He took his coat off and threw it untidily onto the chair in the hall. As he moved into the kitchen he was struck again by the unusual silence. Jean and Monique should be busily preparing the evening meal at this time of the day. The house ought to be echoing with the clatter of pans, the smell of food cooking.
Michael frowned as his eyes took in the complete absence of activity in the kitchen. He turned back into the hall, then stopped suddenly as a faint giggling reached his ears. It seemed to come from upstairs…
He listened intently. There it was again! He paused at the foot of the stairs, one hand on the bannister.
“Oh, stop it! Please — you mustn't!”
A girl's voice, protesting half-heartedly, the words broken up with excited laughter. Michael recognised it was Monique's, heard the trace of a French accent in the muffled, indistinct phrase.
He started up the stairs, deliberately making as little noise as possible. There was something that struck him as being rather odd about the cry, something intriguing…
He turned the bend in the stairs and saw that their bedroom door was ajar. A rustling sound came from within the room, and the faint whisper of girl's voices. Michael, impelled by some mysterious instinct, moved to the wall which ran alongside the door. He flattened himself against it, feeling at once guilty and excited by the prospect of spying on his wife and their au pair girl.
Through the crack in the door he could see scarcely nothing: a vague blurring of outlines which merely increased his curiosity without satisfying it. He put his face up to it and fastened his eye close to the long hinged opening, using it as peephole.
He was now able to see quite distinctly into the room. And he blinked rapidly, unable to believe that his eye wasn't deceiving him!
Jean and Monique were standing in front of their dressing table mirror, wearing only their panties and stockings, Jean stood behind the French girl, running her hands slowly up and down the backs of Monique's thighs and crouching slightly so that her fingers were able to reach the tautly fastened stocking tops.
Monique's legs were astride, her own hands planted firmly on her hips; She stared appreciatively into the big mirror, her head on one side, her breasts thrust out provocatively.
Jean's breasts were pushing intimately into the white flesh of Monique's back — the nipples rubbing into the girl's skin just above the black band of her brassiere.
They were both giggling conspiratorially and as Michael watched, his mouth opening in sheer surprise, Jean slipped her fingers up the smoothness of Monique's thighs and ran them boldly over the girl's bottom. She raised the panties delicately, drawing them into the arse-crease and exposing the firm plump cheeks more completely.
Spellbound, Michael stared at the sexiness of the scene, his throat suddenly dry. Unconsciously, he passed his tongue slowly over his parched lips. This wasn't really happening, he thought wildly. It could not be! Jean wasn't like that…
But the evidence before him clearly indicated that the girls were engaged in something rather more intimate than a mere feminine admiration of their bodies. Having made Monique's panties practically disappear into the girl's ripe divide, Jean was now pinching the bare globes between her forefingers and thumbs — holding a generous portion of the white flesh and jiggling it: making the rest of the cheeks wobble saucily.
Again, he heard Monique's half-hearted protest: “Jean — don't! Oh, cheri, what do you think you're doing? Please!”
Even if he had been unable to see her face (and the mirror clearly reflected Monique's expression) Michael could tell from the tone of her voice that the girl didn't object in the slightest to Jean's pinching. She had formed her mouth into a pert pouting oh — at the same time wiggling her buttocks slightly and making no attempt to free her bottom from the woman's fingers.
Jean now went down behind Monique, dropping onto her knees and staring from a distance of no more than a few inches into the French girl's buttocks. Her hands remained on the cheeks, continuing their not-too-rough nipping of the curvy flesh.
“There now!” she whispered softly. “Did I hurt your pretty little bum, darling? Here — let me kiss it better!”
And Michael's wife pursed her lips, brought them into contact with Monique's bottom and began to plant wet, noisy little kisses on the jutting hemispheres. Far from resenting this greater intimacy with her body, Monique deliberately thrust her buttocks backwards, silently encouraging Jean to continue her mouth-petting.
She also took the waistband of her panties in the fingers of both hands and drew it up firmly; making the creamy-white briefs stretch even more tightly into her crotch.
Jean put her arms around Monique's thighs, her hands slipping beneath the long white elastic of the girl's suspender fastenings so that the bands formed two securing straps on the back of her wrists. She held Monique tightly, caressing her shapely thighs and kissing her again and again on her sexy little bottom.
The audible smacks of her lips on Monique's flesh reached Michael's ears clearly. He was more amazed than shocked by the revelation that Jean could do such things to another girl; his surprise outweighing any sense of outrage which he might have felt if the news had been broken to him less dramatically.
His eye was beginning to smart — a draught from the open window inside the room causing him to blink away the moisture which was obscuring his vision. And as he pressed it once more against the crack, he inadvertently leaned forward…
The door creaked open, and he drew back from it immediately — a tic starting at the corner of his mouth. The girls gave a sudden gasp and he heard them moving in the room.
Michael almost panicked, nearly ran as quickly as possible back down the stairs in terrible confusion. Then he angrily reminded himself that he had done absolutely nothing to feel ashamed of. It was his wife and Monique — they were the ones to blush and hide themselves. He stepped forward again, pushed the door wide open and walked into the bedroom.
“Michael!” Jean was coming towards him almost before he had entered the room. He looked beyond her to Monique. The girl had snatched up a dressing gown and was still trying to pull it on — her arms twisting behind her back and forcing her naked breasts to thrust themselves out. He saw that the nipples were stiff and red and wondered if Jean had held them and rubbed them…
“Darling, I didn't hear you come in!” She was smiling at him, making not the slightest attempt to cover her practically nude body.
“Monique and I were just seeing if we take the same sizes in underwear. She's running a bit low and since I've got so many bras and pants that I haven't even worn yet, I thought I could let her have some…”
Michael stared at her, disbelief written all over his face. Jean appeared either not to notice or to ignore the look of incredulity in her husband's eyes. Calmly she went on:
“Isn't it lucky? Although our breasts are different sizes, my pants and stockings seem to fit her perfectly. Don't they, Monique?” She turned, looking over her shoulder at the au pair girl.
“Y-yes, Jean", Monique stammered. She had finally managed to draw the robe around her and was now twisting her fingers nervously.
“Come here, dear. There's no need to be shy. Michael's seen a naked girl before, you know. Anyway, you're not much older than our own daughter.
Is she, Michael?”
He still hadn't found his voice. He kept staring at Jean, unable to recognise in this poised, sexy looking girl his mousy, quietly-shy wife. Michael could only stand there in front of her, his mouth comically open in amazement, watching as Monique came slowly across the room to stand next to the confident, unabashed woman whom he could scarcely believe was his wife.
“Show Michael how well they fit you, darling!” Jean was saying. “Come along, you don't have to be coy and bashful! I'd like Michael to see how similar our figures are, despite the difference in our ages!”
When the girl looked uncertainly from her to Michael and back again, Jean reached out for the cord which held her robe together.
“Oh, really Monique!” she exclaimed with a smile. “How on earth did all those stories about sexy French girls start if they're all as shy as you!” Her fingers swiftly plucked the knot undone and Monique's dressing gown fell open, uncovering the girl's skimpy briefs and blatantly sexy suspender and stockings.
It opened sufficiently to expose half of her breasts, but the edges remained in place across Monique's nipples, keeping them hidden from Michael's involuntary appraisal.
He ran his eyes instinctively over the girl's semi-nude body, feeling as if he had suddenly been plunged into an erotic daydream. But the fantasy was three dimensional and he could also smell the sweet, arousing perfume which both his wife and Monique were wearing. Michael was suddenly aware that his life had switched into another gear: what was happening now was so utterly, so fantastically out of the ordinary that it was something like moving into a new and totally alien existence. As if, (he remembered a half-forgotten science-fiction story) as if parallel worlds did exist and he had abruptly been transported from the one in which a mediocre, bored and humdrum Michael Cameron lived into a dimension where the same man, with the same wife and day-to-day routine, was subtlely different in one major respect: he was free from all sexual prudery and inhibition!
Jean tutted impatiently at Monique. “Really, darling", she protested crossly. “Why don't you slip the robe off altogether? Look at me — I'm wearing as little as you are, and I'm not embarrassed,
am I?”
She gave Michael a brief smile which seemed to bring him more fully into the game of getting Monique to strip off her dressing gown. If, Michael reflected, if it really was only a game…
His wife moved behind Monique and put her hands down over the girl's shoulders. She took the lapels of her robe and slowly helped Monique's arms out of the sleeves, peeling it gently away from the nipples — which Monique quickly covered with her hands as soon as the cherries popped into view.
Jean let the robe drop to the floor. Keeping her arms on Monique's shoulders, she said: “What do you think, Michael? Don't my panties fit her perfectly?”
She turned Monique around until the girl faced her. “Look at the back view, darling! You'd never know they hadn't been bought specially for her, would you?”
Michael could feel his prick stiffening as he stared at Monique's bottom. The white silk of the panties was still drawn right up into the girl's arse-crease — leaving the cheeks themselves completely unadorned. They had two darling little dimples on the far side of each globe where Monique had tightened the muscles. He longed suddenly to licked them, to put his tongue where Jean's own lips had been…
Jean followed his eyes. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “They're not really supposed to look like that! We were just fooling about — ”. At last, his wife had the grace to blush slightly. Her eyes twinkled, though, and Michael's cock thickened and bulged noticeably out of his trousers as Jean stretched her hands right down Monique's bare back and primly pulled the girl's briefs back into a more respectable position.
Michael finally found his voice. “I thought they looked better before you adjusted them, Jean", he heard himself saying. And it was as if the words had come from a source other than his own mouth. They sounded deeper and more breathy than his normal tone, and Michael realised that his desire was mounting rapidly.
The close proximity of the two girls was driving him crazy. Monique's body was obviously pushed so tightly against Jean's that their breasts must be touching! And their tummies… certainly their bellies were pressing together. And what about their panties? Yes! Definitely, the vee of their crotches would be moving and, perhaps even pulsing, next to one another…
Michael cleared his throat. He slipped his hand into his trouser pocket and gave his prick a surreptitious press. It strained urgently against his fingers, warning him that he couldn't stand very much more of this sexy scene without playing an active role in it.
Jean now moved from her position behind Monique and gave the girl's bottom a critical look. “Mmmm", she said at last. “Perhaps you're right!',
Her fingers again adjusted the tightly clinging material of Monique's panties, hoisting them firmly into the French girl's arse and letting them rub sensuously across the pretty white orbs before leaving them.
“Does that feel too tight, though?” she asked the girl. He saw Monique's head shake. Her hands still covered her breasts though her back was turned towards the man.
In a small, husky voice she whispered: “No, I like them better that way, Jean”. She began to turn around of her own accord. “What about the front, though? Isn't it fashionable to wear your panties as small as possible now?” Her lilting French accent was slowly driving Michael insane. “Could you tuck them up for me, Jean darling?”
Monique's face was coloured, her eye lashes fluttering nervously. But she obediently allowed Jean to stoop down in front of her and persuade her thighs open with a gentle pressure from her fingers.
Michael's wife fitted her hands shamelessly under the white silk, keeping her own body out of the way so that her husband could have an uninterrupted view of Monique's thinly-covered sex… and could also see clearly what she was about to do with it.
First, Jean took the V of the briefs in her fingers and tugged it gently upwards. This action caused the seat of the panties to sink sexily into Monique's slit — at the same time making the bulge above the girl's quim stick out on either side of the material.
This was provocative enough; but Jean now commenced to tuck the garment boldly up, doubling the already abbreviated panties so that they finally looked like nothing more than a stripteaser's G-string.
Jean moved her head back to admire her handiwork from a distance. “There!” she exclaimed. “I think that looks very nice indeed! What's your opinion, Michael?”
He nodded slowly, not trusting himself to speak. Monique was the picture of demure, artfully disarrayed sexiness. The girl's well-shaped legs, small waist and flared hips, together with her now daringly minute panties, gave her the appearance of a strikingly experienced yet somehow innocent child. Probably it was the attitude of her hands, still clasping her young breasts tightly, which contributed the innocence to her other qualities.
Michael hadn't realised before what a very pretty girl Monique was! He had scarcely given her a second glance when she arrived at the house. She was a companion and helper for Jean, that was all.
Now, he could see what a voluptuous and beautiful young creature she was! Standing before them, blushing shyly, Monique aroused a sharp desire in him which ached for satisfaction.
He didn't even begin to question Jean's motives in arranging this sexy display of their charms. For the moment all Michael could think of was the sheer delight of their combined bodies. His mind sought frantically to somehow prolong (and extend) the erotic situation.
“Your pants look very odd beside Monique's,” he said with sudden inspiration. “They're so large, so old fashioned, Jean. Why don't you wear them as brief as Monique, darling? Go on — pull them up! Let me see if you can get the same effect”.
Jean smiled. “I've got a better idea", she told him. “Monique, would you like to adjust my panties for me?” Her eyes met the French girl's and Michael was sure that he detected a familiar, secret intimacy flash between his wife and Monique.
Then, as Monique began to kneel down in front of Jean, finally removing her hands and letting him see her breasts, he dismissed the thought as nothing more than idle fancy.
He unbuttoned his jacket and threw it to the bed, settling himself in the easy chair and loosening his tie — ready to savour every moment of the girls' delicious fashion parade.
Monique imitated Jean's arrangement of her briefs, carefully pulling the panties into a taut and rucked-up strip of silk over the woman's crotch. Jean posed for her husband, placing her feet firmly astride and letting her hips sway in a tantalising undulation. Her much plumper pubic mound was almost completely visible — the now cord-like pants merely drawing attention to the thick lips on either side of her sex-slit.
“Much better!” Michael commented. “What about your bottom, though? Shouldn't they be twitched up at the back as well?”
Jean put her finger to her lips in mock-reprimand. “Of course they should!” she exclaimed. “How stupid of me! Monique darling — would you mind…?”
She turned slowly around to present them with her back view. Monique began to tug the black, glossy briefs firmly up into the crease — but Jean stopped her.
“Here, let me make it easier for you to judge the appearance", she said. And deliberately bent down, practically touching her toes. The ripe spheres of her bottom pouted rudely at the man and girl, ample white globes that were already overflowing their scanty briefs.
Michael could hear Monique's heavy breathing as she took the hem between her fingers and drew it right away from Jean's cheeks and tucked it securely into the woman's arse-divide.
When the girl straightened up and moved away, Jean remained in her bent-over position. The thin line of her silken panties was now all but hidden by the lips of her quim. They stuck with a breathtakingly clear obviousness over the taut material — the whole of Jean's cunt and arse being completely visible to the watching man and girl.
Jean wriggled her buttocks from side to side, showing off her sex to them without the slightest hint of embarrassment. Michael finally got up from his chair and walked the few paces which brought him close to his bending wife.
He put his hand on the back of her thigh, slowly bringing it upwards in a caressing movement until his fingers roved over the warm surface of her bottom. They fondled leisurely at the soft cheek, then drew it carefully aside, displaying Jean's practically naked cunt more fully.
“Very sexy', he remarked. “I don't think I've ever seen you looking quite so provocative, darling!”
He kept his hand on her buttocks, making the bare cheek wobble gently under the pressure of his fingers. Jean stayed in her slave-like position, arms hanging limply towards the floor. Michael passed his other hand beneath her and idly fondled one of her breasts.
The hard-nippled orb rested sweetly under his loosely caressing fingers, and the man began to swing it slowly from side to side — feeling the heavy globe of white flesh move pendulously in whichever position he commanded…
Huskily, her voice unable to conceal her naked sexual longing, Jean murmured: “Shall I admit something to you, Michael? About Monique and myself?”
He tensed and a pulsing excitement raced through his body. It was as if he had passed his finger quickly over a live wire; the shock was not so much an electrical jolt as a sharp stab of fear at a sudden narrow escape. Part-pleasure, part-nervous tension.
Michael tried to keep his voice calm and casual. “Yes, tell me, Jean. What about Monique and you? What have been up to?” He continued to rub her arse-cheek and gently milk her breast.
“You promise not to be angry?” She felt so incredibly soft and feminine…
“How can I tell? I don't know yet what you've done, do I?” Her nipple was so hard, so terribly hot…
“We weren't just trying on panties and stockings, Michael. We went further than that”. “Yes?”
“We touched each other; felt each other… the way you're feeling me now!”
“I see…” What would it be like to watch the two of them fondling and caressing? Holding each other in the most lascivious embraces he could devise?
“You're not angry? You won't be too cross with me, darling?”
“No, I won't be cross…” He could scarcely force the words out, his mouth felt so dry.
“I promise not to do it again, Michael”. She was so meek, so maddeningly coy! Her fine, supple legs, feet well astride, stockings sticking so-tightly to her thighs… how could he be angry with her?
Michael realised suddenly that Monique was only a few feet away. The girl had melted into the background during their exchange and was standing near the bed, her fingers interlaced across her rudely displaced panties.
In a voice that he could still not quite recognise as his, Michael said: “Come here and show me what you did, Monique. Let me see how you touched each other — I promise not to be cross with you — with either of you!”
He gave Jean's nipple a final tweak, then released the bud. Her breast shook in a shivery, wobbling movement and Michael moved away.
Jean straightened herself, breathing heavily. As she faced them, she tugged her panties up — seeming to be unaware that this extra leverage had caused the briefs to slip right away from her cunt: leaving the jewelled lips totally naked. The panties were gathered up at the side of the woman's crotch, serving no useful purpose whatsoever.
She held out her arms to Monique. “We'd better do what he says, darling", she whispered. “If we don't, Michael will be terribly angry with us!”
Monique moved slowly into Jean's embrace, her pretty face flushed, her body visibly trembling.
Michael sat in the chair again, crossing his legs so that the horniness of his prick wasn't too obvious to the girls. Jean planned all this! he thought. She deliberately engineered the whole thing! But explanations would have to wait. He knew that it was simply impossible for him to act he outraged husband. She had aroused him far too intensely and he would have to see it through.
For the moment he could think of nothing but the sight of his wife and Monique drawing into a warm and intimate embrace — their excitingly near-naked bodies pressing together as their arms went about each other's waists.
His eyes felt heavy, his pulse began to race… They were actually kissing! Their lips had met in a lewd, lesbian mingling — pushing harder and harder together until he could see their tongues meeting in a wanton, perverse tasting!
Every part of their bodies was touching: Jean's large, ripe breasts joined with Monique's more youthful, smaller titties and rubbed with growing passion against the girl's hard, pointy nipples. Their tummies writhed lustfully, their cunts pressed together, their silk-clad thighs made a steady, static rustling as they began to move in a rhythmical, swaying dance… with their feet motionless on the floor.
Michael saw clearly enough that they were deliberately putting on a “performance” for his benefit. They had themselves under control, carefully slowing down their love-play so that he could savour every caress, every movement of their wonderful bodies.
But far from detracting from his pleasure, this deliberation excited him all the more. He watched intently as Jean's hands stole down Monique's back, feeling beneath the girl's panties and moving around the upper slopes of her bum-cheeks.
This action caused the waistband of the briefs to ride down a little, revealing the valley between Monique's arse-globes in all its bare splendour. Jean dipped her knees slightly — Monique's mouth bear-ring down on hers — so that she was able to pull the bikini pants right over the gorgeous cheeks and show Michael the girl's bottom in its truly naked condition.
To encourage his admiration she caressed the sweet globes for him; running the fingers of both hands slowly and beautifully down the fleshy slopes — lifting the cheeks and holding them apart for a brief, tantalising second, then squashing them tightly together again.
She did this again, seeming to derive as much enjoyment from her manipulation of Monique's bottom as Michael. Again and again she forcibly prised open the girl's nutty treasure trove, offering its deep, hidden orifice for the man's inspection.
Then, the girls moving with an almost balletic grace, they turned slowly around until it was Jean's backside which confronted Michael.
She was receiving the same treatment from Monique's hands — or rather, a similar treatment, since the French girl was giving Jean an even more intimate caress. Her fingers had also worked the woman's panties down off her bottom, but instead of contenting themselves with a loving massage of the cheeks, Monique was rubbing them in a slow-motion fondling up and down the crease itself!
Jean's body was still bent at the knee, and from his enviable vantage point Michael could see with absolute clarity the tiny orifice of his wife's arse as it was continually stroked by Monique's long, slender fingers.
He breathed more heavily than ever, forced now to uncross his legs and rest his hand on the angrily swelling rod of his prick to ease its furious pulsing.
Jean and Monique were still kissing: so far their lips had not broken away and showed no signs of parting. In fact, their faces were working passionately, mouths thrust urgently together, and Michael knew that their tongues were busily exploring every tooth, every gum — slipping alternately into each other's mouths and French-kissing with complete disregard for his presence in the room.
When they at last brought their lips away the tense atmosphere was broken by the sound of their deep gasping for air. Their chins rested on one another's shoulders, their eyes closed tightly. Jean, after a few moments pause to catch her breath, began to kiss the creamy skin of Monique's upper arm — sidling her mouth along the girl's shoulder and bending her head so as to reach Monique's tender, fleshy muscle.
Her beautifully long black hair fell across both their breasts, concealing the rubbing melons from Michael's vision. But only for a few seconds.
Monique released Jean's bottom, freeing one hand so that it could slide up between their bodies and brush the thick tresses out of the way. Her fingers closed over the very tip of Jean's titty — the one nearest to Michael — and the man's prick gave another spastic jerk as the girl began to squeeze his wife's nipple…
Not satisfied with merely petting Jean's teat into a ripe, red flowering, Monique steered it carefully until it rubbed sexily against her own nipple, then took both of their tit-stalks between her forefinger and thumb and treated them to a prolonged, fantastically thrilling fondle.
Jean sucked for several minutes at Monique's upper arm, then removed her mouth and stared lustfully at the red blotch she had raised on the girl's white flesh. She turned her eyes slowly until they met Michael's.
“She's beautiful, isn't she, darling?” Jean whispered. “Her skin tastes so sweet, so very, very sweet! Shall I take her to the bed and show you what we did to each other this afternoon? Shall I?”
Michael nodded quickly, his cock now so rigid within the confines of his trousers that he was forced to stand up and unzip them. Neither girl paid him any attention as they moved, arms tightly about each other's waists, to the bed. He took them off completely, then rolled his underpants down — feeling an enormous relief as his penis at last wobbled free of its restricting enclosures.
The curtains at the windows were already drawn and as the room darkened with the approach of twilight, Jean reached out and switched the bedside lamp on. Its flowery pink shade filtered the light into a gentle, opaque glow which bathed the girl's bodies in a becoming, rather mysterious shade of pale crimson.
Michael stripped off his shirt and vest. He felt his body shiver, knowing that the tremor was due to acute sexual excitement rather than the slight chill in the room. He moved to the foot of the bed and sat down, facing towards the girls — who were already locked in another embrace, lying sideways to face each other and once more straining their soft bodies together…
Jean stroked her hand down Monique's hip and firmly, insistently pushed the girl's thighs open. She made Monique lie with her legs splayed — quickly tugging her flimsy, pathetically inadequate panties all the way down over her stockings: leaning forward for a moment to drag them off her ankles, then resuming her position next to Monique's warm cuddly body.
Her right hand again alighted on the girl's outspread thigh, now caressing with her parted fingers the satin-smooth inside of Monique's leg. She gave the girl a tender, sweetly extended massage — occasionally permitting her hand to stray further upwards and brush meaningfully against Monique's pink quim-gash.
Monique would shyly attempt to squeeze her thighs together to ward off the dangerously intrusive fingers and, each time, Jean would patiently push them apart again — giving the girl a soft kiss on her mouth and reassuring her with her eyes that she had nothing to fear.
Finally, after many preliminary sorties, Jean allowed her fingers to actually descend on the innocent lips and tickle them open.
She slipped the tips into Monique's wound and strummed them gently along the moist mouth, playing the girl as if she was a delicate instrument. The first joint of each finger curled over, working just inside the juicy slit and very slowly insinuating the inner lips apart.
While Jean toyed in this manner with her cunt, Monique positioned her own hands on the woman's bottom. The girl kneaded the rounded cheeks more brutally this time — pinching large folds of the bum-flesh between her fingers, then letting them slowly escape: gradually covering Jean's buttocks with angry-looking red marks.
Soon, however, she was sufficiently aroused by Jean's growing liberties with her quim to venture a slim finger between the latter girl's thighs.
Monique lifted Jean's leg and traced the digit firmly across the very centre of her cunt. Jean lowered the outstretched limb across Monique's hips, giving the French girl every encouragement.
Michael, now holding his inflamed penis tightly in his hand, saw Monique's finger sink beautifully into his wife's sex. It pushed succulently between the thick petal-lips and disappeared from sight — buried completely within Jean's raw and naked pussy.
She started to frig it slowly in and out, using her remaining fingers to tickle wantonly at the hot, moist length of the woman's slit.
They kissed yet again — and Michael knew that this time they had genuinely forgotten that what they were doing to each other was being witnessed by a third party. Their passion was mounting visibly, their lust growing wild and anxious for release. Jean's free hand groped desperately for Monique's breast… found and squeezed the precious melon in an agitated, furious fondling.
Moaning deliriously, the an pair girl clasped Jean's titty with a similar fury. Then, as if a starting pistol had been fired, the girls began a simultaneous fucking movement with their hips — driving their loins wildly with harder and harder strokes onto the fingers which were penetrating their cunts.
“Oh God! Oh, my darling!” Jean gasped suddenly. “I'm starting to come! I can't stop myself, darling! I can't!!”
Monique's fingers sped faster into her quim, wiggling and frigging into Jean's tight red pussy. She threw her head back, her mouth opening in a helpless, despairing cry:
“Oh, so am I, cheri! Oh, Jean, hurt me! Hurt me, my darling!! Feel me coming…!”
The silent spectator to their sport worked his fingers tightly up and down his prick. His wife and Monique suddenly stopped their threshing and remained for perhaps thirty seconds with only their thighs quivering. His own lust approaching boiling point, Michael realised that they were at this very moment jetting their girl-spunk out of their hot, damp cunts and splashing the foamy juice onto each other's fingers!!
Making a tremendous effort, he managed to contain his sperm. He wanted to be in a completely excited state when his turn came — and Michael knew that as soon as Jean and Monique had recovered their breath he was going to push his body between the two girls and fuck them until they begged him for mercy…