“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?”
“Course I am you silly. Me and big cocks. I mean this beauty is pretty special ... but,” she reached under the towel and grasped my dick, having put our mugs on the tables.
A week later, my mobile warbled as I did snatch and jerks in the gym. I could see it was Ji Su, so I stepped to the window and leaned on it gazing out to the heat hazy afternoon.
“Harry, something very different has come up ... no silly. Martin has had a special request and we need to discuss it, when can we meet him?”
I was distracted by a cute Oriental girl and an equally cute Caribbean looker waiting to cross the street outside, both wearing pussy pelmets and minimal tee-shirts and ludicrously high heels. Ji Su would only wear shoes like that in a photo shoot. The coloured girl’s skirt was a Ra Ra style and she kept pulling it down and tight to her legs, especially when a big artic passed them, wafting her skirt up in it’s back draft...
Can’t work out why girls wear such short revealing skirts and then do their best to stop them revealing anything.
“Harry ... you there?”
I responded and within half an hour I had parked the Subaru SUV, blocking my wife’s Fiat 500 in the Martin Paris house/studio drive. He’s a lovely man, gentle – typical artist in his way, long thin wispy grey hair, falling out over the years and leaving him with a tall forehead with school teacher wired specs. There was a touch of a tarbrush somewhere in his background, judging by his complexion and features,
Cathy let me in and gave me a big hug and we groped each other, hmm no panties, she had a gossamer thin dress over her ample but shapely mature body, then strolled through to his purpose built studio. Ji Su, sat back in her tee-shirt and mini skirt, shoulder to shoulder with Martin, sipping white wine and mulling over a portfolio of various glamour girls, assessing the potential, he valued her judgement. He and I shook hands, I kissed her as Cathy brought me a glass and then we emptied the bottle of Pinot Grigio. Small talk, laughs then the business stuff started.
“I’ve got this raging dyke client, Fran Josef who has a crush on Ji Su as we all know. She’s German and ultra loaded and she has this fetish group in Hamburg who are crazy about seeing girls pissing. You know the sort of thing, taking their knickers down, squatting, and all the ... ahem gory details,” Martin shuddered.
“They’ve got a thing about seeing the tampon string and changing one,” chortled Cathy.” I’ll get another,” she added, leaving with the empty bottle.
I recalled Fran’s interest in Ji Su - neither of us had met her, but she paid top dollar for Martin’s limited stuff which included my wife’s, therefore we profited.
“They want a video of me having a piss Harry,” Ji Su snickered. “And want it like in month for a big show, gonna be about two thousand people passing through and seeing it, seeing me,” she squeaked excitedly.
Martin was smiling, Cathy was grinning, Ji Su was bouncing and I was pondering – like how much?
“So you’re prepared to do it?” I gazed at happy snapper and model who were both giggling and nodding.
Ji Su’s fingers danced over her Smart Phone. “I’m due on in a couple of weeks, do it then give them what they want and sting them Mart,” she told him.
A date was fixed, Cathy went and made some snacks and Bethany was bottle fed. We all laughed and chatted and my wife and I switched to water as we were driving. The TV was showing yet more fucking queer stuff celebrations, which the girls seemed to enjoy because it was colourful, us blokes put up with it under duress, then we chuckled to agree that a fucking queer was paying the next big bill.
Cathy got up and said, “Must take a leak, all this wine’s going to my head and bladder, anyone want a video?” she trilled halfway along the passage.
Ji Su thrust her phone at me and pushed me, gesturing to follow. I grabbed the phone, finding the camera button as I yelled, “Yes.”
She wasn’t that desperate to wet what would have been panties, but I caught up just as she turned and hitched up her dress. She screeched with laughter and started to lower her butt, the dress now up under her lovely tits and her knees wide apart. I crouched and aimed, enjoying her plump, smooth pudenda and her urine splashed loudly into the bowl. She looked over my shoulders, farted once with a giggle, grinning lewdly at her husband and my wife who’d come down the passage to watch. Her waterworks seemed to go on for a while.
“When we do yours Ji Su, we’ll use one of the family bathrooms upstairs, more room,” Martin told us, as I grabbed three sheets of paper off the roll and Cathy allowed me to swab her minge dry. It could have developed into a full blown share all, but we had the baby with us and I had an early call at the station to get up to London for a muscle show.
“What the fuck?” shouted Charlotte Goldsworthy, the gym owner, entering the massage room.
Bitch held his greasy hands up in surprise, while the skinny little naked body laying face down on the treatment table, lazily turned her head to see who had entered the mistakenly unlocked door. Seeing the big brassy, bottle blonde, woman standing in the doorway arms on hips and a fearsome glare on her bottle tanned face, she closed her legs and the oil squelched.
“It’s Mindy my niece Mrs Charlotte. She has a sore back and...”
“So why is she naked? You sorted my back out and I wasn’t naked.”
“It’s just easier and she just took her clothes off while I was preparing the table, that’s all – Mindy put your panties and bra on, there’s a pet,” whined a disappointed Bitch as a disappointed little black girl obeyed her wise grand father.
Charlotte admired the neat trim figure wrestling with the tiniest pair of panties she’d ever seen as Mindy tried to work out where the label was to determine the back. She wistfully saw a superb, untidy thick patch of curly black pubic hair covered, causing quite a bump at the front of the delicate little gusset and pondered what she and her partner Debs could do with such a treasure. Debs had a thing about black skin, yet Charlotte couldn’t give a fuck about it, any colour was game in the dyke world they lived. Her house mobile called her away but not before the kid was fully dressed
“I’ll deal with it at home Mindy, silly old cow,” whispered Bitch as he saw her to a bus stop. They waited for some time and he checked the wet stained, plastic framed time table. The double decker bus was 20 minutes late when it finally arrived.
“Black Street?” Bitch asked a dishevelled scruffy looking driver who nodded, hardly glancing at Bitch, wearing very dark sunglasses. The girl hopped on, Bitch paid the exorbitant fare and waved as the vehicle powered away. It was one of the new fleet with free Wi Fi, device charging facilities and double facing seats and tables upstairs like some train carriages, instead of all facing forward.
“Don’t please ... stop it,” whined Mindy trapped against the window of the bus, as an old, booze smelling man, switched seats to be next to her and immediately commenced fingering her tiny pussy. Her pink slacks were cheap and flimsy and offered no protection to such a persistent probing. The gnarled, calloused working man’s hand was on her near leg while he groped the charming 14 year old black girl he’d chosen to sit next to on the half hour ride to his home. She was terrified of making a fuss and was scared of what he might do when she got off, and had given up hope of the bus driver doing anything knowing she was in full view of the in-bus CCTV cameras. He was quite enjoying her discomfort knowing what his dad was doing back in row four.
One vision impaired, blue rinse female passenger got off at the last stop and didn’t realise Mindy and an old geezer were still on board. By this time, he had infiltrated his grubby mitts under her olive green polo shirt and was fondling what he found to be quite large breasts under a sports bra.
“Ooo that hurts mister, don’t please. I want to get off.”
“We’ll show you what hurts missy heh heh!” he grunted, nipping her nipple even harder, making her squeal.
“OK Dad, Lets do it,” said Clem the driver, who had successfully hijacked the bus, having parked the bus in a lay by on a quiet road. “We’ll go upstairs, less chance of being seen.
Ji Su’s, losing her mind mother, Lo Tit, just starting a two day visit, conveniently for us to babysit, was propped up on the big pale leather upholstered couch, filling herself with bottles of Guiness while attempting, failing and knowing full well why at breast feeding Bethany, when I got downstairs to go out and collect Ji Su from the doctor and go to Martin’s place for the big booking from Germany. The diminutive withered woman who looked 83 but was 43, she’d had a hard life in Gwangju, a village two hours by dusty road from Seoul. Her husband, an established Sushi chef had died from TB and Lo Tit lived with her other daughter in Bermondsey London who I’d never met.
“What the fuck old woman? you’ve got no milk you stupid cow,” I ranted. Bethany was nearly chewing her nipples off in desperation, one was hugely swollen and near to bleeding I reckoned. Our child knew what a teat did and how good it could taste, she’d been breast fed in early days. I snatched the baby and put her in her cot, wrapping her up and placing the bottle Ji Su had prepared in the auto feed station, which was labour saving, if not quite loving and bonding, but it served a purpose. Beth noisily clamped on it.
Lo Tit was going berserk, fighting me, gabbling stuff, spitting at me, kicking and getting out of control upsetting Beth with her screeching, Her small dark brown pointed nipples nearly speared me before I took hold of her semi naked body where her hospital style gown had slipped down. For all her size, she was powerful – kicking and spitting. We were like two mismanaged cats in a power tussle. I managed to get her laid back and rubbed my goolies having taken a kick. At the same time I saw her hairy mott between the folds of her gown. It was like Ji Su’s but nothing like as hirsute. Fuck! She couldn’t speak English, my Korean was small and this Korean spitfire was small, I thought evilly, I know how to shut you up you old bag. I was dressed in a close fitting sweat shirt and clean light grey training pants and ripped them down with my permanent posing pouch. My cock, excited in the struggle had grown erect, so I jumped on my mother-in-law and forced her puny legs wide, penetrating her hoary, dry, old looking snatch in one brutal thrust.
She stared at me, I guessed in pain, her labia rasped on my todger, suddenly still, silent, gasping for breath, her eyes widening, and then her gap toothed mouth wide open - was that a resemblance of a smile. Never, I thought, is this where my wife gets her appetite for cock from? I banged her hard and got into a simple rhythm and in complete contrast she was now cooing in a guttural tone and starting to grasp my huge biceps and pull up against me. Her breath was foul, garlic and Guiness and maybe unclean but I wasn’t aiming to kiss her. I shagged her arrogantly and fast and on pulling out, the ropes of my jism and her cunt discharge trickled over the couch, shit – that could be a problem but I wanted out.
Checking Bethany who had nearly finished the measured contents of the bottle, I left her to be nappy changed, cleaned myself up and set off for Martin’s, picking up Ji Su patiently sat in the surgery waiting room, after an annual MOT – great, she’s so healthy. I didn’t tell her about her mother. That could wait, we were on a mission.
Martin greeted us and immediately thrust a drink in our hands, introducing us to Arthur his 77 year old father, stopping with them during a business trip. We joked that it must be elderly rellies visiting day, telling them about our temporary lodger. Cathy came down stairs, having finished putting one or two ‘ladies things’ in the bathroom to be used for the video shoot. Art and Ji Su hit it off instantly, I could see she was totally in awe of the handsome stranger. He was an eccentric old charmer, full of stories – he’d been a farmer in South Africa and been robbed and beaten, his animals destroyed, the house burned down, his wife Marj raped and murdered by the Jacob Zuma bunch of out of control hooligans.
Ji Su’s glass was continually topped up while Martin explained his dad would like to be in on the project today as he had a speciality, which might be of interest to us. Art, as he preferred to be called, had always been an acknowledged, bovine breeding specialist, now travelled Europe advising on breeds and methods. His tales about catching bull’s - foot long - cocks in a film ‘johnny’ as he called it, to get them to ejaculate into, while mounted on a fake cow for insemination were hilarious. Ji Su caused Art to go into fits of laughter, saying she would like to watch and be one of the cows. Martin showed him part of her portfolio, he was impressed.
She indicated she was fully primed and needy, so we all went up to the bathroom which was tastefully decorated in what Cathy told us is Farrow and Ball Inchyra Blue, a sort of dark blue/grey, where Martin had previously set up a tripod, with a camera mounted on it. Two studio lights were positioned, needing final adjustment and needed their long cable plugs inserted to a socket on the landing when ready. My wife, always the professional, wore a simple pale green top which hung straight from shoulders, armpits and her nipples, no bra as usual, but to make things easier for Martin and herself with prior chats, she wore a brand new, loose, startlingly white flared mini skirt. Her legs were bare.
The room had space enough for us all to stand and watch. Ji Su was told to rehearse, which needed nothing apart from stepping to the toilet bowl and turning, hoisting her skirt and crouching. Our host busied himself adjusting light and taking great care with the fixed camera. He had another camera slung round his neck.
“I hope this is one take Martin, once I start, I’ll never be able to stop,” she snickered.
“Love the way we can see the dark circles of her teats through her blouse Harry,” Arthur murmured.
“Mine are so pale,” chuckled Cathy.
“Those aren’t nipples darling,” Martin chuckled. “They’re my lovely saucers, I showed Dad those tit shots of you last night.”
Cathy snuggled into her father-in-law’s side and he put his arm round her shoulders. He was tall, handsome, with a rugged face, Roman nose and a mop of steely white hair. His muscular wiry arms were tanned and I guess the rest of him was, because it was him that introduced Martin and Cathy to nudism.
“You ready for your speciality Art?” Cathy peered up at him.
“Too true blue,” he replied in a mock Australian accent.
“Well that won’t be on the official video, but we’ll have it,” said Martin thanking me for plugging in the light cables, flooding the room which had the blinds down at the window. “Now I’m ready Ji Su if you are.”
We all hushed, like in a cinema.
“There’s no technical need for quiet folks, but too much chat in what’s supposed to be a private moment won’t quite fit eh?” he murmured, nodding at Ji Su and clicking his two cameras on.
The star of the show walked into his shot, her four inch stilettos clicking louder on the marble floor. She lifted the lid, peered inside, smiled – this was all part of German printed directions – swivelled and hefted up her skirt. She part lowered her white panties, which were brand new and I hadn’t see before.
They were extremely pretty. Still practical but effective. There was a delicate floral motif scattered around the whole garment. Down the front there was a wide panel with a tiny lace fringed edge. The same edging but a little wider was round the leg holes. It wasn’t a thong. Her pubic mound was like a large wide cushion tucked away, such was it’s bulk. She examined the inside, pulled a slight frowning expression then lowered them to her ankles, squatting but not sitting on the rim. That must have been part of the directions too as she always sits. It would take some strength too as I know, but she was no weight.
“Shit! That’s some fucking bush she’s cultivating,” snickered Art.
Martin was a hive of activity with a hand held camera, squatting, kneeling and lying down, his auto camera capturing multiple shots, also checking the monitor aside on the floor from which we could all view showing the live action. There was another monitor alongside it, showing the rear close up view of her arse hole and cunt. It was a staggering set up – I’d seen all of my wife’s stuff before, but the others hadn’t and from them came all sorts of little gasps and squeaks of surprise and delight.
Because of Frau Fran’s request, her tampon string had been buried in her hairy mott and she fumbled inside for it. Unearthing it and pulling it slowly and deliberately, Ji Su’s pubic forest cascaded round her deft, black painted fingers, contrasting nicely with the white cotton until she pulled about two inches out. About 6 inches out, it was stained a muddy red colour.
“Perfect,” sighed Martin. Art murmured approval.
What I hadn’t realised, the camera was set to take both her lower action area well as her face from the front, all clear on the monitor. Martin whisperer he would edit a lot of the total to a split screen view. She’d been directed not to pose, indicating her awareness of the cameras. Yet another camera was located at the back of the bowl virtually on the rim, held with gaffer tape aiming up, capturing glorious close ups of just her arse hole and cunt.
The soiled cotton bud appeared and Art groaned, licking his lips with pleasure, disturbing a riveted to the monitors Cathy, to adjust the hang of his cock. She glanced down and I thought she was going to assist him but didn’t. The dark brown/red bulb swung low until Ji Su pulled it clear, examining it closely, tossed her head as if to say ‘that’s OK’ then pulled some toilet sheets off the roll and deposited it, putting it on the floor. Art murmured again and Cathy beamed up at him. Ji Su urinated powerfully, pulsing her genital muscles with the effort, her sphincter responding, the noise echoing gloriously in the tiles room, and looking like that it would try and match the ferocious flow nearby. It ceased, luckily - and it was luck - as she’d often complained because of the weighty meat of her labia, the flow shot out sideways and soaked her cheeks. My wife’s pussy dribbled a few dark blood ropes of her menstrual discharge until satisfied all was done, she dabbed it, several times, nearly exhausting the new roll Cathy had placed there and having unwrapped a new tampon she inserted it, giving an exaggerated push in, then inspecting and wiping her fingers again. Suitable expressions made it complete.
She stood and after peering at her panty gusset again with the same expression she’d used when inspecting her pussy plug, she wriggled them up, an action I love to see. Making sure her black forest was all tucked in, which frankly was impossible with her growth, she patted the knickers all round, picking out the back of it where it had ridden too high up her crack and then smoothed down her skirt. Martin was laid flat out on the floor videoing up her crotch, with two cameras, capturing every single detail. Ji Su glanced round, poker faced as only Orientals can master and then made to walk away.
“That’s it folks, thanks darling,” applauded Martin, switching the camera off. We all joined him. “Now dad, your turn, this is not going on the main stuff for German consumption, but let’s see what you do and if you want or need to, you can play act.”
“You’re going to video this son? Never had the chance when you mother was alive and apart from your sister Gwen, they’re the only two and Gwen never knew what I did and I didn’t have a camera.”
“Yes of course he is Art. If it’s related to what we’ve seen, it’ll be great. Ah good you’re back Ji Su, Art’s going to do a little act for us. Just let me tidy these away...”
“No leave all that Cathy,” Art interjected. “I’ll do it that later.” He stopped her picking up some loose tissues and a crumpled one.
Cathy gave a resigned shrug, confirmed we should all stay in the bathroom and stepped back as my wife snuggled into me, grinning cheekily.
“Did I do OK darling?” she murmured.
“You bet swee...”
“Ahem,” exclaimed Arthur. “The grand finale ... da dummmm.”
He picked up an innocent looking white plastic bottle off a shelf, it looked like the sort of wide rimmed, sealed kitchen container everyone has. He theatrically flipped the top off and passed it round suggesting we smell the contents. Martin sniffed and pulled a face, as did Ji Su, then Cathy who, straight faced, passed it to me after raising and lowering it quickly to her face. Whatever liquid it was, it was pale acid yellow and smelt familiar, but I couldn’t pin it down – agricultural, metallic, maybe.
Arthur took it back and placed it back on the shelf with a flourish. He had stooped in the meantime and collected the tissues from the floor, some mere scraps torn as the individual sheets were removed. Cleverly he’d secreted a slightly larger bundle in the palm of his hand and started to unravel it.
“Just because we’ve been waiting up here all this time and I was getting peckish, I thought I’d try a little snack...”
With that he dangled Ji Su’s very soiled tampon over his face, cocked back his head, opened his mouth and lowered the cotton lump into it. Cathy gasped, her hands at her mouth in astonishment, Martin said “Gross Dad”, Ji Su said “Nnoooo!!!” and I laughed out loud.
Art made sucking and chewing movements and finally removed the grubby object and said, grasping the bottle, “ A litle overdone. Just a little suopçon of Cathy water to wash it down.”
He glugged back a lot of what I realised was piss, but where he hadn’t eaten the tampon, he swallowed the urine.
He took both applause and mixed reactions, they were mostly from Martin, but it was a good show in my opinion, it takes all sorts. We drifted down to the lounge, while Martin sorted his gear and Cathy poured drinks.
“He’ll forward you the finished work in due course,” she told us.
“You were in on it weren’t you?” giggled Ji Su. “That was your piss.”
“Only to that point. I hadn’t a clue what he was planning, honest.”
We all believed her while Art confirmed such. “I had to do it, when I heard of today’s planned scenario, it was a popular party trick of mine when I worked in the dark areas of Amsterdam, perfected it there. She took some persuasion heh heh!”
“Like what?” asked Ji Su, noticing Art’s sly grin towards Cathy.
“He was a lovely fuck Ji Su, fancied him on the side for years since our naturism days started, I mean for an old man,” she chuckled the words and parenthesised them with her fingers. “He’s a lovely lovely man and hung, I mean...” she broke down in laughter, starting to indicate with her hands, as Art squirmed and I got that it was genuine embarrassment.
I felt my wife who was perched on my knee squirm. She’d have no qualms about shagging Arthur, adoring old men as much as youth.
Our host joined us and we congratulated him on the occasion and setup. Cathy told him about how she pissed for Art, which he’d guessed but didn’t know. He dug out a beautifully bound album out of a row of 20 on a shelf and flashed some black and white and coloured photos of Art, his gorgeous deceased Sri Lankan wife, friends and family including Martin and Cathy posing naked presumably at various resorts judging by the bodies in the background. I had seen Martin’s donger now and then during our little foursomes, but of course never Art’s and yes he was as Cathy stated – hung. Ji Su squirmed again on seeing the pictures. Dinner was as usual sumptuous.
We took a taxi home.
Bitch arrived at our place on time, on his gleaming, high chrome – arn’t they all – massive Harley Davidson and I opened the door and went out to examine his pride and joy. I went indoors and gave him a cup of coffee and showed him through to the conservatory, where Ji Su, wearing nothing but a towelling robe, and he met formally. We had made up as story about her back pain and she would prefer his expertise at home.
I wondered of any of the neighbours looked a little askance when he climbed off the huge machine, which was cool ticking on the drive way. Bitch wore his favourite bandanna under his purple helmet, his hair snaked under it. His black jacket came off to reveal a light mauve ethnic design blouse, his wiry arms bare from the shoulders down, some pretty bangles on one wrist.
Below he wore a black, calf length deep purple skirt, his black/bronze legs bare down to incongruous DMs which he’d removed on arrival, padding around bare footed.
“Here we are Batch,” I removed a sheet over a proper examination bed, which I kept for my exercises. He delved into a bag and produced phials of lotions, bottle of oils and some clean towels and rags, indicating that my wife should prepare on the bed. She climbed on knelt, removed the robe tossing it to me and lay belly down, but not before I noticed his shock at the sight of her forested groin.
“I’ll leave you to it mate ... er sorry Rowen isn’t it?” I corrected to the name he/she had adopted, beyond the gym name Batch. He nodded, grinned and thanked me.
I drifted through to the kitchen and took up my position behind the partly open serving hatch, now disused when the conservatory was once a dining room before one of the many conversions we’d had done. Ji Su and I had carefully disguised it in the conservatory behind a plant and various detritus, but made sure I would have a good aspect of the action. I also got a video camera primed.
Batch started on her back after a discussion where the pain was. I watched patiently, waiting for the moment when my wife would instigate some action. She got to the subject in the constant chat, round to his change of gender, and he happily explained things and where he was at in progress. She complimented Rowen on choice of clothing, with respect to the colours and tones. Rowen liked that and thanked her for her offer of assistance in choosing and even going shopping with Rowen and buying garments. They discussed the idea that he was, like now, a man massaging a woman and how was that experience succeeding. He said he hadn’t had much call for it so far, but was hopeful of many more and of course it should be easier when his transition was complete and was enjoying the chance to practice freely today.
I had a view from Ji Su’s feet end and could see her plan in opening her legs a little, while her kneaded, pulled and poked in the small of her back and around. Rowen didn’t appear to take any interest and I could see a dark hairy vision which I always lust for. Her butt looked magnificent.
Ji Su asked, when Rowen was finished on her back, if she would help her sort out a slight pull on her right thigh at the front and he readily agreed.
Helping her to turn over and lay a towel over her genitals, he had to determine what her problem was and she explained vaguely, levered up on her elbows. I got a grin of pleasure and hopefulness from her. She lay back, letting her arm flop off the edge of the table sighing encouragement to Rowen.
“So you hope to be eligible for the surgery I suppose some time?” Ji Su ventured.
Rowen nodded and explained about regulations, restrictions and in his/her view petty officialdom.
“Golly! My husba ... Harry, would rather loose an arm than his dick,” she giggled.
Rowen chuckled without comment.
Suddenly his face registered shock and surprise and he jolted back from the side of the table.
“Please Mrs ... s’funny, I don’t know your married name but please Ji Su, you mustn’t do that.”
“Sorry Rowen, but to me you’re still Batch with what I can feel up your skirt and it’s a pity if all that’s going to go,” she replied, levering up again and opening her legs wide.
Her mass of curly pubes, sprung up like a chimney cleaners brush. Rowen gulped and smoothed down the dense purple skirt and I did spot a jiggle of hand over the crotch area.
“Shall I get on with the thigh problem?” he squeaked in an earthy masculine tone.
She ignored him, noting he’d stepped forward again to resume professional duty. “Don’t you miss ... sorry I’ll rephrase that, do you miss playing with this sort of thing?” Ji Su queried, delving a finger into her hairy minge.
“Ji Su... ! please don’t, that’s not fair ... and th ... eek! And that,” Rowen squeaked, as my wife again stuck her hand up his skirt.