Well, the pandemic put a crimp in the activities of the Play Group, but we found some workarounds that I will describe in later stories, but for this episode I will pick up the story of our group sex life where I left off.

About a month after the poker night described in a previous story, in which my sexy slut wife Melanie impersonated a French maid for the entertainment of my poker pals, we scheduled another one. Our friend Steve, who had given up playing poker with us after repeatedly sustaining heavy losses, had heard about Melanie's performance as Francine at the last game from the other guys in lurid detail, so he had elected to join us for this one, which meant there would be six players this time rather than the previous five.

When I informed Melanie that the boys were all coming round on this Friday night to play cards she smiled like a Cheshire cat and immediately asked, “So, can I play again?”

To be clear, when Melanie said “play” she did not mean cards. She was asking whether she could play the total slut with my friends – again.

“Of course,” I responded immediately. “The guys would be seriously disappointed if you didn't. Why do you think Steve is coming to lose all his money again?”

“Ooh, for me?” Melanie cooed.

“You bet. He's panting for a piece of your ass. Think about it: it's been quite a while since you last banged him.”

“Sure, but Wendy keeps him busy.” Wendy is Steve's blonde wife.

“Yes, but she's not in the same league as you, is she?” I responded.

“Well, thank you, kind sir,” Melanie purred, with a self-satisfied smile.

“So will Francine be back?” I asked hopefully, referring to her tarty alter-ego who had gang-banged the poker group at the last game.

“No, I have a new girl for you this time,” she answered, giving me a lascivious wink.

“Great, what's this one like?” I inquired.

“Sluttier.” She smirked.

“Not possible.”

“Wait and see,” she teased, and would say no more.

**********

Friday night rolled around and all of the guys turned up promptly around seven o'clock. Melanie greeted them all at the door with hugs and kisses, frenching Jake, my best friend and her lover, and Pete, her favourite among the remainder and blond like Jake, shamelessly, to raucous approval from the other guys, who then demanded similar perks. Melanie, bring Melanie, obliged. I noticed that they all felt her up thoroughly in the process, with no protest from my slutty wife. As soon as they were all inside she took off to the bedroom to “get gussied up”.

Steve, Tom and Phil made up the remainder of the poker group. Steve is tallish, about five-eleven, another blond, with a gym rat's body. Only now did it dawn on me that Melanie's penchant for blonds was heavily represented in the group. Jake, Pete and Steve are all blonds. My hair is black, so I guess black-haired guys are keepers, but blonds are playthings as far as my wife is concerned. Yeah, I'm gonna go with that. Mind you, she is Jake's mistress, and that is a permanent arrangement. Oh well, it's the exception that proves the rule. I should probably mention, for the benefit of those that have not read the earlier instalments, that Jake's gorgeous wife Sue is my mistress too: it's a reciprocal arrangement, and she is Mel's best friend, as Jake is mine.

I got the guys settled around the dining table, which was covered with a green baize cloth in honour of poker night, with cold beers in their hands. By the time Melanie reappeared, we had already played a couple of hands of seven-card stud; this was a whole new Melanie! This one was a red-headed tart! Her long, straight, dark brown hair was tucked away under a red wig that tumbled over her shoulders in a mass of loose ringlets and her usually flawless natural beauty was hidden behind a mask of powder, blue eyeliner, scarlet lipstick and enormous false eyelashes. The scarlet of her nails was an exact match to her lipstick.

As she entered the room she was walking directly toward us and I was a little surprised and somewhat disappointed by how demure her French Maid outfit was. The black dress came down to mid-thigh over black stockings and black five-inch stiletto heels, with a tiny white lace apron tied at her waist. A modest amount of cleavage was revealed by an oval cutout just below the halter neck, but that was all. I had been expecting something outrageous, her usual style. The ensemble was completed by a white lace mob cap.

“Bonsoir,” she greeted us in an execrable French accent. “I am called Chantalle. Madame Melanie 'ave 'ired me for zee night. She say I 'ave to make youse all 'appy. Pas de probleme. Chantalle is good at making men 'appy. You like beer now? Ah, bon.”

So saying, she bustled past us to go into the kitchen, walking away from us, and there it was! The dress was totally outrageous after all. It had literally no back! It was secured by the halter neck and a narrow belt at the waist with a velcro closing. And my nympho wife was wearing nothing but a pair of black seamed stockings and a black lace garter belt. The rear view was all gorgeous long, long legs and that perfect, round, world-class ass.

“Christ on a crutch, will ya get a load of that,” exclaimed Pete breathlessly

“I'm hoping to get a load in that,” rejoined Phil.

“We all are, dummy,” said Tom.

“I'm sure we all will,” I affirmed.

“God, these pants are uncomfortable now,” muttered Steve.

“Ah, I can 'elp wit zat,” 'Chantalle' crooned as she sashayed up to the table with a tray of cold beers. Circling the table she placed a fresh beer before each man, pausing long enough in each delivery to allow all the guys to enjoy the view of her delectable bare ass and those lovely stocking-clad legs, and to fondle her various assets extensively. When she eventually circled back to Steve she bent smoothly from the waist, whipped down his zipper, unbuckled his belt and deftly fished his cock out of his shorts, then dropped to a crouch and stuffed his dick into her mouth, swallowing all the way down to his balls. Her head bobbed up and down as she blew him for a couple of minutes, until his swollen member was as hard as a rock. Then she stepped astride his lap, her back towards him, and slowly impaled herself on his dick until it was fully embedded in her, at which point she swung her long legs up and rested her feet on the table. Nobody was looking at their cards anymore: all eyes were on those long legs and that meat-stuffed pussy. Everybody seemed to be having trouble with their breathing.

“Madame Melanie 'ave tell me,” she began conversationally, “dat Francine no let you mens do 'er trou de cul, 'ow you say en Anglais, um, ass-hole I t'ink. So, me I t'ink, 'ow 'bout we start ce soir avec tous les messieurs do Chantalle's ass-hole, eh? You like?”

At this point, she spread her legs wide and began massaging Steve's scrotum gently with the palm of her right hand. Steve groaned.

“Yes please,” he murmured.

“I'm in,” Jake said loudly.

“Ah, oui, Madame Melanie 'ave tell me 'bout you, M'sieur Jake. You like, 'ow she say? Er, nice piece of ass, I t'ink.”

There was a general chorus of assent around the table, so Chantalle swung her legs down and stood up, with Steve's rigid dick falling from her vagina with an audible 'plop' as she rose. She then placed her hands flat on the table, bending from the waist and spreading her long legs in a wide straddle.

“So, 'oo eez first?” she inquired, slapping her bare buttocks to emphasize her point. Pete bounced up out of his seat and rushed up behind her before anybody else could beat him to it.

Chantalle shook her red head ruefully.

“You must get all dee clothes off, s'il vous plait, m'sieur,” she chided. “Chantalle like 'er mens naked. All 'er mens.”

There was a mad scramble, clothes flying in all directions, as we men all rushed to comply.

Pete sidled up close behind Chantalle/Melanie, parted her buttocks and slid his already diamond-hard penis up to her rectum, easing the head in slowly then ramming the remainder home forcefully. He, like everybody else, had been up there before and knew that my wife, whatever role she was playing, liked to be ridden hard and fast in all orifices. Chantalle thrust her ass back into him and began grinding her hips and making appreciative noises. Pete slid his hands around to the front, inside her dress, and grabbed her by the tits, hauling her back into him to get maximum penetration as he jacked her hard. Chantalle braced herself and thrust back just as hard, equally eager to get his dick as deep inside her as possible. Pete gave her right buttock a resounding slap to encourage her performance and she responded by speeding up her famous ass-grind, slipping into high gear.

Pete blew his wad up her ass after about five minutes at this frantic pace, gasped and pulled out. Chantalle was not even breathing heavily.

Jake stepped up immediately. No surprise there. Despite the fact that he has unlimited access to my wife's sexual favours whenever he wants and the fact that Melanie obliges him frequently, he is still obsessed with my wife's ass. Melanie and Sue both refer to him, justifiably, as the Ass Bandit. I think his ambition is to die with his dick up my wife's ass! Anyway, he was up Chantalle's ass in seconds after Pete vacated the slot, the result of familiarity and extensive practice. He went for it right from the get-go, grabbing her by the hips and hammering home so powerfully he was lifting her high heels from the floor. Chantalle was loving it: she lowered her stance, shifting her grip to the edge of the table, lowering her upper body until it was parallel to the floor and thrusting back hard with her buttocks, so that there was an audible slap each time Jake's belly hit her ass. Jake got carried away as he came up her ass, grabbing the front of her thighs and lifting her into the air on his cock, holding her against him as he erupted. Chantalle flapped her arms a bit to retain her balance. When Jake ran out of gas he placed her softly back on the ground, slipped out of his favourite place and gave her ass a gentle 'thank you' slap. Chantalle turned, placed his hands on her breasts and stuck her tongue down his throat for about five minutes before coming up for air. I guess she had enjoyed that.

Tom gave Jake a shove to move him out of the way, turned Chantalle back to the table and jammed his dick up her anus as soon as she was bent over, holding her buttocks apart so that he could get in right up to his balls. Chantalle reached between her legs and rubbed Tom's nuts for the first few minutes, until things became so tempestuous that she needed both hands to retain her balance. Tom's emphasis seemed to be on making sure that his balls were right up against her rectum at the end of every thrust. He pushed Chantalle down until her torso was flat on the table then leaned over her to try to get even further up her ass. When he came he stayed pressed tight into her anus until his dick stopped throbbing. When he finally stepped back Chantalle turned to him and murmured, “Magnifique, m'sieur. You can 'ave more of dat later si tu veut.”

“You bet,” Tom replied with a huge grin. “I really like you, Chantalle.” Tom being playful, that's a first.

Steve and Phil both got up at the same time then paused uncertainly.

“Go ahead, Steve,” said Phil gracefully.

“Thanks, man,” Steve replied. “I honestly think if I have to wait any longer I am gonna pop my cork.” Phil laughed and waved him ahead.

Steve was not exaggerating. He drove his swollen, rigid cock up Chantalle's ass in one smooth stroke, banged her ass enthusiastically for less than three minutes, then flooded her ass so copiously with his semen that Melanie later told me she thought he might never stop.

“Ah, m'sieur, 'as it been so long?” she asked sympathetically.

“No, not at all,” answered Steve, blushing furiously. “It's just that you're so damned sexy.”

“Ah, you 'ave another go later zen? Yes?”

“Yes.”

“C'est bon.”

Phil looked at me enquiringly: I nodded him ahead.

Chantalle had resumed her position bending over the table. Phil, who is an easy-going, soft-spoken guy of average height with longish mid-brown hair and a neatly trimmed cowboy moustache, moved in behind her then paused to examine the fastenings of her half-dress. He quickly pulled apart the velcro fastening at her waist then lifted the halter off over her head without mussing her red ringlets and finally refastened the velcro around her waist, leaving her with her ample breasts fully exposed. Chantalle responded by turning towards him, cupping her breasts with both hands and inquiring, “You like my tits, M'sieur... ?”

“Phil. And yes, they are lovely. May I?” Phil replied, holding his hands palm out a few inches from the items being discussed.

“Bien sur,” Chantalle agreed, stepping forward to thrust her tits firmly into his grip. Phil took the nipples between his thumbs and index fingers, tweaking them gently until they stood up hard and proud, then bent over to suckle on each in turn. Chantalle, alias my wife, pulled gently on his crank while he did so. When she had him fully aroused she turned back to the table, resting on her forearms this time, reached between her legs to grasp his cock and eased it into her back door. Phil rammed it all the way home, parting her buttocks with his thumbs and spreading them wide until his balls were ensconced in the crack. Then he really gave it to her, hard, fast and deep, just the way she likes it. Reaching around, he grabbed two generous handfuls of tit and used them to haul her hard onto his cock at the end of each stroke. Chantalle began moaning and slamming her ass back into him as hard as she could, riding his dick like a rodeo cowgirl. Phil did her like that for a good twenty minutes before giving her the fifth load up her ass.

I stepped up while he was still pulling his dripping cock from her ass and slipped my diamond-cutter erection up that freshly lubricated tunnel in one swift slide, bottoming out with a bang.

“Ah, Madame Melanie's 'usband, Nick, n'est pas? Madame Melanie, she tell Chantalle to, 'ow she say, bang your brains out. Is right, yes?”

“Sounds like Mel,” I answered with a grin that she could not see with her back towards me. It was hot, wet and slippery up there.

“Chantalle do you good,” she purred. And she did. Based on her subsequent performance you would never have known that she had already ass-fucked five other guys. She shimmied and shook like a sheet in a hurricane, alternately pumping each leg up and down in an accelerating rhythm, circling her hips and grinding her ass back into me so hard it actually began to hurt. 'Hurts so good,' eh? Just like the old song says! You bet!

I have to admit, she shagged me rather than me shagging her, milking me with her ass. I blew my stack after ten minutes or so at her frantic pace and fairly staggered back to my seat. That's why I went last; I knew she always saved the best performance for last. And the evening was just beginning.

From my seat, watching her adjust her outfit, getting the top back in place, pulling up her stockings and adjusting the garters, I ventured, “You know, Chantalle, Madame Melanie was supposed to tell you not to interrupt the card playing. You are only supposed to entertain us at the intermission and after the game.”

“She tell me,” Chantalle acknowledged. “But Chantalle t'ink dee mens, dey look 'ungry, so she feed 'em. You no like?”

“Oh, I like very much, but Madame Melanie might be angry.”

“Ach no, Madame Melanie be very 'appy,” Chantalle proclaimed with a lascivious wink, making us all laugh. “More beer?” she added.

There was a general chorus of assent.

**********

So we played to the halfway mark naked, with Chantalle parading up and back with fresh rounds of beer at regular intervals and the guys all feeling her up each time she did. Poker was clearing being relegated into second place in favour of poking her.

We all adjourned to the living room for the intermission, sprawling naked on the white leather sofas. Chantalle moved from man to man, placing a cold beer in each man's hand then kneeling down beside him to suck his cock into throbbing life. When we were all up, so to speak, she asked, “Soixante-neuf, youse all know dis number?”

We all agreed that we were very familiar with this particular number.

“You like? Now?” she continued.

A raucous acclaim of cheers, “Yeah!”, and “Right on”

Chantalle stood, ripped open the velcro waist fastening of her minimal dress, flipped the halter over her head and dropped the dress to the floor. Seizing the nearest plonker, which happened to be Jake's, she hauled him off the sofa by it, ignoring his yelps, pushed him to the floor, straddled his face with those long black-stockinged legs, lowered her pussy until it was smothering his mouth, then lay down to take his cock deep into her mouth as Jake began to slurp on the moist, glowing inner pink of her spread pussy. She jerked him off with her right hand as her scarlet lip-sticked lips slid up and down his slightly under-sized cock, the head never leaving her mouth, her tongue circling it at the top of each stroke, teeth lightly grazing the rim for added stimulation.

After a few minutes, Jake's mouth and nose were so deep in Chantalle's vagina that I began to worry about the possibility of suffocation, but his chest was still rising and falling so I knew he must be okay.

Chantalle eventually dropped her hand from Jake's dick and began just swallowing the whole thing down with each bob of her head, and Jake began bucking his hips to drive it as deep into her throat as he could. A few minutes of this and his dick began to throb and Chantalle began swallowing. When she had sucked him dry Chantalle simply stepped off his face, staying on her knees, and called out “Next!”

Steve lurched up and strolled over, lying down on the carpet next to Chantalle. She immediately stepped over his face on her knees, went down on her forearms, one each side of his legs, and engulfed his average-sized cock in her mouth with a single gulp. She then rubbed his balls gently as her lips slid up and down the shaft. Steve reached round to the front of her thighs and pulled himself up until his face was buried in her bush, slurping happily.

My angle of view was different for this coupling; from this direction, Chantalle was all glorious ass, dripping, wide open pussy, long white thighs, black stockings and high heels, with Steve's blond hair making an interesting contrast with Chantalle's thick, red-tinted pubic hair. Oh yes, it had been tinted to match the red wig.

It did not take long at all for Chantalle to get him off. Steve exploded in her mouth and she drank it all down greedily then licked his dick clean before rolling off and yelling “Next!” again.

She worked her way through the remaining four of us in about half an hour, each encounter following the same pattern, her thighs alongside our ears, our tongues in her pussy, her mouth's solicitous attention to our cocks, culminating in her mouthfuls of semen and her long drinks. When we all pronounced ourselves well satisfied Chantalle poured herself a tall lager glass of chilled white wine and poured herself languidly onto a vacant sofa, reclining like a centrefold model, which she could easily have been.

We resumed our poker game, with the guys lewdly comparing the 'new girl's' performance with that of Melanie's earlier alter-ego, Francine. They unanimously agreed that Chantalle was even sluttier than Francine, whose performance was what had brought them here in the first place, hoping for an encore.

“And the evening is not over yet by any means,” I reminded them.

“You're right, and the last part was the best part last time,” Pete enthused.

“I'm betting Chantalle will top that,” Tom opined.

“Is that even possible?” Phil mused.

”God, I hope so,” Pete breathed.

“I'm sure she will do us all proud,” I assured my randy friends.

“Huh. I wasn't here last time, so I have nothing to compare Chantalle to,” Steve grumped.

“You snooze, you lose,” Pete rejoined.

“The price of admission is regular attendance at the poker game,” I pointed out.

”Yeah, I reckon it's worth losing a few bucks to you guys to get into this action,” Steve muttered. “I guess I'm back in from now on.”

“Wise choice,” Pete complimented. “By the way, when do we get to do the lovely Wendy again?”

Wendy is Steve's blonde wife, who fucks like a rattlesnake and wails like a banshee while she is at it.

“Next Play group meeting, I guess,” Steve replied. “She is fair chomping at the bit for another orgy. She loved being gang-banged.”

“We heard,” contributed Phil, with a sly grin. We all laughed. Mel and I had a semi-serious discussion about installing soundproofing after the racket she made last time. We don't want to disturb the neighbours.

Chantalle walked past on her way to the kitchen, eliciting some very personal comments as the rear view passed by. She returned in a couple of minutes with more cold beer, popping one down in front of each guy and leaning into the groping hands appreciatively.

“Is eleven clock now. 'Ave you finish? Chantalle 'orny,” she said, standing there with her tits hanging out, wearing nothing but a garter belt, stockings and heels, smiling a mega-watt smile.

“I say we're done,” Pete suggested, folding his cards as he spoke. The rest of us immediately followed suit. What was on offer was much more appealing than cards.

Chantalle led us to the lower-level Party Pit off the living room.

Kneeling, she instructed, “We start wit' two.” She held up two fingers in case some of us could not count that high. “Together, eh?”

We all nodded our acquiescence.

“M'sieur Nick, lie 'ere.” She pointed to the floor next to her. I complied and she promptly mounted me in the reverse cowgirl position, then lay back on my chest with her legs spread wide.

“You, m'sieur.” She pointed at smiling blond Jake. “ 'Ere.” Pointing at her pussy.

“Er, that's a bit full right now,” Jake observed, “Nick is in occupation.”

“Oui. Two.” Holding up two fingers again. “ 'Ere.” she insisted.

“You want both dicks in your pussy?” Jake asked, just to be certain he wasn't hallucinating.

“Oui.”

“This is new,” Jake murmured to me as he knelt between her legs. I nodded.

Jake gave his dick a couple of strokes for maximum rigidity, then forced it into her pussy above mine. Chantalle hooked her high heels behind his shoulder blades, all her weight now on my chest, and said “Go.”

I thrust up and in, Jake thrust down and in, we established a coordinated rhythm and banged her hard, two cocks squelching loudly in her sopping wet snatch.

“Ah, c'est merveilleux,” she purred in that terrible accent.

I took her by the tits as the pace sped up, tweaking her nipples and massaging her breasts. Her uterus was becoming very warm and wet, her juices running over my belly as the two dicks forced them out.

Jake came before me and pulled out immediately. I exploded five minutes later.

As Chantalle rolled off me she murmured in my ear, “You like?”

“It was great,” I murmured back, getting a pleased smile in return.

“You an' you,” she said, pointing at Pete and Tom. Then she flipped over onto her knees, presenting them with a terrific show of ass and pussy, and slapped her ass. “ 'Ere,” she said again.

Pete got it quicker than Tom.

You want both dicks up your ass at the same time?” he queried incredulously.

“Oui.”

“Coming right up,” Pete punned with a grin.

“All the way,” added Tom, having finally caught up.

Chantalle pushed Tom down on the carpet then crouched over his cock and guided it up her back passage as she lowered herself down on it, facing his feet. When it was fully embedded she shifted to a kneeling position and bent forward to lie on his thighs, ass in the air. Pete settled himself astride Tom's chest, behind Chantalle, and eased his good-sized cock into her rectum above Tom's. It was a tight fit and required some forceful pressure. When both dicks were in place and aligned vertically he said, Now push, gently,” to Tom. Tom complied and they both slid home until they were up to their balls in her.

I briefly marvelled that they could both get in there, until I remembered Jim forcing his sixteen-incher up there repeatedly over the long weekend not too long ago. I figure their combined girth was probably still less than Jim's solo.

The two of them porked her ass hard for quite a while and had Chantalle moaning happily by the end, pushing back hard with her ass for maximum penetration, with Pete coming first, closely followed by Tom.

They had barely extracted their penises from her ass when Chantalle demanded Steve and Phil's attentions.

“ 'Ere an' 'ere,” she said, indicating pussy and ass.

“Ah, a true DP,” observed Phil. “I'll take the ass.”

At which Steve lay down, Chantalle mounted him reverse cowgirl and Phil drove his cock up her ass.

Chantalle leaned into it as they pounded on her pussy and ass respectively. It made a great picture for the cameras that were recording all of the evening's action. I was sure that the Play Group would enjoy watching the video at our next meeting. Chantalle's tits were bouncing and swinging wildly at the repeated impacts of both dicks from behind, she was slamming her ass down and back to meet each double bang, her beautiful long legs were flexing repeatedly as she rode both cocks and her ass was in constant motion. Great stuff!

Both guys came at the same time with Chantalle grinding down on both throbbing cocks as they did so.

“Wine,” Chantalle demanded as she disengaged.

**********

After another tall glass of Chardonnay Chantalle was ready for her grand finale. She headed back to the Party Pit, turned to face the gang and said tersely, “T'ree,” holding up three fingers this time, clearly a much more difficult number for us to comprehend. Then, pointing, “You, you, you.” Jake, Pete and Steve; the three blonds.

“That's what you call a no-brainer, isn't it?” I observed, trying for guileless.

“Enough with the blond jokes already,” snapped Jake, who is a little sensitive on that subject because Melanie and Sue, both brunettes, tease him constantly about it. Pete and Steve just laughed.

Steve lay down on the carpet, Chantalle mounted him reverse cowgirl, Jake stepped over his chest an drove his dick up Chantalle's delightful ass and Pete knelt in front of her to stick his cock into her mouth. Airtight.

Away they went, hell for leather, pounding all three orifices, with Chantalle writhing, wriggling and sucking like a vacuum cleaner. Pete's balls were bouncing on her chin as she swallowed his entire ten inches, Jake's were banging on the back door, and Steve's were trying to crawl inside her vagina.

After several minutes the guys changed positions: Jake moved to Chantalle's pussy, Pete to her ass and Steve to her mouth. Pete slapped her ass and away they went again. Pete went after her ass like a beaver on speed, holding her buttocks spread wide and driving right up to his balls on every stroke at maximum power, rocking her entire body. Jake was bucking like a bronco underneath her and Steve's cock was right down her throat. Chantalle was loving it all, riding and swallowing like a champion. All the guys came before they could change positions again. When they dismounted Chantalle just lay there gasping for several minutes before exclaiming, “Magnifique!”

It took several more minutes for Chantalle's breathing to return to normal, whereupon she signalled for Tom, Phil and me to take over where the other three had left off.

“I want that pretty ass,” Tom said quietly as we moved in, so Phil took pussy and I took mouth.

It was a wild ride, with Chantalle giving it her all. She swallowed my eleven inches with no problem at all, not surprising given the years of practice she has had as her real self. That's the problem with role-playing; the basic equipment remains the same.

Tom reamed her ass, his dick like an auger, burrowing deep and hard. Phil worked her pussy equally hard, and I was bruising her lips. Tom was the first to come, giving her ass yet another gusher. I was next, with Chantalle drinking deep. Phil popped shortly thereafter and Chantalle rolled off him, panting and sweating, all tits and long legs.

“Chantalle go 'ome now,” she eventually muttered, rising and disappearing in the direction of the bedroom.

I brought everyone one last beer to slake the thirst created by their heroic efforts.

“You gotta invite Chantalle back for the next game, man,” Pete suggested.

“You got it,” I agreed readily.

As the guys were dressing, prior to departing, Melanie put in an appearance. She was wearing nothing but a pair of silver high-heeled sandals and a smile. All traces of Chantalle were gone, except for the red in her pubic hair. She kissed each guy goodbye, allowing their hands to go everywhere. When she got to Jake she said, “Not you, you're staying,” and moved on.

Once the others had all departed she grabbed Jake and me by the hand and led us through to the master bedroom where I was amazed to see Sue sprawling on the bed in a short, totally transparent negligee.

“Where did you come from?” I asked.

“I've been here all night, working the cameras from my laptop,” she replied. “Zooming in to get some great close-ups. I thought it would be better than just all the point of view shots once I have edited all the footage.” She is our photographic genius.

“And she is as horny as hell, having watched that action all night,” Melanie told us. “So it is up to you two to sort her out. I'm going to sleep. I have actually had enough for one night.”

“Not words I hear often,” I muttered to Jake.

“Get to it,” my wife ordered.

I sighed. Jake groaned. It was going to be a really long night.