This story is about cuckolding, if that's not your scene you may wish to leave now.
I had had the hots for Jen for some considerable time, like most men who met her. She was enormously vivacious and bubbly, not to mention very outdoorsy. In her mid forties she maintained a young girlish carefree attitude to life, and was enormous fun to be around.
She was short and petite, could wear anything she liked but was always stylish, sparing with her make up, and the dimples in her cheeks deepened every time she smiled, which was frequently.
Petite, with a pert little bottom, probably maintained by her love of horse riding, and an easy care hair do that went with her outdoors life style. It was sort of short and spiky and dirty blond, or mucky blond, as my lust fuelled thoughts used to think of it.
There were a group of us who gathered regularly on a Friday evening at the pub, which was just across the road from their house, and so we usually gravitated there at closing time, for a coffee and a bit more banter.
On arrival, Jen usually vanished straight into the kitchen to put the coffee on and, being the only unattached chap, I usually helped while the other couples made themselves at home in the cozy sitting room.
One evening while I was getting cups out of the cupboard, Jen who was at the sink, backed into me accidentally. A reflex action made my hands fly up to her waist to prevent her reversing into my crotch. She spun round with a curious look on her face as if to say. 'Seriously?'
I immediately apologised and she rapidly realised that I had grabbed her waist to prevent, shall we say, the much more intimate contact of her delicious posterior with my crotch.
"No harm done," she said, smiling her dimply smile and held my gaze for rather longer than necessary as she added, "unfortunately."
The locked gaze said it all and I stooped down to kiss her expecting a peck on the lips at best. Her body melted into mine as her mouth opened and her tongue sought out mine for a full on snog.
"Coffee's ready," she announced as we broke from the embrace, acting a bit like naughty school kids, and that's as far as it went.
I always looked forward to Fridays, and even more to closing time, where the coffee making and snog ritual were regularly repeated. There was just something so naughty and erotic about it. As we broke from our embrace one night she said.
"You know this is just lust, don't you? I love only Dave, but I do enjoy a bit of spice." And that made everything clear, as clear as mud.
The following week, after the usual call of "Whose f' coffee," made to sound a lot more risqué by the pronunciation, we all crossed the road to their house.
As we opened the door Jen announced she needed the loo and made a dash in that direction. Then the coffee making ritual started. I was a little sad as I thought our illicit snogs were now in the past, however I still went to help.
I followed Jen into the kitchen. She immediately spun round and whispered.
"When I went to the loo, I took my knickers off."
"Most girls do," I replied nonchalantly.
"No stupid. Off, as in OFF," and brandished them in my face.
Fuck! Now I knew that the object of my lust was standing in front of me with absolutely nothing on, under her light summer dress.
"I want you to feel my bum while you snog me, and snog me like you want to shag me." And she tilted her head upwards and gazed into my eyes.
"But Dave is next door!"
"I know! Hot, isn't it?"
I couldn't resist. I had longed to run my hands over those luscious buttocks, even fully clothed, so the invitation to lift her skirt and feel the warm pliable flesh under my palms was irresistible.
As we kissed, and our tongues explored each other, I ruched up the skirt of her summer dress and felt the yielding flesh for the first time. My cock stirred towards erection.
The kiss was long, lust fuelled and very very sexy.
She took one of my wrists and guided it round to her front. My hand made contact with hair, her soft curly pubic hair. This had just taken a giant leap forward from a simple snog. I was now not just snogging a hot woman with her husband in the next room, but I was actually touching her sex. One of my fingers slipped easily into her already moist haven.
She pulled my hand away and lifted it up to my face.
"Smell me. I'm hot. Lick your fingers and savour my excitement and know that I'm juicing for you."
I did as I was asked and she tasted divine, making me long for the opportunity to bury my face in the soft curls of her pubes, and bring her to orgasm.
She backed away and raised her skirt to her knees, then higher eventually revealing her luxuriant bush.
"Fuck me!"
"What now!"
"Fuck me quickly, just stick it in and cum."
"But there are five people next door, they might hear, or worse come in."
"Why do you think I'm so hot?"
She backed up to the work top and lifted herself onto it and spread her legs.
"Come on get on with it. Fuck me. I want to feel your cock explode inside me."
I unzipped my trousers! The whole act hardly took a minute and was one of the hottest things I had ever done, but we were brought back to reality by a booming voice.
"How's that coffee coming along, you two?"
"Here stuff these in your pocket," she said, handing me her knickers having wiped herself with them, as I tidied myself up.
We made the coffee and took it through.
"Beginning to think you'd died on the job."
Oh please don't say 'on the job', I thought. I'm probably flushed looking already and I've got your wife's knickers in my pocket soaked in the juices of our mutual lust.
That was the last of our Friday night pub visits as Dave and Jen moved to somewhere near Keswick, and besides Jen was getting way too adventurous. It was getting pretty dangerous, so good to quit while ahead, but I did keep the souvenir knickers, and no, I didn't wash them.
About six months later I was temporarily posted to Penrith, so I made contact hoping we could go out for a meal sometime. They lived at Threlkeld, in the shadow of that beautiful mountain, Blencathra and when they heard I was in digs in Penrith they insisted that I stay with them during the working week. They had bought a massive farm house with about seven bedrooms, a paddock and a stable that kept several horses, one of them Jen's, the others belonging to various friends.
I cannot pretend that my heart didn't skip a beat at the suggestion, but I was determined that our indiscretion in the kitchen, at the last house, was just that, an indiscretion and in the past. Besides I'm sure Jen would be mortified to remember that she had hopped up on the worktop, spread her legs, and demanded to be fucked. Whatever can we have been thinking?
Most of my time was taken up with the tedious business in Penrith, but the long summer evenings were starting again, so there was plenty of opportunity to go walking in the fells, armed with Wainwright's little guide book.
One evening, on my way back, the path brought me across the paddock to the stables. Jen had just returned from her evening ride out, and looked drop dead gorgeous in her tight jodhpurs and riding boots.
She insisted on showing me the stable and the tack room, not that I have the slightest interest in horses but time with Jen was always welcome.
"Remember the kitchen at the old house?" She asked.
