Watched, and watching
As soon as the weather starts to get really grim in London, Lizzie and I head for warmer climes if we can. It’s not every year we can manage it, but with our ability to work from anywhere these days, we usually get at least a month abroad.
At the end of 2023, we decided to go and find some pretty much guaranteed sunshine in Florida, at least for a week or two. I stayed in Key West as a very young man on an adventure with a friend from work, and I have felt nostalgic and fond of the place ever since. I once visited the actual (cheap) hotel we had stayed in all those years ago when I was in the Keys, and I was delighted to see it was exactly as I remembered it, and even the manager was the son of the Norwegian couple who owned and ran the place when I was first there.
When I told Lizzie about the place, and in particular about Jim and I bringing two local girls back and fucking them in the same bed at the same time, she insisted on seeing the place. For some of that blissful night years ago, I had one very attractive girl on my face and another on my cock, facing each other and kissing deeply, stroking each other’s hair and faces tenderly, stopping every now and then to come as the other held them. I didn’t last long, letting Jim take over while I recovered, and then he’d come and we’d swap again. Shift fucking—amazing.
This time we stayed a night in the same room, as near as I can remember it, and had a long, leisurely fuck while Lizzie quizzed me for every detail I could remember. My wife takes great pleasure in these recollections, and no detail is too small to interest or excite her. She wanted to know if I could remember how wet the girl on my face was, if she was shaven, if we used condoms with them, how big Jim’s cock was—the sounds, the smells—everything.
Late that night, I had a shock of nostalgia as we heard live blues music drifting through the window, the traffic having slowed to a trickle, allowing us to listen clearly. I remembered that Jim and I had heard it way back then, precisely like this, and had tracked down a proper old bar (well, how I imagine a proper old American bar to look), about three streets away. Lizzie and I hurried off to find it again, and I was almost tearful for some reason when we stepped through the door and down the short staircase. There was a young guy playing guitar on the small stage, unaccompanied—unlike the man who was there in that exact spot last time I visited, who had a small backing band and looked about 150 years old.
Delighted, Lizzie and I sat at the bar on stools in the tiny room as I watched and listened for a couple of hours. Lizzie was having one or two dances with lovely men older than her grandfather, who kissed her hand and escorted her to and from the stool next to me. She adored every minute, as did I.
Memory Lane was well and truly visited. We left the next day and checked into a much more salubrious suite in a beach-side resort hotel to spend a week or two relaxing in the sunshine.
For the few weeks leading up to fleeing the country, we had been experimenting in the UK with a remote-controlled vibrator. We’d had a brief play with one in the past but not really thought properly about the opportunities it presented for adventure, so we’d decided we were going to use it to come up with scenarios as hot as we could jointly imagine while we were away.
The problem with this plan was that Lizzie had bottled out of taking the device in her bag when we flew—imagining all sorts of humiliating scenarios involving searches of her cases and her person when it was seen on the x-ray scanner, with some customs officer waving it about for all to see. It's funny how reserved Lizzie can be about seemingly trivial things when she’s such a filthy slut at other times.
Which meant we needed to buy the vibe locally and have it shipped to the hotel. In this, of course, Amazon was our friend, and we chose several other toys while we were at it, all to be delivered the next day.
We spent the next day exploring the hotel, grounds, beach, and local area, spending an hour or two lazing in the sunshine (Lizzie) and reading in the shade (me). Lizzie wore a skimpy pink two-piece bikini and, as usual, attracted a lot of attention, which I know she was keeping tabs on through her blacked-out sunglasses, as was I. We would, as usual, discuss who had checked her out, who she most fancied, and what we thought they wanted to do later in our room, normally between going down on her.
Just a quick note here: it’s not the typical six-pack guys or girls with the perfect teeth and tan who usually excite my wife; it’s normal people stealing longing glances who, we know from experience, are usually better lovers—well, more often than the self-obsessed gym bunnies in any case. Lovers who make things all about themselves are not good lovers. Our conversations then often involve statements like, “Did you see that tubby old guy staring at your crotch? He practically stopped walking; he slowed down so much in a daydream.”
“Hmm.. the grey-haired Mediterranean, maybe Greek? Yes. I saw him. Nice bulge in those trunks. He slowed down so much because I parted my legs a little when he was watching. God..”
While I used my thumb gently on Lizzie’s clitoral area, my tongue slowly moved just inside her cunt lips.
We got a call from reception saying a package had arrived for us, and Lizzie bounced off to collect it, excitedly wearing a silky gown over her bikini.
I settled on the balcony with a book, my head filled with the possibilities the remote vibe would bring.
I didn’t notice my wife had been gone for half an hour until the door slammed closed behind her and she rushed into the room. As I turned to greet her, I noticed her face was flushed. She was pulling at the knot at the side of her bikini bottoms, letting them fall away as she immediately bent over a chair, her arse ******* to me.
“Fuck me—fuck me now," she said, a little breathless.
I stood, my cock growing at the sight of a little trickle of her clear come running down her inner thigh, and stood behind her. Spitting on my hand and rubbing my cock, I put one hand on her back and used the other to guide myself into her. She came the instant my balls touched her arse, my cock fully home, and as I fucked her, my hands on her hips pulling her toward me, she struggled to speak.
“Christ, the man at security, he... oh fuck.”
“Go on, tell me.”
“He saw, on the scanner, my dildo. Fuck me harder.”
"Jesus, he did? And?”
“He took me into his office. He showed me the pictures.”
“God, he did?”
"Yeah, that made me wet. He was looking at me, at the dildo. Knowing he stared at my crotch, I saw my cunt wet in my bikini. Oh my God.”
“Did you...?”
“Blew him. He was so hard, looking at the screen, then at me." staccato as I rammed into her cunt.
This really, really turned me on. I love when my wife has these encounters on her own and tells me about them later.
I gently pulled Lizzie’s hair and turned her face. Leaning over her back, I could just reach to kiss her, and as I moaned and came hard inside her, my cock pumping over and over as I pictured the scene in my head, I could smell and taste come from her mouth.
“Fuck… I can taste him."
Lizzie came hard as I told her, bucking on my cock even as I emptied myself into her cunt.
I pulled out, eventually, when the chair back started to dig into Lizzie’s ribs, allowing our combined cum to fall noisily to the floor between her open legs, and we retired, shaking, to the bed for a nap, the cooling sea breeze from the open window blowing over our nakedness. I remarked, of course, on the irony of the situation: Lizzie not wanting airport security to see the vibe on their scanners but ending up wet and blowing the guy who actually did because it turned her on so much.
We woke in the early evening, and, after a shower and changing into more suitable dinner attire—me a light pair of cotton trousers and an open shirt, Lizzie a flimsy summer dress decorated with red roses—we set out in search of food.
As we reached the lift, I stopped, remembering the most important thing I had wanted to do tonight before Lizzie’s adventure with the hotel security guard had driven all else from my mind.
Putting a hand on Lizzie’s arm, I said, “Wait, I forgot something; come with me." and steered her back to the room.
We had unpacked and charged the vibrator earlier, and I had paired the app with my phone and tested it. Lizzie’s eyes lit up as I kneeled in front of her, pushing her dress up, and, pulling her black lacy thong to one side, gently pushed the vibrator inside her, the small removal tab being the only part of it left *******.
Re-arranging my wife’s clothing, I grinned, “Quick test," and gave her a three-second mild buzz.
Lizzie’s eyes went wide, and her hands dropped automatically to her crotch, her thighs clenched together.
“Jesus, you’d better be careful with that thing or I’ll be coming all fucking night," she chuckled.
We left the room for the second time and made our way to the ground floor and an outside table in one of the hotel restaurants, choosing the busier of the three or four on the basis that popularity is always a good sign when dining out.
Both the wine and the food were, indeed, excellent, as was the fun I had making my wife come twice at the table, once when talking to a waiter, who must have thought she had a breathing problem—she came hard, trying to keep up a normal conversation while wetting her seat.
Food over, we ordered some cocktails, and I moved to sit next to Lizzie so we could both look out over the dark sea and listen to the surf. My back had been to the view all evening, and sitting here with my wife was so relaxing that I was starting to contemplate bed.
Giggling, Lizzie said quietly, “I think that woman might have noticed what we were up to—she's really staring.”
“Which?”
“Short dark hair, jean shorts, family table, what looks like husband, in-laws, kids everywhere.”
“What, really? She looks too busy to have noticed anything.”
“Yeah, seriously, she’s been staring for ages—like an hour. Keeps coming back to us.”
As I looked, I could see, in the dimmed lights, that the woman did indeed seem to be staring intently in our direction.
Everyone else on her giant table, probably two or three pushed together, was busy making a racket and controlling unruly kids, including a much older couple who I assumed were grandparents.
“They’re either seriously loaded or just here for dinner," I said, reflecting on the cost of rooms for so many people.
“Yeah, one or other, but she’s still looking," murmured Lizzie, her voice getting that very slight hoarseness I know so well—she was slightly aroused.
I reached over, and putting my hand on her thigh, I gently and slowly pulled Lizzie’s legs open, lifting her silky dress at the front to ****** her thong. Lizzie, as I suspected she would, showed she was bought into it by lifting her arse slightly off the chair to allow me to slide the dress further up.
I returned my hand to my wife’s thigh and slid it down towards her knee, pulling her leg slowly toward me. Relishing it, she waited for me to move my hand to her other knee and didn’t resist when I pushed it away from me, splaying her legs completely.
As she began to breathe deeply, I lifted my phone, deliberately showing it to the classic soccer mom-type woman who was still observing us intently.
Lizzie gasped as I turned the vibrator on a low pulse, her hands loose by her sides as she moved her hips in time with the device. I could just hear it, really quietly, as it buzzed away inside her cunt, getting softer as her muscles tightened on it and louder as she relaxed.
I looked over at our voyeur. She seemed to make a decision and reached into a bag hanging on the back of her chair, removing a pack of cigarettes and a shiny Zippo lighter. She called a name, and the older woman, a child on her lap, looked up. Waving her cigarette pack at her, our watcher stood and moved quickly to an empty table, luckily more in the gloom and directly opposite us, with nobody else within earshot, although plenty of people were enjoying their food not far away.
Lizzie was breathing heavily as I increased the intensity of the vibe, making her push her hips a little more into it, her hands still loose by her sides, and her legs still splayed.
I watched with a dry mouth and increased heart rate as the woman lit a cigarette, which she held up in her left hand, and immediately dropped her right hand to the crotch of her jean shorts, rubbing herself quickly through the denim, her toes on the ground, and her heels pushed up against the legs of her chair.
“Fuck. This is hot. I’m so fucking wet, said my wife quietly.
I had already been erect, but my cock felt like it could break glass now.
I opened my fly and grabbed Lizzie's left hand, moving it to my cock.
She pulled it away and said, in a 'don't fuck with me on this' voice, "No. This is me and her. You can sort yourself out if you want to. This is the same as not letting you touch me when a man is fucking me—this is not about you."
Slightly surprised but even more aroused, as I always was when she went full-on cuckold with a man, I sat back to watch.
Lizzie made a gesture with her right hand to the woman—a clear imitation of pulling a zip-down.
Glancing over at her table, where everyone was still engrossed in family activity, I moaned, and so did Lizzie, as she slowly, gently, and teasingly slid her zip fly down and popped the button at her waist, leaving her shorts completely open at the front.
She instantly slid her right hand inside her jeans, and we could see her knuckles moving fast as she worked to make herself come. Her hips were pushing, in as controlled a manner as she could manage, against her hand, and we could see her legs were straining against the chair legs, as if they were tied to them.
I switched the vibrator to continuous, and Lizzie groaned, still refusing to move her hands from her sides but gyrating her hips in her chair now; her dress worked all the way to her waist. I could see the damp patch between her legs when I leaned forward.
They both moved faster; the woman opposite, having completely forgotten about her cigarette, which she had dropped to the floor, now had both hands inside her jeans, glancing quickly at her table every few seconds.
I could tell Lizzie was close, and she upped the speed a little.
The woman removed her left hand from her shorts and held up four fingers, on which I could see her come glistening in the light from where I sat.
She dropped one finger, two seconds later, another. She was counting down.
When she closed her fist, she leaned forward in her chair, her legs shaking, head down as if in the aircraft “brace” position. Lizzie came at the same time, trying hard not to lose control as she bucked and pushed as quietly and covertly as possible against the vibe in her cunt.
A few seconds later, the woman seemed to remember where she was and stood quickly, her back to her family, as she pulled her zip up and fastened her button, glancing at us as she did so. Hesitating, she walked over to us, offering me a cigarette as if I’d asked her for one.
“I’m not in this hotel," she said softly. Her voice, which was unmistakably southern, was shaky.
“But I can get away; I’m here for two weeks. What’s your room number?”
As I told her, Lizzie made sure she couldn’t be seen and took the woman’s hand, placing it quickly between her legs, saying, “Look how wet you made me—please come and see us.”
The woman took her hand back and, looking at Lizzie, sucked her fingers clean before hurrying back to her table and immediately joining in with the general chaos and hubbub.
Lizzie and I stayed watching for a while, zoned out.
"Well," said my wife, eventually, “that was different.”
"It was amazing," I said. "Truly. Now, how about me?"
Lizzie looked languidly at me. slowly wrapping some of her long hair around her fingers. "I think I'm going to spend some time this break focused on me. If you like, I'll watch you wank, or you can go down on me and I'll tell you what it was like to be with that woman, but that way you aren't allowed to touch your cock. Choice is yours."
I love Lizzie in this mode; something about being cuckolded by a woman was also a huge turn-on.
I decided to go down on her. It took me a while to come without touching myself, but in the end, her description of what had just happened tipped me over the edge. Lizzie told me that I was not to come without telling her first, so when the first pre-cum started to run down my cock, I told her, and she pushed me away and said, "On your back, come on yourself."
Grunting with pleasure, I did just that. Lizzie carefully licked every little bit off of my chest and stomach, then kissed me deeply, letting most of it fall into my mouth.
We were away another nine weeks; none of it was dull.
At the end of 2023, we decided to go and find some pretty much guaranteed sunshine in Florida, at least for a week or two. I stayed in Key West as a very young man on an adventure with a friend from work, and I have felt nostalgic and fond of the place ever since. I once visited the actual (cheap) hotel we had stayed in all those years ago when I was in the Keys, and I was delighted to see it was exactly as I remembered it, and even the manager was the son of the Norwegian couple who owned and ran the place when I was first there.
When I told Lizzie about the place, and in particular about Jim and I bringing two local girls back and fucking them in the same bed at the same time, she insisted on seeing the place. For some of that blissful night years ago, I had one very attractive girl on my face and another on my cock, facing each other and kissing deeply, stroking each other’s hair and faces tenderly, stopping every now and then to come as the other held them. I didn’t last long, letting Jim take over while I recovered, and then he’d come and we’d swap again. Shift fucking—amazing.
This time we stayed a night in the same room, as near as I can remember it, and had a long, leisurely fuck while Lizzie quizzed me for every detail I could remember. My wife takes great pleasure in these recollections, and no detail is too small to interest or excite her. She wanted to know if I could remember how wet the girl on my face was, if she was shaven, if we used condoms with them, how big Jim’s cock was—the sounds, the smells—everything.
Late that night, I had a shock of nostalgia as we heard live blues music drifting through the window, the traffic having slowed to a trickle, allowing us to listen clearly. I remembered that Jim and I had heard it way back then, precisely like this, and had tracked down a proper old bar (well, how I imagine a proper old American bar to look), about three streets away. Lizzie and I hurried off to find it again, and I was almost tearful for some reason when we stepped through the door and down the short staircase. There was a young guy playing guitar on the small stage, unaccompanied—unlike the man who was there in that exact spot last time I visited, who had a small backing band and looked about 150 years old.
Delighted, Lizzie and I sat at the bar on stools in the tiny room as I watched and listened for a couple of hours. Lizzie was having one or two dances with lovely men older than her grandfather, who kissed her hand and escorted her to and from the stool next to me. She adored every minute, as did I.
Memory Lane was well and truly visited. We left the next day and checked into a much more salubrious suite in a beach-side resort hotel to spend a week or two relaxing in the sunshine.
For the few weeks leading up to fleeing the country, we had been experimenting in the UK with a remote-controlled vibrator. We’d had a brief play with one in the past but not really thought properly about the opportunities it presented for adventure, so we’d decided we were going to use it to come up with scenarios as hot as we could jointly imagine while we were away.
The problem with this plan was that Lizzie had bottled out of taking the device in her bag when we flew—imagining all sorts of humiliating scenarios involving searches of her cases and her person when it was seen on the x-ray scanner, with some customs officer waving it about for all to see. It's funny how reserved Lizzie can be about seemingly trivial things when she’s such a filthy slut at other times.
Which meant we needed to buy the vibe locally and have it shipped to the hotel. In this, of course, Amazon was our friend, and we chose several other toys while we were at it, all to be delivered the next day.
We spent the next day exploring the hotel, grounds, beach, and local area, spending an hour or two lazing in the sunshine (Lizzie) and reading in the shade (me). Lizzie wore a skimpy pink two-piece bikini and, as usual, attracted a lot of attention, which I know she was keeping tabs on through her blacked-out sunglasses, as was I. We would, as usual, discuss who had checked her out, who she most fancied, and what we thought they wanted to do later in our room, normally between going down on her.
Just a quick note here: it’s not the typical six-pack guys or girls with the perfect teeth and tan who usually excite my wife; it’s normal people stealing longing glances who, we know from experience, are usually better lovers—well, more often than the self-obsessed gym bunnies in any case. Lovers who make things all about themselves are not good lovers. Our conversations then often involve statements like, “Did you see that tubby old guy staring at your crotch? He practically stopped walking; he slowed down so much in a daydream.”
“Hmm.. the grey-haired Mediterranean, maybe Greek? Yes. I saw him. Nice bulge in those trunks. He slowed down so much because I parted my legs a little when he was watching. God..”
While I used my thumb gently on Lizzie’s clitoral area, my tongue slowly moved just inside her cunt lips.
We got a call from reception saying a package had arrived for us, and Lizzie bounced off to collect it, excitedly wearing a silky gown over her bikini.
I settled on the balcony with a book, my head filled with the possibilities the remote vibe would bring.
I didn’t notice my wife had been gone for half an hour until the door slammed closed behind her and she rushed into the room. As I turned to greet her, I noticed her face was flushed. She was pulling at the knot at the side of her bikini bottoms, letting them fall away as she immediately bent over a chair, her arse ******* to me.
“Fuck me—fuck me now," she said, a little breathless.
I stood, my cock growing at the sight of a little trickle of her clear come running down her inner thigh, and stood behind her. Spitting on my hand and rubbing my cock, I put one hand on her back and used the other to guide myself into her. She came the instant my balls touched her arse, my cock fully home, and as I fucked her, my hands on her hips pulling her toward me, she struggled to speak.
“Christ, the man at security, he... oh fuck.”
“Go on, tell me.”
“He saw, on the scanner, my dildo. Fuck me harder.”
"Jesus, he did? And?”
“He took me into his office. He showed me the pictures.”
“God, he did?”
"Yeah, that made me wet. He was looking at me, at the dildo. Knowing he stared at my crotch, I saw my cunt wet in my bikini. Oh my God.”
“Did you...?”
“Blew him. He was so hard, looking at the screen, then at me." staccato as I rammed into her cunt.
This really, really turned me on. I love when my wife has these encounters on her own and tells me about them later.
I gently pulled Lizzie’s hair and turned her face. Leaning over her back, I could just reach to kiss her, and as I moaned and came hard inside her, my cock pumping over and over as I pictured the scene in my head, I could smell and taste come from her mouth.
“Fuck… I can taste him."
Lizzie came hard as I told her, bucking on my cock even as I emptied myself into her cunt.
I pulled out, eventually, when the chair back started to dig into Lizzie’s ribs, allowing our combined cum to fall noisily to the floor between her open legs, and we retired, shaking, to the bed for a nap, the cooling sea breeze from the open window blowing over our nakedness. I remarked, of course, on the irony of the situation: Lizzie not wanting airport security to see the vibe on their scanners but ending up wet and blowing the guy who actually did because it turned her on so much.
We woke in the early evening, and, after a shower and changing into more suitable dinner attire—me a light pair of cotton trousers and an open shirt, Lizzie a flimsy summer dress decorated with red roses—we set out in search of food.
As we reached the lift, I stopped, remembering the most important thing I had wanted to do tonight before Lizzie’s adventure with the hotel security guard had driven all else from my mind.
Putting a hand on Lizzie’s arm, I said, “Wait, I forgot something; come with me." and steered her back to the room.
We had unpacked and charged the vibrator earlier, and I had paired the app with my phone and tested it. Lizzie’s eyes lit up as I kneeled in front of her, pushing her dress up, and, pulling her black lacy thong to one side, gently pushed the vibrator inside her, the small removal tab being the only part of it left *******.
Re-arranging my wife’s clothing, I grinned, “Quick test," and gave her a three-second mild buzz.
Lizzie’s eyes went wide, and her hands dropped automatically to her crotch, her thighs clenched together.
“Jesus, you’d better be careful with that thing or I’ll be coming all fucking night," she chuckled.
We left the room for the second time and made our way to the ground floor and an outside table in one of the hotel restaurants, choosing the busier of the three or four on the basis that popularity is always a good sign when dining out.
Both the wine and the food were, indeed, excellent, as was the fun I had making my wife come twice at the table, once when talking to a waiter, who must have thought she had a breathing problem—she came hard, trying to keep up a normal conversation while wetting her seat.
Food over, we ordered some cocktails, and I moved to sit next to Lizzie so we could both look out over the dark sea and listen to the surf. My back had been to the view all evening, and sitting here with my wife was so relaxing that I was starting to contemplate bed.
Giggling, Lizzie said quietly, “I think that woman might have noticed what we were up to—she's really staring.”
“Which?”
“Short dark hair, jean shorts, family table, what looks like husband, in-laws, kids everywhere.”
“What, really? She looks too busy to have noticed anything.”
“Yeah, seriously, she’s been staring for ages—like an hour. Keeps coming back to us.”
As I looked, I could see, in the dimmed lights, that the woman did indeed seem to be staring intently in our direction.
Everyone else on her giant table, probably two or three pushed together, was busy making a racket and controlling unruly kids, including a much older couple who I assumed were grandparents.
“They’re either seriously loaded or just here for dinner," I said, reflecting on the cost of rooms for so many people.
“Yeah, one or other, but she’s still looking," murmured Lizzie, her voice getting that very slight hoarseness I know so well—she was slightly aroused.
I reached over, and putting my hand on her thigh, I gently and slowly pulled Lizzie’s legs open, lifting her silky dress at the front to ****** her thong. Lizzie, as I suspected she would, showed she was bought into it by lifting her arse slightly off the chair to allow me to slide the dress further up.
I returned my hand to my wife’s thigh and slid it down towards her knee, pulling her leg slowly toward me. Relishing it, she waited for me to move my hand to her other knee and didn’t resist when I pushed it away from me, splaying her legs completely.
As she began to breathe deeply, I lifted my phone, deliberately showing it to the classic soccer mom-type woman who was still observing us intently.
Lizzie gasped as I turned the vibrator on a low pulse, her hands loose by her sides as she moved her hips in time with the device. I could just hear it, really quietly, as it buzzed away inside her cunt, getting softer as her muscles tightened on it and louder as she relaxed.
I looked over at our voyeur. She seemed to make a decision and reached into a bag hanging on the back of her chair, removing a pack of cigarettes and a shiny Zippo lighter. She called a name, and the older woman, a child on her lap, looked up. Waving her cigarette pack at her, our watcher stood and moved quickly to an empty table, luckily more in the gloom and directly opposite us, with nobody else within earshot, although plenty of people were enjoying their food not far away.
Lizzie was breathing heavily as I increased the intensity of the vibe, making her push her hips a little more into it, her hands still loose by her sides, and her legs still splayed.
I watched with a dry mouth and increased heart rate as the woman lit a cigarette, which she held up in her left hand, and immediately dropped her right hand to the crotch of her jean shorts, rubbing herself quickly through the denim, her toes on the ground, and her heels pushed up against the legs of her chair.
“Fuck. This is hot. I’m so fucking wet, said my wife quietly.
I had already been erect, but my cock felt like it could break glass now.
I opened my fly and grabbed Lizzie's left hand, moving it to my cock.
She pulled it away and said, in a 'don't fuck with me on this' voice, "No. This is me and her. You can sort yourself out if you want to. This is the same as not letting you touch me when a man is fucking me—this is not about you."
Slightly surprised but even more aroused, as I always was when she went full-on cuckold with a man, I sat back to watch.
Lizzie made a gesture with her right hand to the woman—a clear imitation of pulling a zip-down.
Glancing over at her table, where everyone was still engrossed in family activity, I moaned, and so did Lizzie, as she slowly, gently, and teasingly slid her zip fly down and popped the button at her waist, leaving her shorts completely open at the front.
She instantly slid her right hand inside her jeans, and we could see her knuckles moving fast as she worked to make herself come. Her hips were pushing, in as controlled a manner as she could manage, against her hand, and we could see her legs were straining against the chair legs, as if they were tied to them.
I switched the vibrator to continuous, and Lizzie groaned, still refusing to move her hands from her sides but gyrating her hips in her chair now; her dress worked all the way to her waist. I could see the damp patch between her legs when I leaned forward.
They both moved faster; the woman opposite, having completely forgotten about her cigarette, which she had dropped to the floor, now had both hands inside her jeans, glancing quickly at her table every few seconds.
I could tell Lizzie was close, and she upped the speed a little.
The woman removed her left hand from her shorts and held up four fingers, on which I could see her come glistening in the light from where I sat.
She dropped one finger, two seconds later, another. She was counting down.
When she closed her fist, she leaned forward in her chair, her legs shaking, head down as if in the aircraft “brace” position. Lizzie came at the same time, trying hard not to lose control as she bucked and pushed as quietly and covertly as possible against the vibe in her cunt.
A few seconds later, the woman seemed to remember where she was and stood quickly, her back to her family, as she pulled her zip up and fastened her button, glancing at us as she did so. Hesitating, she walked over to us, offering me a cigarette as if I’d asked her for one.
“I’m not in this hotel," she said softly. Her voice, which was unmistakably southern, was shaky.
“But I can get away; I’m here for two weeks. What’s your room number?”
As I told her, Lizzie made sure she couldn’t be seen and took the woman’s hand, placing it quickly between her legs, saying, “Look how wet you made me—please come and see us.”
The woman took her hand back and, looking at Lizzie, sucked her fingers clean before hurrying back to her table and immediately joining in with the general chaos and hubbub.
Lizzie and I stayed watching for a while, zoned out.
"Well," said my wife, eventually, “that was different.”
"It was amazing," I said. "Truly. Now, how about me?"
Lizzie looked languidly at me. slowly wrapping some of her long hair around her fingers. "I think I'm going to spend some time this break focused on me. If you like, I'll watch you wank, or you can go down on me and I'll tell you what it was like to be with that woman, but that way you aren't allowed to touch your cock. Choice is yours."
I love Lizzie in this mode; something about being cuckolded by a woman was also a huge turn-on.
I decided to go down on her. It took me a while to come without touching myself, but in the end, her description of what had just happened tipped me over the edge. Lizzie told me that I was not to come without telling her first, so when the first pre-cum started to run down my cock, I told her, and she pushed me away and said, "On your back, come on yourself."
Grunting with pleasure, I did just that. Lizzie carefully licked every little bit off of my chest and stomach, then kissed me deeply, letting most of it fall into my mouth.
We were away another nine weeks; none of it was dull.
- Next page: Ch. 2 Some Cuckoldry
