"Nervous?" he asks.
"Yes. We knew we would be."
"You know you can always opt out. We could just go home."
"Yes, I know. But now that we've come this far ... I mean, it's taken us a long time."
"Perhaps he won't come. Just a time-waster."
"It wouldn't really be a solution, would it? We'd just start looking for someone else."
"We don't have to."
She takes another sip of wine. "But it's what you want, isn't it?"
"Don't you?"
"Yes. Now I've made up my mind. We talked about it long enough, didn't we?"
They sit in silence, remembering, recalling the nights when they had fantasised about someone else in the bed with them, and the sex had suddenly grown more intense, more demanding. Afterwards they had talked about it, wondered if it would ever be possible. His cock had hardened again and the second fuck was as fierce as the first.
He says, "How much longer do you think we should give him?"
"Who knows?" Then, coming to a decision. "Half an hour. If he hasn't arrived by then, he'll be more than an hour late. He isn't coming."
"OK. Half an hour."
They sit in armchairs in opposite corners of the room, facing the empty bed, covers turned back, ready. Now, it seems, for nothing.
Ten minutes pass. He is looking at his watch when his mobile phone rings. "Hi ... Yes, we are ... Well yes, but we waited ... Room 436. Left out of the lifts ... yes, of course."
He switches off the phone, tells her, "It's John." He has told them that's his name; perhaps it is. "Had trouble getting here - only just found somewhere to park. Here in five minutes."
She nods. It is impossible to know whether she is pleased, relieved, anything. She gets up and goes into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
She has not emerged when there is a gentle tap at the room door. He opens it and John enters. Somewhat awkwardly, they shake hands. "Sorry I'm late. Did you think I wasn't coming?"
"We were beginning to wonder. But never mind. It's good that you've made it." He gestures towards the mini-bar. "Drink?"
"Thanks - but I'm driving. Best not."
John has told them he is twenty-nine, which would make him more than ten years younger than either of them. He is tall, sandy-haired, slim and smartly dressed. Casual jacket, pristine white shirt, no tie. He looks round, seats himself on the edge of the bed, relaxed, confident. But slightly puzzled. "Is she - er?"
"In the bathroom. Are you OK with what we agreed?"
"Sure. If that will be what you want, both of you."
"Oh yes. We've talked about it. Just the way we agreed on the phone. Don't hold back. She wants to do it. And she's good. Can you - make it last?"
John nods. "Be a waste not to, wouldn't it?"
"Good. I'll get her."
He taps on the bathroom door. She appears immediately, as though she has been waiting for the summons. Any fears he may have had about her commitment are dispelled by her appearance. She steps forward wearing a lacy black bra - necessary to support ample breasts - matching black french knickers, suspender belt, black stockings, high heels.
She says, "Hello. You must be John." Only the huskiness' in her voice reveals that she is not as assured as tries to appear.
"And you,"says John, rising to take hold of both her hands, surveying her at arms' length, "you are even more gorgeous than I was led to believe."
She bobs her head awkwardly, pleased by the compliment, unsure how to respond. Instead, she moves into him, clasps her hands behind his neck and kisses him. It is a long, deep, open-mouthed kiss, tongues exploring, asking, consenting. John cups his hands round her bottom, feeling the firm shape of the buttocks, pulling her against his groin.
The husband, satisfied that the first moves have been made promisingly. returns to his armchair in the corner. He delves into a bag and extract a camera. This is part of the deal with John.
Meanwhile, the couple’s kiss has melded into a stripping session. The wife has been impatiently, opening buttons, belt buckle, easing him out of shirt, slacks, socks until all that remains are boxer shorts with a stiff extension at the front. Now John is removing her clothes, one item at a time, extremely slowly. The bra comes away and is allowed to fall to the floor. John bends his head and licks first at one nipple, then at the other. The husband half rises from his chair to frame the erect dark protrusions as they react to John’s tonguing.
“Wonderful tits. My cock will feel good on those.”
This is part of the deal. John gets to do anything the wife is prepared to accept as long as he provides uninhibited comment for the husband and his camera.
The wife says, “Not until I suck it.” Her fingers are inside the waistband of his boxers, sliding them down. He steps out of them. His cock springs up at an angle of forty-five degrees to his flat torso. The head, engorged, a deep red in colour, is circumcised. The husband wonders if John will be able to fulfil his promise to prolong the encounter. His own cock is pressing against its confines.
John has been led to the bed where he is lying on his back, cock pointing almost to the ceiling. She crouches over him, licks the tip, drops saliva on the shaft and grips it with her right hand. As she goes to work, licking, sucking, handling, the husband moves round to get a shot of her raised arse distending the black knickers.
It’s time for John to make his contribution and he doesn’t disappoint. “Take it all in, darling. As much as you can cope with.” Pause, the only sounds are the wife’s greedy slurping and the clicks of the camera. “That’s good. Lick under there, then suck - faster, harder.”
The husband is back in his chair, checking the shots already captured. He lets his hand descend to his groin where there is a growing demand. He says, “Keep talking, John. She’s a fantastic sucker, isn’t she?”
“The best. My cock’s right at the back of her throat. She’s not gagging, but I want her on her back. Get your camera ready.”
Positions change on the bed. John is now kneeling beside her head, stroking his increasingly potent cock. “Open your mouth,” he says. “Wide. Then suck when I start to face fuck you.”
Her lips close round the knob, the shaft slides in. He begins to fuck. Her cheeks hollow as she sucks.
John looks at the husband. “Brilliant,” he says, “you don’t often get a mouth as clever as this. And the way she uses her tongue ... slowly, darling, you don’t want a load down your throat yet.”
Her hand snakes inside the waistband of her knickers, fingers searching out her clit. Another camera shot. He could get this at home during one of their mutual masturbation sessions, but now she has a stranger’s cock ramming in and out of her mouth and she is on heat in a way she seldom experiences.
A glance down shows John the woman’s self-stimulation. He asks, “Is she going to cum? She’s a repeater, I take it?”
“As many times as you give it to her,” the husband says. “Watch her arse come up off the bed. That’ll tell you.”
Seconds later, she writhes and jerks, clamps her hand on her cunt lips to sustain the orgasm, then subsides. John withdraws his cock from her mouth and looks down approvingly.