Forgotten Desires Read online

  There was a glint in Alice’s eyes as she replied. ‘Why Sara Thompson, I never realised what a bad girl you were.’

  Sara wrinkled her nose at Alice. ‘Neither did I.’

  Marcus and Luke grinned at one another and began to kiss as Sara and Alice lay back and prepared to enjoy the show.

  One-Way Swap

  by Alex Jordaine

  It was a fine day, bright and warm in the Californian sunshine, and Christine and Peter were both naked in the pool area. They were completely private there as the neighbouring properties were screened from view by the high wall that surrounded their garden. The sky above was clear apart from threads of thin clouds, and reflected sunlight danced on the shimmering water of the swimming pool. A solid bed of flowers presented a bright swathe of colour on the smooth lawn around it and a light breeze made the flowers tremble.

  Christine, her shapely body tanned all over to a honeyed brown, was laying on her front on a sun lounger, basking in the afternoon sunshine. The beautiful brunette was resting her chin on her arms, and her eyes, which were shielded by sunglasses, were turned in the direction of the pool by her side where Peter was swimming. She watched as he dived to the bottom of the deep end and swam underwater, holding his breath. Peter broke surface near the edge of the pool right next to Christine’s prone body. ‘Put some suntan lotion on my back, would you please, darling,’ she said.

  ‘Sure,’ her darkly handsome husband replied. He hauled himself out of the water, rivulets of water running down his tanned skin. Reaching out for a towel, he dried himself in a perfunctory way, rubbing quickly at his face and torso.

  He dried his hands more thoroughly before picking up the bottle of suntan lotion. He poured some of it onto the palm of one hand and got to work. Folding his hands around and over Christine’s shoulders, he kneaded the suntan lotion into her skin, smoothing her flesh with it. What a magnificent body she had, he thought as he worked his way slowly down her back: the swell of her beautiful breasts, her narrow waist, that gorgeous curvy rear: perfection.

  Peter had thought once that he could never have enough of that wonderful voluptuous body. They had made love as much as they possibly could when they’d first met, he reminded himself, and that had been just the beginning. They had made love all the time when they’d been on honeymoon, lost to themselves in sensual delight. And when they weren’t making love, they talked and talked: of books and films, of childhood and family and friends, of good times and bad, of dreams and fantasies. Their talk turned inevitably to sexual fantasies.

  Like fucking each other’s brains out at night time on the beach under the moon and the stars.

  So that’s what they did at midnight one night. The sandy beach was only a stone’s throw from their holiday apartment and they rushed down to it, hardly able to contain their sexual excitement. Once there, they threw down their towels and stripped naked. Christine got on to all fours and told Peter to take her right there and then. Her pussy was hot and wet and tight as he pushed into her from behind, his cock forging deep into her. He pushed and pushed into the hot warmth of her sex, slick and oozing for him and she pushed and pushed back They thrust together hungrily on the warm sand, before plunging into the ocean itself and making love in the water in hopeless abandon as the waves crashed over them again and again, their only audience a crescent moon and the stars that glimmered above them in the endless sky.

  And when they finally drifted back to the edge of the shore and back to their apartment and back to their bed Christine had wanted more. She said she couldn’t help it, he’d made her insatiable. She had fallen onto Peter, grabbing his shoulders and making him lie on his back. She had raked her fingers over his smooth, hard body and then, her thighs pressing wetly against his, had guided him inside her. They went on to devour one another feverishly again. But eventually, inevitably, the fever turned into something else and their lovemaking became ever more languid and drowsily sensuous until sleep took them at last. And when they woke in the morning, locked in each other’s arms, it started all over again. They couldn’t resist going back to the beach at night either, most nights actually, to become one yet again with the elements in all their naked, uninhibited passion.

  Their honeymoon had been a tough act to follow, Peter said to himself as he continued to massage Christine’s back with suntan lotion. Even so, their lovemaking had carried on being almost as abandoned, almost as all-consuming, for a long time afterwards. They’d continued to trade sexual fantasies as well, fantasies that seemed to come from out of some murky dark nowhere in the mind. Christine said she fantasized about masturbating in front of him while he jerked off at the same time, and so they did just that, frequently.

  Peter told her on one occasion – about two years into their marriage, it was – that he’d started having a recurrent fantasy of actually watching them making love. So, at his suggestion, they started fucking in front of their wardrobe mirror.

  That was how it started, with that wardrobe mirror, innocuous really judged by all but the most puritanical of standards. But then things got more elaborate and they arranged – Peter’s idea again – to have a mirror fitted to the ceiling above their bed.

  What used to happen was this: Christine would straddle him – she liked that, she told him, being on top – and they would make love, with him watching her in the ceiling mirror and her looking down at him. She said she liked that too, loved it, said it gave her such a feeling of control.

  Peter remembered her saying that. Christine remembered it too. She remembered it all. She remembered how he would sigh and let his body collapse into submission as she straddled him, pressing her groin on his, and how she would moan with pleasure as she felt the thickness of his cock slide into her pussy, so tight and moist. She remembered how Peter would reach up to her and she would grab his arms and pin them above his head. She remembered how he would groan with her movements as she pushed her hips down, fitting them around his hardness. She remembered the short, throaty cry Peter would let out, looking up at the mirror in the ceiling as he watched her grinding into him. He could see it all in the mirror.

  Christine could see it all too now in her mind: the expression on Peter’s face when she looked down through half-drawn lids at him, the wonder in his eyes and his slack, open mouth. She could hear it all too, and feel it: how when she shoved herself down on him with force, he gave out a soft groan and whimper and would stiffen even more inside her.

  Then Christine would grip his arms more tightly and push her weight forward, falling down on him, whilst still moving her hips, so that the pressure on them both remained unabated.

  And she could smell it now too, smell the scent of his excitement and sweat as he began a long drawn-out moan and started to thrust his hips up rhythmically, pulsing with a climax she knew he’d do his very best to restrain until she’d had her own orgasmic release.

  Christine remembered that at this point she would begin to moan and flush and rock back and forth, so conscious of Peter’s stiffness steely-hard inside her and ready to burst, and her hand would start to rub out a complementary rhythm, sticky and frantic, over her stiff clitoris. Then she would let go of herself altogether and shudder frenziedly as exquisite oscillations began to pulse through her. And as she climaxed she would watch his mouth widening in exaltation as, taken along by her orgasm, he allowed himself his release. He would begin to tremble uncontrollably beneath her before shooting his liquid, spurt after vigorous spurt, deep inside her sex.

  Peter finished massaging Christine’s back with suntan lotion and plunged back into the swimming pool with a splash. Christine stayed where she was on the lounger, alone with her thoughts once more, and her memory leapt back three years almost to the day. That was when Peter had told her he had another fantasy, one he just couldn’t get out of his mind: a fantasy, “now don’t be shocked, Christine”, of seeing her fucking someone else.

  But surprise, surprise, she hadn’t been shocked, far from it. The idea turned her on too, she
had to admit it, turned her on a hell of a lot. And they were a broadminded couple, a liberated couple, a couple that made their fantasies a reality, weren’t they? You bet your sweet life they were.

  Christine and Peter got rid of the ceiling mirror, bored with that now anyway. They arranged to have another mirror rigged up – a large one-way mirror this time, between their bedroom and the one adjacent to it.

  Everything was all set for the big event.

  They say you always remember the first time. Christine certainly remembered the first time she picked up a stranger to have sex with, knowing that her husband would be watching it all from the next room and jerking off.

  What had been his name now, that first one: Jay was it, Jake? Fucked if she could remember. But she could remember the fuck. In fact she could vividly recall the sharp, nasty thrill of the whole experience from start to finish.

  She remembered what she’d been wearing, or nearly wearing, when she’d picked him up at the bar. It had been a diaphanous little dress that was cut indecently high on the thigh and low over her breasts. She wasn’t wearing any underwear either, as was her wont. She had on strapped black sandals with very high heels as well, to complete her fuck-me ensemble.

  Christine couldn’t remember what he’d been wearing, this Jay, Jake whoever, only that he’d been tall, well-muscled and handsome with longish, raven-black hair. She remembered kicking her shoes off as soon as they’d entered the bedroom, pulling her miniscule dress over her head; remembered telling him to get naked too and put on the condom she was now handing him. She remembered pushing him down on to the big bed after he’d done that and straddling him, positioning herself so she could manoeuvre the head of his cock against her pussy lips, against her clitoris. She remembered rubbing herself against his cockhead gently at first and then more vigorously, making him breathe heavily with sexual arousal.

  She remembered sliding herself onto his shaft right up to the hilt, and then up and down, up and down, on and on. She remembered riding him in a mounting frenzy of lust, the blood pounding in her veins, until she was completely absorbed in the pleasure she was giving herself and the pleasure she was giving to the man behind the one-way mirror.

  ‘Was it good for you?’ she said when it was all over.

  ‘The best,’ sighed her companion as he lay spent and damp on the rumpled sheets. But Christine hadn’t been talking to him, the sex machine she’d just used, the human dildo. She’d been looking in the mirror, through the mirror to the person she’d really been making love to.

  That had been three years ago now. Since then she’d let Peter watch her having sex with a host of other strangers. It was what he said he wanted. But Christine wanted it too, make no mistake, wanted it in her imagination and wanted it in reality too. That was the number one rule from her point of view: she had to really want it. If she did it meant she was in control, which was crucial. But Peter said he liked to be in control as well, and he got his wish also for, as he was fond of saying, what person is more in control than the masturbator?

  Which was essentially what Peter became from that first time, because from then on he and Christine seldom made love together. Instead they played out this kinky surrogate ritual with ever more frequency, both coming to crave it like a powerful drug, and enjoying it immensely too, each time they did it. And Christine simply loved to give Peter something really worth watching – worth wanking over. She would always put on as good a show as possible for him.

  She would put on an especially good show for him tonight, Christine told herself as she continued to bask in the sunshine by the side of the rippling pool. But you never knew for sure how things would go with one-night stands. After all it took two to tango, as the saying went. Actually sometimes – tonight as it turned out – it took more than two ...

  When Christine walked into the bedroom with the two hunky blond guys that she’d picked up not half an hour ago in a nearby bar, she knew one thing for sure. She knew that Peter would have already started stroking his cock with practised ease behind that one-way mirror.

  She knew – and the knowledge of it made her clit twitch, made her sex feel slippery – that he’d be masturbating with a little more vigour now she was peeling off her tight top and micro-mini skirt and slipping out of her high heeled shoes. It obviously really turned on the two chiselled hunks she was with to discover she hadn’t been wearing a stitch of underwear beneath that sexy outfit and that her breasts were soft but firm and her nipples stone-hard and her pussy completely shaved. Christine knew the fact that she was clearly turning them on would have turned on her husband as well. She knew he would be masturbating even more vigorously at the sight of her as she cupped her breasts and rolled her stiff nipples between her fingers.

  ‘Strip for me,’ Christine said and she knew that he knew that instruction wasn’t for him, knew that she knew he was already stark naked and wanking. The two blond studs were also naked now, their muscular bodies looking as if they’d been sculpted of creamy tan stone, their cocks thickly inflated. Christine saw herself in the mirror as she knew her husband could see her at this stage of the show, her head back and her full lips parted as those two beautiful specimens of manhood fed hungrily on her breasts, suckled her engorged nipples.

  She knew that Peter would be stroking his cock even more energetically by now, pulling and gasping, as he witnessed the three-way scene unfolding before his eyes. She knew he’d be working his fist up and down ever more insistently as he watched his raunchy, exhibitionistic wife drop to her knees and grab a cock in each hand. Christine stroked the guys’ hard-ons, glancing lustfully from one stiff cock to the other, then into the mirror, imagining that all-important third cock being pulled up and down, up and down, faster and faster.

  Christine’s eyes gleamed and she smiled a salacious smile to the man behind the one-way mirror before putting one of the hunky strangers’ hard cocks into her mouth. She sucked on it for a while, as she held on to the man’s buttocks, at one moment pulling him in, at another controlling the movement so that it was smooth and fluid. And then she did the same to the other cock. Christine alternated between the two hard cocks, sucking expertly on each in turn, before jamming both of them into her mouth at once. She bet Peter almost shot his load when he saw her do that. But she knew that a highly experienced voyeur like him wouldn’t have actually ejaculated. She knew that Peter would be wanking away hard, without doubt, but that he would make damn sure he didn’t spill his seed until he’d seen all there was to see.

  Christine finally disgorged the two cocks, withdrawing them slowly from her mouth, and got back to her feet. She handed each man a condom and told them to put them on. Once they’d done that she pushed one of the men down on to the bed and climbed on top of him, steering his swollen cock into her pussy and making him groan with pleasure. And as he started sliding his shaft in and out of her dripping sex, forging deep into her, she reached back and spread the cheeks of her backside. Christine looked at the second man. ‘There’s a bottle of lube on the bedside table,’ she said. ‘Lubricate your cock and my asshole and then butt-fuck me.’

  ‘Will do,’ the man replied excitedly, thoroughly dousing his shaft and her anus with lube and then climbing into position. Christine reached back again, this time to fold her hand around his lubed-up erection. She rubbed the slippery head against the equally slippery opening of her anus and then let the man ease his shaft into her until it ground at the back of her rectum. And her anal hole was so tight around his cock that she felt her pussy tighten too around the other guy’s cock, which was pounding into her wet, humid sex. Then the man behind her really started pounding too, ramming into her anus hard and fast.

  It felt so good to Christine to be penetrated front and rear like that, felt even better to know her voyeuristic husband could see it all and would be pulling at his cock furiously now, his fist working up and down faster and faster. Christine loved being fucked in both holes at the same time, loved it all the more knowing she was being watc
hed by Peter as she was being fucked that way. She knew as he witnessed the three-way spectacle she’d laid on for him he would now be jerking away at his cock like a jack-hammer.

  Christine decided it was time to bring the show to its grand finale. She ground her hips down, churning her pussy back and forth on the throbbing cock of the guy beneath her until he suddenly opened his mouth, let out a moan and came hard. His body shook as he grasped Christine’s waist and ejaculated, and that brought even closer the impending orgasm of the man hammering into her anus. He speeded up his thrusts, butt-fucking her in a frenzy as she pushed herself back on him until he was jolted by a shuddering orgasm.

  Then Christine was overcome herself, and her glistening body quivered uncontrollably as she came right along with her husband. Because she knew, just knew that Peter was shooting warm, silky sperm all over his fist at that very moment as he joined in the climax of the four-way fuckfest that had been her special gift to him … and to herself.

  Deeds of Mercy

  by Giselle Renarde

  If Mercedes had to sum up her ridiculously complex sex-life, it would go something like this: she used to date an older guy named Simon, who was all the while married to a woman called Florence. After years of hope and heartbreak, Mercedes broke it off with Simon and ultimately found herself engaged to a young guy named Anwar. Things were pretty solid until Mercedes met up with Simon again, purely by chance. She had no intention of hooking up with him … until he made her an offer of cold, hard cash! With Mercedes’ love of secrets, cocks, and infidelity, how could she refuse?

  Mercedes’ romantic world had grown into a man-eating monstrosity. She pictured it looking a lot like that giant plant from Little Shop of Horrors. She couldn’t say why she kept seeing Simon. She really did love Anwar. It wasn’t that she needed the money. Well, OK, the money was nice and it gave her a cheap thrill every time she added Sex-with-Simon cash to the Wedding-with-Anwar fund, but it’s not like she was living at subsistence level. She didn’t need it. But she liked it. She enjoyed the naughty thrill of prostituting herself to her married ex-lover while her husband-to-be remained oblivious.