Gay Erotic Stories

Last night I wanted to surprise my husband with a special homecoming. He'd been to Scotland for a seminar and I was picking him up at our local airport. Patrick and I enjoy a rather exciting sex life, and there are no taboos or restrictions on our activities. Getting back to last night, I was very anxious to see my husband. He'd been gone five days (and five long, long nights!) I wanted to do something special for him, so I planned my welcome home event with considerable care. I'd spent the entire day at the spa getting "ready" for him. Tanning, massage, manicure, facial, the works! I bought a new garter belt, and found some very sheer hose, the ones with a seam up the back. Patrick's favorite. I bought some new panties as well. No bra. I never wear one. His plane was landing at ten that evening. I wasn't sure what I'd wear with the underthings and finally, as I was putting the garter and stockings on, it hit me. I'd wear only those two items. I'd wrap up in my London Fog raincoat, and meet his plane with nothing on under the coat except the garter and stockings! Fuck! I was getting excited just thinking about it. I stood in front of the mirror before I put my coat on and examined my body once more. Not bad, if I do say so myself. In case this is the first story of ours you've read, let me describe myself. I'm 5'6" tall, weigh around 117 pounds, and measure 38-22-36. By the way, the 38 is a double D cup. My breasts are my best feature, or so I think. They are full, smooth, and oval shaped. Patrick tells me I have bullet nipples, cause they're always hard, and stick out about 3/8 of an inch. When they're touched, or sucked, they get even bigger! My ass is nice, a little large I think, but there again, I yield to my husband's judgment. He says it's perfect. Of course, he is a bit prejudiced. I keep my pussy trimmed close, namely because he likes it that way, but also because I have a very prominent clitoris, and when there's not much hair covering it, it seems more sensitive to the touch, or the tongue! My hair is red, shoulder length. Green eyes, freckles, and wet lips. It seems my lips are naturally wet, but I do wear a high sheen lip-gloss. I have long red nails, don't wear a lot of eye makeup, but have very long lashes. I guess I'll do in a pinch. I should confess also, I'm a bit of an exhibitionist. I love to have men admire me, whistle, pant, chant, lust, and on most occasions, even touch me. This works out well, because Patrick's weakness is voyeurism. What a match we make. I love to show it, and he loves to watch me do it! We've been swinging since '88, and it just gets better and better. I should also confess that we play a lot of games, and most of them centre around one or the other of us being humiliated, or at least dominated by the other. It doesn't seem to matter who does which, but in almost all our games, the underlying current is one of power and control. I guess that would sum us up. We are both control type people, and we made an unspoken arrangement years ago that in our sexual games, we would take turn controlling and being controlled. Oh, and one more thing. I absolutely love to suck cock. So, getting back to last night, I decided that I'd pick my husband up wearing nothing under my raincoat except the articles I've already described. I wanted to excite him as quickly as possible. I hadn't decided if I'd flash him at the airport, or if I'd wait till we got to the car, but I knew that part of the plan would involve me riding home naked, or damn near. The only other thing I wore were a pair of pumps we'd bought in Los Angeles a few years back. They were the highest heels I owned, somewhere around five inches. Patrick says I always look like I need to be fucked when I wear them. And he's right. I decided to take the Lincoln instead of my two-seater. If things went as I hoped, part of the ride home from the airport would involve a cock in my mouth, and there's more room in the front of the Lincoln for such activities. Oh, one more thing. Just before I left the house, I'd been chatting with a really hot guy on the BBS. I told him that I had to get my husband, but that I'd call him back when we got home. Unfortunately for him, I never got to call him back. I'm sure he'll forgive me though, when I explain how the night went. The ride to the airport was pretty uneventful. I'd stopped for gas, (Patrick's car always seems to be on empty) and couldn't help flirting with the guy at the gas station. He was very nice, and offered to clean my windows for me. I knew what he wanted, but didn't have time to give it to him. Besides, I wanted to be nice and clean for Patrick. I did give him a nice peek at my legs, however. In fact, I'm sure he saw quite a bit more than just my legs. I made sure of that. After he'd finished with the windows, I asked him if he could vacuum the floorboards for me. He couldn't wait! I stayed in the car, shifting my legs over the hump while he vacuumed the floorboards, giving him a real view of my pussy! I needed that! It seems the more men see of me, the hotter I get. And I was already hot enough to start a forest fire! But time was short; though I could tell by the bulge in his pants that time was the only thing short around there. I made a mental note to come back there sometime when I had more time. I got to the airport with a few minutes to spare. Checking my watch, I realized I was about ten minutes early. Not bad considering I am a terrible judge of time and distances. I sat in the car, listening to the CD player until I saw his plane approach the runway. We live in a small town, about a hundred miles from Dallas, and our airport is nothing to brag about. I knew this plane must be his. As it landed, I made my way into the terminal and waited by the luggage area. This wasn't the first time I'd picked him up here, and I pretty much knew the drill. I waited by the wall closest to the door he'd enter. I still hadn't decided when or how I'd flash him. I wasn't worried about someone else seeing us; I'm not the shy type. But I was concerned that someone we knew might be there as well, so I thought I'd play it cool till I was sure about the situation. I needn't have worried. Six other people came down the concourse. I didn't know any of them. Patrick saw me almost at once. He smiled at me and started to wave. I reached up to the belt on my coat, and in one movement, unhooked it, allowing the coat to fall open. I could see by the look on my husband's face that he'd seen what I was showing him. His face actually registered shock! And trust me, it's not easy to shock Patrick! I closed the coat almost as quickly as I'd opened it, and walked over to him. Patrick is almost a foot taller than me, and even with heels, I had to reach to press my lips to his. After almost a week apart, neither one of us wanted just a peck on the cheek. Not the facial cheeks at least. We must have had our lips locked on each other's for at least a full minute. It was long enough to feel his tongue reclaim the inside of my mouth, and vice versa. He kisses sooooo good! By the time we let go of each other, I was already soaking wet between my legs, and if I knew my man, his cock was bone hard as well. I whispered in his ear, "Did I surprise you?" "Yes. I was surprised. But you know, I wasn't the only one who saw it. I'm sure all the other men standing next to me noticed you as well." "Oh. I hope they don't think badly of me. I just wanted to show my hubby what he was going to get!" I couldn't help but giggle. I knew this line of prattle would sound inane to anyone listening, but it was serving a purpose. I was building up to what I wanted to hear. "You know, I wouldn't want just anyone to see my pussy and tits." "Yes you would, darling. You know, a nice girl wouldn't be dressed like this, would she?" Patrick always knows what to say to me. "Are you trying to say I'm not a nice girl?" "I am not trying to say anything, Rachael. You know what you are." "What am I?" "You're a very sweet person, and a wonderful wife, but I'm afraid you are a bit of a slut." "How can you say that?" "Easily, sweetie. Now, you are a whore, aren't you?" I looked down at my feet, as if contemplating what he'd said, and looked back up at him, not able to keep the smile out of my eyes. "Yes, I suppose you're right. I do seem to be a bit of a whore." "But that's all right. Because I like whores." He added warmly. "Let's go home. I need you so bad!" "Have you been a good girl while I was gone?" "Well...sort of." I'd been a very good girl while he was gone, and the boy who delivers our groceries can attest to that, I thought. But that was a story for later. "Rachael...tell the truth." "Well, I didn't fuck anyone while you were gone." That was the truth. I didn't say I hadn't sucked any cock, only that I hadn't fucked anyone. Patrick knew me well enough to understand that by saying I hadn't "fucked" anyone, that I was leaving a hole a mile wide in my story. I wanted him to know I'd had sexual adventures, and he'd want to hear about them as well, but part of the game is making him pull things out of me, as if I was reluctant to relate my exploits. "But you weren't a good girl, not totally, were you?" "Well...I guess I may have done a few things I shouldn't have done...but Patrick...a girl needs to know she's wanted!" "I know. It's okay. You can tell me all about it when we get home. And you know, don't you, that you're always wanted!" "Do you want me?" "Oh, yes!" "A lot or a little?" He didn't answer me. Instead, he pulled me toward him again for another kiss, but this time, he pushed his lower body against me as he did. There was no mistaking his purpose. He wanted me to feel his rock hard cock against my leg. If I wasn't wet before, I was then! Breaking the kiss, he slowly released me. "Do you want to wait till we get home, or do you want me now?" Patrick smiled when I said this. "You mean right now?" Now it was my turn to smile. I hadn't even thought about fucking him in the airport! Leave it to my husband to take my fantasy and make it one better. I looked around the reception area. His luggage still wasn't ready, but I sure as fuck was. I glanced over to the rest rooms. This time of night there weren't likely to be too many people in there. Patrick's gaze followed mine. We both smiled again. "Men or women's?" I asked him. "I'm sure the women's is totally empty," he replied. "Yeah, you're probably right," I sighed. "Better use the men's." My heart skipped a beat when he said that. Part of the thrill of semi-public sex for me is the risk of being discovered. Patrick knew this, and given a choice between an empty women's room, or a men's room that may have someone in it, he chose the one that might have another person, another man, in close proximity to our lovemaking. What a guy! I turned to walk away when suddenly Patrick stopped me. "Rachael, I want you to meet someone." I noticed for the first time that another man was standing next to Patrick. In my excitement, I hadn't paid the stranger any attention. Now that my husband had said something though, I suddenly realized the other man probably heard our entire conversation. "Rachael, this is Paul. He and I have flown in from London together. He's staying in town tonight before going on to Shreveport. Paul, this is Rachael, my wife." Paul was tall, taller than Patrick. And nicely built, not lean, kinda chunky. I like my men a little on the heavy side. It allows me to instantly go into a rape fantasy whenever a large man is fucking me. Little guys are nice, especially for ass fucking, but for a real hard, scream your guts out fuck, I always look to a big man. Paul had a very closely trimmed beard, peppered with gray hair. I guessed him to be in his mid-forties (I found out later he was 37). But what really blew me away was when he opened his mouth. "My word! I am glad to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Blaine. Patrick is a lucky chap to be married to such a beautiful woman!" He spoke with a British accent! By now you probably realize that I'm not a particularly hard woman to get to know, but one thing that moves a man to the head of the line with me is an accent. Any accent. Patrick knows this about me, and it seems he delights in bring me men who have this particular feature. "I'm pleased to meet you too, Paul. Are you in America on business?" "Oh, yes. You know how it is. All work...no play. 'Fraid that pretty well sums up my life." "Oh, what a shame. A handsome man like you must get a lot of offers to play." I was flirting openly now, and Patrick smiled a quiet kind of smile. He knew I was taken with his new friend. And it makes him happy whenever I like a man. And the more I like one, the happier Patrick is. I liked this one a lot! Patrick spoke next. "Paul, I was just going to the men's room. Would you keep a look out for my luggage? I'll be right back." "Of course, old boy. I'll just try to amuse Rachael while you're gone." "Actually, she is going with me. We'll be right back." With that, Patrick took me by the hand and led me away from this hunk that I was just starting to get to know. I'd forgotten about our previous conversation. How embarrassing this was. My husband was taking me with him to the restroom, and this stranger, this man I'd just met watched as we walked away, and into the restroom. I was so humiliated. My pussy was a soggy mess! Patrick didn't hesitate a moment; the door to the men's room opened, and suddenly we were inside the place where women seldom go. I whispered as we entered, "What if there's someone in here?" "What if there is? I'm too horny to play games, Rachael. I want to fuck your mouth, and I want to fuck it now!" I knew he didn't mean the part about being too horny to play games. He loved to play them as much as I did. But he wasn't kidding about wanting to fuck my mouth. Patrick jokes about a lot of things, but getting his dick sucked isn't one of them. The room was empty, as far as I could tell. There were three stalls, all with closed doors. I could see the floor of the first two, but not the third. Patrick still had my hand in his, and led me into the first booth. "Open your coat. I want to see that pussy again." "Patrick! Not so loud! Someone might hear you." "Rachael, open the fucking coat. No, better yet, take it off. Now!" I absolutely love a forceful man. I didn't need to be told twice. The coat was unbuckled and off within five seconds. And there I stood, wearing only heels, hose and garter belt. The black satin garter belt framed my pussy nicely and my long legs looked very sexy in the black stockings. Above the waist I was totally naked, and my breasts were beginning to ache to be touched. The sudden coolness of the men's room, coupled with my need for sexual release, made my nipples harder than usual and if it is possible, longer than usual. "Get on your knees." "There's not enough room in here. Let me sit and you stand in front of me." "I said, get on your knees." "If I get on my knees, my feet will stick out under the door. Anyone walking in will know what I'm doing," I protested. Patrick was in no mood for any shit from me. He placed his hands on my naked shoulders and pushed me downward, forcing me to my knees. And I was right; my feet did stick out from under the door. Anyone walking into the men's room at that point would see my red pumps, heels upward, and know that the owner of the shoes was kneeling just on the other side. And when a person is kneeling inside a bathroom stall, odds are pretty good that someone is on the receiving end of a blowjob. Once I was in the position my husband wanted, he continued giving me direction. "Unzip my pants." I did, and waited for further orders. "Pull my cock out." I did. "Now, suck it, bitch!" Oh, and I did! My face went to his hardness like a metal shaving to a magnet! I wanted him in my mouth, pushing his cock against my tongue. I needed to feel my man right then. Actually, I needed to feel any man right then. But sometimes, Patrick's cock is the best there is, and right then, his was the one I wanted. And wanted bad! "Oh, baby! Yeah, that's right. Suck me. Take it all the way in. Oh, yeah!" His cock was huge when I began to suck him, but I knew it would get bigger. Patrick's dick is ten inches soft, and at least twelve when it's hard. But it's not so much the length that gets me, it's the girth. When he's fully excited, and he would be in a few more moments, his cock is as thick as my ankle. Even as I sucked him, he was growing thicker and longer in my mouth. Usually, when I suck his dick, Patrick is rather passive and lets me work at my own rate. But not that night, no, he wasn't getting his cock sucked, he was fucking my mouth. For a moment, I was afraid he'd get carried away and forget where we were. I wanted to please him so much, though, I really didn't care. If he'd wanted to fuck me in the middle of the restroom floor, I'd have gladly spread my legs for him. "Oh, yes! That's it baby. Suck me! Make me come in your mouth! I want to fuck your face, Rachael! Suck me, baby, suck me!" Oh, and I was sucking. My own pussy was soaking wet, and while I kneeled there, on the floor of a men's washroom stall, my husband's hard cock pumping into my face, I balanced myself by holding on to his dick with my right hand, while my left hand diddled my pussy. I had three fingers inside my cunt, whirling away trying to get satisfaction. But the harder I whipped my clitoris, the further I seemed away from a climax. I wanted to come. I needed to come! Suddenly, I felt Patrick's hand on the back of my head. He was pushing my face deeper over his cock, forcing more of his dick inside my mouth. I have managed to long since over come my gag reflex, but this sudden penetration of cock into my mouth was almost more than I could accept. I was breathing through my nose as rapidly as I could. My husband's cock was blocking my air passage. If he didn't stop soon, I was afraid I'd suffocate. But what a way to go, stuffed with a hot dick pumping into your mouth! I put all I had into the blowjob. Patrick, certain we were alone, was almost screaming at me. "Suck me, bitch! Suck my cock! Suck me like the whore you are! You don't care who you suck, do you? You'd suck anyone right now, wouldn't you? Wouldn't you!" I didn't take his dick out of my mouth to answer. But he understood my muffled, "Yes!" But he still hadn't come, and I was getting worried. Patrick can control his orgasms better than any man I'd ever had, but this wasn't a case of him holding back. He was doing everything he could to come, to let his jism loose in my mouth! That's why he was saying the things he was saying. Whenever he was close to coming, but couldn't quite release his passions, I would usually say to him, "Come on, baby, fuck me. I need a man to fuck me now. If you don't want to, I'll find someone else. But a whore needs to be fucked. Doesn't she? And I'm a whore, baby! I need to be fucked by someone!" Usually, by this point Patrick will drop his entire load in my pussy or mouth, or even my ass hole. Now, with my mouth stuffed with his cock, I couldn't give him the kind of verbal stimulus he needed. But then, something happened that pushed him over the edge. The toilet in the third stall flushed! In a flash, Patrick realized that someone had heard the entire encounter, had heard him order me to my knees, and had heard him order me to suck him off! And had heard all the things he'd said while my mouth was surrounding his hard dick! As this realization overcame him, he came over my lips, my tongue, and started pumping into my face all the crème he'd saved for me while he was in Europe. As I heard the other stall's door unlock and open, I continued to suck my husband's cock while he continued to come in my mouth! What an orgasm. As his dick convulsed in my mouth, shooting hot gooey crème all over my lips and tongue, I felt someone touch the back of my legs, the part that stuck out under the door of the stall we were in. It was a pat, more than a fondle. Almost as if someone was patting me on the back to express a job well done. I never knew who that was, but I was glad I was able to entertain a stranger with my oral delicacies, even though he'd not been able to watch, or feel, me in action. Patrick's cock started to soften, and after a few more genitals sucks from me, I allowed it to flop out of my mouth. I swallowed the jism he'd left behind, and looked up at the man I loved. "Thank you," I said. "You're welcome. And thank you." I put his cock back inside his trousers, and zipped him back up. He helped me to my feet. I reached over for my coat, but Patrick reached it first. Thinking he was going to help me put it on, I turned my back to him. Instead of putting my coat on me, Patrick started to nibble my shoulders and kiss the back of my neck. Ohhh! That always turns me on. His left hand was stroking my ass cheeks as his tongue licked my neck, and around to my left ear. I heard him release the lock on the stall door. I didn't care. He didn't open the door, though I expected him to. Knowing him as I did, I thought he was waiting until another man entered the bathroom so he could open the stall door and expose my naked body to a stranger. I was wrong. That wasn't his plan at all. What he did do was finally open the door and step out of the stall, my raincoat over his arm. I stood there looking at him, naked for all extent and purposes. I know I looked sexy as hell in only garters and stockings and high heels, but even so, I was getting cold. My nips were sticking straight out; so far out they were beginning to hurt. Then my husband did something that totally surprised me. He reached out and closed the door to the stall, leaving me inside and him outside. "I'm going to check on my luggage. I'll be right back. Why don't you wait for me?" And with that he was gone. Along with my coat! Wait for him? What the else was I going to do? I was trapped in a men's room, naked, and my husband had the only garment that would cover me, and he'd just left the area. This was exciting! I looked around the stall, and for the first time, since I'd come into it, noticed the writing on the walls. My goodness, men sure are graphic! There were all sorts of drawings, mostly of women bending over and getting fucked in the ass by some cowboy with a straight-line cock. But there were messages too. Things like, "For a great fuck, call Jamie, 555-3384" or, "I want to fuck your wife. Call me at 555-2294." One I found particularly interesting was, "Yo! Want your woman dicked by a real man? Give me a call. Long, Hard, and Black! 555-1837. Ask for Larry." I couldn't help it, I found myself fumbling in my purse for a pen and paper. I copied down Larry's number. A girl never knows. While I had the pen in my hand, I decided to do something totally wicked! I scrawled out a message of my own. "Want to fuck me? My husband loves to watch. Call him at 555-8236. Tell him you read a note from Rachael." When I finished, I put my pen back in my purse and returned my attention to the situation I was in. Patrick had been gone at least five minutes now, and I was starting to get worried. I knew deep in my heart that I was in no danger, Patrick always protects me, but still, I wasn't getting any warmer. Not on the surface that is. Inside, deep in the hidden recesses of my cunt, I was boiling! This was a great scenario. I was naked, helpless, and alone. I was at the mercy of strangers, strangers who would have to see me naked before they could help me. Oh, my! I heard the outer door to the restroom open. Maybe it was Patrick. Then I heard a man's voice. "Rachael? I say, are you in here?" It was the Englishman, Paul! At first I couldn't figure out how he knew I was still in here. Then it became clear. "Patrick told me to bring you this coat. Are you about?" I called to him through the stall door. "Yes, I'm in here Paul. Just put the coat on the top of the door, would you?" "Oh, I am sorry, Rachael, but Patrick made me promise that I'd hand it to you directly. And only after I was sure it was you. I'm afraid you'll have to come out to get it." "Uhh, Paul...I can't come out. You'll just have to hand it to me over the top." "Sorry, Rachael, old girl, but a promise is a promise. And I promised your husband I'd do as he asked. Now be a good girl and come out of there. Did you two have a spat?" Then it hit me. Paul wasn't in on this game. Patrick had obviously told him that I'd locked myself in the stall and wouldn't come out. Paul was an innocent player in this. He had no idea I had nothing else on under the coat. How interesting. This was going to be fun after all. "Paul, just pass me the coat, and go on. You don't want to be involved in our little quarrel, do you?" "Oh, my, no. But really Rachael, don't you think you should come out and talk about whatever it is you're upset about? I'm a good listener, you know." "Promise you'll listen to what I have to say? Promise you won't run out the door as soon as I come out?" "Of course I do. Now, be a good girl, and let's have a look at you. Come on, now. Come on." I unlocked the stall door. It was now or never, and I wanted to be sure to watch Paul's face. I opened the door in one bold stroke. Paul was directly in front of me, my coat draped over his arm. I stepped outside the stall, in all my nakedness. I thought the man was going to have a stroke! He started to speak to me but topped short when he realized he was talking to a naked woman. "My word! You're nude!" "Yes, I know." Reaching for my coat, I put it on and started to button it. I started at the bottom, allowing Paul to watch my naked breasts for as long as possible before they were enclosed in the coat as well. He stood there with his mouth open. "I'm so sorry, Rachael! I had no idea you were naked, or I'd have given you your wrap when you asked for it. I really am sorry!" The poor guy was really apologizing. I realized he didn't have any idea what was going on between Patrick and myself. How sweet! I couldn't help myself. Taking two steps to close the space between Paul and myself, I reached upward with my face and kissed him squarely on the lips. It was a chaste kiss...almost. I did allow the tip of my tongue to lick his lips as I pulled back, but it was hardly a passionate exchange. "You are so sweet, Paul. Don't worry about it. You didn't know." I really wanted to touch him between his legs, to see if he was hard, or getting there, but there was no way I could fit that into my actions to that point. I either had to maintain my innocence or act like a whore. I don't get to practice innocence very often. "Come on, let's go find Patrick," I said as I took his arm and we left the restroom. "Right! That's the thing to do. Right!" And together we went back into the lobby of the airport to find my husband. Paul was such a gentleman. He recovered from the fact that I was almost naked under my coat, and acted as if nothing was amiss. Truly an Englishman! We left the men's room and looked for Patrick. My husband was standing by the luggage carousal. Standing next to him was his luggage, and one piece I hadn't seen before. We walked up to him, my hand still wrapped around Paul's left arm. "Ah, there you are. I see Paul found you," my husband said. "Er...yes. I found her where you said she'd be. And I gave her her coat." "Paul was a perfect gentleman! Thank you for sending him." I knew Paul was trying to put this all together. There was something about this man that told me he wasn't a swinger, and he couldn't figure out why I'd been in the men's room, naked, and why my husband had sent him in to find me. I'm sure he was trying to figure out why Patrick hadn't known I was nude, or if he had, why he let another man see me in that condition. At any rate, he didn't mention a word to my husband about the fact that under my coat was nothing more then silk and satin garters and hose. He didn't breathe a word about having seen my pussy, my breasts, and my ass! Nor did he mention the quick kiss I'd given him. All in all, he seemed quite all right with the whole thing. "Your other piece of luggage isn't out yet. I've asked the skycap to go look for it," my husband told Paul. "Oh, dear. I do hope it's not lost!" "Not to worry, Paul," I told him, "this is a very good airport. If it isn't on the plane, it'll show up on the next flight." "I'm sure, but all my toiletries are in the other bag. Oh, well, I suppose I can buy what I need at the hotel tonight." I looked at Patrick to make sure I was on firm ground. He gave me a quick nod and a wink. "You'll do no such thing, Paul. You'll come home with us tonight, and we'll bring you back in the morning to claim your bag." "Oh, I couldn't do that. It would be much too much of an inconvenience for you folks. Thanks just the same, but I'll just take the bag I have and catch a cab to the hotel." "Nonsense! Tell him Patrick." I rebutted. "Rachael's right, Paul. We'd love to have you as a houseguest, and it's no inconvenience. We have guests over all the time! Really." I was surprised at how hospitable Patrick sounded. He really must have liked Paul a lot! "Tell you what. I've already got the reservations at the hotel, but perhaps on my way back from Shreveport I'll take you up on your offer." "Fine! Then we'll at least give you a ride to your hotel." "I'd like that." Patrick grabbed his two bags, and Paul grabbed his. We walked toward the front of the terminal. When the luggage was secured in the trunk, Patrick asked Paul which hotel he was staying at. "Sheraton." "Downtown or on the Interstate?" "Oh, my word. I didn't know there were two." "No problem. I'll just give 'em a call and find out which one you're at. Be right back. Rachael, keep Paul amused till I return." With that my husband went back inside the terminal. I wondered why he didn't just use the phone in our car, but knowing my husband, he had a method to his madness. He was gone only a few minutes. When he returned, he immediately spoke to Paul. "There must have been a mix-up with your reservations. Neither location has a room reserved for you." "Are you quite sure?" Paul seemed almost relieved to hear what my husband was telling him. "Quite sure. Well, that settles it. You'll spend the night with us." "I suppose you're right. I don't seem to have a choice. I really am sorry about putting you folks out." "It's no trouble, really!" I was impressed with the way Patrick had handled this. I knew he'd already decided that I'd fuck Paul, and I must confess, the prospect of sucking and fucking the Englishmen was making my pussy gush! I knew I didn't have to do anything else. Patrick would handle the whole thing. I only had to be ready to follow orders, and I was! Patrick opened the front passenger door. I got in, and to my surprise, he closed it behind me. I thought he'd want the three of us to ride in the front seat. After all, I knew I'd be expected to suck Paul's cock, and I couldn't do it if he was in the back and me in the front. Patrick opened the back passenger day for Paul. Once in, my husband walked around to the drivers’ side and got in. Within moments, we were out of the airport, heading down the long country road that would lead to our house. We hadn't gotten off the airport property when Patrick spoke to me. "Well, did you miss me, Rachael?" "Of course I did! And did you miss me?" "I didn't find a woman in the British Isles that could suck a cock as good as you can!" "Well, did you look very hard?" "Actually, yes. I had three of the wenches suck me off this week, but none as good as you." I'm sure Paul couldn't begin to understand what was going on with this conversation. He was totally silent in the back seat, in the darkness of the night drive. Patrick finally brought the Englishman into the conversation. "I know this must sound a bit odd to you, Paul. I should explain. Rachael and I are swingers. Do you know what that means?" My husband asked the stranger. "Of course I do. It means you have an open marriage. I think that's commendable! My wife would never consent to such an arrangement." "Well, it goes beyond just an open marriage. It means we often act on impulse, that we often enjoy each other without the preliminaries most couples must go through when sexual urges come upon them." "I see." Paul sounded like he was confused. "For example, I often fuck other women, and Rachael often will find a man who excites her. We never interfere with the other's fun, but we are committed to each other. I hope this is not too shocking for you." "Oh, no. I'm quite all right with this." Paul let his voice trail off, and then added, almost as an afterthought, "I say, did you know your wife was nude back there, when you sent me to take her her coat?" "Yes, he knew." I answered his question. "Oh, my. Well, if I may say so, I was quite taken by her...er...by you." By now, Paul didn't know if he should talk to Patrick or me. And by now, I knew I'd get a British fucking before the night was out. "Rachael...do you mind taking care of this for me?" Patrick was asking about his hardened cock. I knew what he wanted. Even though I'd sucked his dick not a half hour ago in the men's room, the prospect of his watching me fuck Paul was working him up again. Reaching between his legs, I could feel what effect this conversation was having. My husband's cock was rock hard again! I unbuckled my coat, (I'd already unbuttoned it as we drove in the darkness) and slipped it off my shoulders, giving Paul an excellent view of my back. Turning toward my husband, I provided our back seat passenger with a profile of my body. He could easily see my breasts, my nipples. "I hope you don't think this is rude, Paul, but Patrick really does need me to suck him off. Is that all right with you?" "A...I...err...well, of...I...yes. Yes! Please feel free. I really don't mind if you want to...to..." I didn't wait for him to finish his sentence. Instead, I leaned into my husband's lap and freed his throbbing cock from within the confines of his trousers. The coat was completely off now, and I brought myself up on my knees and hunched forward across Patrick's lap. His cock was waiting for me, waiting to be bathed in the sweetness of my mouth! I didn't need prompting. I immediately began sucking my husband's dick, licking it noisily, perhaps noisier than it had to be. But any good actress knows you play to the last seat in the house. And in the last seat in this theater was a Brit I intended to have fucking my pussy very shortly. Patrick's cock was rock hard as I released it from his pants. I knew what to do with it. As my head bobbed up and down on my husband's dick, I felt the wetness start to flow between my legs. I knew Paul had a bird's eye view of what I was doing to Patrick's cock. And I also knew he could see my naked form lying across the seat, and I felt his eyes bore into my exposed pussy. I parted my legs, giving him a physical invitation to look, to touch me there. I needed to feel his hand on my pussy; I needed to feel his fingers in my cunt! Patrick continued to drive as I continued to suck his rock hard cock. I sensed his hand reach over me, over the back seat, and I sensed it return to the front seat, but as he replaced his right hand on the steering wheel, I felt another hand tentatively touch me, very gently stroke my ass, slowly making its way across my hip, around the front of my leg, and finally between my legs. I knew it was Paul's hand! The Englishman was rubbing my clit with his middle finger. It felt divine! But I needed more. I needed more than my clitoris stimulated. With my husband's cock in my mouth, and my left hand stroking the base of his dick, I reached over the seat and felt the face of the man whose hand was now pushing its way into my pussy! I could feel his beard, his lips. I moved my fingers around his lips, and when he opened his mouth, I pushed them inside, feeling the wetness of his tongue as it licked my fingers, sucked them, like I was sucking my husband's cock! By now, I had only one purpose, and that was to get my cunt to contract in torrid orgasm. I wanted a cock in my pussy, not fingers, but fingers are what I had, and I was determined to make it good. My legs were spread wide now, I strained to make myself totally open to the man in the back seat of our car, the man who was fingering my pussy while I sucked my husband's dick in front of him. "Oh, Rachael! Your pussy is sooooo hot! I've never felt a cunny this wet before!" Paul spoke these words gently, almost in a whisper! I was pushing my pelvis against his hand, trying to envelop it with my burning cunt. I spit Patrick's dick out of my mouth for a moment while I told Paul what I wanted. "Oh, yes! Fuck me! Push your fingers all the way in, Paul. Make my pussy scream for your touch. Oh, Paul! Make me come and I'll lick your cock till you shoot all your jism inside my mouth. You'd like that, wouldn't you Paul?" Patrick answered for him. "Yeah, Rachael. Finish my cock and then I'll let you do his. I'll let you suck him till he comes in your mouth. He's never been sucked like you'll suck him, baby!" Words of pure encouragement! I went back to work on my husband's dick, licking and sucking him with all my might. I could hear Patrick talking to Paul, telling him about how good my mouth feels on his cock, but I was really into this blow job, and found myself only catching snatches of what my husband was saying about my cock sucking ability. "...She uses her fingers to milk...and when her tongue hits your ass hole...she swallows every drop..." My tits were aching for the feel of a man's hand, fingers squeezing and pulling them. Patrick must have read my mind, because as I continued sucking his dick, he moved his right hand off the steering wheel, and cupped my left tit in his hand. It sort of settled into the palm of his hand, and then, as his orgasm started to build, he started twisting my nipple, pinching it...twisting it. If I hadn't had ten inches of his hard cock pushing against the back of my throat I might have screamed out right then. I would have screamed in pain...in sheer hot pain as his finger nails dug into my hard nip...and I would have begged him not to stop...not to quit...it hurt so good! It may have been his cock in my mouth, or his hand on my tit, or maybe it was purely Paul's hand fucking my twat, but suddenly I started to come. It could have been any of those things, but in retrospect, it was probably due to what I heard my husband say to Paul next. "I'm going to stop at this gas station for just a second Paul. I'm out of cigarettes. We won't have to get out...the boy who works here will be glad to come to the car. Just keep working on her pussy. She doesn't care who sees her. She's a real slut, you know." He's right of course. The thought of another man, or boy, seeing me like this, legs spread wide, a hand in my pussy, a cock in my mouth, the very thought of it was enough to push me over the edge. And it did! Never let it be said I haven't helped international relations. Write to me at dutchboy@ballistic.com