“Not long to wait, Cuck. I can hear them on the stairs.”
I glanced at the screen, seeing the man swallow hard. He didn’t respond verbally, but that was nothing to me. Instead, I trained the camera on the doorway so that he would see what I saw as my wife showed his wife into the room.
Relaxing in an armchair I watched as they came toward me; my wife dressed in glossy, black leggings and a blue tunic pinched tight across her bosom, Pippa all in white in a close-fitting top, a loose-fitting skirt, and heels. I glanced at the screen again, registering the anxious expression of the man who knew that something was about to happen to his wife, just not exactly what. Shock registered as my wife stood behind Pippa and slowly lifted her top to reveal the bold, lipsticked scrawl across her belly: “BUILT TO BE USED,” and below that, “HANDLE WITHOUT CARE”.
My wife pulled the top back down, but only to pull Pippa’s skirt up far enough to expose the same shade of lettering on her inner thighs, both adorned with the words, “FUCK HOLE THIS WAY,” and corresponding arrows.
The husband’s eyes were popping out of his head. There seemed little point in drawing anything out. “Come here, Pippa,” I said, crooking a finger. The woman stepped forward, my wife beside her, holding out her hand to take the camera as I said, “Well let’s see about this fuck hole, shall we?”
I placed my hands on the writing, glancing at the screen to see the husband’s reluctant need as he watched. Then I gave Pippa my full attention, my hands slowly wandering up her skirt until they encountered fabric. “I think there must be some mistake,” I said. “There’s something in the way of your fuck hole.”
“I’m happy to take my knickers off if you want,” Pippa said.
My wife flashed me a merry grin, the camera trained on the action. Yes, we’d chosen well, albeit on a whim when we learned the woman’s name; pippa being Swedish slang for ‘shag' (verb, not noun), something we’d learned while holidaying abroad.
“No, you can keep them on for the moment,” I said, rising, allowing my wife to sit, the camera registering the action as I moved behind Pippa, grabbing hold of her tits and giving a good squeeze while I looked over her shoulder at the husband. He flinched as she whimpered. “Handle without care,” I murmured. “Instruction duly noted.”
The expressions of husband and wife on the screen provided a contrast; the one with an anxious frown, the other displaying wanton expectation. Thus encouraged, I slid my hands down, pulling up Pippa’s skirt and rubbing my hand across the transparent purple underneath. Then, with no further ado, I shoved one hand down the front of her panties, taking the lipsticked words at face value, running my finger down her slit, easily finding the hole in question and curling two fingers inside.
