The Biography of Jeannie
As told to Stevesaint
THIS STORY IS NOT A WORK OF FICTION, AND HAS BEEN RECORDED HERE AS NARRATED BY JEANNE, WHO IS A REAL PERSON. THE AUTHOR HAS NO REASON NOT TO BELIEVE HER ACCOUNT.
NOTE: THE AUTHOR IS NOT HER HUSBAND REGARDLESS OF THE COINCIDENTAL SIMILARITY IN NAMES.
©2007 STEVESAINT
Hello, my name is Jeanne. People call me Jeannie, as in I Dream Of..., though I’m not sure how many people dream of me. Sorry, that was a bad joke. I’m here to tell you about my sex life.
I was a skinny, awkward young girl. I didn’t exactly blossom as a teenager either. During my high school years in Massachusetts I remained a skinny, awkward, plain girl (at least in my opinion). I didn’t get many looks from the boys, but that was alright because I discovered I liked girls much better. I discovered the joys of sex between the thighs of a sweet classmate of mine named Celeste. This was decades ago, so neither of us knew anything about ‘sexual preference’, nor did ‘lesbian’ sound like a good thing to be, but one day in her bedroom after school we began to experiment.
She told me how much she liked me and asked if she could touch my breasts. I laughed and said I didn’t think I had any, they were so small. She said she could see my nipples through my t-shirt (I usually didn’t wear a bra at that age) and knew she wanted to see and touch them.
I pulled my shirt off over my head and naively said she could touch them if she wanted. Remember, I liked her a lot as a friend. I may not have had anything close to prominent mounds on my chest but my nipples were always prominent; even at that young age they stuck out a good quarter of an inch or more and were always pretty stiff. She was very enamored with my breasts, rubbing them and my nipples while making small “Mmmmm” sounds, like she was enjoying some sweet candy. It felt real good to me, and I began making sounds too.
“Can I see yours?” I asked, before pulling off her shirt and bra.
For several minutes we played with each other’s breasts, growing more and more excited, though I’m not sure we knew what was happening to us. Celeste moaned a little, saying how good it felt. She then asked me if she could kiss me. I was kind of puzzled but told her it was okay.
It turned out to be more than okay; our kiss grew more feverish until both of us could hardly breathe. She confessed that she always wanted to kiss me. I was flattered, but I was also energized by it. I confessed to her that I always thought she was so pretty, and I really liked her kissing and touching me.
She then asked the most surprising question. “Have you ever touched yourself? Down there? Put your finger there?”
I responded negatively and asked why she wanted to know. She admitted she had and that it felt so good and she wanted to know if I’d done it too. She volunteered to show me how and proceeded to slide off her pants and panties, exposing her pussy.
I was mesmerized by its sight. She had dark hair, and her pussy was darker and more hairy than mine was. All of a sudden it was as if someone had offered me the forbidden fruit of Eden; I had to touch it. She said it was alright so I began exploring her with my fingers. Within minutes my panties were off too, and she was exploring me the same way. I don’t know who did it first, but before long we were both licking and kissing each other’s pussy in a 69 position.
We may not have known what was happening but we knew it felt good. We didn’t know an orgasm from an orangutan but when we came it was the most exhilarating feeling we’d ever had.
We both dressed quickly, worried that her mom had heard our moaning and groaning. This was definitely something we wanted to do again. And we did, many times. That was until I met Lisa and began to surrender myself to her tongue. Then I let Diane do me. During my teenage years, I’d lick and fuck any girl that would have me. I mean, my mom always bitched to me that I was not pretty enough or smart enough to amount to anything. So when low self-esteem took hold, so did my libido.
When I went off to college I still hadn’t filled out in the chest at all. A few boys were interested, but I still wanted pussy, not cock. I never understood why, but the same type of girl that had been interested in me in high school wouldn’t even look at me in college. Maybe my mom was right—I just wasn’t pretty enough. There did seem to be many more pretty girls to choose from, yet I didn’t seem to be one of them. And I was sure that at least some were lesbians. I spent a lot of time alone.
By the time I graduated, I had slept with two college girls as well as one boy (yeah, I tried cock but hadn’t yet developed the taste.) Not exactly promiscuous, right?
I took a job in a small New Hampshire town, which is where I met Steve. We were introduced to each other by a mutual friend. He was ten years older than me, and struck me immediately to be a sweet, romantic guy, though at first I assumed he was gay for some reason. We went out on dates. He was an okay looking man, but I had no sexual attraction to him. On the other hand, he was completely smitten with me. He told me every day how beautiful I was. Of course I thought it was bullshit, as in my mind’s eye I still was that skinny plain girl I used to see in my mirror. I soon learned how sincere he was. That’s when I opened my eyes and realized that I had filled out. My face was pretty, my natural dark blonde hair was becoming, and I had developed some curves along the way. When Steve told me I had a great ass, I had to agree. Thankfully he was an ass-man, since my tits were never going to fill out the way the rest of me had.
I was completely floored when he asked me to marry him. We’d had sex a few times, but no earthquakes or tidal waves ensued. I would never fake an orgasm for anyone, so he knew I didn’t get off. This didn’t seem to deter him in his love for me, though I knew my frigidity hurt him. He did love me tremendously, I knew, and I began to love him back.
We were married in a small cozy church in southern New Hampshire.
I learned to love his cock. He was a slow and steady lover who took the time to try and pleasure me. I taught him how sensitive my nipples were. Soon, I had my first orgasm with him deep within me as he tweaked one of my stiff nipples. Within a year I was pregnant. We had a beautiful seven pound baby girl. I really took to motherhood in a big way. And my love for my husband grew and grew.
Then I almost threw it all away.
I know what you’re thinking—another woman. Actually, it wasn’t like that at all. At a big party at a friend’s house, we were all pretty drunk after a few hours. I was in the kitchen talking with my husband’s best friend Bronson. His mother loved the actor Charles Bronson so she named her only son after him. He lived up to the name in many ways: a sandy-haired ex-marine, he was 6-foot-two and seemed chiseled from a single block of granite. He was a no nonsense man who I never quite got close to since being married to Steve. Like I said, we had a lot to drink. Steve was off somewhere else in the big house. Bronson made a liquor-induced comment about how lucky Steve was to have me and how he’d always wanted to fuck me. Wow, I was surprised and flattered, never having seen this desire in him before.
In a playful moment of weakness, I put my hand on the front of his jeans and made a comment like “Is he big, thinking of me?”
I was stunned to silence when I felt the gigantic bulge in his pants. I never saw any indication of his size before, but since he had a hard-on I realized he must be almost a foot long!
He whispered to me, “Would you like to try it on for size?”
I nodded, now drunk with desire along with liquor. Looking back, it occurred to me this was the very first time in my life I truly, wantonly needed a cock in me. On unsteady legs, I followed him upstairs as he searched for an empty bedroom. About halfway there he dropped all pretense, and lifted me into his arms and carried me the rest of the way to one of the guest bedrooms. He helped me out of my clothes and we fell onto the bed, where I fondled and admired his amazing cock. He was huge, at least 10 inches or more and very thick. I wondered if I could even take all of him. I found out soon enough because he filled me and fucked me hard, first in the missionary position before turning me over and doing me doggie style. I never dreamed a man could even be this big, never mind that one would fuck me so fantastically. I came once while he was pounding me. I know I screamed but I don’t remember much except the marvelous heat at the center of me.
When I came the second time he groaned about how I was the best he ever had or something like that and he couldn’t hold it much longer. I think I cried out “Fill me with your cum,” or some such drivel before I was hit by a bigger orgasm than the first two. I cried out even louder as he unloaded into me. I felt every glorious ejaculation as each spasm stretched my vagina a little further.
I couldn’t imagine that all the people at the party weren’t talking about my screams and about how they heard us fucking, but apparently they either understood discretion or were all too drunk to care. Either way, Steve didn’t find out. Bronson and I kissed as I promised him he could fuck me anytime.
And did we fuck! I rode that magnificent cock every chance I could get. I do mean ride! From a girl who, when younger, always assumed she was a lesbian, I became a fucking cowgirl. My favorite position was to straddle him and ride that big cock like there was no tomorrow. I’d lose track of orgasms, cumming multiple times before he would.
It didn’t take long though before I realized that except for his big cock, he wasn’t really adding anything to the party. I imagined because he had the superior ‘equipment’ he never worked on any technique. I wanted tenderness and attention but wasn’t getting it. I soon passed the point where his cock alone could do the trick. With Bronson there was no foreplay, no affection, just a fuck.
I began thinking how stupid I was. My husband always treated me with tenderness. Steve always tried to take care of my needs before his own. My inability to respond was my fault, not his. Besides, being with Bronson on those illicit rendezvous reminded me how much I really didn’t care for him as a person. He was a cold man in many ways. I knew of the long-standing bond between him and my husband, but that wouldn’t change how I felt about him. I started getting some strange ideas that Steve might be bisexual and that maybe his bond with Bronson wasn’t any different than mine—wanting his cock. I began thinking that Bronson was worse than vile for screwing the wife of his best friend right behind his back.
If Bron was a skunk for doing that, then what was I?
When I told Bronson it was over, he did the expected and threatened to tell Steve. I told him he wasn’t much of a friend if he was going to crush his best buddy’s psyche. I told him not to bother because I was going to confess to Steve myself.
I did.
The most amazing thing was that Steve already knew! I guess somewhere along the way he suspected, and maybe we weren’t so discreet after all. Yes he was pissed, but surprisingly more pissed at Bron than me. He explained that, to him, if I wasn’t sexually satisfied in the marriage bed I had every right to find satisfaction elsewhere. He even acknowledged that he was envious of Bron’s size and felt inadequate by comparison. I felt like a real shithead. In fact, I felt sleazier than any pile of shit could be. Not only did I reject the love of my husband, but I may as well have left him virtually cockless. Now I understood what the word ‘cuckold’ truly meant. I promised Steve that I would never cheat on him again. I almost kept that promise.
Another thing you have to understand about me is that I turned into quite an exhibitionist after that. I guess that when I realized in my late twenties I had a good body after all, I wanted to show it off every chance I got. My bikinis were always more risqué than what other women were wearing, especially in New England. When we would go to the lake or to the beach, I would have all the men ogling me and probably a few women too. On vacation in Florida once, I took off my top on a beach that definitely wasn’t topless. My nipples were so hard they hurt. You should have seen the hard-ons all the men had straining their shorts! I actually had a good looking guy proposition me at the lake once while I was holding my little daughter! Steve saw the guy and knew what he was up to, and when I got back to him he was both proud of having me and a bit jealous of the attention. No secrets: I told him exactly what the man said. That night we had a marathon session—Steve fucked me silly. I was a MILF, though nobody used that term back then.
For several years, as our daughter grew into a special young woman, Steve and I experienced new levels of sexual intimacy. As I said before, he was a caring lover who tried to make me feel good every time. After my experience with Bronson, I endeavored to ‘teach’ my husband how to take me to the orgasmic Promised Land. Of course, he didn’t have the meat that Bron had but he wasn’t small either. He had good staying power too. He would tweak my super-sensitive nipples in tune to the rhythm of his balls bouncing against my clit in the doggie position and I would have some fantastic orgasms. Steve was so elated that I was cumming regularly now.
Then one day at the local grocery store, I literally ran into a woman who I had seen around town but never met—hitting her with my shopping cart as I turned into one of the store’s narrow aisles. After my profuse apologies, she introduced herself as Jackie Marie.
“Yep, two names like they do down south,” I remember her saying along with her beautifully light laugh. From that moment she had me.
Jackie Marie was thirty-something, with buxom curves and long, dark auburn hair. Her eyes were emerald green and almost hypnotic in their intensity. Damned if the way she looked at me didn’t get my pussy juices flowing! As we introduced ourselves to each other, the nagging imagining of our entwined bodies played in my brain and I grew hornier by the minute. The sexual attraction was incredible between us. I could see it in her green eyes. When she invited me to her place for coffee, I couldn’t say no even if I wanted to. Over coffees at her kitchen table, it began with a touch of her hand on mine. Soon her chair was a little closer. After that it was her hand on my thigh. Then we were kissing. Getting to her bed was a blur. I still can’t recall getting undressed or walking there. All I remember, in vivid detail, was our lovemaking. She had an expert tongue, licking until I was keening in ecstasy.
All while she ate my pussy, she moaned, “Jeannie, you taste so good...Jeannie, you’re so beautiful...Jeannie, I wanted you so bad...”
It wasn’t until I had climaxed that I turned my attention to her. Her body was magnificent. She was curvaceous, with firm, D-cup breasts. Her skin had a natural ruddiness about it, nicely matched to her auburn hair. I hadn’t been with a woman in years, so I tentatively approached her pussy. She was shaved, her labia glistening with dew. The dew tasted sweet, memories flooding back to me. I drank from her cup. Her orgasm was special; not as much a scream, but the ululation of a far-off siren.
We clung together on her bed for an hour or so until I realized the time. I quickly dressed and went home, but not before we set a “date” for another go.
Jackie Marie and I made love every chance we could meet. One day while Steve was working, I took the day off and Jackie came into my bed. We made love all day, each of us tonguing and tweaking the other to multiple orgasms. It was an amazing day. As soon as we came down from one exhilarating climax, we were at each other’s pussy and climbing toward another.
Fortunately or unfortunately—I’m not sure which—our affair was doomed from the start. I discovered that most of the town knew she was a lesbian. Having been seen with her on many occasions, I was now ‘out’, and soon my husband heard about us. Small town gossip, you know.
Steve was pissed, though as it turned out not so much about the affair, but that the whole town was gossiping about me. Our daughter, who was in high school at the time, heard all the dirt and confronted me. I wept, and confessed my weakness. She too surprised me with her understanding. She confided in me that she already knew I “leaned toward women,” in her words, and thought it was kind of sexy in a way—again, her words. She told me she loved me but urged me not to hurt her father, whom she loved tremendously.
Except for all the talk of my new lesbian ‘standing’ in our small town, my husband pretty much understood my succumbing to temptation. He knew me better than I knew myself.
He said, “I’ve always known you were bisexual and that the lesbian side of you would never go away. I was hoping you could at least not sneak around behind my back. Then it feels more like cheating to me.”
From that moment on, we had an understanding. Whatever our needs, whatever our fantasies and desires, we would not keep them from each other. As we talked that summer evening, sharing our fantasies like we never had, we both grew horny and soon were in bed. We playacted some fantasies. I came four times and Steve did twice.
One of the fantasies we wanted to explore was a foursome with another couple. We started putting out feelers around southern New Hampshire but couldn’t agree on the right couple. Either I didn’t like the guy enough or Steve didn’t like the lady. We also discussed a threesome with another woman, but I was apprehensive about that scenario since I didn’t want to rekindle any jealous feelings if the lady and I got along a little TOO well, if you know what I mean. For the longest time these remained fantasies.
Our daughter went off to college, graduated, and found a great job out west. My husband and I continued to have great sex.
The rift with Bronson thawed and we were friends again. I found him not so cold anymore—maybe it was the mellowing of age. Last Christmas we planned a vacation on the big island of Hawaii at a cottage that Bronson bought years ago when he was in the military. Though he lives in Massachusetts, he spends as much time on the island as he can. He’s been married and divorced, and has been living with a series of younger women since.
His place was south of Kailua-Kona, and though not on the ocean, you could see the Pacific from its lanai. I wasn’t sure what it’d be like spending over a week with Bron walking around in my bikini, until he introduced us to his new girlfriend. Leilini [I don’t know how it’s spelled but this is how it sounded to me] was a blend of Asian and Polynesian ancestry, with dark skin and even darker hair.
The evening of the first day, after doing some sightseeing along the Kona coast, the four of us retired to the hot tub for an evening soak as the sun set. When I took my top off, Leilini took hers off too, but she went further and took her bottoms off as well! She was so gorgeous! She was barely five feet tall, with nice little pointy breasts and a round bottom, and with her being shaved she looked like she was all of thirteen, though Bronson told us she was 22.
I couldn’t keep my eyes off her—I wanted her so bad my pussy ached. Both men felt the same way as I could see their cocks were stiff and bulging at their shorts. I looked at my husband and I could see the pure lust in his eyes and I wondered if I was going to have a problem all week. Leilini was touching Bron below the water line and I could see how horny he was, his erection sticking well out beyond the waistband of his swim suit. After a few minutes, Bronson couldn’t take it any more, I guess, and he got out of the hot tub and taking Leilini by the hand, led her into the house, his immense cock no longer restrained by his shorts.
Pretty soon we could hear them fucking. The sounds were clear coming from their bedroom window. He grunted a lot when he thrusts and I heard him but only barely because she was a screamer. After they started my husband couldn’t wait, he was so horny hearing them he had to fuck me. I took my bottoms off and kneeled on the edge of the hot tub and Steve put his cock into me and started doing me doggy-style. I closed my eyes and imagined several ‘scenes’ in my head—I imagined her pussy spread open before me and my tongue buried in her—I imagined Bron’s strong body and big cock going into her faster and faster—I came almost immediately! Just at the time we heard Leilini scream she was cumming and then Bron said he was too, Steve groaned and shot into my wet cunt, so I knew he was fantasizing about her—he was certainly imagining he was cumming deep in Leilini’s cunt and not mine.
That was okay. We could now fantasize without regret.
No foursome would happen, not with my history with Bronson. We had a great vacation though. The weather was 80+ degrees all week and sunny. When we weren’t screwing we visited a lot of places like driving up to the volcano and seeing a vanilla plantation and snorkeling and looking for secluded black-sand beaches where tourists didn’t go but Bron’s 4-wheel-drive Jeep could get to. We found one beach that was difficult to reach on the southern tip of the island and we were all alone, so we went skinny-dipping in the surf.
All week I fucked Steve’s brains out. I had to keep him satisfied because Leilini kept walking around the house topless and it was making him so horny. By the time we took the long plane ride home he was sore! No sex for a week, so I used my toys and thought of the tiny Hawaiian girl.
I was now 46 and starting menopause. We still hadn’t met the right couple for a swap, so instead I began looking into fulfilling my other desire—for exhibitionism. We picked up some brochures on the French Riviera and began researching nude and topless beaches. There were many to choose from. Antibes looked beautiful, so we booked for three weeks in July.
What a place! The beaches were full of beautiful people, all showing off their tanned, buff bodies. We spent several days on one of the beaches in the area. No complete nudity, just topless women in thongs—all sizes and all shapes. Many men wore thongs too; only a few looked bad in them. My husband declined getting one for himself. I called him a chicken, but I understood.
Of course, I was different! I bought a tiny black thong which I believed looked super on me (especially for a 46-year-old woman.) This wasn’t going to be like at Hampton Beach in my 20’s; I wasn’t going to get ogled by many men, I thought, even while topless, with all the bronzed, buxom women half my age on these beaches.
I spent my time on the beach doing some ogling myself. Dozens of beautiful women, with magnificent, tan, unfettered breasts walked by us as we tanned. Steve had an endless hard-on which he tried not to let anyone notice. My pussy was soaked from my near nakedness as well as the sight of other nearly naked women. After that first day on the beach, we went back to our room and fucked for hours. The first time we humped like a couple of animals, cumming in seconds. Steve remained fairly hard so we went at it a second time, slower and more passionate than before. My nipples were extremely sensitive probably from their exposure today—and from the sensuous spread of sunscreen. My husband lovingly caressed them as his dick circled and stroked inside my vagina. This time my orgasm was screamed to the heavens, soliciting a bang on the wall from the adjacent room. Spent for the time being, we both laughed hysterically.
The third fuck that afternoon was much slower. I groaned loudly as my climax hit me and I felt Steve’s cock unload into me. I didn’t scream that time—no accompanying rap on the wall.
The next day we went to another beach which seemed to accept some nudity. At least, we saw some naked folks scattered among the topless. Steve joked about having another hard-on as I took off my top, wondering why I even put it on in the first place. My husband kept staring at one woman in particular who was on the same stretch of beach. She was a petite yet DD-cup brunette, probably in her late 30’s or early 40’s, very pretty, with olive skin and nothing on to cover it. I kidded him while surreptitiously fondling his erection through his swimshorts.
“You’ll have to fight me for that one” I said. She looked very desirable to me too.
Soon, a man approached her and sat with her on the blanket. I figured the guy must be a husband or boyfriend. Like her, he looked to be in around forty, with only a touch of grey at his temples. He wore a tight Speedo and except for a slight paunch looked well-tanned and pretty fit. The woman snuck a few peeks over at us as she talked to him; she must have realized our attention. The man then began to look our way too. His eyes were all over my nipples, which by now were as hard as steel rods. I in turn was checking out his chest which was very hairy, and I couldn’t help wondering how nice it would feel to have that hairy chest rubbing up against my taut, sensitive nipples.
We were surprised when the couple walked over to our beach blanket. They said hello in English but with a strong French accent. I guessed they knew right away we weren’t French. His name was Luc and hers was Joelle. They were intrigued when I told them my name was Jeanne, with its French origins. They invited us to move down the beach to join them. While we picked up our things to move, Steve smiled at me and tilted his head in a questioning manner. I knew exactly what he was wordlessly asking: did I pick up on their sexually charged body language and was I interested? Here was a voluptuous, naked raven-haired beauty and her nearly naked sexy man—my answers were yes and yes—accomplished with two emphatic nods of my head.
Talking with them confirmed the chemistry. After an hour or so, they invited us to their hotel for drinks. We accepted. I won’t spend time telling you about the “courtship” but suffice it to say that after a few drinks at the hotel bar, we were in their room. My husband was busy kissing a now-clothed Joelle as Luc mentioned he was going to shower and asked if I would join him.
He casually slipped out of his clothes as I watched. He had an all over tan, and was nicely hung. Before I could begin to take my own off, he was doing it, anxious to get to my nipples. This was now-or-never time and I was nervous as hell. I glanced furtively over at Steve and Joelle to see their clothes coming off too. I was as much aroused by the sight of her as I was anything else, but the thought of fucking another man while my husband was doing someone else right in the same room was a close second. Luc knew just what to do with my now exposed nipples. They were taut and aching from his touch and kisses, until I moaned “shower” and we proceeded to the bathroom.
By the time we got under the water he was extremely hard. After a little more kissing I turned and offered my ass to him. He slid into my pussy easily; going slow at first, but soon he was slamming into me at a manic pace. Over the sound of the shower water I could hear Joelle’s cries and the thump of the bed as it repeatedly slammed against the wall.
Before I could even get close, Luc was cumming, uttering a loud grunt as he did so. Oh well, I thought, maybe I’ll orgasm on the second go-round, which by the way Luc was acting I knew would happen. We cleaned up quickly under the shower before toweling and walking back into the room.
I couldn’t quite absorb the sight before me: my husband with another woman. Joelle was now on her hands and knees while Steve fucked her from behind. I knew that he knew how to get his cock rubbing against all the right spots in that position. By the way Joelle was mewling like a cat he was certainly hitting those spots. I think Luc was struck with jealousy then, seeing his wife in animalistic heat with another man. He probably wasn’t prepared for Steve’s staying power and his wife’s reaction to it by the look on his face as he watched them. Steve’s eyes were closed as he continued that steady rhythm of his, while Joelle’s cries grew louder and louder until she visibly shook while screaming away in French I didn’t understand. As she climaxed, Steve opened his eyes and they met mine.
He came right there and then.
I couldn’t believe the number of times he apparently shot into her. He looked like he just kept on cumming, while never breaking eye contact with me. I smiled and he dreamily smiled back. For her part, Joelle shook again, uttering a softer moan than her earlier scream.
Luc’s ‘territory’ threatened, he was determined to fuck me again; and damned if he wasn’t hard once more. He urged me toward one side of the king bed as Joelle and Steve fell spent to the other side. I got on my back and pulled him on top of me. My legs were high and wide, and straightaway he was sliding into me. At first he held himself up by his arms but I pulled him down so I could feel his chest hair against my begging nipples. He was too quick again; I knew he’d cum long before I could. Just then, though, I felt a soft hand insinuate itself between our bellies and snake down to my clit. When I turned my head, I was face-to-face with a breathless Joelle, Steve close to her and whispering in her ear. Whether he was speaking in English or trying out his crude French I didn’t know, but his message to her was clear to me too; she cuddled closer, her fantastic breasts pressing against me at the same time her probing fingers found my sweet spot and began rubbing. When I gazed from her to my husband, he smiled and mouthed a silent “I love you.” His hand was working between Joelle’s thighs as hers worked on me. I made eye contact with her again, her husband’s pace frantic as he neared orgasm.
The next few seconds seemed to be in slow motion to me. My lips moved to kiss her. When our lips touched, her eyes rolled up into her head and she moaned. Her body shook—another good orgasm. Mine snuck up on me fast and I cried out in bliss. As I came, Joelle’s fingers went from my clit to encircle Luc’s cock. He growled something in French as his body jerked from the force of his ejaculations. I kept kissing her as she mashed her breast against my side, her body trembling.
Luc got off me and lay at my side, the side away from his wife. He was done, but Joelle seemed to want more—of me—and with Steve’s encouragement she got it.
We licked and humped until we were both soaked in sweat and pussy juice. Luc wasn’t prepared for this either. He could only stare at the spectacle. When I climaxed this time, it was a squirter, spraying love juice all over Joelle’s tongue. She was crazy in lust by this time, two or three orgasms not slaking her thirst one iota.
Steve and I made eye contact once more and I nodded. He was hard and wasted no time in getting behind Joelle and fucking her again.
My darling husband! He was overweight, not the most handsome man on the planet, and he’s not hung like a horse. But can he sure LAST! He kept pumping it into Joelle. As the minutes went by her moans turned to cries, then turned to shrieks. I looked away from them and at Luc, who was staring at his wife getting banged. I palmed his dick but it was limp. I figured I’d give the guy a little something to break him away from his shock, so I went down on him. He never stiffened sufficiently to get him into my throat. I kept at it but managed to milk only a small trickle of cum from him.
Joelle was still crying and Steve was still fucking! Then the most amazing thing happened (as if nothing so far had been amazing enough—our first foursome!) Joelle screamed in French (an obvious really big O) and then pulled Steve’s cock from her soaked pussy and slammed it into her asshole! Steve accommodated her nicely and fucked her ass hard as she diddled her clit in time.
I felt the bed move as Luc jumped up, hastily threw some clothes on, and stormed from the room. This was too much for him, it seemed.
Joelle’s screams magnified as her next orgasm overcame her. Steve groaned and unloaded into her rectum.
The foursome had become a threesome. We stayed on the big bed for another couple of hours playing with each other. Joelle mainly was the prime beneficiary as Steve caressed her fine breasts and I toyed with her swollen clitoris, cum oozing from both her well-fucked orifices.
We never saw Luc again.
We left Joelle in a sweaty pile on her bed and went back to our hotel, talking of our fantasies and how we experienced them—and our love for each other.
The remainder of our vacation was uneventful, if beautiful beaches, an overall tan and great French cuisine could be considered run of the mill. For the first few days after our dalliance with Joelle and Luc, Steve and I fucked and fucked until we were too sore to do it again.
During the flight home, we professed our unyielding love for each other. In whispered tones we reminisced about the foursome and wondered what the future would hold for the couple who thought they could handle making fantasy a reality. We were the fortunate ones: secure in ourselves, our sexuality, and our love.
&
My life has been one strange trip so far. I can’t promise to stay monogamous, knowing I may meet another Jackie Marie somewhere, sometime. Yet Steve is willing to take that chance. I love him so much. He is my definition of a man, not the one in the TV ads or in the movies, but the one who knows who he is—and knows how to REALLY love a woman.
I’m 46 now, going on 47, and although I complain about getting old (you know—all those aches and pains—and menopause—yuch) I can’t help but wonder how marvelous the rest of my life will be. My daughter is (finally!) getting married so maybe I’ll have some grandchildren to dote on. People still underestimate my age, so I don’t yet look like a grandma! My husband and I still have great sex. We still have fantasies. Who knows, maybe we’ll act some of them out before we’re too old and grey.
Love you all,
Jeannie