“What do you think?” my wife asked, turning her head sideways and giving me a look that was both shy and teasing.

“I like it. I like it a lot,” I replied as Karen turned her attention back to the full-length mirror in our bedroom. She tugged at the hem of the red dress she had just bought. It was a couple of inches shorter than she would normally wear and ended well above her knees.

I should explain that it had been bought for a specific event. For some years, my wife had been involved in a group of local mums and they were all now reaching the milestone of their fortieth birthdays.

In fact, Karen was the oldest at forty-two, but two members of the group, Annette and Jayne, had their fortieth birthday on consecutive days and a joint celebration was planned. Annette was the most extrovert member of the group, and a weekend away for all the women in the group and their partners had been her idea.

In truth, Annette was the unofficial leader of the group and I have to be honest and say that she was a bit too bossy for my liking. There was also an attention-seeking side to her which I put down to a family history that included a lot of involvement with amateur dramatics.

Nevertheless, she was very friendly with my wife, Karen, which surprised me because Karen was a quieter and more conservative person. Anyway, I saw a fair bit of Annette and we got along fine, though she wasn’t my favourite person, and I had a strong suspicion that the feeling was reciprocated.

I might not have been overly fond of Annette, but her ideas for the weekend away definitely met with my approval. Through a family friend, she had got the use of a six-bedroom country house in rural Suffolk, and Karen rather nervously told me that the women had agreed that the Saturday night celebration would be themed as a tarts and vicars party.

Karen was worried that I would disapprove of her dressing up in a tarty fashion, but I soon reassured her that wasn’t the case. We’ve been married for twenty years and I wouldn’t say our sex life was in a rut, but inevitably some of the excitement had evaporated and a sexy weekend away was probably long overdue.

In case you’re not familiar with the concept, I should explain that at a tarts and vicars party the women all dress in a revealing, tarty (i.e. sluttish) fashion and the men have to dress as sober, staid (i.e. boring) country vicars. Apparently, the original suggestion had been to have everyone in period costume in keeping with the country house where we were staying, but that had proved expensive and impractical, so Annette had suggested tarts and vicars instead.

Karen didn’t have a dress which counted as tarty so she had gone out shopping and come back with a little red dress. She was modelling it for me now together with the seamed stockings and the black high heels she had bought. It wasn’t hugely revealing, but it was definitely shorter and more low-cut than anything else she owned. In fact, as she changed position to check different angles in the mirror, I noticed that the slit at the back of the dress meant the lace top of her hold-ups (and indeed some of the bare flesh above that) was easily visible.

I felt a pleasurable stiffening in my penis when I saw that. Not because of the flesh on display, but because I knew the men in our group would be treated to the same view. Karen is a very attractive woman and has kept her looks incredibly well; people are often very surprised to find that she is in her forties.

There had been times when I’d seen some of the other men studying her appreciatively. I didn’t feel jealous or angry about that, I liked the fact that I had an attractive wife, but there was another side to it as well.

For some time I’d fantasised about watching another man fuck my innocent wife. Eventually, I plucked up the courage and told Karen. She was shocked, but to my relief, she wasn’t upset, though she did say it wasn’t going to happen. Nevertheless, the idea of including another man in our lovemaking did become a regular item of pillow talk and invariably got both of us pretty aroused. 

Of course, all this was running through my mind as I watched Karen checking herself in the mirror.

“You’re sure it’s alright?” she asked me again. “I’m not showing too much, am I?”

“No, all it shows is that you’ve still got a great figure.” At that moment she bent over to pick up her hairbrush and I was treated to a great view down the front of her dress. I could see her 36D breasts nestling in the cups of a black bra. God I love her tits. They’re world-class, full and satisfying with prominent nipples and large, dark areola.

“And when you bend over it shows you’ve got great tits,” I added with a laugh. She came across and aimed a friendly blow at me, I dodged and tried to grab her, but she skipped away.

“Oh no, you’re not messing my new clothes up,” she laughed. Not now, I thought, but if I had anything to do with it, they were going to get thoroughly messed up at some stage.

One month later

“What do you think?” I asked Steve and Martyn. “I reckon we have a very good chance.”

“I’d say it’s pretty certain,” said Steve with a confident grin. “They’re experienced married women, they know what it’s for. Think about how they’ve set this up – the clothes, the game. There’s going to be a lot of sex tonight, what we can’t predict is who and when.”

Martyn didn’t look convinced, but I had to agree with Steve. We hadn’t pushed or prompted the women in any way; it had all been their idea. I’d got the first surprise when Annette had come up with the idea of a tarts and vicars party. The major surprise came however when Karen had shown me the red and black garter she had bought.

Apparently, it was another idea of Annette’s. There was going to be a game of hide and seek, but with a difference. All the women were going to wear garters and the men had to catch them and “claim” their garters.

It was the Saturday night and we were sat in the lounge of Shirewood House, the country house which we had hired for the weekend. It had six bedrooms and the young lad that I once was would have described it as a mansion, though I suspect the genuinely wealthy would have regarded it as nothing more than a pretentious farmhouse. However, it was over two hundred years old and did have a definite character about it.

The women were upstairs getting changed. Annette had stage-managed it all. The men had to get changed for dinner first and then the women got free run of the upstairs.

So far, the weekend had gone really well. There were five couples and some of them couldn’t get there until late on Friday so that had been a chill-out evening with nothing in particular planned.

In truth, we hadn’t done much during the day on Saturday. There had been some extra shopping to do (mainly for alcohol) and we had all taken the opportunity to explore the house and its extensive gardens. It was midsummer and fortunately the weather had been fine so most of the afternoon was spent relaxing and chatting on the patio.

I’d got a shower and changed for the evening. My outfit had been pretty easy – some boring grey trousers, a dog collar I’d bought from a fancy dress firm and a dark pullover. As a group, the men had looked pretty drab and there had been some good-natured mockery from our wives.

Now we were waiting for them and judging by the laughter and shouts coming from upstairs they were having a good time. It sounded like the bedroom doors were open and remarks were being shouted backwards and forwards. I was pleasantly surprised to hear Karen joining in with the banter even though it was difficult to tell what was being said. She’d been drinking wine in the afternoon and that had probably helped her lose some of her inhibitions.

There were five women and I was used to seeing them in everyday situations and clothing, but tonight the aim was to appear sexy. I was intrigued to see what they would look like and from the comments being made it was obvious the other husbands were just as keen as I was.

It seemed to take an age, but eventually we heard them coming downstairs. As I expected Annette led them into the room and it was equally predictable that she had chosen a low-cut dress which emphasised her ample bust. In all fairness, all the women were wearing low-cut tops. Lindsay was perhaps the most conservative of them all and also the least attractive, but even she looked bedworthy in a shiny purple blouse which had two or three more buttons undone than was necessary and exposed the deep cleft between her generous breasts.

Jayne’s slim build was perfectly suited to the red mini-skirt she had chosen and it was very obvious that she wasn’t wearing a bra beneath her white blouse. Karen was one of the last to enter and she had put on more make-up than usual without going over the top. I dislike make-up that’s caked on, but she’d avoided that mistake and the eye-shadow and lipstick she had chosen suited her long dark hair and at times almost Latin looks (not that there is anything remotely Latin in her families background).

Karen came across to me and the first thing she said was that she would have to be very careful because she’d discovered that from the rear you could easily see the tops of her stockings. I assured her that you could see some flesh as well.

“Why didn’t you warn me?”

“Because I thought it might put you off wearing the dress and anyway it’s only the odd glimpse. There’s a nice teasing quality about it which is very sexy.”

She tried not to show it, but I think she was actually quite pleased with my reply. It’s one of the odd things about Karen, essentially she’s a shy, conservative person, but after several years of marriage, I found that there was an exhibitionist side to her, though she normally keeps it well hidden.

She’s not vain or overly fashion-conscious, but she does like dressing up and to look attractive. Every now and again she has let me photograph her in various stages of undress and although she said it was only for my benefit, it invariably got her very wet and led to excellent sex.

I sincerely hoped that good sex was on the agenda for tonight, but the intriguing possibility was that it might not be with Karen. The women had arranged this game and despite instructions to the contrary the men had all agreed that whilst removing those garters we might just let our hands stray to more intimate parts of the female anatomy.

Steve is the most extrovert in our group and while the women were upstairs he had asked if any of us had a problem with someone else having “a bit of fun” with their wife. No one did.

So as we filed through into the dining room with its long wooden table my thoughts were very much on the possibilities ahead of us. A lot of wine and lager was being drunk, though I was careful not to drink too much; if called upon I wanted to be able to perform. There was definitely a flirtatious, sexy atmosphere. When the desserts were served Annette pulled a strawberry from her husband’s plate and pushed it between her breasts. Her husband Martyn drew loud cheers when he buried his head into her cleavage and emerged with the strawberry. Annette calmly got another strawberry and offered it to Tom sat on her other side. There were even louder cheers when he extracted it in a similar manner.

Even his normally strait-laced wife Lindsay was laughing; if anyone was going to object she would, so that barrier had been overcome quite easily. I shot a glance at Karen and she gave me an amused, almost knowing smile, which added to my feeling that the women had something planned.

By now I was impatient for the meal to finish and the real event to begin. Again it was Annette who took charge, rapping loudly on the table with a knife.

“Gentlemen it’s time to discover how good your hunting skills are. We’re going to disappear. In five minutes, when the clock says fifteen minutes past ten, you can pursue your quarry. We may be in the house or we may be hidden in the garden. When you catch one of these tarts you must remove her garter as a symbol of your conquest and then return her to the house and wait with her. In other words, it’s strictly one tart per vicar, we don’t want any greedy vicars capturing two tarts.”

There was some laughter and a few jokes as the women rose from the table, but there was a definite tension in the air and I think everyone knew the jokes were just an attempt to hide our nerves. I’m sure I wasn’t the only man who couldn’t believe his luck; our wives were dressed for sex and we were allowed to hunt them down and capture them. There was a very basic almost caveman-like mentality about it and the flirtatious atmosphere struggled to contain the lust simmering underneath.

The women were soon gone and we strained to hear and get some clues about where they were going, but there wasn’t much to go on. I got the impression that no-one had gone upstairs, but perhaps they had just negotiated the stairs very quietly.

It was odd, but as the moment approached none of us really knew what to say. I glanced at Bob, there was no way I could tell him that given a choice I would choose his wife Helen and happily push her dress up around her waist to help me locate her garter. And that would only be the start because what I really wanted was to pull her panties off and spread her legs.

It might sound disloyal, but I was clear that I didn’t want to catch Karen; I wanted to handle an unfamiliar woman. Just at that moment, Tom muttered that it would be just his luck to catch his wife.

“Well, let her escape and grab another woman,” said Steve with a pitying expression. There were nods of agreement and it was clear we were all on the same wavelength. I knew there would be no shortage of men willing to grab Karen and the thought of hands thrusting roughly up her dress only increased my excitement.

Finally, it was time and we opened the door from the dining room. One condition which Annette had arranged was that that the house was lit by candlelight which only added to the mystery and challenge. I decided to head outside, certain that some of the women must have gone out there. It was a warm evening and there was a three-quarter moon so the lighting wasn’t too bad.

Every ten paces or so I stopped and listened, straining for any clues. The only sound was made by Steve and Martyn moving through the garden as quietly as they could. I was in competition with at least two other men and I was desperate to beat them. It really mattered to me because at least one or two of us were going to struggle to capture a woman and I could imagine the inevitable remarks.

I had a strange feeling of heightened senses. There was a raw, metallic taste in my mouth and sounds which normally wouldn’t have registered suddenly became significant. I moved into the shadow of some trees and waited. Just as I was about to move on there was a scuffling of feet, a cry and the sounds of a struggle.

I moved cautiously towards the sounds and became aware of some movement just visible through the trees. A gap provided an almost clear view and I could see Lindsay stood with her back against a tree. The light was good enough to see the dark straps of her suspender belt, but more importantly, Martyn's hand was working busily between her legs.

He was stroking her pussy through her knickers and the voyeur in me urged him to slip his hand inside and finger fuck her. Then out of the corner of my eye, I saw another movement. It was largely hidden by the trees but the light-coloured clothing gave it away and made me realise it had to be one of the women.

Reluctantly I turned from the scene in front of me. The voyeur in me was tempted to stay and watch, but the need to capture my own woman was strong. If I moved to the end of this row of trees then I felt I might find myself in the ideal spot to intercept her. With an agonising mixture of care and urgency, I moved into place. I tried to scan the ground for any twigs or branches which might betray my movements, but had also to keep looking for more signs of my prey.

I felt a huge surge of relief when I got a glimpse of the pale clothing moving in the direction I had anticipated. At almost the same moment I realised that the pale dress had to belong to Annette. How oddly fitting that I would be grabbing hold of one of my wife’s best friends on her birthday. And how would she feel when she realised it was me?

Her movements were careful and quiet, but enough for me to track her approach from the other side of a dense conifer. Then she was past without even a glance towards the shadows where I lurked. It was an almost perfect ambush. Two strides and I was on her from behind. One hand went around her waist and trapped her arms against her sides; I clamped my other hand over her mouth.

“It seems I have captured you and I’m entitled to claim my prize.”

I slid my hand down from her mouth, slowly and very deliberately across her breasts then down further and a pause to caress the glorious swell of her pubic mound. There was no protest as my hand moved up the front of her dress, across the soft sheen of stockings, barely a pause at her garter, before moving on to the soft warm flesh above her stocking tops. My hand closed on her panties and as I caressed her I could feel the springy promise of her pubic hair nestling against my palm. I went to slip my hand inside her panties, but Annette grabbed my wrist.

“No, I’m sorry, but you’re not going there.” The disappointment was acute, but it was her call and at least she was wording it diplomatically (apologising to me in fact!).

I moved my hand lower and slipped her garter down. There was no struggle and indeed she raised her foot to help me remove it. Crouching there and seeing the silky promise of her knickers I bitterly regretted the fact that she had stopped me. That must have shown on my face because when I stood up she told me not to worry, it would be worth the wait.

“What do you mean?" I said, completely baffled.

“Don’t be so impatient,” she replied.

“No, come on, what do you mean by that?” I asked with a hint of edge to my voice.

“Patience,” was all she said as she put a finger to my lips to stop the questions I was going to blurt out. Then she held out her hand and led me towards the house.

We entered through the front door and the candlelit interior reminded me of a costume drama and made me wish that the women had dressed in period clothes.

Those stray thoughts were soon driven from my mind when we went into the lounge and I saw Karen sat in one of the chairs. An odd, almost shy smile passed between us.

With the arrival of Annette and I, there were now six people in the room, so just over half of us were accounted for. I sat on the chair arm next to Karen and asked her who’d caught her.

“Bob did. I was behind the curtains in the dining room, but it must have been too obvious because I was the second woman back here.”

Further conversation was interrupted when another couple returned. We soon worked out that only Steve and Helen were missing. I did think there might be a problem because if Helen had found a good hiding place then we could all be stood around like spare parts. I really was impatient to find out what the woman had in mind, because it seemed obvious to me that something had been planned.

Luckily I didn’t have too much longer to wait before Steve appeared with Helen. There were lots of comments about what they had been doing, but I learnt later that Steve had been searching the garden unsuccessfully and one of the women had had to tip him off about where Helen was hiding.

Annette had gathered together all the garters and I saw her exchanging looks with the women. She put them all into what looked like a felt bag and moved to centre stage in front of the fireplace.

“It’s time for the main event of the evening. Martyn, you were the first one back here so you get the first choice in tonight’s lucky dip. Pick a garter from the bag then you can escort its owner to her room."

There was a general buzz in the room at that and I turned to look at Karen. She gave me a wry smile.

“Surprised?”

“When did you hatch this plan? And did you all agree, even Lindsay?” I said with a nod towards the most conservative woman in the group.

“We all agreed it a while ago. I knew you wouldn’t mind and when I realised the others were up for it I decided to go with the flow.”

Martyn rummaged in the bag and pulled out a blue and white garter. Helen stood up rather coolly and didn’t even glance at her husband as she left the room with Martyn. I felt a definite twinge of disappointment and jealousy. Helen was very attractive and had a lovely curvy figure, but now there was no chance of me drawing her.

“Your wife was the first to be chosen,” Annette said to Bob. “So now it’s your turn.”

Bob reached confidently into the bag and a spasm passed through me when I saw he had pulled out Karen’s red and black garter. He scanned the room expectantly and Karen stood up in a nervous and rather embarrassed manner. As she headed for the door she gave a cautious glance in my direction, but averted her eyes as soon as she realised I was looking at her.

Bob stood aside to let her out of the room first and then they were gone. So that was it, my wife was going to be in our room with Bob. He would undress her, his hands would explore her body, she would lie back and spread her legs and then her pussy would yield to the rigid arrogance of his stiff prick.

Bob was a large, powerful man, carrying a bit too much weight in truth, but he was a regular at the gym and was in reasonable shape. He was only a couple of inches taller than me, but much bulkier, and although Karen isn’t petite I did wonder if she would find him a bit overwhelming. Or would his bulk and power appeal to her?

“When you’ve got a minute, Tony,” Annette said, looking quizzically at me. “Karen’s gone and it’s your turn to choose.”

That brought my focus back to the room. Two wives had been chosen, so I could end up with any one of three and clearly, there was no chance of picking my wife’s garter.

Somewhat to my surprise, I wasn’t too fussy who I picked. Lindsay was the least attractive woman in the group, but even so, there had been times when I’d found myself idly wondering whether her strait-laced exterior hid the fact that she was a minx in the bedroom. Perhaps I was about to find out.

My fingers swirled around amongst the garters and I plucked one out. I held a red garter aloft and Jayne stood up, smoothed her skirt down and approached me. She smiled coyly at me, a moment's recognition of the intimacy we would soon be sharing.

I was pleased to have picked Jayne. Firstly I got on reasonably well with her, she was sensible and down to earth and I was pretty sure she would approach some extra-marital sex in the same level-headed way.

The big bonus was that she was a blonde. I have to confess that I’ve only slept with a handful of women and all of them were brunettes. Finally, I was going to be able to add a blonde to the list. I sincerely hoped that Jayne didn’t shave as I had an irrational desire to see her bush.

I didn’t know which room Jayne was in, so I let her lead the way. Following her up the stairs was tantalising. Like any red-blooded male, I was trying to get a view up her skirt and work out whether she was wearing tights or stockings. The candlelight made it very difficult to be sure and a possible glimpse of stocking tops was perhaps largely down to my overactive imagination.

Jayne turned right when we reached the landing and as chance would have it that took us past the room Karen and I were sharing. I strained to detect the sounds of sex, but there was nothing except the overloud beating of my heart.

We went another two doors down and Jayne opened the door to a high ceilinged room with a white quilted double bed and windows hidden by floor to ceiling velvet curtains.

She closed the door behind me and we turned to face each other. This was potentially an awkward moment, but I’d already decided to begin with a request.

“Is it alright if I kiss you?” Jayne smiled with a hint of shyness and said she would like that, but first she wanted to say that she was safe and understood that I was, so there was no need for a condom. That did surprise me because it meant there had been some rather frank talk between the wives. But I certainly wasn't going to object to going bareback, so I simply nodded, took Jayne in my arms and kissed her.

At first, it was just our lips, but soon our tongues began to fence with each other. Even though I’d expected it I was still surprised by how different Jayne felt from my wife. She was slim, indeed skinny and while my left hand confirmed how small and firm her backside was, my right hand checked out her almost non-existent breasts. I must admit I think my wife's 36D tits are almost perfect, but as a man, you have to love the huge variety of women's breasts.

We fell back onto the bed, still fully clothed and my hand slid between Jayne's thighs. She parted her legs willingly and I soon confirmed that she was indeed wearing stockings. I caressed her pussy gently through her panties, before deciding that it was time to remove some of her clothing.

It didn't take long because she wasn't wearing much - a white blouse, red mini-skirt, white stockings and suspenders and lacy white panties. I've always enjoyed undressing women. It's like unwrapping a present and the pleasurable anticipation is heightened if the present is beautifully wrapped.

I savoured removing each item, though I was careful to leave her stockings and suspenders in place. Jayne made no comment about that, and my guess was that her husband Steve was like me and she'd learnt that men enjoyed the feel of a woman's stockinged legs crossed over the small of their back.

The decisive moment soon arrived and Jayne guided my penis so that it nuzzled against her pussy lips. I leaned gently into her and she gasped as I slid inside her.

Given her skinny build, I wasn't surprised that she felt very different from my wife. Despite being the mother of two children her cunt felt deliciously tight and I relished the tight grip around my rock hard cock.

To be honest the whole situation was making me almost light-headed. This was Jayne, the attractive MILF who lived at the top of our street and who I saw from time to time and who I had occasionally fantasized about fucking. Her husband, Steve was a friend of mine and yet I would soon be seeding his wife.

And of course at this very moment, my wife was almost certainly laid back in our bed gasping and groaning as Bob thrust vigorously between her thighs.

It's not surprising that I soon felt the pressure of an approaching orgasm, so I disengaged, slid down the bed and tongued Jayne's tight quim. She clearly liked that and her pleasure intensified when I found her engorged love bud. As I licked and sucked at her clitoris she shuddered, then cried out as an intense orgasm racked through her body.

I felt deeply gratified because like any man I like to feel I give the woman pleasure. We took a breather though dotting in lots of small kisses, then Jayne signalled that she wanted more. Again I slid into her, again she gasped, but after a gentle start, I picked up the pace and began to fuck her with more force. That clearly suited her because she urged me on, telling me to keep fucking her.

When she realised my orgasm was imminent she dug her nails fiercely into my backside and urged me to fill her pussy with sperm. Of course that took me over the top and I gave a final brutal thrust and almost blacked out as my prick jerked uncontrollably and fired burst after burst of sperm into Jayne's lustful vagina.

I lay on top of her gasping, still hardly believing that after twenty years of only knowing one woman here I was laid between the legs of my first ever blonde with my seed deep inside her.

My cock began its inevitable retreat, so I rolled off Jayne and she reached for a tissue and used it to soak up the sperm trickling from her pussy. The soft lighting in the room made it wonderfully intimate and I gently stroked Jayne's back. She smiled at me before reaching for another tissue. I had saved myself for tonight, expecting to have vigorous sex with my wife, but in the event it was Jayne who had received a ball-bursting load of sperm.

Soon Jayne lay back and I returned to caressing her. She smiled and told me I would have to go soon.

"It's arranged that midnight is the witching hour, so you have to be out and downstairs by then."

We lay kissing occasionally, unsure what, if anything, to say to each other. I must admit to being partially distracted by thoughts about my wife. She was in another room with another man and soon she would return to me. Would she have had a good experience? Might she even have had great sex and made a real connection with Bob? Knowing them both, I was confident that wasn't the case.

My main concern was that our pillow talk about sharing or swapping invariably involved a scenario where I reclaimed Karen and added my sperm to the load already in her pussy. However, being forty-eight years old, I couldn't pretend I was a young man and was concerned that I wouldn't be able to climax two times in a relatively short period.

Perhaps my anxieties transmitted themselves to Jayne because she said we ought to make a move, with the result that we were one of the first couples to return to the room downstairs.

The wait for Karen seemed to take forever, but was probably less than ten minutes. As soon as she came into the room I studied her face, hoping to get some hint of what it had been like for her. To be honest I couldn't detect any clues. Yes her hair was tousled and her face was flushed, but that was more or less what I expected.

It was clear that none of the couples wanted to sit around and exchange small talk, so Karen and I said our goodnights and headed up to our room.

As soon as we closed the door I asked if she was alright. She said she was fine and asked who I had gone with. When I told her Jayne, she nodded, but didn't make any comment.

"I know this is going to disappoint you," she said with a wry smile. "You've always said that if I ever had sex with someone else you would want to reclaim me afterwards. Perhaps it's the wine, perhaps it's the fact that I've just been given a good seeing-to, but I'm too tired. Can we please leave it?"

I felt an odd mixture of relief and disappointment when she said that. I've always wanted to fuck her soon after another man has enjoyed her pussy, but I wasn't certain I could rise to the occasion. Perhaps I would, but I didn't fancy failing for the first time ever.

Anyway, it was all a bit academic; it was her body, so it was her choice. I said yes, we could leave the reclaiming out.

We undressed fairly quickly and Karen was soon asleep. I half expected not being able to sleep because one hundred and one questions were going through my mind, but in the event it wasn't too long before I dropped off.

When I awoke I was surprised to see the bedside clock showing it was after 8am. I'd woken because I had a full bladder, but Karen was still sleeping peacefully, so I decided I could wait before heading for the loo.

All those questions returned to my mind. Did they use a condom? Did he make Karen cum? Had she enjoyed the sex with him more than she enjoyed it with me?

I looked afresh at the innocent face of my sleeping wife. No longer so innocent. Until last night I was the only man she had slept with, but now another man had given her "a good seeing-to" (to use her phrase). My prick stirred pleasurably at that thought and I realised with a glow of satisfaction that I was up for fucking her if the opportunity arose.

I waited another twenty minutes, but with Karen still sound asleep I decided to use the loo. Slowly and as quietly and carefully as possible, I got out of the bed and went to the en-suite bathroom.

When I returned, Karen was awake and said that she needed to go. I listened to the sound of her peeing and then heard the sound of her tearing some toilet paper from the roll. As well as dabbing herself dry was she also using the tissue to remove excess sperm from her married pussy?

She returned, slid into bed next to me and immediately cuddled up to me.

"Some sperm has moved and is starting to leak out. I haven't wiped it. Do you want to reclaim me?"

She took my hand and placed it between her legs. I probed tentatively at her outer lips and found her wet and willing. I knew my prick was already rock hard and had no doubt about my ability to perform. I moved between her spread thighs and she grasped my penis and rubbed the head between her cunt lips. Satisfied that there was ample lubrication she let go.

Slowly, gently, savouring the moment, I leaned into her. My cock penetrated her, lubricated by the sperm of another man who only a few hours ago had enjoyed my wife's cunt. She gasped as I pushed in to the hilt.

"So he didn't use a condom?"

"No, he didn't. He said he was safe and I trusted him," she gasped again. "You know I don't like condoms; bareback is much nicer."

"You let him cum in your pussy?"

"Yes, and he came twice."

"Twice!" That was enough of a surprise to make me stop.

"Yes, twice, but don't stop, keep fucking me. He came so quickly the first time - it was just a few thrusts and he came, which left me high and dry. We lay there for a while, then he apologised and said he wanted to try and do it properly."

"So what happened?" I asked, continuing to thrust into her.

"He put my hand on his cock and it started to get hard, then he asked me to go down on him. I wasn't sure about that, but he begged me, so I did it. That really did get him hard, so I straddled him and guided his cock home."

This was all too intense for me, I could feel the pressure of an imminent and unstoppable orgasm and warned Karen. We had role-played this scenario several times so she knew what to say.

"Do it then, cum for me, add your sperm to the load already in my married pussy."

I groaned, gave a final thrust and fired burst after burst of sperm deep into my wife.

Two weeks later

I couldn't see my wife, but the deeper, slower rhythm to her breathing made it clear she was asleep. Despite the vigorous sex we had just enjoyed, I wasn't ready to drop off. I should explain that Karen had been on a night out with her friends and it was clear they had exchanged some quite intimate gossip. That isn't at all typical of Karen, who is normally quite a reserved, private person.

When she came back, Karen cuddled up to me in bed and excitedly asked me if, when we went away for that weekend, I remembered Helen leaving the room partway through breakfast on the Sunday morning. Not surprisingly I didn't remember that, but Karen said that after a couple of glasses of wine Helen had laughingly confessed that when she left the breakfast table it was because Martyn's sperm was soaking her knickers and making her very uncomfortable, so she left to change them and put a panty liner on.

That was a lovely erotic snippet. I certainly found it arousing and it had the same effect on Karen because she made it clear that she was up for a good fucking.

They say that men are the ones who fall straight asleep after sex, but tonight it was the other way round - Karen was asleep and I was laid awake thinking. I might not have been able to remember that specific incident with Helen, but I did remember looking around the breakfast table at the five wives gathered there and thinking that all of them had recently been fucked by a man other than their husband. Even though I had just had sex, the thought of those women (all thoroughly respectable members of the school PTA) sat there with sperm oozing from their well-fucked pussies was enough to make my prick stir.

There was also the interesting fact that Helen had asked Karen if we would like to go round for a meal sometime soon. What would the lovely Helen be serving up for dessert?