The Happy Hills Golf and Country Club was THE place to live. Four hundred plus homes on huge sites, together with two eighteen hole golf courses and the Club House and other amenities that go with great wealth, it was populated by those who called themselves Upper Crust, the hoiest of the hoi polloi. Loosely speaking, the people who lived at Happy Hills were the type who truly believed that their shit didn't stink.
Tom Wilson looked like a penguin in his Quarterly Formal Night at the Club, what with his newest tuxedo. His eyes scanned the room until they landed on Jane Roberts, blue strapless showing off her creamy tits, two thousand at Saks. But his mind was underneath that dress, remembering the taste and aroma of her dripping twat and the softness of her mouth as it had so expertly serviced his cock that afternoon. Tom was supposed to have been playing golf at the time.
Bob Roberts, similarly dressed, stood next to his wife, but his gaze flitted back and forth between his wife Jane and Audrey Simons, wearing her flaming red outfit, twenty five hundred at Neiman. Bob's thoughts about that afternoon were of Audrey's awesome vaginal muscles and the way they had milked his cock and balls of all their juices. Bob had told his wife that he would be playing tennis.
Audrey's husband Steve Simons searched the ballroom until he saw Colette Green, ravishing as always in her lavender off the shoulder outfit, two thousand Euros in Paris. That afternoon her tight asshole had entertained Steve just the way he had always liked to be entertained, Audrey's rear entrance notwithstanding. Steve's wife thought that his statement about exercising meant that he would be in the Clubhouse gym, and had no clue that his planned exercises would be illegal in some jurisdictions.
And Dave Green, the senior member of the Board, was surreptitiously ogling Nancy Wilson, Tom's wife, in her basic black and white, eighteen hundred Euros in Italy. Dave was still distressed, even ashamed, of the ordeal he had put Nancy through that afternoon – though she always handled it well – at a time when he was allegedly in the Men's Card Room playing five and ten dollar poker.
Together, the closets of these four women were filled with clothing that had cost enough to maintain a small village, but none of the eight cared. The people of that small village lived in a different world. Each of the women was then best described as arm candy. All eight knew each other in their rarified gated enclave, their homes on three acres or larger plots with the two professional golf courses weaving among them, each winding up at the monstrous Clubhouse.
Tom had met Jane quite by accident. He had been walking toward the Men's Locker Room wearing his golf spikes when they caught on a piece of loose carpeting. Of course, the Maintenance Man in charge of that area was terminated that same day, but he's not part of this story. Anyway, the caught spike caused Tom to stumble, bouncing into Jane. Neither was hurt, Tom apologized and Jane smiled. At that point, Tom's nose began to twitch. A long time unrepentant pussy hound, Tom had learned to pick out those subtle clues which told him that a married woman could be had.
Tom bided his time for about a week, during which time he pleasured his cock with other available women in his stable, augmented by the occasional assistance of his strong right hand. Once he learned that Jane's husband Bob would be out of town on business for a few days, he made the call. One might refer to it as a 'fateful' call but to Tom it was merely the investment of a few minutes with the potential return of a nice piece of ass.
"Hi Jane, this is Tom Wilson. I want to apologize again for my clumsiness and make it up to you with a lunch."
"Well thanks," she said guardedly, "but I have someone here now. Could I call you back in a half hour?"
He gave her his office number and sat back in his chair, wondering if she would actually call. What he didn't know, what he would never know, was that the someone at Jane's home was the young man who tended to their swimming pool. That young man had just marinated Jane's pussy in a teaspoon full of sperm and was at the moment using his tongue to clean her out.
And what that young pool boy didn't know was that Jane fully understood the meaning of Tom's call and fully intended to call him back. She knew her talents and, unless she was badly mistaken, that pool boy would have competition for Jane's time. Though she might shut him out totally altogether.
Jane called Tom back, accepted his offer of lunch the following day and smiled herself to sleep that night. Lunch was at an upscale restaurant – neither of them ever patronized anyplace but upscale – near Tom's office. The meal and the coffee afterward were spiced with meaningless chit-chat. Then Tom put on his serious voice.
"You know what I wanted to ask you," he began rhetorically.
"Of course I do," she interrupted him. "That's why I'm not wearing any panties today. The question is where?"
It took Tom a moment to recover his aplomb. "Well, the firm has an apartment for out-of-town clients..."
Again she interrupted. Standing up, she said, "Finish your coffee and let's go."
And so began three months of Tom cuckolding his friend Bob.
On the afternoon in question, the day of the Formal Night at the Club, Tom and Jane met at the apartment. Though used to each other by then, they were still in serious heat and lust. Nevertheless, by then each was comfortable in confining their thrice weekly get-togethers to oral sex, soixante neuf, a six and a nine determined to please each other. Tom loved best of all having his cock sucked, a practice his wife Nancy considered to be slutty – at least with him. In return, Tom was willing, nay, thrilled, to eat Jane's pussy for as long as she could hold out. For her part, Jane felt that making a man eat her out was one of the most degrading thing she could impose upon him, and that's why she loved it so much, enough so that she was willing to blow him as compensation.
They were so hot for each other that they didn't bother with the old seduction ritual of undressing one another. Each quickly went to one side of the bed and disrobed quickly, throwing clothing one way and their bodies into the middle of the bed. Jane was there first and Tom connected first, his hands rough in spreading her legs and his head into her welcoming vee instantly. The aroma drifting upward from her pinkness was like nectar to his nostrils. His lips softly kissed her damp slit. It took Jane longer to twist her head under and between his legs, her eyes and then her mouth searching for the hardness she had come to love ever since that first night with her Dad. But that's for a different story.
Tom licked up and down her slit for a short while. Then, as she had long since trained him, he stretched his neck further, running his tongue down along her 'taint' to her perfect circle of a rear entrance. It was to Jane the absolutely worst thing she could ask of him, the most degrading, and yet to Tom it was the slightest of prices for him to pay for the pleasing talents of her tongue. But then it was back to her pussy, to drive his tongue inside her folds, and finally to take her clit into his lips for that awesome trip to Paradise.
For her part, Jane used lips and tongue to arouse what was already aroused, to excite, to tease. She licked his purple crown, scooping with her tongue the tiny droplet of clear fluid that for some reason always oozes out of the male slit. She puffed with warm air, reminding Tom that her work was for some silly reason known to all the world as a blow job. She licked along his hard shaft, a claimed seven inches that she had never bothered to measure. She fondled his sac with fingers, then tongue and ultimately lips, letting those two little guys know that they weren't forgotten.
And then she latched on, sucking to Tom's heart's desires, her head bobbing as for apples at a Halloween party, all the while feeling Tom's lips sucking her clit as a lamb at the teat. With all their practice, they exploded as one, exchanging fluids that they would soon return to each other when they began their post-orgasmic kissing.
To the untrained fly on the wall, it looked as if they were two lovers pleasing each other. In fact, they were two lustful people using each other to obtain their own pleasures. They showed that themselves by never exchanging a single word on the ride back.
Bob and Audrey alas were truly in love. Their fucking began in lust and slowly turned into love. If only they had met earlier in life. Bob had started out as an ordinary faithful husband, given to the occasional fantasy but never having the nerve to try. Then one evening he was working late at the small office where he had started out, the place that had given him the start to his current great wealth. Hearing unexpected noises from a supposedly vacant office, he had opened the door. Lo and behold, there was his co-worker pronging the company receptionist doggy style.
.... There is more of this story ...