Kate was randy. Her husband Colin had been away for a fortnight, overseas on business. He wouldn’t be back for another two weeks. Kate’s vibrator and dildo had been well-utilised, but she knew she couldn’t go much longer without some cock.
After all, it was a few months since she had fucked anyone apart from Colin. That had been at a work conference - a night to remember with an extremely well-endowed German guy, Gunther. They had sexted occasionally since the conference. Kate found that a couple of extra-marital episodes a year provided just the right amount of spice to add to her contented relationship.
The invitation from her old friend Jess was welcome. A brief text: “Small dinner party Saturday at seven?”
The brevity of the note meant that Kate didn’t know who else would be attending, but she wore her slutty low-cut short red dress just in case there would be some action. At thirty-five her luscious tits were aching for a work-over as much as they had when she was a promiscuous eighteen-year-old.
When Kate arrived, Jess and her spunky husband Will were sipping wine with another couple, Phoebe and Sam. Clearly, Kate had chosen appropriate attire. Jess was wearing a strappy short black cocktail dress, showcasing her lovely huge tits to the max. Her long dark hair was pinned back saucily. Brassy blond Phoebe looked the total slut: pale blue scanty crop top, just covering her medium tits, and a black miniskirt, so short that the absence of panties was evident from the right angle.
Knowing that Jess and Will had quite often played extensively with the other couple, Kate wondered where she fitted in to the evening’s plans.
Then the doorbell rang. The final guest was a gorgeous tall dark muscular hunk, maybe about three years younger than the rest of the group. He wore a classy black Tee, and pale blue jeans, so tight that there was a definite hint of a bulge. Jess winked at Kate as she introduced Callum. Kate suddenly felt considerable disconcerting wetness: inappropriate but lovely.
They didn’t linger over drinks but sat down for dinner promptly. As well as having consummate bedroom skills, Jess was a gourmet cook.
First up was an appetiser: Oysters drizzled with gin, lime, chilli, and mirin. Although clichéd, the aphrodisiac effect of oysters was bandied about. Phoebe briefly rubbed Will’s cock through his trousers in a familiar manner as she said “Be sure to have plenty of oysters, big boy.”
Kate had seen Will’s cock only once. A couple of years ago at a topless party, Jess had sidled up to Kate and asked for some help. At such parties, Will would become excessively aroused by the range of lovely tits on display, and climax prematurely when fucking Jess at the end of the night.
So Jess matter-of-factly asked Kate to take Will to a bedroom to give him a handjob, so that hopefully Will would last longer when he went to bed with Jess at home after the party.
Somewhat bemused by the request, Kate took Will’s hand, and, tits jiggling jauntily, led him to a bedroom. Will was overwhelmed by the opportunity to caress his wife’s best friend’s gorgeous tits, which he had ogled many times, as she removed his jeans.
Kate found that he had a lovely thick eight-inch cock, with a beautiful knob. It only took a few erotic tugs, and the over-excited Will shot an impressive load. (Kate had liked Will’s cock so much that she actually gave it some brief sucking prior to the tugging. Kate and Will decided conspiratorially that Jess, something of a controller, needn’t be privy to this deviation from the script.)
Kate’s mind stopped wandering. Jess was asking Callum about his recent Ibiza holiday.
“So, Callum, did you get stuck into those lovely Galician oysters to keep you going with the Ibiza chicks?”, she asked, her hand resting comfortably on Sam’s bulge.
It turned out that Callum had been giving some lectures at Valencia University, so the famed sexy island Ibiza was handy, just across the water, for some R and R.
“Fuck, I’m in luck tonight. A brain as well as a cock,” thought Kate.
“I felt positively geriatric in some of those Ibiza bars,” said Callum. “ But luckily there was the occasional more up-market venue where other academics were winding down. It’s always fantastically erotic when a serious conservative plain-dressing bespectacled woman turns out to be a demon in the cot.”
Jess took her left hand from Sam’s lap, and slipped he right hand onto Callum’s.
She giggled. “The filthy bastard is hard just remembering it,” she gleefully advised the others.
Soup was next: Cinnamon carrot soup, with Saffron.
“Great, another aphrodisiac,” said Phoebe, referring to the saffron. “In India especially.”
“You’d know, darling,” said Jess, eyebrows raised.
Despite her simplistically slutty attire and demeanour, Phoebe was very bright and knowledgeable on a diverse range of subjects. However, as a chemical engineer, she had worked in India on major projects several times, and her knowledge of Indian sexual matters was not just theoretical.
Some months ago, over a couple of glasses of riesling, Phoebe had luridly described to Jess an experience she’d had with Ravi and Krishna, two very well-hung wealthy Indian industrialists when working on a project in Bangalore.
To thank Phoebe for sorting out a complex technical problem they had treated her to a feast at an expensive hotel restaurant. Then they had adjourned to a suite, where she had tipsily tasted each of their beautiful huge cocks, before they gave her an unforgettable double penetration. “Not my first, but definitely my best,” Phoebe had nostalgically told Jess.
The carrot soup was great. Sitting opposite Callum, Kate employed her usual technique. This involved bending forward a little more than necessary with each mouthful of soup. This afforded Callum an optimal view down Kate’s cavernous cleavage.
They locked eyes a couple of times. Of course, each knew damn well what was going on. Kate’s panties were becoming embarrassingly damp. Callum’s bulge was becoming embarrassingly prominent.
Jess and the three guys took the soup bowls to the kitchen, and plated-up the main course, leaving Phoebe alone with Kate. Phoebe nodded at Callum’s empty seat and said quietly “Be sure to have a piece of that, darling. Sam doesn’t know, but I fucked Callum at a party a few months ago. He’s hung like a stallion and really knows how to use it. He can go all night. You’ll love his tit-work, too.”
The others returned, setting out the main meal. Jess had prepared Tournedos a la Bordelaise - steaks of tenderloin with a spicy red wine sauce. Will had opened some of the oldest and best Bordeaux from his extensive cellar.
As the others sat down Jess announced, “As usual when warming up for play with each other's husbands, Phoebe and I will be topless for the main course.” She dropped her top to display her luscious bulbous tits, nipples provocatively erect.
“Could you do the honours for me please, Will?” smirked Phoebe.
Will unclipped Phoebe’s slutty top, and tossed it to one side, managing an affectionate and familiar feel of her gorgeous medium tits as he did so. Phoebe rubbed him through his trousers in response.
“It’s no problem if you want to stay as you are, Kate,” said Jess.
“Perhaps I should compromise, and leave my bra on,” replied Kate nonchalantly.
She stared at Callum as she slowly slipped her straps down, one at a time. She paused, and then lowered her top to her waist. She was wearing an open-cup bra, through which her breasts were totally bared. Kate’s aroused nipples protruded proudly.
“That’s some compromise,” giggled Phoebe, full of admiration for Kate’s sassy response. “Callum darling, please stop salivating.”
“Do I need to turn the heating up?” chortled Will. “Erect nipples all around. You girls must be feeling cold.”
“This lovely French food reminds me of my year in Marseille,” said Sam.
Sam was a very tall, slim sandy-haired fellow. He was a successful architect. Jess had once advised Kate that he was hung commensurate with his height. He had been a very handy basketball player in his younger days and had played semi-professionally in the port city of Marseille.
“Tell us about those after-match parties with the basketball groupies,” said Jess.
“Yeah, they were wonderful times,” reminisced Sam. “There was a large bunch of slutty young Marseille women most of whom were so-called size-queens. They believed, usually accurately, that being very tall, basketballers were very well-endowed.”
Sam took a sip of the sensational red wine and continued.
“There were a couple of lovely black African guys on the team. Their BBCs assured them of the pick of the French sluts, but there were plenty left over for the rest of us. We had many wild parties. The women would inevitably get topless on arrival, and were mostly highly proactive in getting at our perpetually hard cocks.
“It was never a problem to get two women simultaneously into bed,” continued Sam.
Will had his hand under Phoebe’s disgracefully short skirt. Kate noticed a just-perceptible rhythmic movement of Will’s wrist.
Kate had been to other quite raunchy dinner parties but this one looked like taking the cake. It was incredibly arousing to be sitting, tits out, next to her oldest friend’s spunky slightly-greying stockbroker husband while he fingered some intelligent blond slut who had come to the party commando.
Sam continued his tale of French debauchery. “Sessions with Adele and Suzette were my highlights. Both were brunettes. Suzette liked to dye her hair blond, but the game was up when she got her knickers off, revealing her lovely black bush.”
“Often sexy when the carpet doesn’t match the curtains,” laughed Callum.
“Suzette gave the greatest blow-jobs,” sighed Sam. “It was always wonderful when I came in her mouth, while huge-titted Adele was adeptly manipulating a strap-on in my arse.”
Phoebe groaned noisily as she climaxed. “Jess, your husband’s skilful fingers have done it again. I just can’t hold back from cumming when my sexy husband describes that scene. Now your turn for a European anecdote.”
Jess’s huge tits dangled at a delectable angle as she stood and reached across the table for the wine bottle, driving the three guys berserk. Kate removed her minimalist bra so that her luscious pair were also hanging beautifully.
Jess’s tale was set in the cosmopolitan hilltop Italian city Perugia, a couple of months before she married Will. She had taken a break from her high-powered molecular biology research job to attend an Italian cooking school.
“After a day learning how to cook various unusual Italian meals, such as pasta dishes from Puglia, and pampanella - baked pork fillet with garlic and peppers - from obscure Molise it was great to adjourn to a particular nearby feisty bar, at which there were always lots of gorgeous Italian studs, happy to prey on unattached female culinary students.
“I soon got chatting to a tall archetypal swarthy spunk from Milan, named Lucio. He was on contract, tutoring for a few months at Perugia university. His English was excellent. He was very interested in my cleavage. I was very interested in the massive bulge in his jeans. I rubbed and squeezed it, and said that I’d love to try it.
“He was happy to oblige, so we adjourned to his nearby apartment. After some brief Chianti-fuelled kissing, he pulled my top down and made some effusive comments about my tits. I suspect my nipples were somewhat erect.”
Sam laughed and said “You always have been a master of the understatement, Jess. Your gorgeous nipples are always totally stiff when there is the prospect of some cock.”
