If you believed everything my mates told you, you’d be convinced that I’ve shagged most of the world’s most beautiful women. Nothing could be further from the truth, but when they’ve had a few pints on a Friday night after our regular five-a-side football session, they’re even more certain that I must be lying when I deny it.

Some of their comments are pretty crude — “C’mon Dave, you old fucker, tell us… does so-and-so suck your dick?” or “I bet S...’s got a nice tight cunt,” or, “Do you fuck them up the arse?” — all fairly typical of their filthy minds. And they’re always asking whether I’ve got any pussy photos on my smart phone. It usually shuts them up when I ask who their wives bought that sexy lingerie for — a shot in the dark of course, but it gets them wondering.

Before you get the wrong idea about what I do for a living I should explain that I am a professional glamour photographer specialising in what is known as boudoir photography. I am forty-five years old and single — well divorced actually. After college, I went to work for a glossy magazine, but I decided to go freelance after I discovered my wife was having an affair with my boss.

I had wondered why I was given so many overseas assignments in exotic locations, but it wasn’t until I came home a few days earlier than planned that I discovered the truth when I caught them in flagrante in our marital bed. Since the uncontested divorce on the ground of adultery, I have had a few girlfriends but I have never remarried and frankly enjoy the freedom of an unattached life.

Much of my work is privately commissioned but my pictures also regularly appear in top fashion magazines. These days, I generally work indoors —  a bedroom or a private dressing room for example — but mainly in my studio, where I can control the lighting, depth of field etcetera to produce the right artistic effect.

Although I do shoot my subjects in the nude with results that might be considered erotic, they are definitely not pornographic, which means no overtly sexual poses or open crotch pictures. Over the years, I have developed my own distinctive style which is much in demand and I often have to refuse commissions. Otherwise, I would be working all the hours in the day.

However, whatever my friends may think, I do not mix business with pleasure. If I did overstep the mark and get sexually involved with my subjects, the word would soon get around, and the commissions would quickly dry up. I make a good living out of what I do and I want that to continue. I might add that I do not find what I do remotely sexually arousing — my mind is far too busy thinking about composition, lighting, skin tone and all the other elements that make up a good photograph.

Photography is also my hobby as well as my profession, but in the field of photojournalism, which is a total contrast to what I do to earn my bread and butter. Unlike my professional work where conditions are highly controlled, it is capturing the fleeting moment that appeals to me and the challenge of creating a coherent story about the human condition by reacting to what I see through the viewfinder.

I am too much of a coward to consider working in war zones but I have covered many elections and demonstrations in the U.K. and overseas, and sporting events are always a good source of human interest stories. I have sold a few pictures to newspapers and weekly journals such as Time magazine, and every couple of years I hire a gallery for a week for a show.

*****

Until recently, I had been very strict about keeping my professional and private lives separate, but events of a few months ago changed all that. A young couple in their twenties had moved into the next door apartment and out of neighbourliness, I invited them round for dinner one evening. Peter was tall and very thin, but not bad looking. His wife Veronica, on the other hand, was stunning, with what can only be described as a voluptuous figure.

Some people would unkindly describe her as short and plump, but I thought she was gorgeous. Although the modern fashion is for skinny girls, personally I have always preferred something more cuddly. With her large firm breasts, broad hips and ample bottom, I privately thought Veronica would make a good subject for a study of real femininity — a modern Venus if you like.

The walls of my apartment are hung with large format copies of many of my photographs — essays in photojournalism in the hall and dining room, but pictures of my favourite female subjects in the sitting room — some in lingerie, but also artistic nudes, all shot against a black background. After dinner when we were relaxing over coffee and drinks — gin and tonic for Veronica and a good single malt whisky for Peter and me — Veronica asked where I had purchased the pictures.

I explained that I was a professional photographer and that they were all examples of my work, and went on to tell them a little about my work. After a pregnant pause, Peter asked what my fee would be to photograph his wife, purely for their personal consumption of course. I told him what I usually charged for private commissions, and when he indicated that they were comfortable with that I suggested that we should make an appointment for a sitting.

“Why not tonight?” Peter said, and looking across at Veronica, “if that is okay with you, dear,” and turning back to me, “and I would like to watch you at work, if you don’t mind?”

This was rather a novel request, but I replied that as long as he sat quietly in the background I had no objections.

Veronica then chipped in, “I think it would be rather exciting to be photographed in an intimate way, but what colour lingerie would you prefer me to wear?”

“If I was working in colour I would suggest lingerie in rich colours such as dark crimson or rich blues, or alternatively pale colours if I wished to create an air of innocence. However as I normally shoot in black and white I use a dark background and suggest lingerie from a limited colour palette depending upon the effect I am after, and also the skin colour of the model. With your pale skin and long black hair, you are already a very interesting subject, so I would suggest something which is basically black. I will choose lighting to make that effect even more dramatic, which will emphasise the curves of your amazing figure and make your skin glow as if it lit from within, almost like alabaster.”

Veronica thought for a moment and then said, “I have some new things I bought the other day from Victoria’s Secret which think would be ideal. If you will give me a moment or two, I will slip back home and change.”

While Veronica was gone Peter asked me more about the photographs on my walls but mainly my essays in photojournalism. I also learned that he and Veronica had met at university and had been married for about five years. They were both accountants and worked at a well-known firm in the City where they both earned good salaries.

I asked about whether they were planning to start a family and he said that they had thought about it but wanted to build up their portfolio first so that Veronica wouldn’t have to go back to work until any children had started school. Basically, they seemed like a sensible professional couple. I was shortly to discover that they weren’t quite as ordinary as I supposed.

Veronica was gone for nearly half an hour and when she returned, she was wearing a long macintosh. When she took it off I was knocked sideways by the sheer erotic sensuousness of what was revealed. As I have said, Veronica was a very curvaceous lady, but in my eyes, wearing just her underwear she was the epitome of voluptuousness, and she had chosen lingerie that showed off her figure to its best advantage.

Under a gauzy knee-length robe of shimmering black chiffon, she was wearing a black open cup bustier with crimson edgings, semi-transparent black panties and black stockings. Her magnificent naked breasts stood out proudly with no signs of enhancement, and they were crowned by long dark nipples in dramatic contrast to her alabaster white skin.

I have photographed many scantily clad and naked women but none had aroused me sexually in the way this woman did, and to be honest, I began to imagine what it would be like to fuck her. Her husband just looked at her with pride in his eyes as if to say, “Look what a beauty I have been fortunate enough to marry.”

I led them through to my studio where I asked them to take a seat on one of the two chaise longues, which were at the time, positioned along the back wall of the studio either side of the door. For the shoot, I intended to move one of them to the centre of the low stage which took up the full width of the rear third of the room. The stage was covered with short pile black carpet and the walls were curtained with a black velvet material.

I then began to explain the equipment I would be using and my modus operandi. They both listened attentively, especially Peter who had a look of rapt fascination on his face.

“As you can see,” I said, “in this studio I use a completely black background — I have another studio which is set out as a lady’s boudoir with cream and pale gold shot silk papered walls — and apart from the black silk drape with which I will cover the chaise longue in the centre of the stage, the material covering the walls and floor absorbs almost all the light. The effect is that the model appears to be suspended in infinite space.”

I paused for a moment in case they wished to ask questions, and then continued, “I use three 50 megapixel digital cameras, one at waist height in the centre about six feet from the front of the stage, and two others at eye level at 45 degrees to the central camera. I will be using a fast shutter speed and a large aperture which gives a short depth of field so that only the part of the subject closest to the cameras is in sharp focus. The fact that the rest of the model is slightly out of focus softens their outline which adds to the ethereal effect.”

Crossing to the control desk at the right of the studio, I went on, “The cameras are controlled by this computer, which is also linked to a light meter above each camera. I usually use a remote control to trigger the shutters, but I can set the system up to take a series of pictures at pre-determined intervals. Every time the shutters fire they actually take five images, each with a slightly different amount of exposure. This is known as exposure bracketing and can be achieved by using a different shutter speed, altering the aperture or, the method I use, by adjusting the ISO speed of the cameras. The effect is to produce five images that vary from darker to lighter than the exposure indicated by the meters. The five images are then combined during post-processing to produce a final image with a high dynamic range where different parts of the image are exposed by different amounts.”

I paused again to allow them to take in what was for them, highly technical information. Veronica merely looked at me politely, although I guessed she was probably slightly bored, but Peter gave the impression of real interest.

“Finally,” I said, “the lighting of the subject is crucial. There are LED lights behind diffusing filters directed on the part of the subject nearest the cameras running in strips along the front of the stage, up the walls and across the ceiling — a frame of light if you like. The angle, colour and brightness of these lights are controlled by the control panel here,” and I indicated a small box on the desk, “and can be altered quite easily during a shoot. There is another set of LED spotlights in the ceiling above each of the cameras directed on the subject. These create the highlights in the image, and again their colour and brightness can be adjusted from a control box.”

I added, “Now if you will just give me a hand with this chaise longue Peter, we will be ready to start.”

Once I was happy with its positioning and had covered it with the black silk drape, I asked Veronica to step up onto the stage. When she was seated I switched off the main studio lights and, with a few presses of buttons on the control boxes, adjusted the lights so that the only illumination was the pool of silvery light surrounding her as if she was floating in a bubble in the infinity of space. Once I had set the computer to take pictures at intervals of fifteen seconds, I was ready to proceed.

For the next half an hour, I directed Veronica in the various positions I wished her to assume, at first wearing her robe, and then with it removed and casually draped over the back of the chaise longue. I was about to call it a day when she took over control for what turned out to be a session of the most delicious debauchery.

She started by sitting face on to the central camera and, lifting her right breast to her mouth, began to lick and suck the rapidly hardening nipple while looking at the camera with a look of irresistible seductiveness. After that, she slowly lifted each leg in turn and languidly peeled off her stockings like a practised artist. Standing up, she turned away from our entranced gaze and began to undo her bustier, lace by lace before dropping the garment with a wiggle of her exquisite bottom. 

The sultry effect of this slow striptease was hypnotic and against all my best intentions, a fire of irresistible desire was ignited in my body. My balls ached with long-repressed lust and my cock was so hard that I was compelled to release it from the constrictive prison of my trousers and briefs. I must have looked like some ancient priapic satyr with my upwardly curved erection poking out of my open flies. If I didn’t get to fuck this goddess, and I didn’t imagine in a million years that I would be so lucky, at least I would have a series of incredibly erotic images to inflame my lonely nights of exquisite masturbation. 

I wasn’t alone in my lecherous ardour. Through the fog of debauched desire, I heard a low moan from behind me and turning my head for a moment, loath though I was to tear my eyes from the divine vision of femininity on the stage, and saw that Peter was stroking a raging erection with a glazed expression on his face. Almost subconsciously, it registered on my mind that his cock was as long and thin as he was.

Veronica was a natural seductress and by some strange telepathy knew that she had us completely under her spell. Perhaps it was the subtle scent of our arousal that she sensed, who knows? In retrospect, all I do know is that in collusion with her husband, she had planned her ravishment and eagerly wanted it to be captured for posterity, as I was about to find out. The air in the studio was thick with carnal expectancy, and if cameras had senses, their lenses would surely have steamed over in the heat of unfolding passion.

Veronica turned to face us with maddening slowness, luxuriating in the knowledge that the cameras were capturing every nuance of the libidinous provocation of her glorious sexuality. Glancing down at my throbbing cock she smiled and, looking me straight in the eyes, she blew me a sultry kiss, a gesture of blatant invitation. With the same deliberateness that had characterised her actions since she had stolen control of the evening, she slipped one hand into her panties, through the dark forest of her abundant pubic hair and between her legs into the hidden depths of her vulva. The fires of my lust were now completely out of control and if I had so much as touched my cock I most certainly would have erupted in hot spasms of ejaculatory ecstasy.

Veronica turned her back on us once more and, leaning forward, hooked her fingers into the elastic at the waist of her panties and slid them down over the globes of her majestic buttocks, and then down her legs, kicking them to one side as they dropped to the floor around her feet. Her vulva was everything that I had hoped for, plump and glistening with the moisture of her vaginal secretions, luxuriously displayed to our view between the cheeks of her glorious bottom.

I desperately wanted to rush forward and fondle the ample flesh of her divine beauty, but what remained of my decorum held me back, although it was exquisite agony to do so. Parting her legs in blatant invitation, she slipped the fingers of one hand between her engorged and swollen inner labia and spread them wide to reveal the deep pink within.

Then she spoke for the first time since we had entered the studio an hour earlier, “Petey,” addressing her husband by his pet name, “I’m so horny. Tell Dave he can come and feel me. I know he wants to, and I want so much to feel his thick fingers plunging into my cunt" (not a word I commonly used, but it didn’t sound crude coming from her lips,) "and making me cum.”

“Oh Ronnie,” he replied, “you are such a naughty young slut, wanting to be ravaged by another man while I’m watching. Of course he can. In fact, I insist that he does.”

As if in a dream, through air that was thick with the tension of unbearable carnal expectation, I took the few irrevocable steps that carried me within inches of heaven. Reaching down I slid two fingers of my right hand into the fluttering entrance of her vagina and deep into the velvet heat and wetness of her sex. With a cry she started to cum almost immediately, her body writhing with pleasure as the waves of her orgasm swept through her quivering flesh.

“Ooh, Petey,” she moaned, “he’s making me cum. Tell him to fuck me. I want to feel his lovely thick cock stretching me, and his hot cum spurting against my womb. Tell him. Order him to do it. Please, oh please.”

I glanced back, unsure whether this was what he really wanted. He just nodded and mouthed, “Yes, go ahead Dave, fuck my naughty slut if a bride. Ravish her cunt with your cock.”

Without even stopping to drop my trousers I pressed the purple distended head of my cock against the entrance to her live hold and with one swift thrust plunged my entire length into her.

“Ooh yes,” she screamed, “you are so big. I’ve always wanted to be fucked by a big cock. Oh God, that’s so amazing. Fuck me hard. Harder. Harder. Oh, Petey, he’s making me cum again. Oh fuck… fuck… fuck... fuuuuuck.”

I grabbed the wondrously ample flesh of her pendulous breasts as I pistoned in and out of the velvety sheath of her vagina. Her swollen labia clung to my rock hard shaft each time I pulled out before thrusting back into the pulsating wetness. By now Veronica was incoherent with lust, moaning and crying with ecstasy as another orgasm ripped through her flesh.

It didn’t take long of this exquisite decadence before I felt my scrotum tightening and my cock growing even harder as I pumped stream after stream of hot sticky semen deep into her womb. Jesus, I couldn’t remember ever coming so hard and for so long, the intensity of my pleasure amplified by the utter depravity of the situation. As my hot cum splashed against her cervix, Veronica screamed and would have collapsed if I hadn’t been holding her. God, it was amazing.

As the peak of our mutual ecstasy passed, I gently lowered Veronica onto the chaise longue where she lay with her eyes closed and her breasts heaving with the effort of our mating. My legs were like jelly and I sat next to her while I gathered my strength and my senses. I looked over at Peter and in the darkness, I could see that I wasn’t alone in shedding my seed. His tummy and chest were covered in streaks of glistening white cum and his now flaccid cock hung wetly between his thighs.

Some time later, when we had cleaned ourselves up with towels that I fetched from my bathroom and adjusted our dress, Peter asked me how long it would take me to process the photographs. I told him that it would take me two or three days and said I would call once I had printed the final images and mounted them in an album.

Veronica was still recumbent on the chaise longue where I had left her, exhausted and satiated by her orgasms. Peter tenderly wrapped her coat around her naked body and picking up her discarded lingerie, he gently supported her as she tottered out of my front door across the lobby to their apartment.

*****

In the end, it took me nearly a week to process the images, not least because they were so erotic that I was forced to relieve myself as I relived the memory of burying my cock in Veronica’s silky smooth vagina. After two, days my cock was so sore from masturbation that I resorted to a cold shower whenever I felt the urge to jack off.

Eventually, I distilled the nearly four and a half thousand individual images down to forty pictures, which I printed in high resolution from the RAW files on 14x11 inch glossy paper using a commercial standard inkjet printer. I mounted these in an album for Peter and Veronica but also kept a hard copy for myself. In addition, I printed four of the pictures in large format on 56x44 inch premium lustre gloss paper which I mounted in black anodised aluminium frames behind glossy acrylic glass.

Two were similar to the kind of pictures that I was renowned for, and were erotic without being sexually explicit. The other two were quite definitely pornographic. One showed the moment of penetration with the head of my cock just entering Veronica’s vagina and the other when I pulled out after ejaculating with a string of glistening cum between the head of my cock and her pussy.

It was late on Friday evening when I rang Peter and Veronica with the good news. They were delighted and suggested that I joined them for dinner the following evening.

“Among all her other wonderful skills my gorgeous wife is an excellent cook,” Peter said, “and over drinks, after we have eaten, we can look at the pictures together. And then we’ll see what happens. I’m certain that Ronnie will want to thank you in a special way, so dress casually.”

I wasn’t entirely sure what he meant by a special way, although I hoped that it meant more than a hug and a kiss. The tone of Peter’s voice suggested that I might be enjoying Veronica’s ample charms for a second time — she was so perfect in my eyes, and the epitome of the kind of feminine beauty that I found most arousing that I hoped that I wasn’t mistaken.

I rooted through my wardrobe and settled on a simple white linen shirt and a pair of tight-fitting black satin trousers. Emboldened by lust. I decided not to wear any underwear, reasoning to myself that if Veronica wanted any encouragement the sight of my cock outlined by my trousers might give her a nudge in the desired direction.

At seven thirty, I rang their doorbell, feeling rather like a teenager on his first date, my emotions in a turmoil of lubriciousness and trepidation. Peter shook my hand in a strangely formal way for someone who had enjoyed watching me fuck his wife and who had almost certainly implied that I would be doing so again before the night was over.

He was dressed in a similar way to me in tan chinos and an open-necked cream shirt, but Veronica looked stunning in a full-skirted royal blue dress with a plunging neckline that emphasised her deep cleavage and exposed acres of pale flesh. She was much more fulsome in her greeting and threw her arms around me and gave me a long lingering open-mouthed kiss. When her tongue started to probe my mouth my assumed urbane manner forsook me and my cock sprang to attention, and when she pulled away she glanced down my body with a knowing smile.

Dinner was excellent — Peter was right, Veronica was a good cook — and not too heavy. Nothing kills performance as much as a bloated stomach. Peter was also a very accomplished host and a great judge of wine — a good wine appropriate to the food is something I have always appreciated. The conversation was light and full of banter with enough sexual innuendo to give the atmosphere a frisson of expectation. As the evening wore on I gained a strong impression that my two neighbours were far from the respectable couple I had originally thought, and I wondered how often Peter had shared Veronica in the past — and who with.

After dinner and when the coffee cups had been cleared away, we settled down in the settee with Veronica in the centre to look at the album which I placed on the table in front of Veronica. She opened it and began to slowly turn the pages allowing plenty of time to appreciate each image. Peter commented on how good the images were, but nothing else was said although all three of us were breathing heavily by the time we got to the picture of Veronica sucking her right nipple.

She was turning the pages with her left hand and resting the other on my knee to support her as she leaned forward. As she turned the page, I became aware that her hand was creeping up my thigh and my cock twitched in excitement. Veronica turned her face and gave me another long kiss with much tongue play.

“You must be getting rather uncomfortable,” she cooed, “I think I need to release that snake in your pants from its cage,” and she unzipped my flies, slipped her hand inside and wrapped her fingers round my shaft.”

Veronica turned the pages a little faster after that while gently stroking my rock hard shaft and keening quietly. When she got to the picture where my cock was just entering her vagina, she paused, “Look, Petey, how he’s stretching me. I’ve hardly stopped dreaming about how wonderful it felt to be fucked by a big cock. I’ve nothing against yours my darling and it is perfect for my anus, but I do so enjoy being stretched.”

The last picture was of her pussy from behind as she lay slumped on the chaise longue, with my cum running down the inside of her thighs. “Oh, Davey Boy," (they both seemed to like using nicknames — possible a class thing), "you do cum such a lot. It looks so delicious that I can’t wait to taste you tonight. Do you think you could cum in my mouth and also in my cunt? I think it’s time to go upstairs to the bedroom and find out.”

She stood up and taking us both by the hand, led us up the stairs — the stairway to paradise, I thought. She went ahead of us giving us a deliberate view up her dress to where the succulent white flesh above her stocking tops met her undulating bottom. I caught my breath when I realised that she wasn’t wearing any panties, the plump outer lips of her vulva moving invitingly with each step. My mouth was watering with longing to part those lips with my tongue to feast on her sweet nectar.

Once in the bedroom, we didn’t waste any time and discarded our clothes in a frenzy of lust. Veronica pushed me back on the bed while Peter went and sat on a chair facing the bottom of the bed with his long thin cock pointing up towards his navel in a slight arc. 

Veronica straddled my chest facing her husband and pushed her pussy against my mouth. “Davey, I know you’ve been dying to lick me ever since last Saturday. I bet you’ve been wanking yourself silly at the thought,” and addressing her husband, “Petey, he’s as good with his tongue as with his cock. I think I’m going to cum very soon.”

The sensation of her breasts caressing my tummy as she writhed in the first throes of orgasm was delicious — so much more arousing than the small titted models that I had occasionally fucked. She pushed backwards against my mouth so that my tongue slid along the slit between her engorged inner labia until it reached the distended bud of her clitoris. My face was enveloped in the soft pulsating flesh of her pussy and as I started to lick her clitoris with short rapid strokes of my tongue her juices began to flow in aromatic profusion until they were running down my chin onto my chest.

Although she had not yet touched my cock, it was pointing hard at the ceiling and throbbing with intense arousal as I bathed in the raw carnality of this amazing and overwhelming goddess of love. As she approached the summit of her climax, Veronica began to squeak, the music of her cries of passion rising to a crescendo of euphoria as her flesh rippled with the intensity of her enthusiastic embrace of carnal rapture. 

As the waves of her ecstasy began to subside, Veronica collapsed onto my body, pinning me to the bed in an enveloping blanket of softly yielding flesh. After a brief interval while she regained control of her overwrought muscles she took the distended head of my cock between her lips and slowly slid them down my shaft until she had swallowed all eight inches. I then received the most amazing blow job.

She stroked and sucked me until I was on the edge of my own explosion of ecstasy and then stopped long enough to check the rising waves of cum, repeating this several times until my mind and body were screaming for release. When she finally allowed me to cum I just erupted in a thick stream of incandescent fluid, the muscles of my bottom and inner thighs taut with the indescribable sensations shooting down from my pulsating cock. 

She swallowed every last drop with quiet noises of appreciation and then, releasing my exhausted manhood from the exquisite prison of her mouth, she looked over at her husband, “Stop stroking your cock for a moment, Petey and come and help me get Davey hard again.”

To my surprise, I was not at all repelled by the idea of a man going down on me, something I would never have entertained before I met this couple of hedonistic voluptuaries. Willingly seduced by their epicurean depravity, I had entered a new world of Bacchanalian excess where my whole being craved every new debauched sensation. The sensation of two pairs of lips caressing my cock and two sets of fingers playing with my hyper-sensitised balls rapidly restored me to a state of tumescent excitement. 

With one last enthusiastic suck on my throbbing shaft, Peter returned to his grandstand seat and Veronica released my body from its fleshy prison. Straddling my thighs she pushed my cock between the heat of her swollen lips and leaning forward until her swaying globes were resting on my chest she began to slide her pussy along my length, liberally coating me in her nectar. She pressed her body against me and began to kiss me voraciously using her lips, tongue and teeth like a carnivore preparing to devour its prey.

Like a man hovering in a dream state of drugged euphoria my soul craved absorption into ultimate carnal bliss, and at last, after what seemed like an eternity of erogenous torture, Veronica granted me the absolution I so desperately desired. Lifting her hips she impaled her slippery sheath on my swollen and throbbing member, enveloping my entirety in her heat, and paused maddeningly … waiting… for what? 

Through a mist of expectancy, my mind hovering on the edge of consciousness, I dimly saw a Peter rise from his seat and approach our conjoined bodies. His prick pointing obscenely at Veronica’s arse. He wiped it in the sticky mess of vaginal secretions that liberally coated my balls and with practised ease, thrust it deep into her anus where I could feel it moving through the thin membrane separating her rectum and vagina. The whole act was one of indescribable debauchery but it only fuelled my arousal to bursting point.

Like some exotic three-bodied animal, we began a mutual dance of primaeval urgency, our movements synchronising without conscious volition as if we were under the control of some demonic choreographer. Faster and faster we rode in pursuit of our goal of the ineffable summit of carnal desire. The climax came suddenly, piercingly, excruciatingly, exquisitely in an eruption of monstrous ferocity, every vestige of civilised sensibility swept away in a torrent of min- blowing ecstasy. In that moment, we ceased to be three separate entities and became fused together as a single sexual being, although words are inadequate to describe the unutterable beauty of it.

Overwhelmed by the euphoria that flooded through my mind I can barely recall the rest of the evening. We must have somehow disengaged and covered ourselves with the bedsheets, because when I woke the next morning after blissful sleep, my head was resting between the twin pillows of Veronica’s glorious breasts. Peter was lying on her other side, one arm cradling our recumbent bodies.

We breakfasted in contented silence because no words were necessary. In the fusion of our bodies, we had entered into a new relationship. We might never experience anything so sensually amazing again, but the energy of it had changed us irrevocably and nothing could sever the invisible bond we had forged in the white heat of our mutual sexual passion and release.

*****

I didn’t see Peter and Veronica for several weeks. I was busy with a number of assignments, one of which took me to the Caribbean for a few days, and on my return, I buried myself in my editing suite. They must also have gone away since there was no sign of life in their apartment. Two days ago, however, Peter rang my doorbell. I invited him in and over a coffee, he made me an enticing proposal.

“We have been visiting Veronica’s mother in Bristol,” he explained, “she is a divorcee like you and we showed her the album she was most excited and is very keen to meet you. She would like you to do something similar for her if you are willing — I don’t think you will be disappointed. She may be in her early fifties but she could be Veronica’s twin sister, and if that were possible she is even more sexually liberated, and bisexual with it, and we have enjoyed many evenings of great fucking. We both find the idea very stimulating and if you agree I will get Veronica to invite her to stay for a weekend and… well, we can just let events take their course.”

It was a no brainer really, and without pausing to think I said I would look forward to it. So everything is fixed for next weekend. You never know, but if the chemistry is right something more permanent might come of it. Life is passing me by and it is time I got myself hitched up with a suitably attractive partner. But come what may, I’ve certainly enjoyed my kinky neighbours, although I’m not sharing any of that with my mates. And regrets — I have none.

Thank you for listening to my naughty story. I hope you have enjoyed it as much as I have in telling it. Dave.