It was the middle of Monday afternoon and Jill was lying in post-coital contentment with her lover, under the print of the Vermeer her father had given her years ago, a canal scene. "I'll have to go soon," Paul said.

"You never stay; once you've fucked your old lady you're off, doing whatever teenagers do these days!" she snapped.

His voice became wheedling, "You know I want to stay but my mum will wonder why I'm late. And you're not old, thirty two next time, yes?" He was stroking her shoulder, moving her red hair out of the way. He nuzzled her neck, it made her squirm.

"Thirty!" corrected him, but he was right. He had moved down her body and his warm breath was on her belly, he pulled on her thigh and moved to her pubes. She turned her head to him and saw his penis hanging limp, a few inches from her face. A feeling of warm affection came over her and she took the damp cylinder into her mouth.

"You don't want it again!" he asked, wondering at the appetite of the well-fucked woman. "Mmm," was all she could answer. As she worked on him he watched her pensively, then he said, "Would you mind if I brought a friend, next time."

They had met a few weeks before. Paul had rung her doorbell, selling small bunches of flowers. She had been enchanted by his youth, his open-eyed innocence, and she had invited him in to her upstairs flat. But that had just been his line, his icebreaker, like: do you come here often? They had become lovers immediately. Jill had sometimes wondered if he had set her up; if he had deliberately targeted her for seduction. But what difference did it make? She had been glad to take him; he had been visiting her two or three times a week. He had never offered her money; it would never have occurred to him to do so. Unlike the two occasional men in her life, both in their fifties and glad to give her "presents". She decided to regard him as her secret pleasure, separate from the rest of her life.

He was now gently rubbing her cuntlips and she was responding. "A friend! What friend?" she gasped.

"Well, don't be cross. But I've got this friend; he'd like to come with me."

"You mean, you told someone else about me?" she was quickly losing her arousal.

"Only Jezz, he's a good mate," he explained.

"Oh! Well I'm glad you kept it among friends!" Paul laughed, as if she was joking.

"You know, both of us at once."

"At once!" she acted shocked, but was thinking about it. Two young lovers! He continued to massage her pussy and she relaxed again. He rolled her onto her back and pressed his now rampant penis into her. They moved slowly, building back to passion gradually. When their heads were close together he murmured, "What if there was more than one?"

At first she thought he was just fantasising; making mind pictures to turn himself on. She rode along with him and then, opening her eyes said, "How many?"

Seeing that he had grabbed her attention, Paul stopped pumping her and climbed off, sitting himself up. "Four or five, definitely no more than six. Sort of a gang-bang."

"I have heard the expression," she said, softly. She buried her face in the pillow. What worried her was that at least four other young men knew this much about her.

"Well, what do you think, will you do it?"

"All right," she said, feeling very saintly.

"Really! Blow them, everything?"

"If you want me to."

He was grinning wide enough to split his face. "Wow! Great!" Then he became pensive, as if musing on a thought, "You've got a big bottom," he said, pinching her. She flinched, but not at the pinch. She was aware of him reaching for something and some preparation taking place. Then she felt a cold cream being applied to her anus. A finger briefly penetrated it. She felt him shift his position and then he was pulling the cheeks of her bottom open and a blunt force was pushing at the entrance to her rectum.

"No, that hurts!" she exclaimed. "Only for a moment," he replied gruffly. He pushed harder and the head of his cock slid into her arse-hole, making her gasp in pain. He began to fuck her vigorously, entering deep, up to his balls. Jill, turned on by the pictures he had put in her head, worked at him, pushing her arse hard against him. He reached around and found her clit, flicking it in time with his thrusts. Jill began to enjoy it as her cunt walls felt him through her arsehole.

"Oh, oh, Paulie," she cried, using her pet name for him. His hot jizz squirted into her and he relaxed against her back.

As he pulled free from the tight grip of her anus, wiping himself on her bed sheet he said, "That's how Tim will want it." Jill wondered if he would be the only one. A moment later he was out of bed, pulling on his jeans. As he dressed he studied the print on the wall. "I thought someone like you would have had something a bit more classy," he said.

"My father gave me that, it's a copy of a famous painting," she told him. And she thought, what does he mean, "someone like me?"

"You should have one of those big fat women, you know?"

"You mean a Renoir?" she asked.

"Whatever, I'll see you on Wednesday then, about eleven. With the others."

"Yes," she answered, "with the others."

She spent the next day doing mundane things; shopping, watching t-v. During the evening she tidied the flat up a bit, hiding precious things from the view of strangers.