Browsing the Internet for porn late one night, as single men with fast download speeds are apt to do, I followed a link to a swingers site. I read through some of the postings and sat watching the chat room messages scroll by for a bit, then I went to bed, thinking about what I'd seen and read before dropping off. I kept popping back to the site for a look-see over the next few days. It didn't take long for me to realise that the vast majority of postings were from single men like myself. This was quite disheartening so I never bothered to compose my own advertisement. What would be the point? It would only get lost amongst the crowd. I did think to myself though, rather snobbishly, that if I were to write a message it would probably be somewhat more literate than many I'd read.

I fell into the habit of perusing the site occasionally over the next few months. I'd usually just check the most recent "Women seeking Men" or "Couples seeking Men" adverts. One day I noticed a message from "M and C" who were advertising from a town not far from where I live. I opened their advert in another window and subjected it to careful scrutiny. They were a couple in their early 30's, hadn't advertised before and wanted to meet single men who definitely wasn't gay or bisexual. They wanted educated men, slim, neither too old nor too young and a photo without wedding-tackle in it.

A single photograph accompanied their message; a down angled shot of a woman sat on a bed. She was side on to the photographer, looking away, nearest leg crossed over the other, hands held gracefully in her lap. Long brunette hair hung to the small of her back. She was wearing a black bolero style jacket over a black dress. An inch of creamy thigh was visible and then black stockings encased long, slim legs out of the frame. Her left cheek was the same unblemished creamy colour of her thigh. A long, elegant neck descended gracefully into a beautiful cleavage. The swell of her breasts pushed against the material of her dress and the camera angle allowed a clear view down into the shadow between them. She wore both engagement and wedding rings. Around her neck she wore a slim, unadorned gold necklace.

I spent a long time looking at that photograph. It was like one of those arty photos from an upmarket porn site; the type women like to browse because they don't cater to the lowest male denominator. This photograph was probably proof that even the most amateur of photographers can produce a work of high art by accident. Nothing could be seen of the woman's face beyond her cheek, but looking at the photograph you could just tell that she was extremely attractive. I decided to answer their advert.

It was fortunate they didn't want a cock shot. I don't have a digital camera and I didn't fancy handing an x-rated role of film over the counter to a teenage assistant in the chemists. Instead, I flicked through a shoebox of photographs that hadn't made it into an album and selected one from a recent holiday in Greece. A cheerful shot of me in a panama hat, squinting happily at the camera whilst Russian tourists clambered over the Parthenon in the background. I spent a moment thinking what a jolly handsome chap I was, then scanned it onto my computer and sat back whilst I thought about what to write. On the assumption that "M and C" would be inundated with replies, I rattled mine off rapidly, a fairly honest biography laced with flattery for "C", then sent it before I lost my nerve.

I wasn't really expecting a response. Hoping for one, yes, but not with any real expectation of receiving one. After a week without I'd given up completely and no longer checked my e-mail account several times a day. Then, on a Thursday evening, a message from 'M and C' arrived. Sorry for the delay in getting back to me, but would I like to meet them for a drink that Saturday? I responded immediately with an affirmative and asked where they would like to meet up. Ten minutes later another message arrived. Their names were Mark and Caroline and I would be able to meet them in a pub I was already familiar with, from nine 'o'clock onwards. Caroline would wear the same clothes she had on in the photograph. They'd be willing to put me up for the night if we got on all right.

Well, I was extraordinarily chuffed with this turn of events. It took an incredible effort of will not to masturbate there and then as my fantasies ran wild; I wanted to save myself for Saturday in case things turned out well. I slept restlessly that night and, needless to say, wasn't concentrating as much as I ought to at work the next day. In fact, I left early so I could get a haircut and then buy some condoms, expensively, from a pub vending machine. There's no way I could ever pluck up enough moral courage to buy them cheaply over the counter.

Saturday dawned and then dragged by very slowly. I ran a bath, shaved and generally tarted myself up as best as I was able. I had a light brunch, checked and double-checked the train times on the Internet, repeatedly read through my e-mails and then tried to kill time by watching a film on television. Then, after a couple of sandwiches for tea, it was suddenly time to go. A short train journey and a brisk five-minute walk later and I stood outside the pub where our meeting would occur. Heart pounding, palms sweaty and with a sense of trepidation bordering upon fear, I put my head down and entered the pub on unsteady legs.

It being a Saturday night, the pub was smoky, crowded and very noisy. Mark and Caroline were sat side by side at a corner table away from the bar. Their drinks were on the small round table in front of them. Beneath the table Mark was reserving a stool, presumably for me, by the efficacious method of using it as a footrest. They'd obviously been keeping an eye out for me; Caroline was waving to get my attention through the throng. I pushed my way through to them and Mark thrust the stool out with his foot for me to sit on.

"Hello," I said to them both, reminding myself to act confidently as I sat down on the stool. Mark responded with a nod and Caroline smiled at me.

"Hi," she said, "How are you?" Stunned would have been an accurate response. She was gorgeous. Her dark, lustrous hair framed an unblemished elfin face. Beneath delicately arched eyebrows, hazel eyes twinkled through long lashes. A diminutive nose surmounted a set of pearly white incisors, gleaming from between slightly parted, generous, brilliant red lips. She was leaning forward, almost daring me to stare down the front of her dress. With a supreme effort of will I maintained eye contact and smiled back.

"I'm fine thank you. I do hope I've not kept you waiting long." I managed, hoping I sounded suitably insouciant.

"That's all right. We got here early to make sure of a table." Looking around I could see there weren't any unoccupied tables left. Most of them were taken by a large group of women in the early stages of a hen night. Apart from the bride, liberally garlanded with L-plates, none of the other women were obviously drunk yet. Around them, jostling for position, were several groups of lads waiting for time and alcohol to make the women more amenable to their advances.

"Can I get you a drink?" asked Mark as he stood and shuffled towards the bar.

"Please, a pint of London Pride if they've got it. Any old ale if not."

As Mark attempted to attract the attention of a barmaid, I engaged Caroline in small talk. We chatted about the weather, the relative merits of various Reality-TV programmes and other neutral topics. All the time Caroline kept leaning further and further towards me until human nature won and I glanced down. Her breasts were pushed upwards and together by the dress she wore, presenting a deep cleavage to which the eye was irresistibly drawn. The pale orbs almost glowed in the orange light cast by a wall lamp, the contrast with the shadow between them offering the promise of delight for anyone bold enough to grasp their opportunity. Caroline leaned back; the victorious smile of a chess player who dictates her opponent's moves playing on her lips. I blushed at having being caught staring at her breasts then, knowing that she'd wanted me to look anyway, relaxed and smiled back at her. That's when I knew I was in if I played my cards right.

Mark rejoined us with our drinks and we settled down, becoming comfortable with each other as I got to know them and they got to know me. What really broke the ice was a discussion Mark and I had about the abysmal fielding performance by the West Indies cricket team in the last test series. Mark, it transpired, was a big cricket fan and played as a middle order batsman in his village team.

Feeling a bit left out of our cricket discussion, Caroline started playing footsy with me beneath the table. Behind me, the decibel level from the hen party started rising. With most of an hour gone and the level of our drinks getting low, I drained the remnants of my pint and asked if Mark and Caroline wanted another. Mark indicated that he'd settle for a pint of whatever I was having. Caroline leaned towards me again. She smiled wickedly and spoke in a tone of voice I can only describe as puckish. "I'm a cum guzzling fuck slut and I want to drink your spunk."

I sat in shock, mouth agape. Mark started laughing. Caroline blinked her eyelashes coquettishly at me, looking as though butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. Recovering my composure somewhat, I replied with the wittiest retort I could think of. "If I let you have some then all the other woman here will want some too. Are you sure you want to share me?"

"Oh," she giggled, "aren't you the stud then? I suppose I'd better settle for a gin and tonic for now then." Things definitely seemed to be going well, I thought to myself as I approached the bar. I couldn't imagine Caroline speaking to me like that if she hadn't made her mind up to go all the way later. Within my trousers my prick started to perk up at the thought.

I'd settled in at the bar to wait my turn when I felt a soft, feminine presence move in next to me. I glanced down, wondering if Caroline had followed me. Instead of her delightful hazel eyes looking back at me however, I found myself staring into a partially glazed blue pair. "Looks like someone's going to get lucky tonight then, doesn't it?" she slurred in a Welsh accent, with what I assumed was a rhetorical question.

"Pardon?" I said, somewhat confused. She was in her late thirties or early forties. A member of the hen party, she had the brash look and bleached hair of a woman who spends too much time drinking too much alcohol and smoking too many cigarettes.

"I can lip read. We all can, can't we?" She waved airily in the general direction of the increasingly boisterous hen party. "Most of us work in a school for the deaf. I could see what your friend said, see?" I realized then that she was one of those many Welsh people with the habit of ending each sentence in a question to which they expect no response. I wondered what her deaf students made of the habit.

"Oh." I replied, not overly sure of what else to say and uncertain of how to proceed. I was providentially saved from having to make any conversation by the timely arrival of the barmaid. As I ordered and then paid for the drinks, I heard the woman say, "Cum guzzling fuck slut, see?" under her breath before she started sniggering.

Back at the table I distributed the drinks to Mark and the mischievously impish looking Caroline. I was feeling quite confident now that I'd got to know them both. The beer I'd already drunk probably helped as well. I decided that if Caroline wanted to play the minx, I'd pay her back in spades. "You look so innocent for someone who speaks so dirty," I told her, "I could've imagined you doing a Julie Andrews on a mountaintop before you said what you did." Mark laughed at this and Caroline blushed prettily.

"She loves talking dirty," said Mark, "She also has a nun's habit in the wardrobe at home." He turned to Caroline and gave her a hug with one arm around her shoulders. "You're my naughty nun, aren't you darling?" he asked affectionately.

"That's right." Caroline agreed. She snuggled up to Mark but kept looking into my eyes, arching her back to thrust forward her breasts. "I'm a filthy slut," she said with pride, "I'll prove it later."

Seizing my opportunity I leaned forwards towards Caroline conspiratorially. "Why don't you prove it now? Just how dirty can you talk?" I leaned as far back on the stool as I could go without toppling off, giving anyone from the hen party who happened to be looking a clear view of her. Caroline disentangled herself from Mark and leaned towards me, exactly as I desired, and giving me an incidental, though not unwelcome, view down the front of her dress. I watched her breasts rise and fall with the cadence of her breathing as she spoke. Caroline was animated, obviously relishing the chance to be very rude.

"I'm a dirty cocksucking whore. Pump every hole in me full of jism and I'll beg for more." Behind me, the noise level from the hen party declined dramatically. Caroline didn't notice as she got enthusiastically into her stride. "I love doing the splits on a big hard cock, feeling it fill my twat and spurt its spunk in me." My own cock was rigid by now. I wear Y-fronts though and always angle my tackle up one branch of the Y. Except when it's fit to burst, it's almost comfortable and unnoticeable in the angle between leg and abdomen. "I can't get enough spunk. Cum on my tits and I'll rub it in. Cum on my face and I'll lick it up. Cum in my cunt and I'll scoop it out and drink it." Fortunately the noise generated by the rest of the pub's patrons covered the absence of sound from the hen party. I could actually feel the intensity of the stares emanating from the women behind me. "I've got small vibrators, big vibrators, little dildos and big dildos. I've even got a rubber cock the size of a rampaging fucking bull elephant's." Mark was looking around now, realising something was amiss, but not sure what exactly. Caroline carried on obliviously, thoroughly enjoying herself. I nodded encouragement to her. "I do the housework with a dildo up my arse and a vibrator up my cunt. By the time I finish I've usually cum so much you could collect my pussy juice in a bucket and wash the kitchen floor with it. That's how much I cum and that's how slutty I am." She finished triumphantly, wickedly, a grin on her face. "Are you hard yet?"

"I sure am." I said, "By the way, all those women behind me can lip read." The blood drained from Caroline's face. Her eyes widened in shock as she looked over my shoulder and saw all the drunken women looking intently at her.

"My kitchen's a bit messy if you're free tomorrow," said one.

"Any advice for the bride?" asked another.

Mark was in stitches. He fell over sideways on the bench, holding his sides as he laughed. I tried to maintain an innocent expression, hoping I'd not blown any chance for a bit of rumpy pumpy later. Caroline flushed furiously and hid her face in her hands. Behind me the barrage of good-natured banter continued whilst the rest of the pub's clientele looked around, bemused. "My God," whispered Caroline, "You bastard! You rotten bastard!" She peeked at me from behind her fingers in incredulity. "How could you do that to me?" Behind me, the raucous torrent of suggestive advice and observation continued, as cheerfully remorseless as only a British pub or football terrace crowd can make it.

"I think we'd better get going," Mark said, rising to his feet and putting a hand on Caroline's shoulder. "Are you coming?" I nodded and followed the pair as they made for the door. Caroline had turned a bright shade of red and used her hair to hide behind until she made it past the grinning girls and through the exit. A final cry of "Give her one for me, stud!" followed us out into the cool night air.

We halted outside, allowing Caroline time to regain her composure. "You evil wanker! I've never been so embarrassed in all my life." She glared at me for a moment and then started giggling guiltily. "God, I'm so turned on though." She moved her right hand down and briefly caressed her mons through the fabric of her dress. "Lets go. I want to fuck."

I followed them through the pub's pot-holed and puddled car park to a silver Mondeo. Mark used a remote key ring to unlock the doors, eliciting a beep and a flash from the indicators. I clambered into the back and was surprised when Caroline followed me instead of making for the front passenger seat. I reached for the seatbelt as Mark got into the front but Caroline stopped me with a gesture. "That'll just get in the way. Leave it off." I raised my eyebrows in a silent query, wondering what exactly the seatbelt would get in the way of. Her only response was to pucker her lips and blow a kiss towards me.

Mark reversed, three-point turned and successfully negotiated the car park's hazards. As soon as we were on the road Caroline pressed her shoulders back into the upholstery, raising her bottom from the seat to hike her dress' hemline up to her waist. Beneath her dress she was wearing shiny black silk knickers that reflected the light from the streetlamps we passed. A black suspender belt held up her stockings. The flesh revealed during her contortions looked smooth, creamy and very inviting. "Sit in the middle," she ordered me. I shuffled across to the slightly raised section of backseat directly opposite the rear-view mirror, placing one foot in each of the foot wells.

Then I was surrounded by warmth and fragrance and soft femininity. Caroline straddled me, enveloping me with her body, hair and scent. Knees akimbo, she ground her crotch against mine. Her breasts pillowed softly into my chest and her arms encompassed me, pulling my mouth towards her sweet red lips as they descended. I grasped a taut, muscular, silk clad buttock in each hand and held on tightly as they flexed and writhed with her grinding motion. Our lips formed a vacuum seal as our tongues tangled.

My hard-on returned with a vengeance as Caroline humped my groin. Her buttocks tensed and relaxed rhythmically, each contraction thrusting her pelvis forward and her pubic bone onto the head of my tumescent member. I briefly closed my eyes as I basked in the physical sensations assaulting me. Opening them, I looked over Caroline's shoulder and saw Mark excitedly watching us in the rear-view mirror.

Caroline crushed her lips against mine as our tongues twisted together. The feeling was electric. She sinuously circled the tip of her tongue around my own to the tempo of her pelvic movements. I closed my lips around her probing organ and sucked on it, rasping it with my teeth in passing. She moaned in delight, pulling her head back to escape the sensation, her breath smelling slightly of gin.

I pushed her knickers across her arse cheeks with my fingertips until the material bunched and gathered in the crack between them. Grasping each buttock firmly again, I began to massage the pliant flesh. Each time she clenched her cheeks to thrust her pelvis forward I gripped her tightly, sinking my fingers deep into the firm flesh. When she relaxed and allowed gravity to grind her groin down the length of my cock I let go, caressing the smooth skin of her bottom gently.

The heady odour of Caroline's arousal filled the car, a mixture of perfume, sweat and feminine excitement. Her hips gradually began to move faster as the stimulation provided by her movements had its effect. Repeatedly, she jabbed her silk covered clitoris against my knob and then slid her labia down my jeans clad tool. I moved my hands from her buttocks to her thighs, caressing them from hip to knee in long, gentle strokes as she raised and lowered herself in my lap.

Caroline's lips moved from my mouth to my neck as the tempo of her motions increased. I nuzzled into her own neck in response, kissing and licking the smooth skin from ear to shoulder, flicking my tongue into the most sensitive area behind her jawbone. Each of her indrawn breaths was a gasp, each exhalation a miniature squeal as her movements became frantic.

My cock was rigid. Her body was hot. She grunted. She shuddered. She squealed and she came. I returned my roving hands to her bottom and held on tightly, my fingers sinking into and kneading the pliable flesh of her behind as she shivered and shook and pounded her pussy against me.

She released a huge sigh of contentment. Her taut muscles relaxed and she slumped against me. "That was nice," she said. I couldn't have agreed more.

Mark and Caroline lived in a modern housing estate, one of those red brick developments on the outskirts of most commuter-belt towns where the houses are the size of shoeboxes and have as much character. They'd made an effort to make theirs look nice. The minute front lawn was well mowed and surrounded by flowerbeds, but it was obvious they were onto a loser from the start. Mark pulled up onto the short driveway and we clambered out of the vehicle. Caroline smoothed her dress down to erase its rumpled appearance and gave us both a broad, contented smile. Leading us across to the front entrance, Mark raised the handle on the PVC door and turned his key clockwise in the lock.

Entering the house, it was obvious that it was usually kept clean and tidy. It looked well ordered and well maintained; a warm and friendly dwelling where dust and grime was never allowed to linger for long. The living room was off to the left, the kitchen in front, down the hall, and the stairs to the right. Having not swung with swingers before, I was unsure of what to do or where to go until Caroline took me by the hand and led me into the living room.

The living room had the same beige carpet as the hallway. The walls were a lighter shade of the same colour. A large gilt-framed mirror hung above the fireplace on the far wall, a row of ornaments and photographs below it on the mantelpiece. A pale blue three-piece suite formed an 'L' shape around the fireplace and the corner by the front window, which contained a large flat screen television and DVD collection. In the centre of the horseshoe, on a cream and blue striped woollen rug, a low cushioned coffee table rested on castors. Through an arched doorway opposite the window was the dining room. "Take a seat," she said, "Can I get you a drink? We've whisky, gin, wine or beer?"

"A beer would go down a treat." I said, sinking into the armchair facing the curtained window. Caroline smiled and left the room through the doorway behind me, into the dining room and thence, presumably, into the kitchen. Mark moved over to the settee and plonked himself down in its centre. Stretching out his arms along the cushion tops, Mark eased his shoes off with his toes and thrust his legs out straight before him beneath the coffee table, heels dinting the carpet, the toes of his argyll socks pointing towards the ceiling.

Looking at the photographs on the mantelpiece, I saw they were of the type you usually expect to find in such places: a graduation photograph containing Mark and Caroline both, each wearing mortarboards and holding the fake scrolls they pass out for such occasions; a wedding photo of the pair taken whilst they stood by a lake under dark and lowering clouds; two of a niece and one of an obviously aged Alsatian. Mark pointed at the graduation and wedding photographs. "That's where I met Caroline; we both went to Cardiff Uni. The moment that wedding photo was taken it started pissing it down. I had to pick her up and run indoors. We got soaked."

Caroline came back with two beers and a gin and tonic. Passing me a beer, she sat down next to her husband on the nearside of the sofa. Mark took his beer from her with his left hand; his right moved down off the cushion and around her shoulders as she nestled up to him. I took a swig from the bottle of Spitfire I'd been passed, feeling very mellow from the alcohol I'd been drinking, and very turned on following the activities in the car.

I was wondering how the evening would unfold thenceforward. Would Caroline just ask us to shag her, or what? Not knowing what the usual etiquette for this type of situation was, I took another sip of my drink and waited upon events. I didn't have to wait long. Caroline raised her left leg until she was almost sitting on her heel. Her other leg swivelled out sideways until it rested on the arm of the couch. I recalled her earlier claim of being able to do the splits; I could well believe it. Short dresses are not, of course, designed to be concealing when one's thighs are splayed so widely apart. I had an excellent view all the way up the inside of her right leg to her silk covered crotch, which she began to slowly and lightly stroke, up and down, with the middle finger of her right hand.

Caroline was looking at me looking at her. "Would you like to see more?" she asked, her finger maintaining its slow, teasing movement. I nodded. Taking one last gulp of ale, I put the bottle down on the floor next to my chair. Any more booze, I thought, might have a detrimental affect on my prowess.

I watched as Caroline's left hand slid along her thigh, the tips of her long, slender fingers curling one by one under the gusset of her knickers. She drew the material aside, a deliberate and unhurried action that revealed the shaven splendour of her moist, pink pussy lips. They nestled, smooth, damp and flushed with arousal beneath a closely cropped triangle of dark fur. Caroline's index finger joined the other in its meanderings. Both sank into the hidden depths at the bottom of her slit and then emerged, glistening with moisture, to part the slick folds of flesh and splay her inner lips wide open to my ardent gaze. Her fingers continued moving upwards and rubbed in a brief circle around her clitoral hood. Then they moved down again, one finger stroking along each lip of her outer labia until they converged and disappeared into the depths of her vagina.

"I've shown you mine. Aren't you going to show me yours?" I nodded again and glanced self-consciously at Mark as I undid my belt buckle. His arm around Caroline's shoulders had slipped down until his hand cupped her right breast beneath her dress. The fabric rippled as he squeezed and kneaded her flesh. She leaned her head back, basking in the sensations assaulting her, fingers busy between her thighs.

Unzipping my trousers, I hooked my thumb into the waistband of my briefs and tugged down until my erection sprang out. Grasping it firmly in my other hand, I began a slow, sensuous, up and down movement. Caroline watched with hooded eyes as I pulled and pushed the loose skin over the underlying rigidity. Every down stroke caused my foreskin to stretch and slide off the plum coloured glans beneath. Each upward movement hid it from sight again. I couldn't tell from Mark's expression what he was thinking, but wanking in front of another bloke wasn't making me as uncomfortable as I thought it would.

Suddenly, with a squeak and a shuddering moan, Caroline clamped her thighs together around her furiously frigging fingers and came. With her head lolling, back arched and legs trembling she was, I thought, the most beautiful and erotic image I'd ever seen. I stopped jacking myself abruptly lest I embarrass myself and make a mess. Coming down from her orgasmic high, Caroline opened her eyes fully and looked at me holding my cock. I waggled it playfully and she started laughing, a joyous and unrestrained chortle that sent a shiver of pleasure down my spine. "I think," she said, rising and pulling Mark up with her, "That it's time to take our clothes off."

That was it; no saucy striptease or slow removal of clothing as hands wandered and explored, but a rapid disrobement in a race to see who could get into their birthday suits first. I won. I'd started with an advantage as my trousers and underwear fell to the floor when I stood anyway. Then it was a case of shrugging out of my jacket, unfastening the top two buttons on my shirt and pulling it off over my head. I kicked the clothing puddled around my feet to one side and I was ready, stripped for action, my erection sticking outwards and upwards like the spout on a teapot.

Mark was a close second. He was heavily muscled with broad shoulders, well-defined abdominal muscles and thick, stocky thighs; the physique of a weight lifter. I hadn't realized just how big he was when he was dressed. He made me look puny with my slim limbs and burgeoning belly. I noticed though, with no small amount of satisfaction, that his dick was shorter than mine, even if it was twice the girth. Like Mark himself, it was short but stout. I also noticed that his pubic hair was shaved into a small patch above his penis. His scrotum and the shaft of his cock were completely hairless.

Caroline was a slow third, but well worth the wait. After shrugging out of her bolero jacket she'd had trouble unfastening the zipper on her dress. Finally finishing her contortions with it, she shrugged her shoulders and let the black material fall and pool around her ankles. Her strapless bra quickly followed, her pale, full, carnelian tipped breasts bouncing once when released. My eyes followed her breasts as she stooped to unfasten the stays on her suspender belt, marvelling at the way they changed shape, bobbing and swaying with her movements. Then she pushed her knickers down, pulled them off her ankles and stood, naked except for her stockings and beautiful to behold.