks, her mouth entirely full as she takes him all the way in.

I can hear the gagging gurgle as she throats his cock and see the kohl run down her cheeks as her eyes stream. Behind her another moves, his broad hands clamped on her pale arse, half hooked on hip bones as he drives into her. Thus impaled at either end she strains against hungry cock and the meat of her backside ripples with each repeated thrust and her head drives the mouth-cock deeper and she drools milky spit from her smeared red lips.
The men are beautiful, muscular, their limbs veined and smoothly bulging, each muscle domed and eager. With their neat curled beards and well kept hair they look like greek statues come to life, conjoured here to pleasure us. To pleasure Felicity with their fine flesh, to pleasure me with their display.

The triad gallop towards the thing which Felicity seeks. A month or two before, lying in bed and tugging idly at a post-fuck nipple, I’d asked.

“That’s easy. I want to be filled with cock. Young cock… Imagine,” and she grunted happily and lay back and began to play.

So here she is, transfixed, pinned, by cocks half her age and twice my girth, awash with lust, adrift and coming, coming so damned hard.

The triad hunch and with a single strangled voice convulse. I can hear their fluids rushing into her, and see them, mingled spilling out.

The two bronze adonis leave quietly on trembling muscled legs, their half-cocked pieces still magnificent and glossy with my wife’s come.

I step to her sprawled and sticky, leaking. Kiss her glazed lips and taste the god that filled her there. She, kneeling, demands:

“Now. Do it. ”

And with clumsy fingers smears her arse with spilled spit and mingled come and pulls me to her.

Happy Birthday, Flick.


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