Visiting Cheryl

This story can stand on its own, but if you want more background on Jeanie and Bob and the particular party they attended that they describe to their friend Cheryl here, you could read my earlier Theme Night and/or Film Night.

Visiting Cheryl

"Ahnnn, yes babe, show me again, show me again how grateful you are, ahnnn yes babe, ahnnnnn" it riffles up through my chest, makes my nipples sing, and my cunt gush again into my husband's eagerly lapping, sucking mouth as I straddle and ride his face, gripping his hair as I frantically pull him deeper into me even as my thighs close about his head needing to stop him, no don't stop; my blissfully happy clit sparking, making me jerk and buck as I ramble and gasp, "Ahnn, how grateful you are babe, yes, how grateful you are for getting to dance for Cheryl. Awwwh, fuck, fuck fuck..." it all goes white again; shudders and trying to push him away, but he knows and he grips my ass like a vice, and the strain in my hands in my arms as I try to push, my writhing as I try to escape, just heightens it, blows me past everything, and he knows, and he stays at me with perfectly merciless intent, lashing me into heaves and whimpers and nonsense, my body speaking in tongues under the lash of his.

Then I'm looking up at the ceiling, on my back, gasping for breath, laughing, crying maybe, having floated here somehow, laid down softly by strong, gentle arms, his careful hands holding his bliss shattered whimpering wife's shoulders, whispering; "You're so beautiful. You're so beautiful."

And it comes back to me vaguely that there may be some explaining to do over dinner, because this guest room is just a few yards down the hall from where our hostess Cheryl is getting ready, as we're supposed to be, to go out to our dinner reservation and there's no way she didn't hear...

My body shudders with an after-spasm and I curl reflexively up into a fetal position, roll onto my side and into my husband's body, his arms and that gentle repetitive whisper, "You're so beautiful."

But even as I shudder again with the remnant convulsions of my pleasure, I feel the stiffness of his cock up against the shin of my curled in leg and it all rushes back to me; him there on the poolside recliner, laid back with his legs spread wide, his thumb pressed behind the base of his erect cock to prop it upright as it bobs and spurts his semen for Cheryl and I as we sit across from him in our own lounges and...

"Ahwn, Jesus, Bob, I just can't..." shut it off. It always does this to me, just not usually quite this strongly or, at the moment, inconveniently.

We're probably already going to be late for our reservation and I'm pretty sure if it wasn't for my moaning and... who the fuck knows how loud I was being; but I'm sure it warned Cheryl away from coming to the door and giving us a friendly knock and reminder. I'm not really that embarrassed. I've known Cheryl forever and after all, we were just...

The scene flashes back into my head again; my husband's hips raised, his propped up penis still bobbing in futile, post ejaculatory spasms after jerking off and spurting his come onto his chest and stomach, and Cheryl there, smiling, cooing at him, 'Yeah, dance for me. I like that.'

Fuck. I feel like I need to go again even as my body winces in hypersensitivity at the thought. Was that three or four; like with nuclear bombs, after a couple hit the same spot, you lose track.

None of this was part of any plan; we were just at Cheryl's for our annual visit.

Two hours earlier,

"You know what this makes me think of." I said softly to Bob with a quick dart of my eyes towards the male reclining in the patio lounge by the pool.

"Yes, Jeanie, but be a good girl now." he chuckled as we stood together by the portable bar topping off our drinks before heading back to our own chairs.

"No, seriously, come on, he's pretty much begging for it." I smirk.

He snorts. "If you say so. But Cheryl isn't. Be good." he cautions again.

We head back to sit.

Bob and I were visiting Cheryl at her place in Florida to get away for a long weekend from the chills of New England in March. Cheryl had been my Degree Mentor in my days at University. She was twelve years older than me, but we became friends and never lost touch even after she moved south. We'd trade winter/summer visits each year; she'd get out of the Florida heat to visit us in July and we'd spare ourselves a bit of the Northeastern winter to bask for a few days by her pool.

She'd been married, but neither Bob nor I had much use for Duncan. Eventually Cheryl decided she didn't either. She'd been through a few 'boyfriends' since, but 'nothing serious', or at least, nothing that stuck. We'd met a couple of them. One she brought up with her a couple years back I had really liked, but it didn't last.

Bob had always been in the picture for me. He and Cheryl got on just fine but it was definitely Cheryl and I that had the strong connection. Bob was usually happier visiting when Cheryl had a boyfriend or partner on line as he felt, in his words, less like a third wheel to have another guy to shoot the shit with when Cheryl and I got going with each other on girl talk. He was in luck on that score this trip; more, it would turn out, than he knew.

Cheryl was currently seeing a guy named Ty. Ty had spent the afternoon we arrived on Cheryl's patio, visiting amiably with us (mostly with Bob) while sunning his already fully bronzed gym rat physique in a size too small speedo on a lounge opposite Cheryl and I.

Yes. The scenery was quite nice and Ty certainly seemed to know and enjoy that both Cheryl and I thought so. He had that casual arrogance of the consciously attractive; his legs opening slightly more than needed, lifting the hips and adjusting his ass on the cushions now and then as he leaned back away, his upper body reclining at a forty-five-degree angle as he chatted with Bob on the lounge next to him. Bob by contrast, was looking a bit puritan white and modest in his untanned Yankee skin and knee length bathing trunks.

I noted Ty casting the occasional quick glance in Cheryl's and my direction to check on audience appreciation. The front of that speedo looked promisingly mounded, something he would also drop his eyes to check on (admire?) now and then. I'd have gone 9's for content and 6's for style if I'd had score cards for the performance.

It really was that obvious.

But Cheryl seemed to love it and it was hard to fault a forty something divorcee for enjoying showing off her twenty something boy toy to an old girlfriend. I assumed that's what he was, an assumption at least partially confirmed when he had to excuse himself to go to work for his evening shift at a local resort.

"So, did you enjoy the show?" Cheryl asks, a bit red in the face but smiling.

I pause, my lips poised on the brim of my drink, glancing at her sideways, unsure whether this is a sensitive subject she's embarrassed about but feels it's too obvious not to mention, or a point of proprietary pride (or maybe a bit of both).

"What do you mean?" I say disingenuously, sip my drink.

"Oh, come on." She rolls her eyes, gets a bit more flushed, but the smile has pretty much gone from pleased to shit-eating.

"You mean Ty?" I ask, and cast a glance over at my husband still in his lounge across from us next to the one recently vacated by Ty.

"Of course I mean Ty." She laughs nervously, seems a bit agitated in her seat. "You don't have to be..." she starts, breaks off, looks across at Bob, "neither of you." she includes him, "I've known you guys forever. You don't have to act like you didn't notice, aren't thinking..." she laughs again. "I mean, he's a really nice guy," pause, "he is." she insists defensively to which I shrug as if no other thought ever crossed my mind, "But okay, he's like half my age," she looks back across at Bob, "I know this, okay? But I mean..." that shit eating grin again as she fidgets and looks down at her hands, "he comes as advertised; finally, a guy who is what he says he is; and I'm having a hell of a good time."

"I thought he was great." Bob says from across the way.

"Thanks." Cheryl says weakly. "I mean, you two did seem to hit it off, Bob, even with his..." she shakes her head slightly, "whatever, in front of your wife."

"Oh, well, you know," Bob says in his off-hand way, "Jeanie doesn't get out much. A little exotic scenery probably good for wifely morale." he teases. "But really Cheryl, you don't have to explain yourself to us."

"Oh yes she does!" I say gleefully, realizing, sensitive subject or otherwise, my girl is pretty much bursting at the seams to tell us all about this guy who (she brought it up, not us) is half her age, lounging in semi erotic poses in a too small speedo 'in front of your wife' Bob. "Oh, yes you do!" I repeat to Cheryl. "Spill it girl. And yes, since you asked; I very much liked the show. So, 'as advertised' you said? Come on. This has got to be good."

Cheryl had picked Ty up on a 'dating' ap. "Really just a 'fucking' ap." she clarified, then, "Sorry, but I got sick of this stupid 'match my likes and dislikes' stuff. I went shopping and got what I ordered for a change."

She told us Ty put on his profile he was a 'nice, fit guy in his twenties,' but he was 'only interested in mature women i. e. 40-60. Looking for a short or long term, open or exclusive (woman's choice) relationship focused on fun and sex.'

"That simple." Cheryl sniffed, "Fun and sex. If I had been more honest, I would have just put that on my own profile. I read that, saw his picture and, what the hell; I pinged him. He pinged back.

"I know what you guys are thinking; yeah, the guy has a mommy complex, right? Like, who could possibly think 40-60 year-old women were sexy? Well, you know what? He does, and I don't care why. And he knows how to demonstrate his sincerity on that as many times a night or afternoon and in as many ways as I want or can handle and still walk afterwards. Fuck walking, he'll bring the coffee to me in bed and carry me downstairs for breakfast, fuss over me like I'm doing him some great honor to let him screw me. Sure, I know, he's vain and a showboat and gets off on being young stud eye candy for my women friends. I could sell tickets to my girlfriends for the matinee show like the one you just got.

"But so what? They love it when they come over and he's here. Sort of fun to have them all giving me the green envy eye. I love seeing their faces when they come over and he puts it out there like he just did for you. He makes no secret about it either; tells me not only does he like making my friends jealous but that he finds them all sexy and loves lounging for them. They're all the right age, like me. He says he's plenty happy with being my exclusive boyfriend, but if I get bored with him, he says, he wants me to recommend him to any one or all of them as a potential date. Yeah, that's what I mean by 'as advertised'.

"And when we go out, I know this shouldn't matter, but it does; I just love walking into the club at the resort on a night when it's full of these gorgeous, twenty somethings in their skimpy minis, but I'm the one on the arm of that. The way they eye him. He'll smile and say 'excuse us' as he leads me through them, but he just looks right past or through them when his eyes aren't on me; leads me up to one of the front tables by the dancefloor, pulls out my chair and looks at me and treats me like I'm the only woman in the place.

"Like I said, I know this shit shouldn't matter, but when we're out on the floor dancing close and he knows they're watching, wondering what this forty-something broad is doing with this hunk that should be hitting on them, he'll nudge my arm down gently a say, "Show them who owns it, babe." I'll slip my hand down and grab his ass, and fuck, that's not a neutral event even when I'm not already wet from..." she breaks off.

"Sorry Bob," she says with a slight wince, "girl-talk, you know?"

"Hey, fine with me." he says with an easy shrug. "We're all adults here."

"And so, anyway, he is fun, and not just in bed. Still, sorry again to be so crude, but I'm not pretending I don't love the fucking. I'm tired of worrying about what other people think and..." she breaks off, then, "There, I said it. Think what you want. But for once I got what I ordered."

It's obvious she's feeling defensive about this, but

"Dam girl, I'd say you not only got what you ordered, but what you deserve." I growl happily. "I love it. And he's right; he ought to feel honored to screw you. This is so great. I'm so happy for you."

Her head pulls back; she looks at me a bit skeptically. "Yeah? Well, thanks. But, you know, I never saw myself as someone who would..." she shrugs, glances over at Bob, "get into that sort of thing, I mean just, you know," she sniffs, "just sex and fun and don't worry about the rest."

"Oh, darlin," I say breathily, "if you had any idea of what sorts of things we've gotten into since we saw you last, you'd be..." I pause, glance over at Bob, suddenly realizing that despite my reflexive urge to spill the tale of my recent erotic adventures to my old best pal Cheryl, they aren't just my adventures. "Well, I'll just say" I'm trying to read Bob's expression; that lifted brow, slight head tilt; is that a 'this should be interesting' look, or is it a 'are you fucking kidding me' look? I can't read it, play it safe, "I think we all have changing needs and interests as we mature."

That was lame.

Now it's Cheryl cocking a brow at me, tilting her head. "Wait a minute." she says glancing sideways at Bob then back to me. "I'd be what? What were you gonna say?" She looks back and forth between Bob and I again, then sniffs knowingly. "I mean, before you trailed off into that 'changing needs' bullshit. What sorts of things have you gotten into?"

I still can't read Bob's expression; he seems both painfully amused and mildly alarmed. He looks away towards the hot tub area as if not wanting to be involved in the conversation. I get that; between the two of us, there's a lot more exposure for him, both literally and figuratively, in the tale of our recent excursions than there is for me. I decide to limit my revelations to my own part in things. Bob can confirm, deny or simply not comment on his own role as he thinks best.

"Well, I've kind of developed some, I guess you'd call them voyeuristic, but not always just limited to that, but some appetites for enjoying men in certain ways that..." I pause, frown; how do I do this without implicating Bob, but still...

"You mean like porn." Cheryl assumes, sees my expression, "You said voyeuristic."

"Yes." I nod. "Watching them, that's a big part of it. But again, it's not just strictly that. And, you know, the watching part, it's in the flesh."

"You mean, like strippers." She looks over at Bob who is still avoiding eye contact. "You've gotten into strippers?"

"No. Well, or at least, not exactly." Then reconsider, picturing some male stripper doing helicopters with his dick and spraying it with whip cream and, "No. Not strippers." I wince. "But, I mean like," it strikes me there's an illustration close to hand that doesn't implicate Bob, "like with Ty there. You were joking about him putting on a show for me, saying how you kind of like how he does that when your friends are over and makes them envious. I can definitely relate to that. And, along those lines, I'd like to see more of Ty."

Cheryl laughs. "Well, girl, I am glad you enjoyed that and don't think it's weird that, I admit, I kind of get off seeing him that way in front of other women; having them all with their tongues hanging out over my guy."

"No, like I said, I definitely relate to that." I'll try to thread the needle here, keep this about me. "In fact, what I've been getting into, it's not strippers, it's getting together with other women who like to share their guys that way."

"That way." Cheryl says doubtfully. "You mean like Ty there, with his lounge act." She chuckles. "Jeeze, girl, I thought you were..." she waves the rest off. "He'll be back tomorrow if you want another matinee performance."

"Yes, I'd like to see more of him." I say carefully. "I mean, I don't know how you'd feel about that, but you're asking what I've been getting into."

She blinks. Her eyes go back out to Bob, obviously wondering what his opinion is of his wife's new voyeuristic inclinations, but he's still incommunicado. "Like I said," she says carefully, tilting her head as if trying to get Bob's attention, "Ty will be back tomorrow."

Is she being intentionally dense, or does she really not get this yet? "Cheryl, that will be nice, but this time, I'd like to see more" I pause, "of him."

Ka-ching! It registers now.

"You mean," Cheryl starts.

"Yeah, without the speedo." I clarify needlessly. "Like I said, I don't know how you'd feel about that, I'm just saying. I'm guessing from the matinee, he'd probably be fine with that if you were. To be clear; I don't want to fuck him. It's not about that. But I'd love to see him stripped down and erect, maybe watch him jerk off while you and I just sit and enjoy the show."

"Whoa." Cheryl pulls her head back.

"I'm not requesting that or anything," I say quickly, which is only half true, but we can edge into that later. For right now, "I'm just saying that's the sort of thing I've been getting into. More than one guy at a time usually, and a group of women who all just enjoy sharing them that way."

"Holy fuck, girl, you're serious." Cheryl looks back out again at "Bob, she's serious, isn't she?"

He looks our way. He's shaking his head slightly, looks bemused but also, yes, that adoring glint in his gaze for his troublesome, pushy wife. "Yes, she's serious. She's developed quite a taste for using men that way."

"Using." Cheryl echoes, her eyes going back and forth between us. "Using them." she repeats clearly trying to put this in context.

"For CFNM sport." Bob clarifies. "Using them for CFNM sport with her girlfriends." Then, "Clothed Female, Naked Male;" he makes air quotes around, "CFNM."

"That's a thing?" Cheryl baulks. "I mean, I get the meaning of the words, literally at least. But that's like an acronym for what exactly? You said sport..."

"Oh, it's definitely a thing." Bob answers. "It's not a set menu of activities. It depends on what they have available, in terms of men that is, and what the women are in the mood for. And she's right, it's not all or always purely voyeuristic. But," he looks away again, "the clothed and naked part is the main, consistent ingredient; CFNM."

Cheryl looks at me with lowered brows. "Shit, Jeanie, you're serious. You really do that; get together with other women and, you said usually more than one guy and... what? I mean, you were serious about wanting to see Ty jerk off for you."

"Absolutely." I say. "But hey, like I said, it's not a request." Yet "I'm just saying, as an example, I think he'd be lovely to watch. And even if I hadn't been getting into that sort of thing lately, you really can't think that's such an 'out there' thing to imagine after seeing what you called the matinee." Then "Come on, you can't tell me your other girlfriends aren't sitting there imagining what's under that little speedo. Maybe they don't say anything, but..."

"Actually, they do sometimes." she says with a snort. "Not quite as graphically as you with your erect and jerk off comments. But yeah, they aren't shy about stuff like that with me. But, answer the question; you actually get together with other women, and you all stay dressed, I guess, but you have one or more guys there naked and they jerk off for you?"

"If that's what we want, yeah." I answer. "Usually at some point they'll do that, or we'll have them come some other way. We do want to see that at some point. And they'd be pretty disappointed not to. But there's no rush on that if we're having fun just..."

"Holy fucking Christ, Jeanie." Cheryl breaks in. "How long have you been doing this? How did you even...?" she shakes her head.

I hear Bob clear his throat. In my peripheral vision I see him reach for one of the towels on the nearby side table, pull it over and spread it across his lap. Our bathing suits are dry, we haven't gone in the pool yet. I immediately realize what that towel is for. Hearing his wife talk about this to another woman is not a neutral topic for him. I'll still leave it up to him whether he wants to own his part in our CFNM adventures. But his completely predictable and charmingly reliable erectile response to hearing his wife talk about such things; his priapism, so very useful in my pursuit of the 'sport'; may give away the truth of his own susceptibilities without him saying a word.

"Get started?" I finish what I think is her question. "W..." catch myself, "I got invited to a CFNM party; the hostess called it a 'CFNM Theme Night'; a couple months ago. Several women brought their husbands and made them available for the rest of us to play with."

"Their husbands?" Cheryl's eyes go inevitably to Bob.

"Well," I say quickly, still trying to preserve some degree of plausible deniability for Bob if he wants it, "that wasn't a requirement for attendance. Some of us came without husbands." Not me, but it's true; in addition to the five married couples who attended, of which Bob and I were one, there was also a lesbian couple who didn't contribute a 'male' to the night's entertainment, though they did still thoroughly enjoy the use of our husbands with us wives.

"So, you all got together," again she casts a questioning glance out at Bob, "and this was like at somebody's house?"

"Yes."

"And then you..." she spreads her hands.

"The guys got naked," Keep it simple; no need to get into the drawing for turns or other stuff. "And each wife would present her husband to the group and show him off some, maybe take him around to be handled or whatever, then have him come for the group in some way. It was up to the wife how she wanted that done; have them jerk off, use toys on them; we did it different ways. They all came at least twice, some of them three times before we were done. One wife..."

"I think she gets the idea, Jeanie." Bob cuts in.

I meet his gaze; he's giving me a slightly scolding look and motions briefly towards Cheryl with his eyes as if to say... I can't read it. Is he uncomfortable with this for himself, or is he worried that this may be making Cheryl uncomfortable. But,

"No, no. Go on." Cheryl says, eliminating the later consideration if that was Bob's worry. "This is wild. I mean you guys," she looks between Bob and I, clears her throat and refocuses just on me, "you anyway, Jeanie, you really do this. I'm just trying to... How often have you done this?"

"Well, a couple times since that first Theme Night party; not quite like that party each time; they were different situations, different set ups, but..." There's no way to get into the details of those later occasions without outing Bob completely. Even if plausible deniability is getting thin here, I'll try to be good. But the temptation to flaunt my entitlement; to expose him for the enjoyment of yet another woman, even if only verbally... "Really, that first party was the main thing." I lie, but manage to resist the urge.

"Yeah, okay. So, at that party, how many people were there? How many guys did this?" she asks.

"There were five husbands and seven women."

"And all five of the guys," her eyes go between Bob and I again, "two or three times?"

"Different ways, but yeah. We kept them at it for two and a half, maybe three hours."

Her eyes go towards Bob again, settle there this time. "Different ways, right." she says watching my husband now for his reaction to, "And you said that was up to the wife?" she says carefully. "She decides how she wants him to come."

Bob exhales, shifts again in his chair but doesn't look away. He holds Cheryl's gaze as,

"Yeah, that's part of the fun." I answer.

"And they just do it." statement; her brows lowering slightly as she eyes my husband.

"Pretty much." I say, then offer, "I mean, you have to know your guy; they won't do just anything. But the guys that get off on this, it's kind of like throwing a switch; once you get them started, get them out and stiff, on display, it's like they can't shut it off."

"Have to know your guy." Cheryl echoes and smiles at Bob. "So, Jeanie, you were gonna tell me about this one wife. I mean, when Bob interrupted there, you were starting to say how 'one wife'..." she prompts.

It's clear what she's asking; the plausible deniability game is up for Bob. It hardly matters at this point. I can see it in his expression; the switch has been thrown; he wants Jeanie to have her fun.

"Go on, Jeanie." Bob says, his eyes still on Cheryl. "Tell Cheryl how that one wife had her husband come for the other women." He maintains the façade of the third person. It's so transparent the truth is almost more naked.

"Well, that particular wife," I smirk happily, "at least for his first comeshot,"

"Uhm," Cheryl interjects, "was he a two or a three comeshot guy?" she asks. "I mean, you said earlier..." a soft laugh as she watches Bob shift again in his chair.

"He was good for three. Like I said, the guys that get off on this, they really can't shut it off."

Cheryl "Uhnm."s again.

"So, this particular wife decided she wanted to have each woman take a turn edging her husband; you know, jerking him, sucking him, make him stroke it himself, whatever they wanted; keep going until the guy is just on the edge of shooting his load, but then stopping short and just leaving him there to buck and gasp, and enjoy the way he..."

"Fuck, Jeanie." my husband groans softly.

"Really." Cheryl huffs in mock shared alarm at my brazenness. "Do you approve of Jeanie doing this with guys?" Cheryl asks him disingenuously. "Do you like having her enjoy herself that way with other men?"

'Other men'; we're all enjoying the façade at this point.

"Jesus, yes." he answers hoarsely. "I want her to do whatever she wants."

"That's sweet." Cheryl chuckles. "That's a pretty broad statement, Bob. I guess I get why Ty's showing off for your wife didn't bother you." Then, "So this particular wife," she prompts "at least for his first comeshot," I can see she's struggling to keep a straight face, "she let the other women edge him."

"They could do it a couple times each if they wanted." I continue my narrative. "They had fun with it. It was sweet to see him buck and gasp when they all of a sudden stop, leave him there with his balls tight and his cock bobbing like a puppet."

God, but I do love this! He is so temptingly vulnerable. It's so reflexive I don't think he even realizes he's doing it; his hips thrusting just slightly in the chair, seeking the friction of the material of his trunks to pleasure his erect penis. Cheryl notices, her eyes dropping there.

"Jesus, Jeanie," she says coyly, "the way you talk, girl!"

"Oh, that's part of the fun; part of the 'sport' as Bob would say; these women chatting among themselves about tight balls and commenting on the guys' cocks and the different ways we want to see them spurt..."

"Ahn, fuck, Jeanie," my husband groans plaintively, "I think she gets it."

Which, of course, just encourages me to talk right through him and get still more graphic.

"spurt their come, like maybe have them give us a pretty cock dance, you know, take their hands away just as they start to shoot so we can watch the penis pulse and bob free as they pump it out of their balls."

Cheryl is watching Bob, laughing softly, shaking her head slightly.

"Hearing women talk like that as they have to stand or kneel or lay there with their erections straining for us while we're just amusing ourselves seeing how slutty we can sound; it's just so fun to see what it does to them."

Bob's eyes come back and meet Cheryl's. They hold each other's gaze and I see Cheryl's expression slowly shift from nervous amusement to something calmer, more intent.

"I can see how that could be fun," she says after a moment, "for the women. I'd probably be pretty tempted to join in, you know, if I were ever in that sort of situation." She adds, still holding Bob's gaze. "But about what it does to the men; they must like it or it wouldn't excite them." It's not a question, but

"Yes." Bob answers. "I love the way she talks and teases with her girlfriends when she's playing. I mean," he sniffs and laughs, "when she comes home and tells me about how they worked the guys up with their..." he shakes his head, but sticks with the façade, "when she tells me about it."

"Yeah," Cheryl nods, "she does tell a good story, doesn't she?" She looks back at me. "So, this husband, the women all took a turn, or two I guess, edging him..." she stretches a hand out towards me.

"Then the last woman got to take her turn and finish him off." I continue. "She was close friends with the guy's wife, and the wife wanted her to be the one to get it out of him."

"Oh, that's nice." Cheryl says. "They were close friends, humm? So, the husband" her eyes swing back to Bob, "must have known her, the woman that made him come, he must have known her before, you know, outside of the party, I mean."

"Definitely. She and the wife and their husbands were all good friends. She brought her husband too. This was a new thing for all of them. It made it more interesting that they knew each other on a regular basis before."

"I could see that." Cheryl says with a slight nod towards Bob. "Not just some random guy, like a stripper or something doing it for money or whatever, but" she pauses, then, "I could see that; transgressing the limits of their past relationship must have made it..." she breaks off with a sniff, tilting her head slightly at him, "more interesting."

"Jesus, yes." Bob exhales like he's been holding his breath. "He wanted it to be his wife's friend, Janet."

Ooops, Bob; letting the deniability kimono slip open a little there.

"Yeah," I snark happily, "that made it special for him. It was just so cute how excited it got him to have his wife's friend do it. But he would have given it up to whoever his wife decided, or just jerked it himself if she had told him to. It was more that the wife wanted to give her friend Janet the fun of it. Anyway."

"Janet, huh Bob?" Cheryl teases him. "I guess you heard about this, too, after Jeanie got home. Did she tell you all about it; how Janet got the guy's come out of him? At least his first comeshot." she shrugs easily, reveling in the game. "Sounds like the guy was good for two more."

Cheryl and I are both laughing softly.

"She did." Bob says, his voice tight. "But, go on Jeanie, tell Cheryl about that." But then his expression shifts; his eyes narrow as they hold Cheryl's. "I mean, sorry, I shouldn't just assume; only if you're interested and comfortable with hearing about it. Wouldn't want to offend."

I understand. We're toying with him mercilessly even if only verbally. But there is a line between mutual sexual play and mockery. My husband is more than willing and excited to be a sexual toy, as long as the women own their part of it; even if it's of a different kind and on a different level than his pleasure as our plaything, the women need to acknowledge the complicity of their own pleasure in the game.

"Oh, I'm plenty interested." Cheryl answers carefully. "Certainly not offended. As for comfortable?" she pauses, frowns slightly, "Lately, like with Ty, I've discovered that getting a little out of my comfort zone can be a good thing once in a while. I definitely want to hear about this;" she pauses again, "how this Janet, whoever's good friend she is, got the come out of that particular husband." She makes it explicit as if proving her point of not being offended. "After that, well," she sniffs, "if there are further things to talk about, we can recheck the comfort meter then."

"Good." Bob nods, takes a deeper breath. "I like having you hear about this."

"I can tell." she says softly. "That's part of what makes it interesting." Then turns my way. "So, go on, Jeanie," she urges, "finish the first comeshot saga."

I'm suddenly feeling pressure to up my narrative game. Aside from the pleasure of teasing the pre-come out of my husband's cock, which I know this is already doing, that line about 'further things to talk about' gives me hope that a rendering of the scene with an eye towards significant detail might inspire Cheryl to take interest in something more than 'further discussion' of the topic.

"Well, it wasn't just about making him come." I start. "You get that, right?" I'm just loving the way she's eyeing Bob, watching for his reactions and response to this.

"I think so." Cheryl says. "But tell me, what else was it about."

"Making a show of it; making him perform for us, entertain the audience, the women."

"I see."

"I mean, that's what he wanted, even more than we did; to give us a good show, have us watch." A soft moan under my husband's breath tells me, and Cheryl, this has got him by the balls. "The sport is to coax them, toy with them, set them up, so we get the most entertaining performance out of them; whatever we're in the mood for at the time."

"So, it's like you were saying about the slutty talk, having them hear that; or when you were talking about having your..." she catches herself, "having that wife's friend be the one to finish him, saying how excited that got him; is that what you mean by setting them up, coaxing them to get the best performance?"

"Yes, you get it." I smile. "Things like that, and staging them to take best advantage of their eagerness to display themselves." I'm doubling down here ridiculously. But it's such fun with him sitting there under Cheryl's insistent gaze, already squirmingly aroused, to string this out a bit. Time to shift, though, from generalities to specifics.

"When it was time to finish him, the six of us other women gathered on and around one large couch in the hostess' living room; most of us sitting, but a couple standing just behind it to watch. We had him facing us, sitting on an ottoman, close, maybe eight feet from the couch, very cozy for viewing, leaning back on two arms, hips forward, legs spread."

"Fuck, Jeanie." my husband exhales softly as a somewhat more obvious thrust of his pelvis lifts that towel in his lap.

"Whoa." Cheryl says in mock surprise. "I see what you mean by staging them to take best advantage of, what did you call it," she raises an eyebrow at Bob, "his eagerness to display himself?" she gives him a thin smile, tips her chin up slightly and asks, "And this particular husband, did he seem appropriately eager?"

"Christ, Cheryl." Bob laughs hoarsely, "Is this where we recheck the comfort meter?"

"No, not just yet." she says sweetly. "This is still all new to me; it's very interesting; but, for now, I'm still just curious. I need to hear the rest of the saga." Then, "But, so, Jeanie," she addresses me again, but keeps her gaze on Bob, "this particular husband, did he seem appropriately eager" she pauses, tilts her head slightly, "to display himself?"

"Oh, absolutely." I sigh melodramatically.

Bob groans softly and looks aside.

"Do tell."

Cheryl's smile says it all; we are now quite unashamedly jerking my husband off together. Whether she decides we'll do that in some more literal version, rather than just narratively, is for later discussion. Her complicity in pleasure is no longer in doubt; she's clearly all in on this 'new to her', but 'very interesting', game of verbal masturbation of this captive male.

"It was obvious right from the start. For the first round, we had the guys perform and come one at a time, you know, so we could fully check them out and let each wife have her fun presenting them however she liked. So, the other guys, waiting for their turn, we had them all naked, of course, but they just have to stand by and watch their buddies come. And that's another thing."

I can feel my own agitation growing. I'm finding it hard to keep strictly on narrative track. I should just get to Bob's comeshot, because what I really want now is to have that follow on 'discussion' about whether there is any interest in using this particular husband, and maybe, may the stars align, her 'showboat' Ty...

But the scenes from that night are replaying in my head. I can see Bob standing there in Maggie's living room looking out at me as I sit cross legged on the carpet with another woman, looking up between the legs of my good friend Janet's husband as he stands over us jerking off for the first comeshot of the night. Bob is standing in front of the couch. He's facing out into the room. He's in an open stance to accommodate our hostess Maggie, who sits on one side, reaching forward to idly toy with his erection with a playful fingertip, making it bob and flex repeatedly by gently brushing the shaft near the head, as she watches Janet's husband. Another woman sitting on the other side of Bob, slips her hand up between his legs from behind and fluffs his balls as she tells him, 'your wife is going to watch that other guy come', asks him, does he like that. The way it makes his hips jerk and...

"What's another thing?" Cheryl prompts after a moment when she senses my distraction.

"Sorry, I'm getting off track here." I try to shift back. But Cheryl isn't having that.

"No, something about watching their buddies come." Her eyes go back out to Bob. "Come on, Jeanie, this is interesting." Then, "Bob, she must have told you about this; about the guys watching each other come. Does that excite them? She must have told you."

"Yes." he answers.

"Yes, she told you? Or..."

"Yes, it excites them. I mean, they know, or at least they're hoping, they're going to get a turn too, and..." he clears his throat.

"Kind of vicarious, you mean, seeing another guy...?"

"Yeah, but more than that. It's about the women wanting it, watching it, enjoying it, however you want to say it. Seeing Jeanie, I mean, okay," he shifts back to implausible deniability mode when he sees Cheryl's raised eyebrow, "the thought of seeing Jeanie watch another guy come, or make him come, just for her own fun, just because she likes to play with them, likes to see it, because it turns her on..." his voice trails off and he looks away. "Like I said, it's about Jeanie getting what she wants. That's the turn on."

Cheryl sniffs. "The thought of it, huh? So, you're thinking; or maybe Jeanie told you, about this particular husband; you're thinking that having his wife watch other guys come turns him on, like the thought of Jeanie watching it does you?"

"Fuck, Cheryl." my husband groans in mild exasperation, his eyes coming back to her. "Glad you're having fun with this."

"Oh, I am." Then, "But if it's making you uncomfortable, I mean it can be hard..." she chuckles, she can barely suppress her glee, "hard" she adds with emphasis, "to just sit there and listen to this girls' talk about guys and comeshots. I get that. We can finish this later, just Jeanie and I, if you..."

"Fuck you." Bob says with a smile and we are all laughing.

"I don't think it'll come to that." she quips easily. "But just, you know, following up hypothetically. You're saying, at least about this particular husband, if he were here with his wife and, like Jeanie, she wanted to see Ty jerk off for her, it would turn him on to have his wife watch that, watch Ty come?"

"Yes, it would." he answers simply,

"And I guess, at least from what Jeanie says about him, he'd probably get excited and want his own turn to come. I mean, I'm just..."

"Yes."

"Okay, this is getting clearer." She looks meaningfully back and forth between Bob and I. Then, "And, just from what you've said about the thought of it, if you happened to be here to see Jeanie enjoying herself that way; I mean, okay, it's not clear what you'd be doing here, as this CFNM stuff is kind of Jeanie's thing, I guess; but if you happened to be here, it would turn you on to have her watch Ty come."

"Yes." Bob answers. "You're having way too much fun with this." he scolds amiably.

"I'm trying get used to this." she says a bit seriously. "You're being very helpful."

"You make it hard not to be." Bob gives her a little mock bow. "I'm at your service."

There is a pause; I see her expression shift at the erectile euphemism coming back at her. She understands Bob's 'at your service' offer (suggestion?) is meant as something more than hypothetical at this point.

"That hasn't been decided yet." she responds carefully, casts me a nervous sideways glance. "We're just talking here, right?"

"Right." I say quickly. "We're just talking. Aren't we Bob?"

"Absolutely." he says, and, properly affirming his role as ours to direct as we see fit; "I wasn't meaning to overstep." he gives us a slight bow of the head. "You girls can talk about, do, or not do, whatever you like or decide. You two have your own way of, you know, handling things between you. Not my place to tell you how you want things. To the extent you do want my input," he pauses, focuses on Cheryl, "or anything else from me, it would only be if, as, when, how and for as much or as little as you say." he says reassuringly.

But then he looks away, his body shifting in obvious agitation. I think Cheryl sees it; how he's struggling to repress his excitement and arousal at confessing his readiness to sexually submit to 'whatever you like or decide.' Her expression changes.

"Yes, I get that." she bites the corner of her lower lip, gains a bit of color. "At least I think I, from what you've told me, you're obviously..." clears her throat.

"Obviously." I cut in gently, hoping to minimize any awkwardness and get back on track with, "So this particular husband," I start, "all the other women had had their fun edging him and it was time for Janet, his wife's close friend, to make him put out for us."

Bob moans like I just stroked his cock. And really, I pretty much have. He shifts in his chair, looks towards me momentarily then away again, and that charming, reflexive thrust of his hips says everything.

Cheryl sees it. I watch her expression shift again; a soft, thin smile crease her lips as it truly starts to register how she and I hold the erotic whip hand here. He's stiff and straining over there, and we're just having our little chat.

"Yeah, that's right." Cheryl turns back to me, gives me a quick conspiratorial wink. "You were saying how all the other women were on some couch or standing close by to watch and he was," she glances mischievously out at my husband, "maybe Bob remembers what you told him, how this husband was, what did you say, leaning back with his legs spread in front of you all in, what did you call it, cozy viewing distance?"

Poor (lucky) Bob, he just can't help it; one of his hands comes in onto his lap and grips the ridge of that stiff, pleading cock through the towel and his shorts.

"Yes, it was very cozy," I say, then add, because I know it will tweak him, "for viewing."

"Ah, fuck." He moans and his eyes come back to the two of us, his playful tormentors.

"So, he was close," then, her tone shifting slightly, "like about where Bob is to us now?" she makes a back-and-forth motion with her hand.

"Well, no, a little closer." I say and my brain is racing trying to read this, not get ahead of the situation, but, "Bob would need to slide down in the chair, pretty much get his ass right to the end of the foot rest there, because of the way we're sitting back, he'd have to slide down and spread and you know, I mean if you wanted the same kind of cozy viewing."

I'm holding my breath, because at this point my own urges are getting a bit out of hand. I still have not fully explained to myself how it can be so fucking hot to use my husband this way with other women, or why it makes us both fuck, lick and suck like rabid rabbits when we get back home, sometimes even before we can make it that far. But it is, and it does, and if Cheryl is still just teasing about this, I'm gonna fucking punch her.

"I mean, so, just for illustrative purposes," she narrows her gaze at me, "to give me a better sense, while you finish telling me; I still want to hear you finish telling me;"

I nod my agreement.

"but if Bob were just to," she looks out at him, lifts one hand and makes this gentle, come-hither motion with her fingers.

"Ah, fuck, yes." my husband gasps, sits up and pulls the towel off of his lap, quickly grips the sides of the chair to lift and slide his hips down till his ass is at the edge of the foot rest, the outline of his erection angled up towards one hip clearly visible under the light swim trunks as he leans back.

"And spread his legs," Cheryl's voice, a little squeaky but her eyes set firmly on that ridge of my husband's cock under the material, "yeah, like that." she says as Bob opens his legs wide. "You're thinking that might give me a little better sense of it," she looks back at me, "while you finish telling me about this husband's comeshot?"

"I fucking love you, girl." I beam at her. "You know that right?"

"Love you too." she beams back at me. "But so, this is helpful; think I'm getting the picture here. This husband, he's about where Bob is to us, and this woman, Janet," she pauses, seems to be debating. Then, "This wouldn't happen to be the Janet I met the last time I was up; you had her and her husband, Richard,"

"Rick, yes."

"her husband Rick over to dinner?"

"Actually, yeah." I say.

"Really." Cheryl sniffs, shakes her head slightly. "They didn't really seem the type to..." she looks at me closely, "You're saying that Janet, did this husband in front of her own husband and you and a bunch of other women?"

"Yeah. It was a bit of a surprise for everyone." I say with vast understatement. "But then, you see, Janet got very comfortable with this, because, like Bob said, she got to decide exactly how things went and what she did or didn't do or allow. The women decide for themselves. I mean, if you and I were to agree and decide on something, let's just say with Ty, just an example, okay?"

"Okay." Cheryl says, but her eyes go out to Bob.

"If you and I were to agree that it would be fun to watch Ty jerk off for us, but that's it, that's all we wanted and didn't want anything more to happen, not then, and not ever unless we specifically say so; then that's all that would happen. And he'd have to agree to that, agree that the rule is; he does what we tell him and only what we tell him."

She's looking out at Bob, her eyes scanning between his face and the ridge of his erection under his trunks as she listens, her white teeth gently biting the corner of her lower lip.

"That's how it would work, isn't Bob?" I ask.

"Jesus, Jeanie, yes." my husband groans lifting his hips pleadingly, his feet planted wide, "It will be only what you say. Whatever you..." he stops, looks away, realizing he's getting a bit ahead of my disingenuously hypothetical example.

It's hard to blame him. Cheryl is clearly enjoying toying with him, inching closer to 'yes', then backing away again; a bit of verbal edging just like that husband in my yet unfinished comeshot saga. I can tell she's very tempted, but also just plain nervous about dropping the hypothetical for the actual.

"Okay, I hear that; if we say he'll just jerk off..." she starts.

"Ah, fuck, yes." Bob can't help it; his hand goes back to grip his cock.

"in your example," Cheryl clarifies quickly.

"Sure," I say, shooting Bob a sympathetic but warning glance, "just for example," I continue, but it's time to drop the Ty part of the hypothetical, "if we tell Bob he gets to jerk off for us while I finish the comeshot saga, that's what he'll do. Nothing else."

She looks back and forth between Bob and I, then glances anxiously about her enclosed patio and pool space as if checking for uninvited observers. It's just a nervous gesture; there are no sightlines that go beyond the patio to anything other than sky and the glassed in back of her house.

"Well, we have dinner reservations in, like, an hour and a half at the..."

"Yeah." I cut her off. I'm getting impatient now; she could have said 'no' any one of a hundred times before this. She needs to get out of her own way here. "We got plenty of time. But you want to hear the rest of the saga, right? It's not that long but, look at him, he'll be lucky to last till the end of it, stroking for us while I tell you how Janet made him shoot his load for me and my girlfriends."

"Jesus Jeanie," she gives me a slightly scolding look, "talk about throwing a switch. You want this almost as bad as he does."

I shrug. "Maybe. I definitely want it. You've been teasing both of us long enough."

"Well," she smiles a bit sheepishly, "Okay, when you put it that way. I do want to hear the rest of the saga. So then," she eyes my husband, "you were saying he's about in the right position," she represses a nervous laugh, "for illustrative purposes?"

"Yes." I say, eager for the unveiling of my cometoy for yet another woman. "So, let's..." I start.

But Cheryl holds up a hand at me, casts me a conspiratorial 'allow me' glance.

God, I love this; she wants to be the one who tells him.

"I just fucking love you." I tell her again.

"Yeah," she smirks at me, looks back at Bob.

He's lying flat on his back, his head is lifted to look at us, the position bringing out the soft ripple of his abdominals. "God, please, yes." he exhales softly, looking between Cheryl and I, waiting, as a good cometoy should, to be told.

"So, for the sake of more accurate illustration," she tips her head slightly to one side, eyeing those trunks, "the bathing suit needs to go, Bob, so I can..." she breaks off, seems a bit startled at how quickly he moves.

He moans, pulls his legs back together, lifts his hips and sweeps the trunks down past his knees, pulling one leg out, then the other and,

"Yeah, that's it." Cheryl purrs approvingly as Bob spreads his legs again, curls his pelvis under to lift his balls, his flushed erection flexing excitedly, stiffening and lifting from his flat belly.

I knew it was coming, but still; there's always that first rush, seeing him exposed before other women; offering up his cock and balls and his clenching ass in that urgent, helpless way that leaves him no excuse, because it can't be read any other way than as a plea to be used and enjoyed as an erotic party favor, a sexual plaything, a cometoy; why does that label for him tweak my clit so sweetly?; my cometoy for feminine sport and amusement. I still haven't figured out why it does what it does to me. But knowing, seeing that he really can't help himself when he knows Jeanie wants it, makes me drench my panties every time; makes me want to haul him off and fuck him so badly. But at the same time, I want to keep him right where he is, bring in still more women to make him buck and moan the way he will for Cheryl when I tell him...

"That's good, Bob. She was asking about it before. Show Cheryl how excited you are to display yourself so she can picture how that other husband..."

"Fuck, Jeanie, yes."

The moan, the quick buck and buck of his pelvis, the semi-comical jounce of his balls, that pleading look he gives Cheryl as he watches her watch, lifting his hips from the foot rest, up on the balls of his feet, spread wide, his stiff, flushed penis flexing as he holds himself there as excited, I know, to affirm his wife's assessment of him as he is by the permission thus granted to uninhibitedly display and plead for Cheryl's attention to his cock and balls; it's what he needs, wants, and knows I want from him. That it all may be a bit much for Cheryl; that she might find it overdone, even absurd; only adds the spice of anxiety to heighten his pleasure and mine to see him expose himself, his need and want, to potential ridicule, or worse, amused indifference; risking it because he simply has to give Jeanie what she wants.

"Okay then." Cheryl sniffs as she watches the penis flex. Then, "You really do want this, don't you?" she asks him. "As Jeanie would say, you want be used this way?"

"Fuck yes, Cheryl, please." he rasps, his voice tight from the strain of his position, another reflexive buck of his hips jogging his lifted balls in agreement, "Please use me for this, for whatever you decide."

Her eyes come to me. "You do get that this is a little weird, right?" she asks.

I shrug, don't say anything.

"I mean," her eyes go back to Bob, scanning his body from cock to face then back again, "I really kept thinking, not right now, but earlier," she looks back at me, "that any minute you were going to laugh and say 'April fools' and..." she shakes her head slightly, "but, yeah, okay," her eyes go back to

"Ah, fuck, yes." Bob rasps again, his cock spasming frantically under her renewed attention.

"Finish the saga."

"And Bob?" I prompt because I want to hear it from her.

"He's gonna jerk off as you tell it." she says far more promptly and easily than I expected and then laughs softly as my husband moans and grips his cock at the base to stand it up for her. "Yes, Bob, I want to see that." Then, turning to me again, talking over Bob's excited moan, "You always said he had a nice cock. I agree; he does."

"Thanks." I accept the compliment to my phallic toy. "I love his cock, his body. I wouldn't enjoy making him available this way otherwise. Glad you approve."

"I do." her eyes go back to Bob, "This is good." She nods as if affirming it to herself. Then, "This is good." again, looks back at me, "I want to see him come. But, you understand, this is only about him and now, not any kind of deal about Ty."

"Understood." I nod.

"So," her eyes go back to Bob, "this particular husband..." she prompts.

"Yeah, this particular husband, like I said, he's been teased and edged till he's tight balled and pulsing out pre-come, pretty much like Bob is now."

"Yes, Jeanie, yes." Bob exhales softly, his hips lowering back down to the footrest, his hand beginning to move on his cock. "My balls ache to come for you and Cheryl."

Cheryl sniffs. "Oh, do they Bob?" then, "Was this other husband such a moaner and talker?" she asks me.

"Yes. His wife told him she likes to hear him plead for it; told him to be explicit, to entertain her girlfriends. But if you want him to just shut up and jerk off, tell him and he will."

"No, just curious." She tilts her head slightly to one side, "Does it excite you to plead for it, Bob; to tell me about your aching balls?"

"Yes, Cheryl." my husband rasps. Then shudders as his hand stops working and grips his cock at the base again. "Please, let me stroke the come out of my aching balls for you."

Cheryl and I are laughing. She's looking at me shaking her head slightly.

"This is weird." she repeats, "But, yeah, it's also pretty hot." She looks back at Bob. "Go on then, stroke it out for me." She tries to keep a straight face, make it sound slutty and demanding the way I'd say it. But she still feels slightly silly and is laughing again. "This is fun." she says softly as if to herself.

"It is." I agree as I watch Bob's hand return to slowly stroking. He won't last long; the aching balls stuff is not just theatrics.

"So, my girlfriends and I are over on the couch to watch Janet get the come out of this husband for us. He's leaned back, spread and erect, looking at us like Bob is now. Janet is sitting to one side of him so we all have a good view as she leans in and drops her head to suck him. She's working him with her hand, jerking him into her mouth as she sucks the head. Her other hand is reaching up between his legs from below milking his balls."

"My, this Janet sounds very thorough."

"She was."

"But, not criticizing or anything," Cheryl starts but breaks off and, "that's good Bob, I'm glad we're doing this, stroke it, jerk off for me, that looks good." Then shifting back into, "not criticizing, but it doesn't sound like, with her hands and mouth on him, there was much of him out there for viewing. Not like Bob here where... Ah, yeah Bob, show me your cock." she purrs when he drives his hand hard to the base to fully display it, "I like that." as she watches the flushed shaft pulse and pulse in his grip.

I can tell, I can read him; he loves showing her that cock. But he needed to pause his stroking because he's struggling not to come too quickly. He doesn't want it to be over so soon; wants the pleasure of exposure, to throb under her attention for longer. Cheryl may read it that way or not. But she certainly isn't making it easy for him to keep it in his balls, seeming to have broken through any lingering reticence about indulging in the slut talk game.

"That's a nice cock. Are you gonna make it spurt for me, show me how that husband spurted his come for your wife and her friends?"

"Ahnn, fuck yes, Cheryl, I want to show you." Bob barely has the air for it. His hand goes back to stroking, "I want to..." a shudder in his chest cuts the rest off.

I'd like to reward him, stretch this out a little longer; after enduring all the verbal teasing, he's earned his exhibitionist moment of attention. But he's past that; that shudder in his breathing, the pretty symmetrical framing of the root of his cock by those tautly drawn up balls. I do love that look, his balls so nicely articulated; love having Cheryl see it; my cometoy's presentation so much more visually appealing than males who either hang too loosely to signal their urgency, or draw in till the balls are masked under a prune-like scrotum.

But he can't last that way. Jeanie's saga and her cometoy need to finish together, and quickly.

"Janet did have him rather covered from view." I pick up on Cheryl's point. "But then he moans and says 'Here's my come for Jeanie and her girlfriends.'; because that was the rule we set them; they had to announce it when they came."

"Oh God, Jeanie, yes." my cometoy moans and his hand jerks erratically on the shaft as his hips lift.

"And, I don't know," I continue, feeling lusciously lewd, speaking in my polite conversational tone as the root of my cometoy's cock pulses and, "I think maybe she swallowed the first spurt of it, but she pulled off and I told Janet to 'Just hold his balls and let him show us'. She does, leaves his penis free to just bob and spurt,"

"Here's my come," my cometoy bucks as a first short spurt pops from the head of his cock, his thumb pressed firmly down against the base to prop it upright so it can,

"bob and spurt on its own." I continue, timing my words to match the repeated "bob and spurt" of my cometoy's penis which is popping out pleasingly generous amounts of semen, not disappointing me; he's putting on a nice show for my friend Cheryl as he shudders and moans in ejaculatory cadence,

"Here's my come, uhn, my cock dance for, uhn, Jeanie and her friend, uhnn, her friend Cheryl, uhn, my cock dance..."

"Good Bob," Cheryl purrs happily as the cock spasms continue. Even though after the first five or six spurts the rest force out little or no fresh semen, my cometoy keeps his penis propped upright for us as the ejaculatory dry heaves make his lifted hips jerk slightly.

"Yeah, dance for me. I like that." Cheryl coos at him.