We’ve been married for more than 25 years now, and our sex life has always been pretty good. It’s not quite as intense as in the early days, of course, but it’s still regular and always enjoyable. I guess I’m lucky, as I know the moment I get on top of my husband’s hard cock and feel him enter me. My orgasm is only moments away—I ALWAYS cum that way, without fail.
When we first got together, we were both married to each other. It was the typical work affair: teasing, provoking, and finally giving in. When all the messy relationship stuff was over, and we were married, I said to him, “If you ever want another woman, just tell me and be honest. We’ve been through this together; we should understand.”
So perhaps I shouldn’t have been so shocked when, around five or six years ago, he said to me one day over breakfast, “Do you remember what you said about other women when we were first married?” My heart sank, he was leaving, he had someone else. I nervously said, “Well, yes… but,” wondering who it might be. He was uncharacteristically nervous as he tried to explain. He said that over the last couple of months, it had got into his mind that he had only ever had sex with three women, and he wondered what it would be like with others. He knew the pain of an affair and didn’t want to go there. He reassured me that he was still happy and had no intention of leaving. And then the bombshell: could he have no-strings sex with escorts, and would I be OK with it? An open marriage.
Let me cut a very long story short. After days and weeks of discussion, I agreed. I had one proviso, that he always told me, both before and afterwards. Over the last few years, these encounters have become part of our own sex life; he tells me about the girls and what they did, and more often than not, that leads to some pretty hot sessions of our own. I’ve even sat there looking at some escort sites with him, helping him choose girls and asking why he finds certain ones attractive.
More recently, I realised I wanted to know more, and I started to think about asking him if I could join him. I wanted to watch him with another woman, and it played on my mind more and more. It was my turn to drop the bombshell into conversation. It wasn’t quite so dramatic, of course, and most readers will probably not be surprised to hear that he was keen for this to happen. The male fantasy of watching two women together had him almost drooling, but I explained that wasn’t what I wanted. I just wanted to watch. I hadn’t kissed a girl since I was 15, and I wasn’t interested in that. When I watch porn, I know I’m looking at the guy.
Of course, he couldn’t say no, and over the following couple of weeks, we chatted about this and made the arrangements. He suggested a girl called Florence, who he had seen a couple of times before and one that I had already seen pictures of. He said she was easy to get on with and thought I would like her. I saw from her profile that she claimed to be bisexual, and I knew what he was thinking. I turned a blind eye. I was only going to watch.
As the day got closer, I became increasingly nervous. What had I done? What if seeing Andy make love to another woman was very different to hearing him tell me about it. We talked about boundaries. I’d never given him any, such as no kissing, but now I asked myself those questions again. We agreed on no boundaries other than that we would stop if either of us wanted to.
We arranged a night in a hotel an hour from where we live, a lovely four-star romantic setting, and booked Florence for four hours that evening. We would go for dinner together to break the ice at a restaurant just around the corner. I had chosen what to wear, and Andy had ordered some very sexy Honey Birdette lingerie for me. He knew that I was worried about how I looked. After all, I’m in my late 50s, and Florence is 30-something. I think I still look good, but I’ll admit that as I tried on the lingerie, I got a bit of a boost.
The day arrived, and I was both excited and scared. We checked into the hotel around 4 p.m., and Andy told me that he had booked me a massage in their spa at 5 p.m. The massage itself was really good, but my mind was elsewhere. When he asked me afterwards whether it was a male or female masseuse, I couldn’t remember!
Florence was due to arrive at 7 pm. I dressed, slipping on the new lingerie and a lovely long black dress that I knew made me look good. There was a knock on the door, which Andy answered, and then I saw this gorgeous girl walk into the room. Slim, long black hair with soft curls and an olive complexion—and SO pretty. Her eyes were amazing, and her smile made my heart skip. She came over, hugged me, and whispered in my ear, “You look great. He’s a very lucky guy.”
We briefly chatted, and Florence asked me again if I was OK with everything. I said everything was OK and reiterated that I just wanted to watch. She said that was fine and that if I were uncomfortable at any time just to say so, she would be very happy to leave early. I felt that she understood that my brain was probably all mixed up.
We headed out for dinner and found ourselves at a lovely private table in the corner of a really smart bistro. Nobody was sitting near us, and our conversation flowed freely. I soon realised that Andy was much more nervous than I was. Florence and I had established an easy rapport, discussing things from childcare to lingerie and hair problems to choosing dresses. I knew that she had been with Andy three times already, and I could see why he liked her so much—she was so easy to get on with and obviously incredibly hot. I felt her fingers gently touch mine as we talked, and our eyes met. My heart pounded, and I realised she was flirting directly with me. I couldn’t ever remember another woman doing that.
As we finished our meals and headed back to the hotel, Andy asked me how I was feeling. My answer made him turn to me, as I simply said, “horny.”
“Really?” he said, and I nodded, saying that I was hoping for a great show. Inside, I knew I was hoping for more, but I was still telling myself that I was on a watching brief.
We took the lift up to the third floor, quietly entering the room, and Andy excused himself to the bathroom as soon as the door closed. I turned to Florence, and our eyes met again. Then, my resolution dissolved. She said, “can I kiss you?” I stammered a “yes,” and then felt her lips on mine, and immediately we were locked in a deep French kiss, tongues entwined. I felt a hand running through my hair as she pulled me close, and my own hands slid to her lower back, ensuring our bodies felt each other’s warmth.
The next few minutes were a blur at the time but have somehow become incredibly clear in my mind since. I pulled away a little and said to her, “Oh god, please take me, but you’re going to have to teach me on the way.”
“Don’t worry,” she said, “another woman always knows, you won’t have to learn.”
At that moment, two things happened. Andy came out of the bathroom, and Florence unzipped my dress, which slowly slid to the floor.
He actually looked shocked and said, “Now, who’s watching?” He smiled and sat in the chair in the corner of the room. I’d planned to sit there myself, watching him and Florence.
She took over. We kissed even more passionately, and her hands moved over my body. She kissed my neck and my shoulders and nuzzled her head into my breasts. And I felt her hand slide down between us, over my stomach, over my sheer panties, and her fingers tease my naked thighs above my stocking tops. I was melting, and when those fingers brushed over the fabric that covered my pussy I felt moisture ooze from me. She gently moved me over to the bed and laid me there, standing back and gazing at me as she slid out of her dress. Wow, she looked great but apologised as she said that her sexy lingerie was still in her bag. She stood before me in her bra and knickers.
“Leave that for later, for him,” I said.
She knelt above me, leaning down to kiss me again, and somehow, in one move, slipped a hand behind me to unclasp my bra, releasing my breasts. Now, for my age, I’m proud of these. Not having had kids probably helps, but I know Andy loves my bullet-like nipples. Not much later, I realised two of us in the room shared that attribute, but right now, I laid back as Florence gently teased one nipple and then the other with her tongue. She laid beside me now, mouth on my breasts and a hand ever so gently stroking my pussy through my panties. Then, it was like an electric shock as she lifted the fabric aside, and I felt a soft finger run over my soaking vulva. She didn’t have to explore; her finger slid into me, and I heard myself moan. I wanted that finger deeper. I know I pushed against her, but she took it away from me and hooked her fingers under my panties to slide them off.
Now, she had the most filthy look. I laid open before her, and she licked her lips and, looking directly into my eyes, lowered her head to my crotch. I dissolved as her tongue slid over my pussy, drinking my juices and upwards to circle my clit. You might remember I said that I cum easily, and I knew I couldn’t last long. Fuck it—it didn’t want to last long, I wanted to cum. Then as her tongue slid over my clit I felt two fingers slide easily into me and push upwards to my G-spot. The lights in my head exploded; I came hard and heard myself almost scream, “Yes, yes, yes.”
My breathing was so deep as Florence came up and kissed me, and then I looked over to the corner. Andy was sat there, still fully clothed, but with his hard throbbing cock released from his trousers with his hand slowly stroking himself.
“Sorry darling,” I said, “you’re going to have to wait.” I looked at Florence, placed my hand on her shoulder and rolled her onto the bed. I might not know what I was doing, but that wasn’t going to stop me. This woman had just given me the most enormous orgasm, and I wanted to return the favour.
We kissed deeply, tongues entwined, and my hands roamed across her body. With some urgency, she unclipped her bra and shimmied out of her panties. She was naked in front of me. Her skin was so soft, and as my mouth moved down to her neck and then to her breasts, my hands slid over her thighs. Her legs fell open. An encouragement, as if I needed one, to let my hands move higher, and then my fingers felt her slick wetness. She was wet, my hand slid over her pussy lips, and with just the slightest pressure, I slid a finger along them and then inside. She was so tight—her pussy clasped my finger, and she moaned.
At that moment, my mouth was sucking on a bullet-hard nipple, but I couldn’t resist the urge to move down to taste her wetness. I felt awkward as I manoeuvred but soon found myself lying between her gorgeous thighs and gazing at her wet pussy. Nectar oozed from her.
I looked over at Andy. His shirt was unbuttoned, trousers lowered, and his hard cock was in his hand as he watched me about to taste Florence. I’d never done this, so I tried to copy what I knew was good for me when Andy ate me and, of course, when Florence had left me shuddering only a few minutes ago. My tongue slid over her lips, sliding upwards to find her clit. I circled it gently, and she moaned again. As I increased my pressure, she whispered, “Lower,” I adjusted my aim, knowing I was getting it right, when she gasped, “Yes, there, like that.”
I moved my right hand over her thighs and once again slid a finger inside her and then two. I could feel her soft inside, spongy, and she moved against me. My left hand was above her clit, and I used my fingers to hold her open. Then I felt her take my hand and push down on her pelvic bone, really quite hard. My fingers inside her were moving against my hand that was outside, and she writhed on me.
“Yes, YES, FUCKKKK, she almost screamed,” and I felt my fingers pushed out of her, followed by a burst of fluid. I suddenly realised that she had squirted all over my hand and face. This tasted different from her oozing juices; it was sweeter, and I drank from her.
In the background, I heard another moan, and looking over, I saw Andy’s stomach covered in his cum. He couldn’t hold on any longer.
Florence and I collapsed together. I had no idea what had just happened. My promise of watching Andy with this girl had dissolved into a wet mess. I knew I was still damp as I could feel myself. Florence was soaking, as was the bed beneath her, and Andy was covered in his white mess.
We all lay there for a few minutes in silence. My mind was racing; this had been so hot but not what I had expected. I don’t have enough words to tell you what happened over the next couple of hours; suffice it to say I’d never experienced so much pleasure, both my own and others. In case you’re interested, the three of us met again the following week, several times since then. I even got my own back on Andy when I asked him if he minded if I saw Florence alone. How could he say no?