“Again darling,” moaned Ji Su. “But harder and deeper this time,” she twisted her neck back at me and told me urgently.
“Fuck me sweetie you’ve worn me out already. Twice this morning, once after lunch then now and it’s not bedtime yet,” I panted, slamming as best I could at her delicious upturned rump.
My hands gripped her hips, her back already running with my sweat and this was all in time to Ravel’s Bolero. I was waiting to change the tune to the Humming Chorus from Puccini’s Madame Butterfly, when we could both relax, the remote near to hand, but my darling yummy mummy wife had an insatiable desire to fuck.
The baby was happy alongside the bed in her cot, only five months old and the first of the four we planned for, the music and rhythm of the bed seemed to sooth little Bethany and when she will be eight months, we will start the lovely fuck process all over again, without the pill. Nothing would occur fertility wise with this shag, as my dick was firmly embedded in Ji Su’s South Korean arsehole which we used as alternative to her cunt, for two reasons. It got sore and it got very sore.
I grinned down at the dark panel of long black hair coating my slippery cock each time it retreated from the tight heat within. Ji Su was in big demand as usual to pose for our friend Martin a specialist glamour photographer who had a more lucrative side line shooting highly specialised porn videos and photo sets. Ji Su Benidorf was top notch model wise for him and I was too, but not in porn, I was a competition professional body builder. Us Benidorfs had a faithful following, in fact occasionally we were plagued with people calling at our detached mock Tudor house in Aldershot. We would always give them a drink of something, sign their autograph books and pose for selfies. They pay our bills.
“You should be rested Harry, you haven’t got a gym session today, it’s your rest day...”
“Rest, when I have to satisfy your minge and shitter all day?” I retorted.
“Don’t be so fucking crude please, Bethany’s in the room,” Ji Su snickered with her own joke. “You going to cum yet?”
“S’like saying – you finished yet - “ I quipped, slapping her bum. “ Yes I am.”
I gathered my breath, my stamina recharged and rammed her hard making her grunt with surprise after the brief halt when we talked. I levered up over her backside, my arms stiff beyond her head, my feet firmly planted on the extra sized bed, dwarfing my tiny waif like wife as if a bull mounting a new born calf. This allowed me to alter the slippery angle, not quite of dangle, into her fundament, the root of my cock now feeling pressure from her grip tight ring piece. I orgasmed and fell sideways, my cock slapping wetly on my belly, while she being well practised, rolled on me in reverse cowgirl style, grabbed my slimy tool before it stained the bed sheets and devoured it deep in her mouth.
My cum and mixed juices were sluiced up in me too as I licked any residue I’d missed as her cunt and arse let flow. I gazed with wonder at her tiny body, it was like having a tiny young teen riding me, she was so slight, so trim and so fucking perfect. What made the illusion stronger was that I am 280 pounds, solid muscle, six feet four – professional body builder. Ji Su’s four foot nine high featherweight did not betray her demand for something in any of her holes on demand and of course there was a ready list of approved users amongst our close friends.
We ordered an Austrian/Hungarian take away to be delivered before showering, Ji Su making sure tiddly little Beth was fed and watered and put down for the night. She was a good one, never kept us awake in the night. The food arrived and we chatted while we ate.
“You remember that bloke, the senior masseuse at the gym ... er ... Batch was his name. Wants to be a woman, you know, dresses in girlie gear, straightens his hair and wears make-up, quite a laugh really. Small wiry black, black as night with long frizzy hair you always wished you could have, his hair not him...” we chortled. “Well I s’pose you could, but he’s transgender, like I told you.”
“Yeah, yeah but he’s ugly too. I like a man with some looks as well as a big cock...”
“Ah well, there you are. I saw him on the shower yesterday for the first time, he works some weird shifts, so we’re rarely there the same times, but they’d had some sort of meeting and he was involved, like him trying to recruit more of his type, you know trans ... that sort of thing. Well in the shower, you remember we’ve got unisex showers... ?”
Ji Su nodded, giggled and shook her pretty head.
“He is hung, really hung, like at a guess, ten inches slack. I was gob smacked, old Nige nudged me to let me know he was coming in. He’s seen him nekkid before, told me and I just thought he was joshing but fuck me Ji Su, he’s big.”
“Well Nige should know what’s big, I mean he’s not exactly little is he,” she snickered, pointedly licking a load of dripping curry sauce off an enormous Bratwurst. “Ten inches slack Wow! though, that’s something. Wonder what it’s like hard,” she mused, wiping her cute little mouth.
“That Ugandan bloke you shagged when you were preggers with Bethany was massive but was he ten slack?”
“Oh the equipment sales bloke. Didn’t exactly measure him. Tall gangly but gorgeous, yeah. He certainly touched bottom up there, but he was sort of thin wasn’t he.”
We cleaned up and watched Question Time on the Beeb, as the Korean threat of conflict was a key question as it happened when I switched on looking for a replay of Love Island. A short sharp last minute question about should OJ Simpson have been released ended the programme, Ji Su telling me that she’d heard from some American models that he had a little dick.
I saw Batch or Bitch, as he prefers to be known at the gym, a day or two later, in the foyer, as I was leaving. He’d tied his hair back with a pillar box red bandanna, mascara, lipstick, a loose light tan blouse which showed breasts, tucked into the waist band of a flowery cream, calf length skirt and to complete the ‘female’ illusion – flat matching cream shoes. Totally things weren’t right. Like Ji Su had mentioned, he was not a pretty face and as a man just as bad, sort of pugilistic feature. He was showing a charming, pixiesh young black kid, the leotards and exercise shoes on the big gaudy display. She seemed to be enamoured with the whole concept, the smartness of the expensive investment by Terrell’s - the trainer and sandal manufacturer. I heard him introducing her to the front desk staff as Mindy, his 14 year old grand daughter and that her and her mother had just moved into the area and thinking of joining the gym membership.
Ji Su and I were enjoying a bottle of Merlot one evening and the news channels were going on about the anniversary of when homosexuality became legal and of course the transgender mob had infiltrated the thing and Ji Su mentioned if Batch would be on the newsreels. Talk got round to him and she said she wouldn’t mind seeing his cock and I scoffed that the only way would be for her to come down to the gym and use the showers, which was eminently possible even though she wasn’t a member, but the best way would be for her to try and seduce him. Fat chance – we agreed, then we wondered what sort of love life he had.
“He ever massaged you darling,” my wife asked, bottle feeding Beth, who like us all was naked and sat in the conservatory on a hot humid night. I told her Batch hadn’t.
I was staring at the two hugely different vaginas on show. One – well I couldn’t actually see it, thickly forested with a mass of unruly, long black pubic hair that curled out over Ji Su’s thighs and up her tummy and the other – tiny, pure and pink. I wondered if it would sprout the same carpet which I adored on Mother Benidorf and of course if it would have the same needs.
The child in bed, Ji Su wanted a straight no nonsense fuck, but I had spent a long dessert time feasting on her juicy fat snatch, sorting with my expert tongue and lips the stray hairs away from my wife’s beef curtained fanny. I carefully extracted loose ones from my mouth and passed them to Ji Su who insisted on counting them, keeping a record in a note pad by the bed. She had a fixation based on some ancient Korean proverb about losing so many pubes in a certain time – I forgot, it was just daft to me – was linked with losing her libido. The gusset of every item of underwear, swim wear and posed gear, whatever cosseted her cunt was carefully examined and noted and dated.
Martin and sometimes his chubby, cheerful, chatty wife Cathy helped her, usually ending in a threesome and if I was around I’d join them.
They are a lovely couple, childless, in their early 50s and do so many extra curricular marital things we can’t keep up with them. Camping, fishing, naturism, gardening at an allotment ... on it goes, but full of vital energy.
Ji Su and I had a cup of cocoa, she loved it never heard of it in her native land and having been here for eight of her twenty years, she wasn’t addicted, but it always a bed time necessity as much as multiple fucks. Ji Su lay in the crook of my arm, with the usual towel laid across our laps so protect the precious sheets, another of her fixations, but they were a luxurious 700 thread count.
“It would be a laugh if I could shag Batch wouldn’t it?” she giggled. “Not only a laugh but if he’s hung it’d be a great notch on the bed post.”
“That’s not the first time you’ve mentioned that, you serious?”
.... There is more of this story ...