Clare and I were on our weekly boutique foray.
Perfumes, earrings, eye shadow. I picked a pair
of nearly transparent panties from the bargain
bin. “What do you think of these?” I asked.
Clare blushed.
I couldn’t help but wonder about her pelt. Was it
soft and sleek as a baby rabbit, or curly and light
like cotton candy?
“How come you always buy such tame panties?”
I asked her.
“No one’s going to see them anyway,” she
whispered. So *demure*.
“All the more reason to go a little wild,” I said.
“And what about Otto?” Otto was Clare’s
husband – a hunk if ever there was one. “I bet
he’d like to see you in something a little
*friskier*.”
“Otto is too frisky as it is,” Clare said.
I lifted my eyebrows.
“Otto’s just so *big*!” Clare complained. “When
he’s on top of me and I can’t move, I go crazy.”
I had to smile. It wasn’t just that Otto was big as
an ox and almost as smart. Clare was *small*.
Barely five feet, probably 95 pounds dripping
wet. I thought of her dripping wet.
“Maybe you should try being on top,” I
suggested. “So you could, *you know*, get off.”
Clare’s cheeks turned dark pink.
“What? Don’t you *like* to get off?”
Clare lowered her eyes. “It wouldn’t be … proper.
Otto, in his way, is very old-fashioned.”
“Maybe Edward and I could help you loosen him
up a little,” I offered.
“Oh, I couldn’t,” Clare said.
We set it up for our house that very night. Otto
and Edward sat on the couch, and Clare and I
modeled our new spring outfits. Clare looked
stunning in a short red frock. “Spin around,” I
told her. “Don’t be shy. Show us your frillies.”
She did. The skirt lifted, giving Ed and Otto the
briefest glimpse of Clare’s skimpy new panties.
My poor *dear* Edward. He looked eager, but
also nervous. Clearly he and Clare were made
for each other. “Wait till you see what’s next,” I
said. “But first you boys have to do a little
modeling for us.” I handed them the packages of
tight boxer briefs.
“Are these swimming suits?” Otto asked.
“Yes, dear,” I told him. “You two go change in
the bedroom. But hurry back.” While they were
out of the room, I removed my blouse and bra.
Clare’s eyes went wide. My nipples burned. I
slipped out of my skirt. The boys came back.
Clare was right. Otto was *big*. Not just football
linebacker big. He was *hung*. His shorts
couldn’t hide *that*. I could barely imagine that
big cock going in me. Well, yes, I could!
My Edward, of course, was only average. But he
had a sweet shape. A smooth, soft hardness.
And he could *last*.
“So, what’s next?” Edward asked. My skimpy
French cuts clearly had him excited.
“Why don’t we start by putting this lotion on
Clare?” I suggested. It was the massage oil
Edward had given me last year for St. Patrick’s
Day. It came in a dark green bottle and smelled
of wild mint. I shook the bottle. It gurgled juicily.
Still plenty left.
I spread a beach towel on the living room rug
and had Clare lie on it. She was still wearing that
short red skirt and a soft white blouse. “Edward,
why don’t you help her off with her things while
Otto warms the oil?”
In no time Edward had her clothes off. Her little
breasts pressed into the fluffy towel. Her small
but shapely rear pushed up plump and full.
“Okay, Otto, give me the oil.”
He handed me the bottle. He hadn’t warmed it
up, but I used it anyway. Clare squealed as the
first drops spattered her pretty bottom.
“Don’t worry, it will warm up soon.” I began
working it in, around and around, careful not to
touch the hole. She was already excited. Her
pussy squeaked when I pried her cheeks apart.
She was *dripping*. No need for oil *there*. I
poured the lotion onto her hole. She squealed
again. While I worked it in, I asked the boys who
wanted to be first.
“Me!” Edward shouted. Otto just sat there with
his mouth open.
“Ooh, she’s *so* tight,” I told Edward. “Your
cock is going to feel *so* good in there. Hey,
you two, what are you waiting for? Get naked!”
A moment later, Ed had mounted Clare. He was
fucking her rear. “Does she feel good?” I asked
him. He didn’t answer. He just kept fucking.
Otto watched impassively, his cock a handsome
lighthouse atop a pair of rugged boulders.
I shook the green bottle. I dribbled some oil onto
Ed’s lower back. It seeped into the crack. I
added more drops. More.
“Okay, Otto,” I said. “*Do him*! Be the *man*!”
Otto’s cock nuzzled Ed’s hole. “Here, let me
help.” I took hold of the huge cock and guided it
in.
“Oof!” Edward exclaimed.
Squashed beneath Edward and now Otto, Clare
didn’t say anything. With each and every thrust,
she whimpered. Poor, dear Clare!
I watched them for a while. I was dripping. I
wouldn’t need any oil. Otto wouldn’t need any
oil, either. His rear was sweaty from the
excitement of fucking. My finger went in easily.
So warm! So tight! Otto gasped. Edward
moaned. I pressed my finger *deep*. The
contractions started *right* up – jolt after
thrilling jolt. Edward’s orgasm came in answer.
He groaned and bucked. I could feel him coming.
My finger was like Otto’s cock, making Edward
shoot, making Edward come deep in Clare’s
adorable rear.
Poor Clare, squashed, couldn’t get off. Poor dear
Clare, crazy with desire!
When Ed and Otto rolled off, sated logs
glistening with lotion and goo, I lay on the rug
next to Clare. “Time to ride my tongue,” I
whispered in her pretty ear. “Time to fuck me
with your *perfect pussy*.”
I didn’t have to tell her twice. Sweet, sweet
Clare. Smelling of wild mint and hot cunt.
Dripping on my chin, on my lips, and in my
mouth. Dripping and fucking. My sweet, sweet
Clare. Coming like a wildcat.