Chapter 1: The Irish Colleen

The following day Terry and Paul went to their local mall to do some shopping. Paul was brooding about their encounter with the Brattelby's, specifically the husband, Evan. But Terry, although still sore, seemed to have forgotten the way in which he had treated her, especially anally, whereas Paul was still enraged over the matter.

"I'll ask Trevor not to invite them again," he told Terry as she held a rather sheer nightie up to her chest and examined herself in the mirror, frowning and chewing her lower lip.

"At least not to the same party we're at."

"No, don't," she said returning the garment to its place on the counter.

"He's an animal. To let him..." he paused searching for the right choice of words. "Who knows what he'll try the next time. That's why I don't want a next time with him."

"You seemed to like Ronnie," his attractive wife offered.

"She's fine," he admitted.

"How many times did you do her?"

"I... I really don't recall. But it was several."

"Anal?"

"Yes."

"Orally?"

"Um, yeah."

"And of course, you screwed a couple of times."

"So... Was I counting how many times you went around with Trevor? Or even that bastard, Evan. You had him in every orifice..."

He stopped abruptly, having just noticed the saleslady standing there. Her face had gone crimson with embarrassment.

"Sorry," he mumbled, and turned to put some distance between the women and himself. He knew from experience that Terry would stay and either complete the purchase, or not. But she would take her time about it. It was her way of arguing her case without actually saying anything.

He shrugged and sauntered along the aisle until it turned into a menswear department, unable to out walk his frustration. He kept taking furtive peeks at his wife and the saleslady as they engaged in a rather animated conversation that ended with the woman laughing and clapping a hand on Terry's shoulder, as if Terry had told her a great joke.

When she finally bought an item, he thought it lingerie; she turned toward him with a broad smile on her face and quickly joined him.

"What was that all about?" He asked. He hated himself, but he had to ask.

"What was what about?" She asked innocently.

"You damn well know," he said, his irritation at her exposed.

She chose to ignore it, saying, "Oh, you mean Ellen."

"You're on a first name basis with... with the salesperson?"

"She's a human being, Paul, and if you took a moment to consider it you wouldn't have run off with your tail between your legs."

"My tail is always between my legs," he barked at her.

Terry laughed in his face. "Well it's certainly not between your legs when it's sticking me in my pussy... or elsewhere," she added flippantly.

"All right," he said, "I'm sorry. I acted like an ass and I humbly apologize."

"Don't apologize to me, apologize to Ellen."

"Terry..." he began, already exasperated with her. "I... what's wrong with us today?"

"You seem to have some form of guilt complex over what happened last night."

"No I don't," he replied snappishly.

"There you go again."

"What do you mean?" He asked as they approached the café just outside the mall.

"Um, let's get a drink or something and discuss this. I'm becoming confused."

"Confused, eh? Well I'm glad to hear you admit it. I'll have a Tom Collins."

A pert waitress of about eighteen appeared, took their order and gave a salacious wiggle as she walked away.

Terry chided him for staring at her. "Didn't get enough last night?"

"That was last night," he said, leering at her.

"Cut it out, I'm still sore. Really sore after all that..."

"Fucking?"

"Yes, fucking."

There was a small vase on their table holding a single red rose. 'This should be a romantic moment, ' he thought, 'instead we're arguing like cats and dogs.'

"Paul?"

"Yes dear?"

"I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?"

"Yes, I've been tormenting you all afternoon. Taking my frustrations out on you. It's a matter of jealousy and possessiveness on my part. I'm basically insecure. Do you realize that I kept score of who did what and with whom last evening?"

"You did?"

"I did. And I despise myself for it. I was as willing as you to go there and... and fuck whoever..."

"It was a joint decision," he said, wanting to be supportive to her.

"Yes... it was, but... "

"Think back to how the evening ended, baby."

She closed her eyes and smiled, recalling his words following their last sexual adventure. "Terry, that was so beautiful," he had said with tears in his eyes.

"You are so perfect. I love you, I love you!"

She licked her lower lip and found it sore from gnawing on it earlier. "You know, we did sort of stay together for a good part of the evening," she said, sounding little girlish.

"Those were the best parts of the evening," he said smiling at her.

"I do love you, you big lug!" A second later they were kissing.

As they parted, the waitress placed their drinks in front of them. "I get the best customers," she said brightly in an Irish brogue; then seemed to skip away from them to take another order.

"So, shall we quit joining Barbara and Trevor?" he asked seriously.

"Oh, no, it's just too much fun, isn't it?"

"I like it well enough," he admitted.

"I just have to... "

"Adapt?" He offered.

She laughed. "No, not quite, I have to accept things."

"Baby, you have been accepting things."

"She thought he was teasing her and replied, "Oh, yeah, things like Trevor's huge cock and Barbara's pussy. And... and that strap-on thingamajig."

"Not to mention Evan's dick and Ronnie's tits," he threw in, only to realize their waitress was standing there next to him.

"Terry burst out laughing. The waitress flushed, not knowing exactly what to do.

"That's two strikes," Terry said, howling with laughter. Not knowing what to do, the waitress joined her. When she calmed down, Terry took the waitress's wrist and then her hand as she filled her in.

"We were at an orgy last night."

To Paul's surprise, the waitress was all ears.

"No!"

"Yes! And it was really, really wild!"

The young girl seemed transfixed, and Terry, realizing it, caressed her arm as she spoke. "Three couples. We did everything you could imagine and then some," Terry said, before stopping to take another breath.

"I can't believe you got all that out in one breath," Paul said.

"Sorry, sorry, go on, you were telling..."

"Please forgive us? What's your name?" Terry asked, of the waitress.

"Mora, my name is Mora Reilly," Her brogue even more pronounced.

"Irish, eh?" Terry asked.

"Yes, born in Dublin."

You can't be a day over seventeen," Terry said and for the first time in the conversation Paul realized his wife was out to seduce the young girl.

He studied the girl. She was small. The top of her head came to the middle of his chest. Her curly brown hair was short, but not mannishly cut, a chestnut brown that smelled of oranges. Her short linen skirt showed off her slender calves, and she wore a small gold good luck charm - on a gold chain around her throat. No earrings, he noted, as he casually glanced at his wife and caught her licking her lips excitedly.

Mora had a deep tan; he suspected she was spending a lot of tip money at a tanning bed to keep up with her peers, who not slaving at a job were spending a lot of time at the beach.

"I'm eighteen years and four months," Mora answered belatedly, after realizing how pleasurable the woman's hand felt running along her arm and wrist.

"I'm Terry, and this handsome specimen is Paul, my loving husband. He loves to make love, if you know what I mean." The mischievous look in her eyes was evident to both Paul and Mora.

"You really went to an orgy?" Mora said, incredulous that she herself had asked the question.

"We'll be going to another next week. Would you care to join us? Paul here is hung like a horse." Terry smirked.

"I..."

"Don't worry, we won't bite you... at least not so it hurts," Terry added.

Mora smiled weakly, as if unsure where this was leading. But in truth knew exactly where it was leading. She shuddered on feeling Paul's hand on her calf. For his part, Paul leaned in closer to Terry, their lips scant millimeters apart.

"Are you going to kiss me?" She asked.

"Only if Mora wants me to," he said, and Terry giggled.

"Mora?" Terry said, after she stopped giggling, "Should we?"

Paul's hand moved higher, roving around her lower thigh in a languid fashion as Mora went rigid.

"Um, what, mum?"

"Kiss, would you like to see us kiss?"