Jac the Lad

A few months back I stumbled onto the Literotica site. Like everyone else, I found that a lot of the stories did not appeal to me. But I did find a number of stories that had good plot, good characterisation, good story flow and were well written. They made me think. They were erotic too.

I looked out a few stories I had written for myself a few years back and decided they needed a fair bit of rewriting. I also started a couple of new stories and I find I have a few ideas for other stories. Then this story arrived and sort of wrote itself in about a day - plus editing time.

This story is fiction. Jack is not based on me... I hope.

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Isn't life great. Fucking great. Shagged the missus senseless when I got home last night. Pretty good considering. Me wife Shelley is gorgeous. Long blonde hair down her back – just the way I like it. Hourglass figure 36 -24-35.

Tits to die for. Warm cuddly 36D. Nipples round and juicy like cherries. Small neat aureoles.

Tits are firm too. They still look nice when she is flat on her back, not like some, with two bags of suet and the nipples hanging down each side of the cow. Still, if the good lord had meant for us not to poke the ugly women, he would not have provided the electric light with an off switch.

Shelley's eyes? Shit what colour were Shelley's eyes?

There is a picture on her dressing table of the two of us and the three nippers. Brown, that's it, same as mine. Of course. And there's my lovely kids: Jessie 7, Michael 5 and lovely Christine 3. Apple of my eye they are. All blonde like their mother. What colour are their eyes? Can't see in that picture.

Anyway, Shelley is special. Mother of my children. Know what I mean. She is special, not like the rest. Slags mostly. But a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. If he's a proper man, that is. Not like those bloody nonces and bleeding officers.

Had one of those once. Not the officer for chrisake. His missus. His wifey. Me and Chris were at her house delivering stuff. Chris and I met when we joined up in the Army about the same time and both did 5 years service. Chris ended up a corporal and me, well I had better things to do. Chris was best man at our wedding. We are still best mates. Which makes yesterday so fucking incredible.

Anyway, back to that officer's wife. She was nice, gave us a cup of tea. Then she got all upset and weepy. Hubby was off in Afghanistan doing what was it ... bomb disposal, yes that's it. Anyway, she was all worried and lonely and everything. It was like in one of those porn films, except she had her own tits. Small but firm and juicy.

We took it in turns. She kept saying "Fuck me, please fuck me" but quietly, almost like politely in that posh voice. Drove me wild. Don't think I've given a girl such a pounding. Every way too. I even stuck it up her arse. Chris didn't want to do that. Nancy. She kept coming like a steam train. But low and guttural, almost dignified. Didn't want the neighbours to hear I expect. With him away.

Afterwards, she started sobbing and saying she'd never done anything like that before. I mean, they all say that don't they, makes them feel better. She said she didn't know what came over her. Quick as a flash I said "Me and Chris did, and inside you too and we'll be back as soon as we can to give you a lot more". I mean, she was just a slut, letting us do all that. Posh though. She moved out a couple of days later. Happens all the time in the army, people move. So we never did get to give her another seeing to.

I'd never had a posh one before. Haven't since, come to think of it. Shelley is quality. Not posh though, she's from round here. Would have gone to university, too. Except I got her pregnant. I was going to do a runner. I mean her father runs a small building firm and is built like a shithouse door. He has guys working for him just as big.

Chris talked me out of it, though. Said "Jack, look, marriage is not so bad I've found. You're getting on; her father's well off. He'll probably buy you both a house and when Shelley wants a new dress, she'll go running to him and leave you to spend all your money on beer and fags like a proper bloke."

I thought, yea and I'll have sex on tap and not have to spend all that time on chat, chat, chat on a new bint before I get my end away. Even the ones you've broken in get all shirty and complain that you've not come to see them for ages. You have to give them all that flannel before you get the one thing you're there for – their fanny.

Like I said, Shelley is quality. I knew it was my bun in her oven. I mean, I'd been going out with her for a year and you could see she wasn't that kind of girl. Quality. She does a mean Sunday roast and a pretty good blow job too if she's in the mood.

You gotta be sure of course. Look after your own, I mean. When I am shagging some bloke's missus, I think "Your fault mate. If you don't look after your own, you've got it coming – or rather, she's got it coming (ha! ha!)". If Shelley tried to step out of line, I'd soon put her right. Not knock her about. I don't hold with that – not unless they really need it, that is.

Since the army, I've been working down the hospital as a porter. Shifts. Means it's pretty easy for me to slip off and visit, if you know what I mean. Plus access to all them nurses. Some of them 'll turn a trick as soon as look at you they will.

Nah. Wrong word. If there is one thing I can't abide it's paying for it. You got to have standards. As I always say, if you aint got standards, you aint nobody. Catch my drift? Mind you, Hamburg don't count with that. You seen that street with all the whores sitting on chairs in the windows? Fucking amazing. Going to Hamburg and not fucking one of those whores would be like going to Paris and not going up the Eifel Tower. Amsterdam's the same.

Anyway, here we are, me, the missus and the three little ones all in this house her Dad bought us. Getting a bit crowded now. I said to her the other day that I'd better get one of those vasectomies. We don't want any more little accidents. I was also thinking it would help persuade the birds we didn't need a condom. Hate those things – it's like having a bleeding local anaesthetic in your dick.

Mind you, I already tell them I've had the cut. Some believe me, most don't. I suppose I could show them the certificate or whatever it is they give you when it's done. 'Ere. If I find some bloke what's had one and he lets me borrow his certificate, I could get one of me mates to knock me up a dodgy copy with my name on it. That'd come in handy.

That's the same geezer what did the certificate we got framed above the mantelpiece in our lounge. It's from the British Sub Aqua Club and it certifies that I'm an Advanced Instructor in muff diving. All the blokes like it.

Anyway, back to Shelley and my bleeding Vasectomy (get it, bleeding, vasectomy, ha! ha!). She thought for a minute and gave me a funny look and said she didn't like the idea of me having a vasectomy. It made me heart go all warm when she said that. Felt proud of the girl.

All me mates think Shelley's amazing. They say they can't see what a girl like that is doing with a tosser like me. Mates josh you like that. Mind you, I've screwed half their wives, so I reckon it's me that's got the last laugh.

Why am I so pleased with myself? I'll tell you. Yesterday, I gets this phone call from Yvonne, Chris's wife. I was real surprised. I've always reckoned she didn't like me, looked down her snotty nose at me. Dozy cunt. She asked if I could come over. I asked first if Chris was about. I'd borrowed fifty quid a week ago and was a bit afraid he was wanting it back. "No" she says "he's in France for two days". Chris has got this job in electronics in one of them big companies. Doing all right for himself. Lucky bugger.

Well, when I heard that, I was round there faster than a dose of the clap. I've always fancied the woman. The thought of banging that fanny draped over their ever so posh coffee table had me hard as old Maggie's heart. I was driving as fast as I dared, given the car had no tax or insurance and this was no time to be meeting Her Majesty's Constabulary. I had one hand on the wheel and the other on my cock, like it tells you in the driving manual.

Yvonne is drop dead gorgeous. I'd dearly love to tell you her statistics but unfortunately I can't even give you an estimate based on copping a feel. She went to university and always dresses like she's just come from a funeral – or wedding, same thing.

She's got long wavy black hair and dark complexion – same as me (OK my hair's not long and wavy but it's the same colour). I said to her once that we were so alike, me doing it to her would be like me doing it to one of my sisters. She looked daggers at me, which made me laugh even louder. Like I said, snotty cow. Not that I'd do anything with my sisters. I don't approve of that and there's too much of it going on around here. Besides, both my sisters are now fat as porkers and I wouldn't touch them with a kebab skewer.

When I got to their place, I fairly hared out of the car and up the drive to their front door. Were all my wet dreams about to come true? When she opened the door, there was no smile but I didn't give up hope. She asked me into the lounge and before I could sit down or grab her tits, she asked me, cool as you like, if I wanted to fuck her.

Not wishing to let amazement get the better of my dick, I said "Too bloody right I would". "Come on upstairs then". She turned and walked out and up the stairs. I was fairly running up the stairs, with my eyes glued to that fantastic and now very fuckable arse only a few inches in front of me face.

She lifted her dress over her head and there she was, bollock naked. She told me to get undressed and said something about getting even. I imagine Chris had been playing a few away games like a true red blooded Englishman. Well, his loss and my gain as they say.

I wasn't listening much as I was too busy eyeballing her fan-bloody-tastic tits and the sweetest cunt I have ever seen. I consider myself a bit of a connoisseur on cunts. I mean, I will take most of them including the really manky ones but I really do appreciate a bit of class in that area. Some people like lots of flesh hanging off but me, well I like them neat and tidy.

I hadn't wasted any time getting my clothes off - I don't mind a bit of foreplay, especially if it involves her sucking my dick, but generally I have found it best to get in there fairly quick, in case they change their mind.

She unwrapped a Johnny and was making to roll it on. My dick was already fully up and begging for attention. I gallantly said I would put the Johnny on myself but she said "No way. You'd just slip your penis in without it on". Too bloody right. Like I said, smart lady.

I was still looking at her tits, wondering what I should do to them. You know, it's a funny thing. I know exactly what I want to do with a cunt and so does the bit of me that's going there but breasts... I have spent two thirds of my life looking at, wanting and lusting after those beautiful domes of pleasure. Yet, when I get near them, I am not sure if I should be sucking them, fucking them or just rolling around in them.

She threw herself back in the bed, opened her legs nice and wide and made it clear what was wanted. I was in in two seconds. She had put her hand to guide me in and make sure both me and Johnny arrived together at the right destination. She smelt good, she looked good and she felt like heaven had arrived complete with trumpets and a brass band.

She had tits big and firm enough that I could feel two warm circles pressed against my chest. Couldn't have that and get my hands on them so I concentrated on pole play. She wasn't moving much and when I went to kiss her (not my usual style, I must have been smitten) she moved her head away. In fact, she wasn't moving at all – just letting me do all the work. No wonder Chris was dipping his wick elsewhere with a lazy fuck like that.

I was just getting into my stride, thinking that I would make this one last, when she sticks her finger straight up my arse with no warning whatsoever. I was so surprised, I shot my load and that, ladies and gentlemen, as they say, was that.

I am pretty quick getting up and off once it's finished. I mean, women often lie about when their old man is coming home and why make a big fuss over them when you've got what you want? But she was way ahead of me. She grabbed the Johnny off me and carefully put it on the bedside table, on what appeared to be his side of the bed and put on a dressing gown. She thrust my clothes at me telling me to hurry up, she'd got it wrong, Chris was due home soon.

I did ask her when we could do it again and she just said there was a lot likely to be happening over the next few days and we'll see where everything is in a couple of weeks. I felt cheered. I looked forward to giving her a proper banging next time and started getting hard just thinking about it. I was almost shoved out the front door and as I left I could hear her running up the stairs and the sound of the shower that she must have already turned on.

So that is why I am feeling pretty good this morning. An away game and a home game all in the space of a couple of hours, followed by the good night's sleep of the righteous and the just.

Colour of their eyes.

What does that remind me of?

Oh yes. A while ago, I caught sight of an article in one of those shitty magazines Shelley has, with no pictures of tits, Prince William or the latest boy band on the cover. Something about blue eyes, hair colour and recessive genes. I made some joke to Shelley about Levis and genes but she didn't laugh. How come everyone thinks she is so clever if she isn't bright enough to get my jokes?

Anyway, I start thinking how Chris and Yvonne's two kids look quite a bit like their mother but a lot like Chris with his blue eyes, blonde hair and freckles. And I think of my kids with blonde hair and freckles. They seem to look quite a bit like those two and also a bit like Chris. Now, Shelley is only a bottle blonde, her muff is dark brown and all her relatives, who have any hair left, are at least as dark. My side, Italian all the way and from the South where they don't have blondes. I look at another photo, a close up of my three kids' faces. What colour are their eyes? Blue.

I sit down heavily on the side of the bed. Maybe life isn't so fucking great after all.