It's always intrigued me what goes through a woman’s mind when they flit from the kitchen to the lounge to the bedroom and back again. It makes it difficult to concentrate on work when you know something is up.
“How was your day off?” I shouted from the makeshift study; a shabby desk in the corner of the lounge that had been converted for the sole purpose of working from home. I waited patiently for the reply.
“I went to that pop-up art gallery in town,” she shouted back. I nodded my approval to the wall and waited; Angela rounded the corner of the lounge, leaned against the wall and smiled.
“There’s some hot totty frequenting those places, you know.”
Her beaming face was having a conversation all of its own as she recalled the day’s events. “What kind of art was it, modern or traditional?”
“There was this one woman, simply attired in a white one-piece dress, she kept glancing at me, making eye contact.”
Who wouldn’t glance at Angela? Her vibrant red hair was enough to turn heads in the most crowded room and her voluptuous figure would often command attention even from the straightest of women, and I’m sure Angela would have been dressed to impress even at an afternoon Art show.
I smiled, whatever question I had planned on asking next would fall on stony ground.
“We got chatting over some modern confusion of colours that some bloke had ridden his pushbike over and one thing led to another – we had so much in common.”
I raised my eyebrows, so much in common, for Angela, had different meanings to the rest of humanity. Her free spirit with all its twists and turns would often take on a life of its own that most would deem inappropriate.
“She was such an interesting person…” her voice trailed off as she moved towards the bedroom. The spray of water from the shower drowned out her voice and I busied myself with the work I was supposed to be doing.
Angela eventually appeared from the bedroom just as I was gathering the ingredients together for the evening meal.
“Darling, I have to go out for a while,” winking at me, she leaned in and kissed my cheek.
“It’s chicken Caesar salad,” I responded in the vague hope of changing her decision and convincing her to spend time with me.
“Tempting – but.” Another kiss on the cheek, a twist of her body, and the sway of a skirt that was far too short saw her disappear through the door and into a waiting taxi. I bit my lip and busied myself with the all-important preparation. The chicken was seasoned, sizzled to perfection and plated up. Clingfilm adorned the one bowl that was set aside for Angela’s eventual return.
The picture at the end of the kitchen worktop brought back memories and a smile. It was taken on our wedding day just inside the city hall registry building. Everyone who looks at it comments as to how happy we both were, and they’d be right. Angela was kitted out in a modest blue dress that seemed to show off her deep green eyes and the beaming smile on her face was as vibrant as her hair.
Only three people know the whole story of that photograph. Perhaps a few more could either hear the commotion through the paper-thin walls or were otherwise indisposed in a nearby cubicle where she got fucked by the best man over the sink unit in the lady’s toilet. Either way, that picture reminds me of how she walked down the aisle with cum dripping from her pussy and a smile on both her and my best friend’s lips. I uttered those immortal words, ‘I do,’ knowing I’d let her do anything.
Before you start thinking otherwise, it wasn’t a cuckold situation in the slightest. It’s just that Angela has a way of expressing herself that I couldn’t and wouldn’t want to curtail.
Two hours later, she was taking another load in the hotel room we had booked for the night.
Without Angela, I spent my evening watching a film on the television, eating, drinking, and wondering what she was up to and with whom. The last droplets of wine were on their way to my mouth when the door opened and in walked a woman in a white dress, followed closely by Angela.
“Caroline, this is my husband, Matt. Matt, meet Caroline.”
I quickly put the glass down and rose from the sofa. Thrusting my hand out I took Caroline’s, “pleased to meet you,” I offered. I glanced at my wife. Who the fuck was Caroline?
My wife took her coat and draped it over the nearest chair. “Go through,” she motioned to Caroline with her hand, “I’ll join you shortly.”
The confusion on my face slowly faded as I watched Caroline head towards the bedroom. Angela smiled and put her fingers to her lips to keep me quiet. She sidled up to me and kissed me, our tongues mingling together; stealing a moment or two from our guest. As we parted, she pushed her fingers into my mouth and urged me to lick them. My eyes opened wide.
“In the lift on the way up,” she said, “she’s a filthy fucker.”
Angela peeled her top off and kicked her shoes into the lounge as she walked backwards. Her skirt pooled on the floor just outside the bedroom door. Why wasn’t I surprised to find she wasn’t wearing any knickers?
She winked at me just before she slipped inside.
The moans weren’t long in coming. I sat back on the sofa, finished the last of my wine and tried my best to concentrate on the film. Instead, I imagined a healthy and energetic soixante-neuf in progress in the other room. The groaning confirmed they hadn’t fallen asleep and my inquisitiveness got the better of me. I peeked around the corner of the open door, half expecting to find them still getting acquainted with each other but that wasn’t the case.
I had a grandstand view of my wife’s ass high in the air. Her pussy was wet and glistening and showing signs of playfulness. Caroline’s head was hanging over the other end of the bed, her legs bent double and resting on either side of her body. My wife’s mouth (missing the Caesar salad I had made earlier) was clamped to the woman’s pubic mound, and my ears were treated to a sudden, but not surprising abuse of the English language. Angela ate the cunt in front of her like it was the last supper. Like it was manna from heaven. She was sucking in more and more of her cunt until she was directly poised over her clit. The screaming started, and I was thankful for the soundproofing of these modern flats.
I wanted to step in and fuck Angela, but I knew that when she was in the zone and pleasuring another, she was best left alone. Caroline must have screamed herself through a couple of orgasms but Angela was giving her no respite. It was one filthy climax after the other.
I stood and watched, poised in the doorway with a tent in my loose trousers and a grin on my face. How she loved to fuck and be fucked, I thought. How many times had I enjoyed watching her perform like this?
Her relentless passion for sex was indescribable, unbridled, unfettered, and absolutely wonderful.
It was Caroline that had to push Angela off her cunt to take a breath.
I made a hasty retreat when my wife’s face, covered in girl cum, lifted itself upwards. At that moment, I would have loved to have kissed her and savoured the nectar on her lips.
I was back on the sofa when she appeared from the bedroom. Juices dripped from her chin onto her breasts.
“I think she’s desperate for a fuck,” she uttered the words as she pulled at my t-shirt, removing it completely. She stood me up and pushed my trousers to the floor. My cock bounced upwards.
“Good film, is it?” she smiled while admiring the hardness of my engorged member. A quick tug of my cock was all I was allowed before my bottom was pushed towards the open door with a nod of her head.
“There’s Caesar salad in the fridge,” I whispered, “only enough for one, though.”
“I’ll take a few bites,” she winked. “Either hole, I don’t think she’s that bothered,” she added.
I walked into the bedroom, dick swinging freely to find Caroline crawling towards the end of the bed, turning and sliding off it; her knees hitting the floor at about the same time her mouth engulfed the spongy head of my needy cock.
Perhaps she was another free spirit but I doubt there would be two like Angela in this world.
I was taken aback at the ferocity of her action, and she wasn’t put off by the size as she tried her best to swallow it whole. I looked down at her, feeding off my blood-engorged appendage being manhandled by both hands. I quickly labelled her the wanton slut that Angela had found that afternoon. I glanced over my shoulder to see whether Angela was behind me, watching me like I had watched her.
I lifted Caroline by the hair and moved her over to the bed. She lay on her back expecting to be filled to the brim, fucked hard and without mercy, but I wanted to taste the same snatch as Angela had. I dipped my mouth into her soaking pussy and lapped at her.
“Stop playing with your food,” Angela commented from the doorway. I crawled up the bed and thrust my cock into Caroline’s wet and waiting snatch. We kissed, long enough for her to feel the fullness in her cunt before I started to pound her. A few strokes were all it took, aided and abetted by the copious amount of lubrication on offer.
Out of the corner of my eye, I confirmed what my ears had picked up earlier. Angela was smiling at me and twirling her fingers in the air. I quickly turned around bringing Caroline with me. She quickly moved upright and worked her bottom in a twirling motion around my cock, but Angela’s hand on the small of her back pushed her back into position. My hands came upon her tiny breasts.
I felt Angela’s cock slide alongside mine. At first, I thought we were in it together, but Angela had chosen the other hole, separated so delicately from the juicy one I was pounding into.
“Oh, fuck, yes,” Caroline cried as we both penetrated her. We could tell that she was enjoying the whole experience. From over Caroline’s shoulder, I saw the need in Angela’s eyes and mouthed the word, fuck.
“Tell him what your husband does for a living, Caroline.”
My face was once more showing signs of confusion.
“Tell him, Caroline.”
“I’m…I’m a vicar’s wife.”
“Yes,” added Angela, “a horny art-loving vicar’s wife, full of cock.”
At that moment, I lost control. The pleasure was bad enough, but the words, and suddenly the labels pushed me over the edge. I had been labouring under the misapprehension that vicar’s wives never behaved like this. How wrong I was. And how much I was delighted to be wrong.
It was true, Angela had a way of saying things that were honest and forthright and I loved her for it. And she never stopped telling the vicar’s wife how lucky she was to get double fucked by a wonderful man and a cunt-hungry woman. Caroline finally cried out that she was cumming. I don’t know which appendage did it for her the most and I didn’t care.
It wasn’t her last.
That night changed us both because we now attend church regularly, but just to say hello to Caroline.
