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This is quite a long story. I had thought to break it up into chapters, but felt it might spoil the flow. I hope you enjoy it!
Pamela, our next-door neighbour was, by any measure, unremarkable. In her fifties, she was about a Size 14, of average height and had mousey brown hair of average length. She wasn’t unattractive, but certainly not the kind of woman that many men would actively lust after. The only word you could really use to describe her was ‘average’, which might be a little unkind, but true.
I’m Alan. My wife Mandy and I had moved here with our two kids about eighteen months previously and would exchange pleasantries with Pamela over the fence. The conversation would usually be in some reference to the weather, in typical British fashion. The only occasion I talked to her for more than a few minutes, was the time she accidentally chopped through the cord of the hedge trimmer. I offered to safely repair the cable, so she could continue using it.
Over time, we found out that she had been divorced ten or twelve years earlier and had bought her house out of the settlement. She worked as a receptionist at the local doctor’s surgery, so would usually walk or cycle to work. Apart from shopping, she seemed to rarely go out, except for attending the Zumba class at the local village hall on a Wednesday evening.
Pamela tended to keep herself to herself, which we were both happy about, as we didn’t really like the kind of neighbours who constantly call round for a cup of coffee and a natter. We both worked quite long hours, me at an engineering company, Mandy as a senior carer at a residential old folks’ home. Mandy always worked nights because the pay was better. The original idea was that she could do three or four 12-hour nights, then have a few days off, to be with us. But it rarely worked out like that. Other staff would call in sick; holiday cover was needed; staff would just leave. So the duty manager was frequently on the phone, asking her to ‘do them a huge favour’ and work an extra night. Or two. Or three.
With two young children to care for, this made for a pretty exhausting schedule for Mandy, and shifted a lot of the parenting duties onto me. None of which I minded, as she was only trying to help provide for our family. But needless to say, this lifestyle didn’t do much for our sex life. We were only in our thirties and should have been at it like rabbits. But on the rare occasions that we were in bed together at the same time, she was invariably dog tired. After spending twelve hours on her feet, the last thing on her mind was changing into sex goddess mode. All of which was perfectly understandable, but frustrating for me, none the less. Although we had been together over ten years, I still loved, and fancied my wife a lot. She had a perfect Size 10 figure with a peach of a bottom, and 34 B-cup boobs, which were topped with the most perfect nipples I’ve seen on any woman.
Our social life was equally limited. With young children, even an outing to the local pub was quite a novelty, with the difficulty of arranging a responsible babysitter. So our lives had settled into a seemingly unending routine of working, sleeping, eating and looking after the kids, probably like many other hard-working young couples.
Sadly, much of the time, my only sexual gratification was masturbating to a porn movie after the kids were settled in bed. There were a few occasions when I was feeling horny in bed and would press my aching erection against Mandy’s peachy bottom. She would sometimes respond with a drowsy “Help yourself if you like… as long as you don’t mind screwing the dead,” and would promptly fall into a catatonic sleep.
There were times when I admit that I did take advantage of her offer. Mandy would invariably sleep in T-shirt and knickers (‘In case I need to see to the kids’, she would say), so the task involved either trying to pull the gusset to one side or easing them down over her hips far enough to allow access to her delightful pussy. The challenging part was to get the material past the area where she was lying on it, without waking her. But once I’d managed to haul them down far enough, I was able to move closer and steer my throbbing cock between her legs. By this point, I would be really turned on, with the pressure in my balls aching for release. She wouldn’t usually be very wet at all, but my leaking precum would provide all the lubrication needed.
Depending on the exact position of her body, it often proved quite difficult to actually get my cock into her pussy. It would be easy to rub it in between her pussy lips, which was pleasant enough, but not to gain that blissful and satisfying deep entry I so craved.
After a few attempts, I found it was much easier to ‘accidentally’ probe my cock against the tight little bud of her anus. Now Mandy had never really been ‘into’ anal sex, except on the odd occasion when she’d had too much to drink and lost her inhibitions. But with her fast asleep, eryaman escort here was a chance to satisfy my desperate urge to come and have the added delight of ejaculating into her tight little bottom.
I found that if I maintained a steady, gentle pressure, her little ring of muscle would suddenly relax, and the head of my cock would pop inside her anus. This was the moment of truth. At this point, she would either shift position and spit me out, yanking her knickers back up in sleepy annoyance, or she would continue to lay there, breathing deeply. I would lay motionless, my heart thumping in my chest, trying to control my breathing — and resisting the overwhelming urge to ram my swollen cock right up her rectal passage.
The most delightful thing about these moments, was that her anus would involuntarily twitch and contract, gripping my sensitive cock just below the head, as if her arse were subconsciously processing the feeling of the intrusion. There were times when I was happy to just lie still and revel in the delight of her sphincter sucking and milking my throbbing cock, as I got closer and closer, finally orgasming and jetting my heavy load into her rectum.
Other times, I would be braver and gently push my cock further up her arse, knowing that all the while, she could suddenly stir from sleep and eject my aching prick from her warm tunnel. That fact alone, added so much to the excitement. So any movement or thrusting had to be cautious and gently progressive. When I got really lucky, I was sometimes able to bury my whole length inside her, and have a little time gently sliding in and out, before the urge to come became too strong, and I would loose salvos of creamy spunk deep inside her tight hole.
When I finally withdrew my softening cock, I would always get a tissue and clean up round her arse, before pulling her knickers back up. The funny thing was, she never once commented about her bum being full of spunk, nor made any reference to a strange wet patch in her knickers. Maybe she did know but was prepared to turn a blind eye to me getting a bit of stolen satisfaction once in a while.
So, our sex lives went through this recurring cycle of the occasional bout of wonderful normal lovemaking; sometimes wanking to porn and the rare, but intensely delightful stolen bum-fuck.
Then everything changed in a very odd way. Pamela (remember Pamela?) had invited Mandy round for a glass of wine one evening, when Mandy actually had a rare night off. I really wasn’t best pleased, as we had so little time to spend together as it was. But Mandy said that Pamela was in need of someone to talk to, as she needed some advice. She said she would only be gone a couple of hours. So I cleared up the dishes, put the kids to bed, then settled down to watch some TV with a glass of wine for myself.
A couple of hours later, Mandy returned and gave me a kiss on the cheek. She had obviously enjoyed Pamela’s hospitality, as she was a little tipsy, but still fetched herself another glass and refilled mine.
“How did the agony aunt thing go?” I asked her.
“Do you mind turning the TV off, please? I have something to run by you.”
I wasn’t watching anything in particular, so I clicked the remote and silence fell. I turned to Mandy, inviting her to speak.
“Okay, this is the situation with Pamela. Basically, she has man-trouble.”
“Eh?” I responded, puzzled. “She must have kept that quiet… we’ve never seen any visitors to speak of, and she hardly ever goes out!”
Mandy went on, “That is actually the problem. She hasn’t got a man. She got divorced twelve years ago and well, to be blunt, hasn’t had any sex for about fifteen years.”
I must have looked somewhat stunned. I was also silently thinking that I wasn’t doing too badly in that department, comparatively speaking.
“So why doesn’t she get one?” I asked. “A man, I mean. I’m sure there must be plenty of divorced men of her age out there. I mean, she’s hardly my cup of tea, but she’s not a complete pig either. And she’s pleasant enough to chat to.”
Mandy started to explain. “Look, we talked for a couple of hours solid, so I can’t repeat everything word for word, but essentially, she was really messed up by her ex-husband. Sounds like he was a proper control freak and even now, she has no self-esteem or confidence.”
“I see,” I responded, although in all honesty, I didn’t see. “So, what is actually the problem?” I quickly realised this was a typically insensitive male response.
Mandy, getting a touch exasperated, explained, “The problem, as you put it, is that she is scared to get into any kind of relationship with another man. She’s petrified of getting hurt again. Apparently, she did meet some men a few years ago, but none of the meetings went any further, for various reasons. Seems like most of them were chancers, wanting to get their hands on half of her house.”
I was tempted to say that Rome wasn’t built in a day but thought better escort ankara of it. I tried to be sympathetic instead.
“You can’t expect to find a soul-mate just like that. It must involve some searching and kissing a few frogs along the way, if you’re ever going to succeed and find Mr Right, surely? I imagine she’d probably scrub up okay and not look too shabby.”
“Hmm, that’s true,” she replied. “The real issue is that’s she’s realised that she doesn’t actually want a relationship. But she really misses having sex.”
I resisted the temptation to point out that I hardly got any sex either, but decided to leave it, rather than start an argument. Mandy could clearly read my mind, because she added, “You don’t do too badly, so don’t start complaining!”
I decided to lighten the mood a bit and suggested, “So why doesn’t she just get a vibrator, or better still, a male blow-up doll? Then she could get off whenever she wants!”
Mandy gave me ‘that look’. “For your information, she’s got several toys. But anyone will tell, you, they’re not the same as having sex with a real human being. Skin to skin and all that.”
Although I was slightly intrigued, I was starting to get a bit weary of this whole conversation. “I’m sorry, but I don’t really understand what we’re supposed to do, and more importantly, why it’s our problem. It’s not like she’s your sister, or even a close friend.”
Mandy tried again. “She really hasn’t got anyone else she can turn to. Women discuss their problems with other women. She knows I’m a caring person and a good listener. So I listened. That might be a bit alien to you, but that’s what women do.”
It was starting to get late, and I had work the next day. I gave Mandy a kiss and a hug and said, “Come on, let’s head for bed. You can tell me more another time.” I didn’t want us to end up getting irritable with each other, on one of her rare nights off.
A little later, when we were lying in bed, I slid her T-shirt up to expose a breast, topped with its delectable nipple. Mandy had breast-fed the kids and had been left with nips the size of a pencil eraser. I started to gently suck and nibble it, which elicited a slight sigh from her. She stroked the back of my head as pulled her closer and sucked a little harder.
“Before you get too carried away, can I just ask you something?” she murmured.
“Uh huh,” I responded, my mouth full of tit.
“From a male perspective, do you think Pamela is attractive? I mean hypothetically, do you think men would fancy her and want to… fuck her?” Mandy asked, with the word ‘fuck’ said quietly, as though she was awkward about saying the f-word in that context.
I removed my mouth from Mandy’s boob, so I could reply, “I’m sure someone would… but I only fancy you. You know I love your boobs and your lovely tight, wet pussy.” With that, I slid my hand under the waistband of her knickers and slid my finger between her lips, parting them before dipping my finger into her opening.
“So you don’t have to worry about coming home and finding me shagging the arse off her,” I joked.
I touched Mandy’s clit and she gave a little intake of breath, and I quickly pulled her knickers down and off her legs, before burying my face into her pussy. She smelt intoxicatingly good, and I lapped at her clit until she was panting and writhing on the bed.
Moving up her body, I raised her legs and plunged my rigid prick straight into her delightfully moist vagina, burying it balls deep, savouring the moment, before starting to fuck her, hard and deep. Our lovemaking was urgent and intense and passionate. When we were done, we rolled onto our sides, with my semi-hard cock still just inside her, our combined juices leaking between her legs.
Mandy spoke quietly, into my ear, “Pamela asked me if I would let you fuck her.”
I snapped out of my post-coital bliss and half sat up. “What? You cannot be serious!” I retorted, not sure if I’d heard correctly. I must have sound like John McEnroe, and I’m sure my voice went up at least an octave.
“Uh huh. Seriously. She finally came out with it and asked if she could possibly ‘borrow’ you from time to time. She just needs an itch scratched. No candlelit dinners, no kissing, just sex.”
I was utterly taken aback, wondering if my ears were lying to me. My thoughts were racing. For fuck’s sake, I didn’t even fancy the woman.
“I can’t believe you’ve even suggested that!” I retorted. “I mean, don’t I get a say in the matter? I’m not some performing animal or a stud dog you take to a bitch! And besides, you would be as jealous as hell, and we’d end up getting divorced. So, no way is that going to happen!”
Mandy smiled. “Calm down, it was only an idea. She said she really admires your body… you are in good shape, after all. And I’ll let you into a little secret…”
She paused, and then continued in a sexy, low voice, “It wouldn’t make me jealous. In fact… and I’ve never told you sincan escort this before, but it would really turn me on to watch you having sex with another woman. It wouldn’t be like you cheating on me; it would be with my consent, after all.”
I didn’t know what to think. “Can we sleep on this, please? Right now, this conversation sounds completely bizarre.”
“Hmm, no problem,” Mandy murmured, turning her back towards me and wiggling her bottom against my penis, which was starting to stir again. I took the opportunity to slip it between her legs and rub it between her pussy lips, which were still slick with our love juices.
We drifted into sleep, and I dreamt of big women with enormous breasts and gaping vaginas, which threatened to engulf and suffocate me.
When we woke the next day, we were kept busy by the normal morning routine, so we didn’t raise the matter which had been broached the night before. Mandy didn’t have a shift that night, and when I got home from work, she and Pamela were sitting in the garden, enjoying the evening sunshine with a glass of wine.
Mandy jumped up and gave me a hug and suggested I sit down, while she fetched me a cold beer. Pamela smiled, a little shyly, at me. But it was too warm for work clothes, so I went into the house to quickly change into shorts and say hi to the kids.
Returning to the garden, I gratefully sank some of the beer, then discretely checked Pamela out. She was wearing a loose-fitting knee-length blue summer dress, which made it hard to gauge what her figure was like underneath, or indeed, whether she was wearing a bra. Her boobs weren’t very pronounced, but I guessed she probably had a nice handful. I noticed that she crossed and uncrossed her legs several times, giving me a nice flash of a shapely thigh when her dress slid up a little. She was certainly a bit bigger than my petite wife, but had to admit, she had some curvy womanly charms.
I caught Pamela glancing over at me a couple of times and was secretly hoping she was taken by my bare chest and biceps. The conversation was just general chat, with no innuendo or overtones; I was beginning to wonder if the discussion last night, was just a prank on Mandy’s part. After a while, Pamela said that she should go home and fix her dinner. Mandy agreed, and said that she should get ours served up.
Both of the women got up and walked towards the house. Mandy was in tight jeans, which showed off her bottom to perfection. She has the kind of arse that men openly leer at — something I never minded, as I took it as a sideways compliment. Pamela’s bum, although bigger, wasn’t huge, from what I could make out through the dress… in fact, she demonstrated quite a nice little wiggle as she walked. Maybe the Zumba was keeping it all nice and toned?
As I contemplated the remainder of my beer, I began to wonder what it would be like to give the sex-starved Pamela a bloody good rogering. If nothing else, she would certainly be very grateful, having been in a sexual desert for fifteen years. But with Mandy watching? I wasn’t so sure. My thoughts were disturbed when Mandy called me for dinner.
It wasn’t until the kids were in bed and we were settled on the sofa, that the subject of Pamela cropped up again.
“So how do you feel about sticking that lovely cock of yours into another woman, like a knight in shining armour, coming to save a damsel in distress?” Mandy asked, with a little chuckle.
“Darling, I think ‘damsel’ is being a bit generous, to be honest… more like an old maid,” I replied. “I mean, she must be at least twenty years older than us.”
“I know, but she keeps in pretty good shape, for her age,” Mandy added, a little defensively.
“What I don’t understand,” I started, “is why she needs servicing by her next-door neighbour. She could tidy herself up and go off to the pub or a club in town and pick up a bloke her own age for a quick screw. Why me?”
“Fair one. I did ask that question too,” Mandy replied. “It’s quite simple really. For starters, she works in a very publicly visible job at the surgery. She’d hate the patients and doctors to think she was just some kind of tart — which she really isn’t.
“Plus, she lacks the confidence to be able to do that on her own, and she doesn’t have anyone to go with. I don’t imagine you’d want me chaperoning her, just so she can get laid, would you?”
I shook my head. “So why doesn’t she just set up a profile on Tinder?” I asked. “We could even help her with that.”
“The same problem applies, if you think about it. Her picture would be plastered all over the internet, and word would get round like wildfire in a place like this!” Mandy placed her hand on mine, and added, “There is something else…”
“Go on,” I said, for want of something better to say.
“Pam has this kind of fantasy… it sounds a bit weird, but she’s been reading stuff and telling me about it. Do you know what a glory hole is?”
“Sort of,” I admitted. “A woman is put in a small room and men stick their cocks through a hole in the wall, for the woman to suck, or fuck themselves on.”
“Correct,” Mandy said. “I didn’t know about that until she told me — and I won’t ask how you know!”
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