Gi Hentai Oh Porn Yu

Drawing It In

by Ovid





Susan and Robert Hunter lived in England, in a small town outside
London.

We had met them on a tour in Russia and discovered that we all got on
well with

each other. We shopped and went to dinner together with them when we
had free

time from the tour and really enjoyed each other's company. After the
tour we

corresponded with them. When we wrote that we were coming to England
for a few

weeks' vacation, they were delighted and insisted that we spend at
couple of days

with them at their house.



So one morning, after we had been in London for a week, Susan and Robert

picked my wife and me up at our hotel. Susan, her dark hair up in a bun
and her

face hidden in sun glasses on one of the few English days for which it
was

appropriate, was wearing jeans and a loose denim shirt. Robert had on a
red, plaid

flannel shirt and dark gray pants. He had light brown hair that must
have once been

blond, and it looked like he had driven with his window down, for his
hair was

blown every which way. They suggested we do some sightseeing on the
outskirts of

London, have lunch at a pub they liked, and then continue sightseeing on
our way to

their home, which we'd reach in time for tea. Then, they had tickets
for the local

theater production, after which we could have a late dinner. It all
sounded great,

especially as it was one of those warm, sunny days that make you want to
reread all

that poetry about the English country side. We were looking forward to
a wonderful

day with old friends.



The sightseeing was fun and the lunch was hearty, fortified by a bit too

much real ale, so we were in great shape. Throughout the day, Susan
continued her

sketching. As in Russia, she always had a little sketch pad with her -
it was her way

of taking pictures. They lived in a lovely little cottage in an area
that was as close

to country as you can get that close to London. The cottage was made of
yellow

Cotswald stone. In front of the house was a small garden, a bit of lawn
surrounded

by roses in full bloom. My wife, the gardener in our family, remarked
to Susan on

how beautiful it looked.



"Oh, Robert's the gardener," Susan said. "You should see what he's done

out back. He's got veggies and everything. He'll give you the tour
later."



The house was decorated with Susan's oils and sketches, which we both

commented on and admired. I told Susan that my wife used to draw and
paint. She

had also taken courses in college in both drawing and painting. When we
were first

married, she made ink drawings for our Christmas cards and invitations.
But as the

quotidian demands of life increased, she had less and less time for her
art and had

not picked up a sketchbook in years. When Susan heard this, she got out
another

sketch pad and insisted that my wife try sketching again while we were
having tea.



We had tea in their sitting room, which doubled as a dining room. It
was a

small cozy room with windows looking out on the roses in the front
garden. There

was a small table and four chairs in the center on a gray Axminster rug,
with roses

around its border. There was a couch upholstered in rose and gray
facing the

window, a sideboard along one wall, and on the opposite wall, what they
called an

electric fire - a fake fireplace with an electric heater built into it.
Dominating the

room, over the sideboard, was a portrait of Robert that Sue had painted.




So over tea, while Susan did a sketch of me, my wife tried her hand at

Robert. My wife was rather discouraged with her effort, but Susan was
very

encouraging. "For someone who hasn't sketched in years, that's very
good. There's

a lot of talent showing. You just have to regain confidence in your
line and get your

eye a bit more back in practice." Following a few of Susan's pointers,
my wife

managed to get quite a respectable picture of Robert. Then we looked at
Susan's

picture of me. It was wonderful. With a minimum of lines she had
somehow

captured me.



We asked to see the other sketches in Susan's book, so she turned back
to

the beginning and showed them to us. They were almost all of Robert.
The first

several pages were of his head and upper body, dressed in a loose shirt,
opened at

the collar. Then there were pages showing all of him in various
everyday clothing,

rapidly drawn, as if she had captured him in snapshots as he went around
the house.

Then began a series of nudes of him - standing, sitting, lying in
various positions.

These sketches were extremely well done, with a lyric eroticism
pervading them.

He was tall, on the thin side, but well-muscled, and she had captured
the three

dimensionality of his musculature with deft shading. She also had
studies of parts

of him - his hand, his elbow, but mostly his prick. Her sketches showed
the loving

effort she had devoted to his prick. One sketch, in particular, showed
his prick and

balls in full detail. Susan's three-dimensional shading that even
indicated the veins

running along his prick. Minute detail showed the crinkles in his ball
sack, the seam

that nature had closed it with, and even a dark birthmark on it. Around
all this was

carefully detailed pubic hair, which then faded off with the rest of him
barely

sketched in with a minimum of lines, as if his body was an ethereal
frame, there

only to support his more corporeal genitals.



"I just love Robert's cock," Susan said, turning to my wife. "Isn't it
a lovely

cock? Not too big and not too small. Cleanly circumcised, so the ridge
is pretty.

All in all, just right."



My wife reddened a bit and finally agreed, "It's a lovely cock." She
wasn't

used to talking about her friends this way.



Susan continued turning the pages. Now the sketches of Robert showed
him

with an erection. Again, they were surrounded by studies of his prick
in full

tumescence - studies drawn from all angles, with a variety of
techniques, but all

showing the adoration Susan had for Robert's prick.



"Robert is such a joy to sketch. He's a perfect model. He can hold a
pose

forever. Why don't you try sketching him?" Susan said to my wife.
"Robert, take

off your clothes and pose for the lady. Come," she said, turning to me,
"you can

give me a hand moving this the table out of the way and onto the porch.
It looks

like it will be a perfect evening for eating on the porch when we get
back from the

theater." And somehow, before either my wife or I could say anything,
Robert was

stripping and Susan was fussing about the lighting. With Robert
standing naked in

front of her, there was little my wife could do to cover her
embarrent other than

sit on the couch and start sketching as Susan and I moved the table.



So I helped Susan move the table to the porch, and then moved the chairs

out, and then I helped her get some food ready in the kitchen for our
late dinner. By

the time we got back, my wife was working on her third or forth sketch,
and Robert

was standing there with a full-blown erection. His prick, stiff and
sticking straight

out from his groin with just a hint of an upward curve to it, had a
purple bulbous

end. A large vein meandered along its upper length, while a fine mesh
of blue

capilaries gave the shaft an overall bluish tint. The birthmark on his
balls was

clearly visible.



"Oh, that's lovely," cried Susan, whether in reference to my wife's
sketch or

Robert's prick was not clear. Susan turned her attention to the sketch
and then

looked at the other sketches my wife had done. "I can already see
improvement.

You're getting your confidence back. You should do some more later
today and by

tomorrow you'll be up to your old form. Why don't you let Robert show
you his

veggie garden now while your husband models for me? Robert, go put a
bathrobe

on and give her the grand tour." Then, turning to me, she added, "Get
out of your

clothes and stand over there where the light is good."



Susan's take-charge way overwhelmed us. Before I really thought about
it, I

was taking off my clothes and Robert had slipped on a bathrobe and
slippers and

disappeared out the door with my wife. Suddenly, I was alone and naked
with

Susan. For a while, Susan said nothing, except to change my position,
or to remind

me not to move when holding a pose. Then, without looking at me, she
asked,

"Why do you suppose Robert had the hardon? Hmmm?" She paused. "Do you

think maybe someone gave him a little help?"



I didn't know what to say. Susan had a way of catching me off-guard,

asking a question or making a statement that I was utterly unprepared
for. Unfazed,

she went on. "She was awfully close to him. Do you think maybe she
reached out

her hand and ran a finger along his cock? Maybe she cradled it in her
hand and

helped it get stiff." She looked up at me and smiled. "Maybe she even
ran her

tongue along its length, or gave it a kiss on its tip. What do you
think?" And she

winked.



The image of my wife handling or licking Robert's prick got to me. My
own

prick responded by swelling up, so it was as stiff as Robert's had been.
Unlike

Robert's, mine stuck out and up from the groin at a steep angle, and the
head of my

prick was more conical in shape, less bulbous than his. Susan sketched
rapidly. I

took a deep breadth and hoped that my prick would soon subside, but
Susan kept it

up. "He doesn't usually get a hardon when he poses for me. I have to
get him

started. Sometimes just a caress is enough, but sometimes I've got to
take it in my

mouth to get him rigid enough for the picture I want."



Consequently, when my wife returned from her tour with Robert, I was

sticking up like a flagpole and thoroughly embarrassed. My wife looked
a little

embarrassed, too, even before she saw me, and Robert looked a little
different than

he had when he left. As if his robe had been opened and hastily retied
differently.



"We better wash up and get dressed if we're going to get to the theater
on

time," Robert said as he came in the door. "It's very informal, we can
wear what we

were wearing during the day." Susan put down her sketch pad and my wife
and I

were bundled off to our room to get ready, but not before looking at the
sketch

Susan had just done of me. It was amazing. Somehow, in a picture that
looked very

much like me, without concealing my bodily flaws, she had instilled an
energy and

vitality that I didn't feel I'd had in years. The man who's image
stared out at me

from the page of Susan's sketch book was alive and sexy, an adjective
that I would

never have thought to apply to myself.



"My, that must have been exciting," my wife said in the privacy of our

room. "What was going on?"



I told her of Susan's comments that had elicited my erection. "What
went on

with you and Robert?"



She said she was just sketching him and not really talking, when she
noticed

his prick beginning to move and expand. She didn't say anything and
didn't know

how to behave, so she just kept sketching and he kept growing. "Maybe
he was

remembering some experience with Susan when he posed for her," she
suggested.

"Or thinking about having the same experience with you," I thought but
didn't say.

In the garden, he had showed my wife the various plantings. It was a
lovely large

garden, part formal with lawn and bushes and the ever-present roses and,
behind, a

large vegetable patch. They had discussed gardening with her until they
came to a

little gazebo. He told her that Susan had found a dictionary definition
of a gazebo "An erection in a garden" - and that got him on to the subject
of his prick. "Susan's

got a fixation about my cock," he'd said. "She loves to draw it in all
its

configurations. If it's not hard enough for her, she drops her sketch
pad and makes

sure it reaches the rigidity she wants." He'd gone on like this, to some

embarent to my wife, when she noticed that he was getting erect
again. First

she could see the bulge under is robe, and then his prick had stuck out
through the

robe's openning as if he was unsuccessfully trying to conceal one of his
large, long

zucchinis under his robe. Robert had gone on discussing Susan's cock
fixation for a

few minutes more and then suddenly realized he was sticking out. "Oh,
excuse me,

I'm sorry," he had muttered while he retied his robe to cover his prick.
Then he had

quickly changed the subject, "We'd better be dressing for the theater.
It's getting

late." My wife said she would have been even more embarrassed had he not

previously been standing naked in front of her only a little time
before.



All in all, this was a side of the Hunters we hadn't seen in Russia, and
we

were pretty confused as to what to do. They were catching us off guard
at every

turn. Well, at least at the theater things should be normal, unless it
was one of those

60s audience participation in the nude sort of thing, we joked. It
turned out that the

play was a perfectly normal play, but they still managed to catch us, me
in

particular, off guard.



It was a small, local theater. Robert said that they wanted us to see
how

good community theater could be in England. The building was small,
evidently a

converted barn in which they had installed a stage at one end and a
number of

straight rows with an aisle on either side. Our seats were in the first
row on the

extreme right. Susan insisted that my wife enter the row first, so that
she would

have the best seat, closest to the center. Then Robert went in,
followed by Susan,

with me on the aisle. So, Susan was on my left, there was nothing in
front of me but

the stage, and on my right was nothing by the aisle and a wall. This
geometry is

important for what followed.



No sooner had the lights gone out and the play started, than I felt
Susan's

hand on my crotch. At first I thought it had happened by accident, but
when I tried

to move away, she got a grip on my prick and wouldn't let me move. I
looked at her

and saw that she had placed her large purse in her lap in such a way
that no one on

her left could see what she was doing. She was looking straight forward
at the play,

as if she had no idea what her right hand was up to.



I tried to move her hand, but she wouldn't let me. Any stronger attempt
on

my part would create a fuss and call attention to what she was doing.
That was the

last thing I wanted to do in the theater. I couldn't say anything while
the play was in

progress. All I could do is resign myself to her groping. But it was
soon more than

groping. With amazing dexterity, she had unzipped my pants and her hand
dove

into my fly. A moment later she had my prick out and was rubbing it up
and down.

Whatever I thought, my prick is always beguiled by a woman's hand, and
was

promptly sticking straight up. Well, I thought, at least no one can
see.



However, I was mistaken there. Although the lighting keeps the actors
from

seeing much of the audience, we were in the first row and enough light
from the

stage leaked out that we were visible from that corner of the stage. As
one actor

came over, he must have noticed us, for he suddenly forgot his line. He
stuttered

through it finally, all the while staring at Susan's hand massaging my
prick. Then he

tried to position himself so the actress he was playing against would
have to move in

our direction. Evidently that wasn't what the script called for, so she
resisted.

Eventually, however, he managed to maneuver her close to us. The effect
was

startling. Her mouth dropped, she stared at us, and she completely
ignored the

speaking cue he had given her. Susan's hand went rapidly up and down,
her face

looking at the actors with apparent rapt attention, while he repeated
the cue.

Finally, the actress responded on the third cue and then stumbled
through the rest of

the first act. Fortunately, the end of the act came before I did.



As soon as the curtain started down, Susan removed her hand and I

immediately zipped up my fly. When the lights came on, Robert rapidly
ushered us

to a table they had reserved for tea. Susan's only comment was "My,
wasn't that an

exciting first act." I, of course, had no idea what the play was about.



They served us tea and cookies on dainty English china, and the Hunters

managed to keep the discussion on the food and the English tea habit and
how it was

giving way to coffee. When we returned to our seats, I instantly
crossed my legs,

covered my crotch with the program, and folded my hands over that.
Susan wasn't

getting in there during the rest of the play if I could do anything
about it. In fact,

she didn't even try. All her attention seemed riveted on the play,
which I now tried

to figure out. So the only thing unusual about the rest of the play was
that the actors

kept passing though our corner of the stage and looking in our
direction, no matter

what the script called for.



Driving home, Richard driving in the front with my wife, and Susan in
the

back with me, we discussed the play. We agreed that the level of acting
in England,

even in this small, local theater, was much better than what we usually
saw in the

U.S. My wife said the acting really amazed her, but wanted to know what
was

going on during the first act when the actors seem to forget their
lines. I was

thinking of what to respond when Susan candidly answered, "Oh, I was
playing with

your husband's prick and they noticed." My wife turned around sharply,
and Susan

went on with a smile, "It's incredible how they can keep the play
running no matter

what you do. It's sort of like the royal guards at the palace of St.
James, who stand

stiff and unsmiling no matter what kind of faces you make at them."



Robert took Susan's admission as if it were perfectly normal, while my
wife

seemed to be struggling for words. She looked questioningly at me and I
all I could

do was shrug my shoulders as if to say, "That's Susan." The discussion
went no

further, for by then we had pulled into the driveway of the Hunter's
home. We all

washed up and Susan brought out a lovely cold supper onto the porch.
There was

smoked salmon, followed by a cold quiche and a salad of fresh vegetable
from

Robert's garden, with a chocolate mousse for dessert. We ate listening
to the quiet

noises of the English countryside, with the smell of the roses seeping
in. By the

time we had finished supper, along with a bottle or two of white wine,
and were

working on the brandy, we were all pretty relaxed.



Susan turned to me and said, "Why don't you and Robert clean up? I want

your wife to model for me." So Robert and I cleared off the dishes and
began

washing them, and Susan and my wife disappeared into the dining room.
During

one of my trips between the porch and the kitchen, I looked in and saw
Susan sitting

on the couch sketching my wife, who stood totally nude in the middle of
the room.

The electric fire had been turned on against the cool of the evening,
and the red light

that it cast on her seemed to emphasize my wife's nakedness. Seeing her
nude, with

all the rest of us dressed, gave me a funny feeling in my stomach, so I
quickly

returned to cleaning up.



After we had washed the dishes, Robert sent me back to the porch to get
the

chairs. On the way, I looked in again. Now, no doubt at Susan's
instigation, Susan

was posing nude and my wife, clad loosely in a bathrobe, was sitting on
the couch

sketching. I stared at Susan. Although not exactly thin, she had a
lovely form. Her

breasts were fuller than they had seemed in the loose shirts she wore.
They sloped

gently down from her shoulders, like giant tears running down her chest.
They had

large pink areolas, each crowned with a nipple of a slightly deeper red.
Her waist

was perhaps thicker than ideal, but her hips were beautifully rounded.
Her thighs

were smooth and solid, and at their juncture lay a bush of dark, thick,
curly hair. All

her pubic hair seemed to curl in one direction, giving her a slightly
asymmetric look

- the hair all ran horizontally toward the right, and then curved and
flowed down to

her cunt. It looked like an artist might have done it as a way of
drawing attention to

her cunt, and I wondered if Susan had trained her hair to do that. She
had unpinned

the bun on her head and let her hair fall freely. It hung to just below
her shoulders,

and she had tilted her head so it all hung on one side, over her
shoulder and curved

slightly so that it drew your eye to her tit. It was a splendid sight.



"She is quite lovely, isn't she?" Robert had silently come up behind me
and

almost scared me out of my wits with his question. "Quite," I gulped in
response,

and we went out to get the chairs.



When we finished straightening up, we rejoined the women. My wife had

just finished her sketch, and you could see the strength and confidence
of her line

improving with each sketch she made. It was an altogether satisfactory
sketch of

Susan. But Susan's sketch of my wife was something else again. It was
incredible.

She had drawn a picture of my wife that was both accurate and blatantly
erotic. She

hadn't made her a Playboy centerfold, but the slight spread of her legs
and the look

in her eye that stared up at me from the page gave an overall impression
of

sensuousness, and made me look at my wife with new eyes. It gave me a
feeling

about her that I hadn't felt since the time when we were first
discovering each other's

body. It was breathtaking.



When I told Susan how erotic I found the picture, her response was, "You

like erotic? I'll show you erotic. Here," she pulled the robe off my
wife and had her

pose again. "Robert, get off your clothes and pose with her. He wants
me to do an

erotic picture." As always, when Susan wanted something done, it got
done

quickly. Almost immediately Robert and my wife were standing naked in
the

middle of the room. Susan put them in a loose embrace and then kept
changing

their positions. The effect was that Robert's prick kept rubbing
against my wife's

leg and every time it did so it got a little harder. At the same time,
my wife's tits

would brush against his arm or chest, and her nipples were getting
firmer and firmer.



By the time Susan had settled on a position, Robert was fully erect.
Robert's

left arm was around my wife's shoulders and his right hand rested on her
hip. Their

bellies lightly touched each other, with his stiff prick sandwiched in
between. My

wife's right tit was pressed against Robert's chest, while her left
nipple barely kissed

it. I could see how enlarged that nipple was and how puckered the
areola around it

had become. Her hands were gently touching the sides of his chest, the
right hand

higher than the left. Looking at my wife in this pose gave my stomach
the feeling it

gets when the elevator drops. My breathing threatened to stop.



"I found all this nudity terribly exciting," my wife told me later, "so
when

Robert was rubbing his prick up against me, and I could feel it growing,
I began to

get very stimulated and damp between my legs. I was thinking that you
and I were

going to do some serious fucking when the sketching was over. Then,
when we

were pressing his rigid prick between us and I could feel it throb and
feel the slick

wetness seeping from its tip, the fucking dominated my mind, but who it
was to be

with got less and less clear."



Looking over Susan's shoulder, I could see the sketch rapidly forming as
she

sketched with quick, sure motions. The sketch wasn't erotic, it was
downright

pornographic. It didn't take her long to get just enough lines in just
the right places

to convey exactly what was going on. Then she put her pad down and
turned to me.

"Alright," she said, "you can't be the only one dressed. Get out of
your clothes.

You and I are going to pose for your wife. Here," she said, turning to
my wife and

handing her the sketch pad with her finished sketch, "you try your hand
at some

pornography."



As usual, Susan's wish was our command. My wife settled down with the

sketch pad at one end of the couch without even bothering about the
robe. Robert,

his prick still sticking out, stood beside her so he could look over her
shoulder at her

sketch. Susan had me lie on my back on the Axminster rug and, on all
fours, she

straddled my legs, her head just above my prick. She looked around at
the lighting

and then made me turn a little so the electric fire would illuminate her
face. I was to

look at her face while she looked down at my prick.



I was in a state of only partial erection, but Susan quickly cured that.
She

dipped her head down just a little so that her dark hair fell on my
prick. Then,

turning her head slowly from side to side, she dragged her hair back and
forth across

my prick. This "hair job" felt as if she were caressing my prick with a
feather. It

didn't take long for my prick to be sticking up rigidly, precum oozing
from its tip.

My breathing started to catch again. Susan then flipped her head back
so the hair no

longer blocked the view, and began staring at my prick as the pose
demanded. The

admiration in her eyes, however, seemed more than was required. Holding
the pose,

I guiltily looked over at my wife. If any of this bothered her, she
didn't show it, for

she was busy sketching with a rapid, confident motion of her pencil.



But of course Susan, being Susan, wasn't satisfied. She rapidly lowered
her

head and took a quick lick with her tongue across the head of my prick.
In an

instant her head was back up in the pose, but now her eyes seemed to be
laughing. I

cast a glance at my wife. She still held the pencil to the sketch pad,
but it wasn't

moving. She stared at us. Again, Susan's tongue flicked across my
prick head. She

did this three or four times. By this time, my wife had lowered both
the pencil and

pad and was just staring at us. Robert's hands had begun a slow massage
of her

shoulders. Then Susan ran her tongue the length of my prick, from my
balls up to

the tip. My wife continued to stare.



What was happening to us? I began to think, but immediately stopped

thinking as Susan's mouth engulfed the head of my prick, her tongue
swirling

around it, licking off the precum that it continued to emit. Then, she
took a little

more in, so her tongue could circle around it on the ridge of my prick.
I felt the

urging in my balls, impelling me to thrust my prick all the way into her
mouth, but I

resisted. I looked toward my wife, giving up all pretence of
maintaining a pose.

She had dropped the pad and pencil and continued to stare. By now
Robert had

leaned forward and his hands were on her breasts. His left hand was
gently

clutching and squeezing her left tit, the tit just filling his hand.
With his right thumb

and index finger, he was rolling her right nipple back and forth. It
stuck out hard

and red. But my wife seemed to be concentrating on Susan's head, which
had now

captured half my prick and was sliding up and down on it, her lips
pressing tightly.



My hips were now responding to Susan's cocksucking. My ass tightened

and I began to thrust my pelvis forward to get my prick further into her
mouth. But

Susan placed her hands on my hips and held them. As always, she was
going to

control the action. Maintaining her own pace, she raised and lowered
her head,

gradually taking in more and more of my cock. She almost had it all in
now. My

hands were now on her tits, kneading them and pulling on the hard
nipples.



Again, I looked toward my wife. Robert had moved around in front of her

and was kneeling between her legs, his head at her snatch. I could see
his head go

up as his tongue ran along her thighs, and then down as he licked around
her labia.

The red light from the electric fire illuminated her cunt and made the
swollen labia

seem ever redder than they were. The juices on her cunt glistened in
the light. His

tongue caressed her labia. Then he pushed his head further forward, and
although I

couldn't see, I had no doubt that his tongue was delving deeply into my
wife's cunt.

Still, she stared at us.



Susan's head was now moving rapidly up and down my entire shaft. Her

tongue swirled along the length of it and then, when her head was up,
flapped back

and forth across its tip. I was pulling and rolling her nipples, and
thrusting my prick

up as high as I could, trying to keep it deep in her mouth. I could
feel the pulse in

my balls and felt ready to cum. Sensing this, Susan slowed her pace.



Robert wasn't slowing his pace. He had moved my wife so she lay along
the

couch and was kneeling on the couch between her legs. His left thumb
was rapidly

rubbing small circles around her clit, while he slid two fingers of his
right hand in

and out of her cunt. She was no longer staring at us or, indeed, at
anything. Her

eye's were closed, her right arm thrown across them. Her left arm
trailed off the

side of the couch. Her head whipped from side to side while he pumped
his fingers

in and out of her cunt, and her breasts flowed from side to side across
her chest in

rhythm with the motion of her head. She was thrashing up and down,
pushing her

pelvis up as if trying to force her cunt further onto Robert's fingers.



Seeing my wife so completely given over to another man's actions gave me

a strange feeling in the pit of my chest, almost akin to terror. The
adrenalin coursed

through my body. Wait, I thought, she's mine. But it was precisely
because she was

mine that her reactions were so exciting. I could share in her
pleasure, I could

watch her body taken over with sexual passion in a way I never had
before. This

feeling of shared pleasure, this passion, this terror, all combined with
the excitement

that Susan was eliciting with her lips and tongue on my prick to drive
me to a level I

had never felt before and that I almost feared.



Somehow aware of this, and not fully ready herself, Susan released my
prick

from her mouth and, together, we watched how Robert was driving my wife
wild.

Robert now moved up between my wife's legs and inserted the purple,
swollen tip of

his prick between her labia. My wife's pelvis thrust upward, trying to
grab at that

prick, trying to clutch it. It seemed somehow bigger, fatter, and more
alive as he

slowly began to sink it into her.



As if to avert any qualms I might have about watching another man's
prick

being driven into my wife's cunt, Susan suddenly prevented me from
watching by

covering my eyes with her tits, which now hung pendulously above my
face. She

had mounted on top of me, her wet, warm cunt was fully ready and slipped
down

easily, drawing in the head of my prick. This was no longer the time
for slow

teasing and tantalizing foreplay. I quickly grabbed one nipple and
started sucking it,

while I thrust my prick further into her cunt. I could feel the muscles
in her cunt

clutching and grasping my prick as she lowered her pelvis and completely
engulfed

my prick.



Now the room was filled with the sounds of sex. I could hear Robert

grunting and my wife moaning as his prick slammed into her over and
over. I could

hear the slaps of Susan's thighs as her downward motion slapped them
against mine.

I could hear my own breath coming more and more rapidly as I sucked
Susan's tit

into my mouth and ran my tongue around the nipple. And I could hear my
heart

beating more and more forcefully as I listened to my wife's passion.
Over and over I

heard her moaning louder and louder. Then she suddenly let out a yell,
an

inarticulate cry that she screamed again and again as her body spasmed.
This was

soon joined by Robert's yell of "Yes, Yes, Yes, Yes, YESSSS."



Susan was next. With a series of loud "ungh"s, her head whipping from
side

to side, her dark hair flying across her back, she repeatedly raised her
ass and thrust

down. Then she began to cry "Oh, oh, oh," and her eyes closed, her
mouth

grimaced, and seismic tremors raced through her body. I responded by
thrusting my

whole body upward, from my toes, trying to force my prick deeper into
her body.

My arms wrapped around her back and I could feel the explosion starting
to rumble

in my balls. Two more thrusts and it ran through my prick and erupted
into her.

Wave after wave roared from my balls up my prick as I pumped load after
load into

her cunt, which now ran with our juices. I have no idea what sound came
out of my

lips, but I heard a cry of "Aaaaggh!" echoing and reverberating around
the room.



Then all was silent.



All four of us lay there still. The only motion in the room was the
silent

flowing of the sweat, cunt juices, and cum across our bodies, glowing in
the red

light of the electric fire.



When we left two days later, Susan presented us with two of her
sketches.

They are now framed and mounted on our bedroom wall. They are the two
erotic

nudes that Susan had drawn and we had admired so much, one of me and one
of my

wife. They look at each other and at us down on the bed, and they serve
to remind

us how to look at each other.


THE EN

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