A Dirty Business, Ch. 12

CHAPTER 12

Part 1. Hotel Dei Borgognoni, Rome. Saturday 17 August 2019, 10.41pm CEST.

"Grazie", the tall, slim, skimpily-clad brunette gasped as she darted into the elevator, gratefully catching the eye of the middle-aged stranger whose chivalrous outstretched foot was holding the impatient sliding door open.

Still feeling the twinge of the buttplug as its sizeable, three-inch span shifted around the tight confines of her jiggling ass, she winced momentarily as she turned around to see her extravagantly curvaceous girlfriend slip on the polished marble floor. As the stumbling German girl bounded into the lift, into her arms, it was all she could do to catch the hefty mass of tumbling limbs, escaping boobs and flailing blonde hair, to keep the yelping, giggling klutz upright.

Suddenly feeling every one of her 43 years, Michaela Dern couldn't help but reflect on the passage of time that had brought her to this moment, to this place, to this rather awkward elevator ride.

Ten years had passed since she had first met this girl, this mad, unabashed, fucking adorable girl from Koblenz. They'd spent that half-remembered first evening in a small, packed terraced house in Kennington, the plump blonde sucking and fucking several strangers' dicks for no other reason than as a favour to a mutual friend. The girl had been dressed in barely-there, baby pink bra and panties, made even more outré with a kinky leatherette harness and suspender set, the outrageous, yet breathtakingly sexy getup forming an image that had been imprinted on Michaela's brain ever since.

Alas, tonight's outfit wasn't quite that slutty, even if the girl's perky E-plus-cups were presently spilling out above her tight frock's ridiculously low décolletage. She'd pretty much maintained her magnificent 34-28-42" figure throughout the intervening decade, and was sporting a gorgeous little sky-blue number that Michaela herself had bought her back when the ditzy blonde was 25 and they were first dating. Though maybe, judging by the current wardrobe malfunction, she'd put on a few pounds since last wearing the dress. Her breasts, at least, did seem a little too big for the garment.

It was ten years, too, since Michaela's fateful encounter, on a busy suburban high street, with two other voluptuous, stark naked women. An encounter that introduced the stylish, composed, yet altogether stifled TV producer to a more carefree, liberated way of being, led her to that same little house in Kennington and a first threesome and, ultimately, reshaped her life. Without it, she probably wouldn't have had the guts to risk her career and finances in founding the very small, yet thriving film studio that now gave her professional life such purpose. She definitely wouldn't be propping up this buxom, hot-as-fuck blonde bombshell. And she almost certainly wouldn't have a large sex toy buried in her ass.

"Danke, meine elfe", Frieda Sommer chortled as she steadied herself against her lover's slim, yet reassuring frame, reverting to her native tongue even as her momentary panic subsided. It was a pet name that she had given to the delicately featured woman early in their relationship, and which had well and truly stuck.

"Gern geschehen, meine perle", the woman confidently shot back. Her German, while not quite as effortless as Frieda's English, was nonetheless pretty good these days, particularly since the couple had, in the last eighteen months, divided their time more or less equally between London and Berlin.

Glancing down, Frieda immediately spotted her escaped nipples - she could hardly miss them - and, feeling her face reddening, quickly popped each boob back into the skimpy bodice of her dress in turn. Setting the restored garment back into place with a quick tug and a grimace, she glanced across to the awkwardly smiling older man who had held the door open and offered a quick "Dispiace!" Lifting his hand and shaking his head in immediate forgiveness, he didn't seem to mind.

As the heavy metal doors squeezed shut, Frieda tapped the big round button marked '3'. The circle below it was already lit red, and the curvy German girl, her belly full of tortellini and pressing against her rather tight dress, edged alongside her partner. As she did so, the pair clasped hands, awaiting the gracious man's imminent exit as the small, densely populated lift began its upward movement.

Frieda, for one, was utterly desperate to get back to the hotel room for a good, hard fuck. The immense plug that she'd been carrying in her well-stretched asshole all evening was threatening to slip out in a far more embarrassing manner than her tits had, and she imagined Michaela might be keen to lose her equally punishing implement once they were behind closed doors.

Moreover, and unbeknownst to her girlfriend, the German girl had found room in her suitcase for an additional toy, one which the couple reserved for special occasions. What could be more special than this, the horny blonde thought to herself - a night with her beloved, in one of the most romantic cities in the world, on the first night of a weeklong holiday to which they'd both been looking forward for months.

Michaela certainly looked the part, even if her classic little black cocktail dress was a little shorter than those she usually wore. It was summer, after all, and a warm, sultry night at that. Throughout the evening the stylish brunette had maintained her usual elegant demeanour, her easy grace and unflappability the perfect camouflage for her secret tawdriness.

If anything, the woman's enviable self-assurance, her cloak of respectability, had grown in recent years as she approached middle age. Not that anybody would have assumed she was the wrong side of forty - with her well-nourished, pale skin, perfect hair and youthful, honey eyes, she could probably pass for early thirties. Her hips and thighs had broadened out a little, for sure, no longer quite fitting into the same skinny jeans that she'd so loved wearing around the house when Frieda moved in with her, close to nine years ago now.

Her perky boobs too had grown a little, loosened and dropped just a tad, even if her nipples and areolas remained as stubbornly, youthfully small and pointy as ever. She still looked utterly spellbinding at home, braless, in just a t-shirt, of course. And even better without the t-shirt. All in all, Michaela remained the most exquisite woman Frieda had ever met, an absolute goddess.

Nobody looking at the impeccably composed deity tonight - and countless envious men and women had, of course, taken a good look at her - could have guessed the truth. That she was wearing no underwear beneath her tiny frock. Or that her high hemline barely concealed a very big sex toy, its flared base wedged tightly between the cheeks of her glorious little bubble butt.

As the lift slowed to a halt and the doors slid open, the two women each gave the departing gentleman an earnest "Buonanotte" that was politely reciprocated. With his footsteps receding down the second floor hallway, their hands raced to the door close button and, as the doors pulled back shut, they were already locked in a deep, frantic kiss.

At last they reached their floor, their bodies pressed together against the wood-panelled wall, Michaela's right knee lifted up around her sweetheart's thick thigh, Frieda's hands gripping her lover's exposed back, pulling her in. The doors opened for a final time and, laughing and kissing still, the couple stumbled out, neither woman wanting to break the urgent clinch.

Down the empty corridor they staggered, bouncing off the walls, mouth to mouth, tripping over each other's feet, dresses tousling, asses already on display.

Reaching room 306, her back to the door and working blind, Michaela clawed desperately for her small, dark handbag, its strap twisted tightly around the diagonal of her torso. Swearing impatiently as she struggled to locate the fucking thing, she eventually yanked at the stubborn band, swinging the bag around and into her grateful clutch and dislodging the scanty, low plunge of her dress, right tit slipping fully out. Attracting a loud snigger from her girlfriend, she was no longer the perfectly put together creature that she had been just a couple of minutes earlier.

Gratefully retrieving the keycard and feeling out the sensor behind her, the exposed brunette slapped the swipecard urgently against the device. As the door finally buzzed and swung open, she lurched backwards into the eclectically decorated, bijou suite, tumbling to the carpet, landing on her bare butt. Forcing a pained wince as the buttplug drove further into her. More laughter from Frieda.

Shamelessly styling it out, Michaela gazed fixatedly at the cackling German girl, freed her left boob from her frock and pinched the front of the skirt up, showing her dark landing strip and, teasing her legs slowly open, the glistening slit of her pussy below. They'd left the nearby floor lamp, a beautiful art deco piece, switched on when they'd left for dinner, and the soft light captured the slick track of juice that was already dripping down the smooth folds of her vulva. She reached a hand down and began spreading, parting her soft pussy lips and painting her fingers and twat in her own bountiful ooze.

Pushing the door closed behind her, Frieda matched her sexy-as-fuck girlfriend's intent smoulder as she stepped across to her heavy, rose-pink suitcase on the floor. Kneeling before it, she kept her eyes locked on the masturbating woman as she unclasped each of the large case's three latches in turn. Michaela was now lying flat on the soft carpet, head tilted in her direction, her remaining hand squeezing her left breast, tweaking the rock-hard, conical nipple.

"You want to fuck on the floor, ja?" the blonde queried, matter of factly as she opened the case, though she knew the answer. "Like a dirty schlampe?"

"Ja, mein Fraulein", came the purred confirmation. "I want you to fuck my wet little muschi like a filthy nutte..." Holding the case open, her mouth safely hidden behind its bulky frame, Frieda allowed herself a satisfied smile at the bilingual exchange. Aside from attaining a conversational standard of German, Michaela had become well-acquainted with a wide range of Teutonic slurs, expletives and other vernacular, a key part of any linguistic education.

"Then I shall, meine elfe. But as this is such a special occasion, your muschi might get a little... larger... than usual."

Closing the suitcase emphatically, the grinning blonde held aloft the transparent, bulbous cup of the toy for which she had been rummaging, the attached, clear tube trailing down to the floor. To the other end was affixed a palm-sized, black oval handpump. But it was the implement's clear plastic cup, about five inches in diameter and with a thin band of red padding along its circumference, that immediately seized Michaela's attention, her face widening in delight.

"You brought the pussy pump!" she squealed excitedly. "See, this is why I love you..."

"I thought it would be a nice surprise", the kneeling blonde smiled. "We haven't used it since..."

"Our anniversary?" interjected the Englishwoman.

"Ja, our anniversary."

Frieda's mind darted back to that romantic evening, almost two months earlier, to the fancy Italian dinner in Richmond, not too dissimilar to tonight's. To the steamy snogs on the short taxi ride home. To their equally urgent embrace as soon as they stepped inside the front door. To the hot clamp of the pump on her own cooch, the intense feeling of her pussy lips' dilation, expansion and quite obscene protrusion. To the unbelievable orgasm that had followed as her hypersensitive labia and bulging clitoris were easily brought to a monumental climax by her girlfriend's fingers and tongue.

It had already been a notable anniversary, marking a full decade since she had met this incredible woman at that crowded Kennington house, since they'd immediately hit it off, since they'd shared a first horny smooch. But the pussy pump had made it even more special. And now, she was determined to bring the same joy to her beloved.

"Special occasion", Michaela noted, sitting up in eager readiness.

"Special occasion", Frieda concurred, slipping out of her dress.

Crawling across the room on all fours, pussy pump in hand as she paraded her naked curves, the blonde bombshell retrieved the open bottle of lube from the coffee table on which they had left it earlier and turned back to her giggling, excited lover.

And as the kinky German girl's big round ass passed by, Michaela couldn't resist the urge to give it a quick slap and a squeeze, deftly prodding the loosely protruding buttplug back into Frieda's well-stretched hole.

Pushing the impudent brunette back down onto the carpet with a snigger, Frieda pressed her hands onto the woman's pert C-cup tits, feeling the hardness in her cone-shaped little nipples. Squashing them down as she set the woman flat on her back, smiling as they rebounded straight back up the moment she let go. Lifting the woman's right leg and shuffling in between her wide open thighs, pink cunt decidedly wet already.

Taking the bottle of lube, tipping it upside down, squeezing a generous smear onto her right forefinger. Picking up the hard plastic cup of the pump and slowly spreading the pink, raspberry-flavoured gel around its soft, rubbery rim.

"You ready, meine elfe?" she murmured.

"Do you really need to ask?" the woman cheerfully fluttered.

Placing the cup firmly and precisely over the woman's crotch, its large oval circumference perfectly encasing her shimmering vulva. Taking two quick squeezes of the handpump, sealing the device in place with an immediate vacuum. Wiggling the cup to make sure of its firm attachment, drawing a satisfied smile and a small, tickled moan from the woman.

Climbing carefully atop her goddess, parking her own sizeable crotch and her bulbous butt just north of the tightly secured toy. Leaning down and into the woman's ardent embrace, resuming the kiss. Holding the pump in hand, teasing her lover with it. Another pair of squeezes, hearing the woman moan again in instant, gratified response.

Pushing her tongue further in, deepening her kiss. Another quick squeeze. Another little moan. Their tongues dancing together now, warm saliva trickling back and forth between their joined mouths. Three more squeezes, a longer, deeper moan this time. And another short squeeze, a heightened mew.

Feeling the fingers of the woman's left hand caressing her right forearm. Bringing her hand up to meet, passing the pump into the woman's grip as their fingers interlocked. Now they squeezed together. Each squeeze eliciting new gasps of pleasure from the increasingly delirious brunette.

Nibbling the woman's bottom lip, one of her many sensitive spots that Frieda knew so well. More moans, breathier and more urgent now. Another few rapid squeezes, and then several more, the panting Englishwoman now tugging keenly on the round black pump, forcing the air from her surely swelling cunt.

The German girl was desperate for a glimpse. They both were. Slowly rolling off of her intensely aroused girlfriend, Frieda glanced down, while Michaela tilted her head up to catch the depraved view. Sure enough, the large concave cup was no longer translucent, its steamy inner surface now painted white with condensation and a dark, reddish pink with the bulging, tumid press of the brunette's obscenely enlarged labia.

Adding a half-dozen more rushed squeezes for good measure, and marvelling as the device filled further with her lover's wrecked vulva, Frieda grinned as the air filled with a fresh burst of rapid moans.

"How does it feel, meine elfe?"

"Fucking... amazing... ooooooohhh..." came the hoped-for reply as she gave the limpet-like attachment another wobble.

A final flourish of squeezes caused Michaela's full midsection to tremble, and her cunt to swell out even larger. The kinky blonde clutched the valve, the black turnkey located just below the handpump and, her heart racing with excitement, flicked it open, relieving the negative pressure at once. Its tight hold broken, the cup came away from her girlfriend's snatch with barely a tug.

What it left, took both girls' breath away.

What had previously been a cute, tidy, altogether modestly proportioned little cooch had transformed into a throbbing, flagrant bloom, the Englishwoman's usually flat outer labia now puffing out, widely and tautly and fully, like the sides of a rubber dinghy. Glowing puce, and glistening with her wet juices.

Between her bloated outer folds, her inner lips had burst out from their usual concealment. Both rigid flaps, equally swelled and reddened, were protruding a full inch out from their confinement, like the thick, succulent leaves of some exotic plant. And above them sat her engorged clitoris, the usually demure little bud now big and fat, proudly surveying its enlarged domain, begging to be touched, to be tasted, to be indulged.

As if Frieda needed persuading.

Moving her hand down her lover's body, drawing spirals on her right breast and tracing a line around her belly button as her fingers teased their way south. Placing her palm on the woman's soaring mons, feeling the soft brush of her pubes and the firmness of her swollen mound.

Gently nudging the woman's bulging clit with her middle finger, the slightest touch sparking instantaneous cries and shivers as the hypersensitive kernel ignited in ecstasy.

"Aaaaaggghhh!" Michaela gasped in helpless rapture as the first electric jolt spasmed through her body. She knew it wouldn't be the last. She'd been treated to the pussy pump a few times, most recently on Valentine's day, and it always made her come with extra intensity. But her vagina had never been inflated to quite such an extreme degree, her clit never this enormous.

So, closing her eyes and bringing her hands to her tingling breasts, the receptive brunette tried her best to slow her excited breath and relax into the surging tide of joy that she knew was soon to break over her.

She next felt the sumptuous lap of her beloved's warm tongue, following the same path her fingers had. Around the contours of her breast. Circling and tickling her navel. Gliding over her mons and into the heat of her inflamed, raging pussy. Nearing and- Ohmygod! Touching the widened hood of her clit. So close to her thrumming button and- Oh fuck! Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck! Stirring her now, licking the pulsating bud. Pushing it in all directions, the tongue flicking it back and forth until- OOOOOHHHHHH FUUUUUCK! She was already coming, and hard.

Nerves exploding throughout her massively fattened cunt, her lover's chin nestled firmly against her throbbing pussy lips, taking more of the bulging palate in her hungry mouth.

Her own hands gripping hold of her tits, fingers clamping down tightly, nails digging in, drawing every ounce of feeling from her prickling areolas.

Her entire frame buckling now as the wave swept through her, every muscle contracting, toes curling, knees folding, thighs wrapping around her girlfriend's torso, bringing her even closer in, savouring the sharpness of teeth on her blazing inner labia. Asshole tightening around the still-planted buttplug, sending yet more pleasured ripples into her overwhelmed midriff.

Intensity growing with every slow second, the wave still rising, inundating her, drowning out everything else. Time seemed to be screeching to a halt, each moment of mindblowing stimulation stretching out before her. Each lick, each bite, each press further engulfing her, warping her senses. All she could feel now was her orgasm, everywhere and everything. She had never peaked like this before. Her body caking in hot sweat, she was utterly drenched in every sense.

And then her floodgates opened. Without warning, like a switch being turned deep inside her hopelessly taut core, her tightened muscles seemed to unravel all at once. Her legs fell limp. Her fingers loosened their hold on her raw, freshly bruised tits. And her channel ran loose with her squirt, delivered in a series of powerful, gushing jets from her shaking, climaxing body, spraying Frieda and the hotel suite with her watery juice.

As she continued to quake for the next few minutes, gradually regaining her breath and her surroundings as the tremors slowly subsided, a warm, radiant glow filled Michaela's face and chest, and she relaxed into a wide-eyed smile of pure, disbelieving bliss.

"Holy fucking shit!" she exclaimed to her equally astounded lover, whose squirt-coated face was now drawn lovingly alongside hers, her Teutonic blue eyes staring up into the ceiling.

"Ja, holy shit", the smirking blonde agreed. "You really know how to come, huh?"

"You really know how to make me come, meine perle. God I fucking love your tongue..."

"Then have a little more of it..." Frieda smiled, turning her head to meet her glowing partner's gaze. Reaching in for a long, deep kiss, their naked bodies splayed out contentedly on the floor of their bijou hotel suite. Right now, they didn't need the bed...

Part 2. Lake Vico. Sunday 18 August 2019, 12.36pm.

Just fifty or so metres from the northern shore of the glistening, sunlit caldera lake, and still hearing the braying noise of the local grebes, Luca D'Antonio was surprised to see the bright red hulk of a seemingly abandoned red Fiat at the end of the dirt path.

He often came here, to this secluded spot within earshot of the birds and in sight of the clear blue water. Sometimes he stopped to watch the grebes and the herons and the other water fowl for which the lake was known. On other occasions he simply carried on strolling, through the woods that ran alongside this edge of the shoreline. In all his visits to this stretch of the lake, he had barely ever seen another person. It was in large part why he came here. The solitude. The tranquillity.

He'd certainly never seen a car this far up the track.

As he passed by the vehicle, a gleaming, cherry-coloured 500 soft-top, its roof down and stowed at the rear, its white leatherette interior sitting empty, he shook his head. Tourists. Most likely a rental car. A couple? Or, god forbid, a whole family? He shuddered momentarily, hoping the unwanted visitors wouldn't disturb his peaceful Sunday amble.

Carrying on into the woods, following his usual narrow trail between the dense rows of beech and chestnut trees, Luca soon began thinking about other, more prosaic matters. What was he going to make for dinner tonight? His marriage had recently broken down and, without Giulia's cooking to sustain him, he was having to learn how to manage in the kitchen, and fast.

He had some leftover chicken in the fridge, so he'd be having that. But with what? Risotto, perhaps. Stepping up onto the ridge, he puffed his cheeks out as his breath quickened. Asparagus would be good, he could pick some up from the supermarket back in Caprarola. A bottle of vino bianco, too. And some eggs for tomorr-

"Whoa!" he gasped as he caught the unmistakeable sight of bare flesh, over the bluff of the ridge, no more then twenty metres ahead of him. People. Two people. Two women, sitting together in a small, grassy clearing. Topless, their breasts on full, open display. He panicked, not wanting to be seen, and dropped to the floor, surrounded by foliage.

"Shit, did you hear something?" one of them rasped, her dark hair flailing as she quickly darted up onto her knees. English. Definitely tourists. Holding his body still, he tried not to rustle amid the branches and leaves. Through a gap in the thicket, he still had a full view of them, and hoped they couldn't see him. His jaw fell to the floor as he realised that they weren't merely topless, but fully nude.

Beneath their exposed bodies lay a red and white chequered picnic towel, and to one side a small hamper, its contents of cheeses, meats and jars of antipasti dotted around the towel. But no sign of any clothes. They were both completely bare.

The brunette, closer to him, had a tallish, pale, slim figure, nicely shaped breasts and a neatly trimmed sliver of dark hair above her uncovered, cutely pink and puffy vagina. With delicate facial features - round, light brown eyes, a narrow little nose, thin lips - and hair braided in a crown around her head, above her flowing locks, she had a rather dainty, almost hippyish look about her. As if she was missing just a tiara of daisies with which to blend into the forest.

The second girl, meanwhile, was much curvier, her planted butt clearly a lot larger. And her chest - pink and a little sunburned already - was a lot bigger too. He couldn't quite make out her pussy, just the pale tuft of her pubic hair that seemed to match the tone of her curly, blonde mop. She had a round face with blue eyes, wide lips and a cute little button nose. And when she opened her mouth, her English was accented. She definitely wasn't British like the other. Dutch, or German, possibly.

"Probably just a bird, or a squirrel", Frieda yawned. The busty 35-year-old was still a little tired from the previous night's exertions in Rome, the morning's unreasonably early rise and her partner's insistence on a last-minute dash around the Centro Storico.

"Hmmmm, I guess so", muttered Michaela, her face still quizzical. "Here", she gestured, picking an olive out of the jar and dropping it into her girlfriend's open, smirking mouth.

The blonde sucked happily on the delicious green fruit, teasing out the pit with her teeth and tongue, keen to resume the yummy feast.

Still crouching motionless, a short distance away, Luca pondered his next move. Clearly, approaching the two women was out of the question. Not because he feared looking like a pervert - they were the ones lunching naked, after all. It was more the fact that he was rather enjoying the show, as the rock-hard dick in his shorts attested, and didn't want it to end prematurely. In his late forties, with thinning hair and having never been especially good looking, he was pretty sure he'd stand zero chance with either of these gorgeous females. Even if they were that way inclined, it had been so long since he'd courted a woman that he would surely be lost for words. A pick-up artist he was not.

So he knew he'd have to stay where he was, unseen, and hope to remain that way.

Of course, he did have his phone in his pocket. His new Huawei had an impressive camera, with lossless zoom up to 10x magnification. He'd chosen it partly with a view to his regular walks of the lake, the better to capture the local flora and fauna. He hadn't had these particular creatures in mind but, now that they were here, he felt it would be almost rude not to make the most of their rare appearance.

So he furtively reached down, into his pocket, and carefully pulled out the handset. He tapped the camera icon and, steadying the phone between his hands, locked on to the canoodling pair. With a quick swipe he zoomed right in, their bodies filling the frame. Holding the phone as still as he could, slowing his breath as much as he could, he hit record and began filming the show.

And what a show it was. The two unsuspecting stars positively shined on screen, the high sun providing all the illumination their glimmering, bare bodies needed. Messily swapping juicy olives, sundried tomatoes and artichoke hearts, both girls soon had oil dripping down their chests, tette freshly glistened. And they were full of cheer, their unscripted sexy talk making the accidental cameraman almost as hard as their deepening, full-frontal foreplay.

Before long their faces were locked together in a steamy, sloppy snog, keenly making out as they both knelt atop the creasing towel. The brunette was first to add a hand to her partner's arousal, the blonde's ruffled fica now on full display to Luca's camera, visibly moistening in front of his rapt eyes.

Moaning loudly, her cries of "mein gott" filling the warm air. She was definitely German, he knew that much. "Come on Fraulein", he whispered quietly under his weighty breath, willing her closer to the climax to which she seemed well en route. "Come for me, baby."

Now the blonde was reciprocating her paramour's stimulation, frigging the brunette with equal intensity, drawing shrill mews until the slender Englishwoman clenched her mouth into the voluptuous German's neck, needily suckled love bites replacing her urgent cries. Their bodies were both beginning to shake now, intermittent trembles rather than full orgasmic quaking, but trembles nonetheless.

As the intensity continued to mount, the brunette suddenly broke off from her partner's neck, leaving a deep rouge mark where her jaw had been, and hurriedly set herself down on all fours. The blonde's hand was nestled in her scrunched hair, guiding her into the well-rubbed, soaking pussy that now stood immediately before her. And her prone, bubble butt - oh my god, her butt, Luca marvelled - was now pointed directly at the camera, puffed cunt and dark, circular asshole on full, explicit display to the clear-sighted zoom lens.

For the next dozen breathtaking minutes, the slim, dark-haired woman proceeded to eat her voluptuous, elated partner out, both completely unaware that every twitch, every moan was being viewed by an anonymous voyeur and his smartphone. That the German girl's joy and her imminent coming would be watched, and rewatched, not only by this stranger but by whoever he might choose to share the video with. Luca had yet to decide, of course. Right now, with one hand down his shorts, he was far too busy peaking, feeling the first thick spurts of semen shoot out from his wrought cock, filling his briefs in stickiness.

Resolutely keeping the Huawei as steady as he possibly could in just his left hand, which was not very steady at all, Luca bit his bottom lip as he came, holding in his grunts and his desperate pants.

Finally the blonde girl's quickening tremors broke into a full, quaking orgasm, her entire body rocking as she screamed in ecstasy, howls of "SCHEISSE SCHEISSE SCHEISSE!!!" disturbing the ambient wildlife and no doubt maxing out the phone's sensitive mic.

As the spent German girl's body fell limp, she was quickly pounced on by the proudly giggling brunette, their pink, flushed forms weaving together as they rolled around playfully on the thoroughly wrinkled picnic towel. After a couple more minutes, Luca came to accept that the show was over, bar the shouting, and he'd heard plenty of Teutonic shouting in any case.

Just as he hit stop on the recording, a small bird - a chaffinch, possibly, though he hardly had time to confirm - buzzed out from the foliage a few feet to the hidden watcher's right, rustling the branches as it emerged out into the open and, within a couple of seconds, disappearing from view. Lost in each other's orbit, by the time either woman looked up it was gone.

"Okay, I definitely heard something that time", exclaimed Michaela, lifting her head above the grass and scanning the horizon.

"Me too", Frieda nodded with a frown. "Shall we head back to the car? I'm starting to burn anyway."

"Yeah, I think we probably should. Good lunch though", the brunette winked to her well-fucked girlfriend.

Keeping his head down, Luca held his breath, desperate to avoid detection. Making no movements, no sound, he watched on as the two naked women rose to their feet and, still looking nervously around, collected the remnants of their picnic.

Somehow they didn't appear to spot him and, hamper loaded and still, unbelievably, fully nude, they turned away in the direction of the dirt track. Shuffling as stealthily as he could back below the line of the ridge, the voyeur exhaled in relief as he heard the rustle of their quickly retreating footprints in the dry grass...

Part 3. Il Bacio Perfetto Vineyard, Orvieto. 8.11pm.

As the sun went down over the phalanx of vines that filled the large estate's gentle western slope, Odette Gaston-Mackenzie couldn't resist pausing her busy stride around the extensive kitchen and looking out over the verdant terrace, to the picturesque valley and the Umbrian hills beyond.

Picking up the glass of white wine that she had been enjoying as she prepared this simple meal, and stuffing the tea towel into the front pocket of her flour-coated chef's apron, the busty Provençale woman stole a contented little smile. It had been a hot afternoon and the evening air was still sultry. Her forehead running clammy and her tousled fringe starting to mottle, she deserved a minute's break.

The freshly made tagliatelle was simmering happily on the gleaming induction hob. In the adjacent sauté pan, her prized, midnight blue Le Creuset, the fatty guanciale had browned nicely and the ricotta was loosening, the starchy cupful of hot water from the pasta doing its job. She'd just finished chopping up a big bunch of parsley, its grassy aroma wafting into her lungs. Dinner would be ready in two minutes or so, the four bowls and their cutlery already laid out immaculately on the beautiful stone dining table that lay before her.

Sat at the table were her guests, dressed in a pair of cute, near-backless summer dresses, facing out towards the glass wall and drinking in the last remnants of the sunset. Along with their own glasses of the wine, of course - Odette's own wine, that she and Ingrid had made themselves the previous year, with Procanico grapes from that very hillside. Two bottles of the stuff sat in the middle of the table, one empty, one half-drained. They'd been drinking since the early evening, the conversation between dear friends flowing as easily as the alcohol.

Upstairs, her beloved wife was putting the child to bed. Seven months old now, baby Felix slept like a log most nights, the difficult, sleep-deprived first phase of parenthood hopefully at an end.

Still running a little hot, the Frenchwoman's bare, perky F-cup breasts - she often cooked topless in the summer, and these particular guests were well-used to seeing her tits and more - were pressed close against the dark raspberry canvas of the apron, begging to be released. Her nipples were hard and the garment, practical as it was, could be more than a little chafing. Unlike the cool and comfortable, shirred lace hotpants she had on underneath, pale baby pink ruffles that offered just the right amount of snugness to her fulsome round butt.

"Babe, this is incredible", Frieda declared, still gazing out at the dark red sky as she sipped.

"The view or the wine?" posed Michaela, glancing across to her awestruck girlfriend.

"Both. You and Ingrid have done so well, this place is unbelievable. Can we stay forever?" Turning around in her chair, pointing an earnest look towards Odette, the German wasn't even sure if she was joking. As she turned, the orange plunge of her halterneck frock twisted slightly, revealing a glimpse of sideboob to her companions. In no particular rush, she placed her glass down and casually readjusted the garment.

"You should have seen it last autumn", the hostess grimaced. "Builders everywhere, dust everywhere. I'm just glad they finished before Felix arrived."

"Well they did a great job, it's a truly beautiful house", Michaela smiled. "He's going to be so lucky growing up here."

She was right, of course. This home, in which Odette and Ingrid had invested so much time, care and cash, was spectacular, a perfectly considered balance of retained, original farmhouse features and sleek, expansive new spaces like the huge, open-plan kitchen diner from which the Frenchwoman and the two visitors were now enjoying the stunning vista. Ingrid, in particular, had taken a hands-on role in designing and overseeing the renovation, artist that she was, testing the unfailing expertise and saint-like patience of Giorgia, their young but impressive architect, throughout the project, even while heavily pregnant.

What had emerged from the creative tension had been nothing short of a triumph, a sumptuous blend of rustic charm and modern, minimalist cool. All surrounded by an extensive tract of prime vineyard, in a jaw-droppingly beautiful part of central Italy. They had fallen in love with Orvieto the second they first laid eyes on it, passing through on their honeymoon back in 2016. Three years and a chunk over a million euros later, this stunning place was finally, truly their home.

And then, on 8 January 2019, just weeks after the house was at last finished, the couple's longed-for baby finally arrived, a little over nine months after the ovulating redhead's fruitful few nights with a gorgeous, carefully chosen young master's student in Perugia. It's amazing what you can find on Tinder, Odette thought to herself. In any case, they were now a family, with hopes and plans for a second child once Odette found a suitable man to knock her up. All told, as she returned her attention to the pasta, the raven-haired Frenchwoman felt like the luckiest girl on Earth.

"Dinner smells wonderful, baby", came the gentle voice of her wife, slowly ambling down the floating, white granite staircase, its cascade seeming to defy the laws of gravity and construction alike. Of all the statement features in the exquisitely crafted building, this was the one of which Giorgia had been most proud. And one which, necessitating a full rebuild and extensive reinforcement of the adjoining wall and landing, had blown a significant hole in the budget. But, much like the radiant, full-hipped mother now carefully descending it, mindful not to disturb the sleeping infant upstairs, it now stood as a model of gritty, sturdy beauty.

Between pregnancy, early motherhood and managing a complex home renovation in a new country not exactly renowned for its easy building regulations, all while continuing to co-run a successful business and service a selection of exacting clients, the last two years hadn't been easy for Ingrid. The curvaceous ginger could be forgiven if such tribulations had aged her stunning face, or taken a toll on her remarkable figure.

Yet somehow the busy 32-year-old still found the time for her yoga, while Odette's home-cooked meals always kept her well-nourished, her smooth, supple skin and youthful, plump cheeks testament to a pretty healthy lifestyle, even if, post-pregnancy, she had been drinking a little too much of the local grape. Aside from a couple more inches on her waist and hips, and motherhood's natural enlargement of her already immense breasts - on the rare occasions she wore a bra, it was usually a 36I or even a J these days - she had barely aged a day.

"Merci, ma chérie", her spouse smiled, meeting her at the foot of the stairs with a fresh glass of wine and a kiss, taking the empty baby bottle in return and squeezing the redhead's irresistible, curvy butt through the thin, semi-sheer cotton of her pale cream tunic.

"That reminds me, we'll need to pick up some more formula while we're in town tomorrow", added the Frenchwoman, sauntering back to the sink to drain off the tagliatelle, rinsing out the bottle while she was there.

"Baby's got his parents' appetite, huh?" Michaela quipped.

"Watch it..." smirked Odette, though she could hardly contest the jibe, as she tipped a huge colander's worth of fresh pasta into the sauté pan atop the very creamy, very Roman mix of soft cheese and pork. Throwing in most of the parsley, leaving a little for the garnish, the chef gave the assembled ingredients a good stir and, retrieving the thick tea towel from her pocket, carefully brought the hot pan to the table, placing it dead centre over a shallow cork block.

Knowing her role in the kitchen's chain of command, her wife dutifully tossed the remainder of the herb into a soufflé dish and delivered it to the table too, next to the waiting pepper grinder and a large block of pecorino cheese.

"One more comment like that, beautiful, and you won't get any more of my wife's delicious cooking this week", the redhead drily announced, in mock threat to her cherished friend. Ingrid, of course, couldn't deny any more than Odette that the pair ate well, as they always had. Fortunately, they both seemed to still be blessed with the same supercharged metabolism that they had shared when they first met, as a pair of rosy-cheeked 18-year-olds, in that long, slow lunch queue during their first university semester. Thank goodness for that.

If the Englishwoman had changed little in appearance since those days, the same was even more true of her dark-haired belle. But for the gradual emergence of a few laughter lines around her mouth and a change of hairstyle, her jagged, cropped bob and fringe long since replaced by a more relaxed, slightly messy pixie cut, Odette still looked just as she had in her student days. She was still every petite inch the femme fatale, with her big, gravity-defying tits, a perfect, plump ass, otherworldly grey eyes and cheekbones to die for.

Like her wife, the Frenchwoman had certainly been keeping busy. Aside from parenting, tending to the vineyard and a thousand other domestic duties, she and Ingrid were still heavily involved in Parfait's ever-growing operations. The company had expanded to Paris, New York and, the previous year, to Berlin, with Frieda leading the German enterprise.

Now employing over seventy girls, of all colours, shapes and sizes - though mostly busty and curvy - the two co-founders still insisted on personally checking out each new recruit. These days that meant flying the lucky young woman - and they were almost always young - out to Rome, collecting her from Fiumicino and bringing her to this very place for a weekend of intensive training to Parfait's exacting standards, a meticulous uniform fitting and, perhaps most importantly of all, a thorough analysis of the new girl's sexual talents, mores and inhibitions. Needless to say, the house these days was always spotless.

Thank gooodness, too, for Judit, the company's first ever hire and now Chief Operations Officer. Still based in London and holding, like Frieda, a small but significant minority stake in the business, it was the hot, athletic workaholic from Hungary who was really running things day-to-day.

Of course, the two co-founders still continued to deliver their services personally to a small number of Parfait's elite, and best-paying, clients. The select group included Marcus, the impossibly well-hung Black American whose software start-up had grown into a huge Silicon Valley firm; James, the brash young investment banker who had somehow ended up with the keys to a successful hedge fund in Manhattan; and Nathalie and Edgar, the charming Franco-British couple who Ingrid had met on a Eurostar train almost exactly ten years earlier.

And then there was Anya, the oligarch's wife with a penchant for heavy S&M and a willingness to indulge her long-suffering housekeepers with the most lavish of gifts. Where others might have chosen a bottle of champagne or a nice houseplant as a housewarming gift, Anya had sent the Gaston-Mackenzies a genuine, original Miró. Small as its canvas was, barely half a metre across, and dating from the artist's less prized late period, it was still, well, a Miró. Ingrid, 35 weeks pregnant at the time, actually fainted when the mystery delivery was unwrapped from its cloth, much to Odette's brief terror. A speedily arranged estimate would confirm that the diminutive oil painting, already taking pride of place in the living room, was worth nearly as much as the house.

Now, as the wealthy couple sat down for a scrumptious meal with two of their closest friends, the conversation was already turning to their plans for the week ahead.

"We'll take you both into town tomorrow for lunch", Ingrid declared with a warm smile between mouthfuls. "There's a lovely trattoria with a roof terrace close to the Duomo."

"Sounds perfect", beamed Frieda. "If their food is half as good as this, we're in for a treat!"

Odette matched the German girl's smirk as she poured more wine into their rapidly emptying glasses, draining the bottle dry.

"I can't wait to explore the old town, it looks astonishing", Michaela averred. She'd caught several glimpses of the stunning, medieval hilltop cittadina from the winding country road that led her here that afternoon, and a couple more from the shallow eastern slope of the vineyard as she and Frieda strolled, hands joined, around the grounds of the five-hectare estate in the early evening air. Perched atop a small plateau, the ancient town was truly stunning, especially in the golden sunlight before dusk, and the film producer had marvelled at its technicolour beauty.

"And you will get to explore the town", Odette nodded. "But first, we're going to enjoy my delicious pasta, drink another bottle or two of my lovely wine-"

"OUR lovely wine", the redhead interjected.

"Oui, our lovely wine", the Frenchwoman chortled, rising from her seat and stepping backwards toward the kitchen's large, built-in wine cooler, eyes still trained on her guests. "And then we will stumble to the lounge, full of food, laughs and vino, to explore and enjoy each other's bodies."

Opening the cooler and retrieving a fresh bottle of the same Procanico, the assertive Provençale hostess deftly untied the neck of her sweaty, dirty apron and, in full, admiring view of her beloved wife and their cherished visitors, allowed its front to spill down to her belly, her glorious, near-spherical orbs bouncing happily out.

"Starting, of course, with my body", she decreed, her enchanted audience nodding their enthusiastic approval...

Part 4. 10.25pm.

Sure enough, as the four giggling women staggered out of the huge kitchen-diner two hours later, it was the horny Frenchwoman, wearing only her pink hotpants, her ruddy tits swaying with each drunken step, who led the way. Heading through to the equally large living room, she was followed by Frieda and then Michaela, each girl linking hands, with Ingrid bringing up the rear.

In addition to polishing off four bottles of wine over the course of the evening, the merry foursome had consumed the better part of a bottle of amaretto, the sweet liqueur serving as both dessert after the perfect pasta and further fuel for their increasingly lewd and bawdy conversation. Nothing was off limits between the four free-spirited women, especially when alcohol was involved, though Ingrid, the slightly more sober of the four and mindful not to disturb Felix, did feel the need to hush their loud chatter from time to time.

Now, as Michaela, usually so graceful and sure-footed, tripped on a rogue baby toy and almost brought them all tumbling, letting out a surprised, girlish squeal, it was Frieda who, in mock chastisement, met her with a theatrically big "Shush!" followed by an equally exaggerated whisper of "Don't wake the baby", bringing an outstretched finger to her lips.

On they lurched, tiptoeing as best they could, the beautiful lounge now opening up before them. Until their attempts to be quiet were again undermined, this time with a sharply hissed "Merde" from the front of the procession.

"I forgot to bring down the lube", Odette rasped.

"I'll go get it", Ingrid shot back, letting go of Michaela's hand and, grabbing the wall for support, headed as smoothly and as silently as she could up the floating staircase. The thuds that followed indicated that even she was quite drunk at this point, the stairs suddenly presenting a rather tricky obstacle.

As the intrepid redhead slowly stumbled upstairs, her wife nabbed Michaela's free hand and the remaining trio continued into the living room, Odette directing their path into the centre of the vast space where a large, ornate mosaic rug sat, its criss-crossed gold and black lines interwoven with white floral and green leaf patterns. The statement piece had cost a notch under 10,000 euros and, until the arrival of the Miró, had been easily the most expensive piece of decor in the house. Now, it would serve as a suitably decadent tableau on which to fuck.

Settling down heavily onto her back, in the middle of the rug, Odette pointed her feet into the air, legs fully straight, beckoning the two similarly inebriated guests, who were already busily snogging, to help her out of her hotpants. When she failed to attract their immediate attention, she cleared her throat impatiently, summoning the tittering pair to attend to her needy arousal.

Frieda was first to respond, pulling out of her girlfriend's clinch and meeting Odette on the rug. Sitting cross-legged above the raven-haired girl's head, she leaned slowly down to place a hand over her rock-hard, gemstone-adorned left nipple and a wet mouth on her lips. Sharing her warm saliva, and that of Michaela.

Who soon joined the fray, kneeling down before the Frenchwoman, tugging on the sides of the lace hotpants and swiftly pulling the garment away, pantyless bush and rapidly wetting pussy immediately coming into view. As soon as the small shorts cleared her burgundy-painted toes, Odette opened her thick, tautly stretched legs wide, spreading herself fully and unashamedly. The naked woman knew exactly what she wanted. The attending couple both knew too, as she had made her intentions abundantly clear during the course of the lurid dinner conversation.

Nonetheless, with Michaela shuffling forward, the front of her black and white striped midi-dress lifting as her thighs settled beneath Odette's lower back and the Frenchwoman raised her body, glutes and belly and cunt and taint all now directed upward, the wanton girl took a firm grip of her right wrist. Guiding it assertively, she issued a single-word command.

"Ass."

"You sure?" whispered the kneeling older woman, her eyebrows raised. "We don't have any lube yet."

"Oui, I'm ready", Odette purred, breaking free from Frieda's lips for just a few seconds. "I'm wet enough."

It was true. Not only was the girl's vulva drenched in its juices, but a significant amount of her ooze had already seeped down the narrow strait of her taint, her pink asshole noticeably slickened and visibly relaxing before their eyes.

Ever since she was first fisted a decade prior, on a secluded Côte d'Azur beach near the town in which she had grown up, Odette had adored the intense, hot feeling of a full, planted hand in either of her holes. She'd found this new dimension to her sexual escapades altogether addictive, and it was something that she often craved. She didn't mind too much whether the hand belonged to Ingrid, or an eager employee, or a willing client such as Edgar or Nathalie, or even one of the several random fucks with whom the very busy, and unapologetically slutty temptress would engage in an average month. Though, of course, she loved her wife's hands the most.

And while she usually insisted on proper lubrication, she had on several occasions gone without, including in her well-practised asshole. In some ways she preferred to go dry. Extra intensity. Extra heat. And Michaela had such thin, delicate hands. She could feel the woman's slender fingers now, poised on her willing rear entrance, about to part her. And she could. Not. Wait.

So she could hardly help but let out a disappointed sigh when, after a series of fresh thuds and heavy footprints bounding down the stairs, Ingrid hastened into view.

"Okay ladies, I've got the lube, don't start withou-"

Looking up instantly to meet the redhead's gaze, and with her right hand held incriminatingly against the supine Frenchwoman's anus, Michaela winced apologetically. "Sorry hun, your wife insisted."

"Can't say I'm surprised", Ingrid shot back, flashing a withering look to her impetuous, thottish belle as she pushed the double doors ajar behind her. "My girl doesn't mess around, does she?"

With the rather voluminous tub of gel in one hand, the ginger girl joined the others on the carpet. Nobody had yet commented on the rather large item around which her other arm was tightly wrapped, its mass squeezed against her left boob. Until Frieda, her tongue and both hands now fully occupied with Odette's own hefty tits, glanced across at the redhead and gasped.

"Jesus fucking Christ! How big is that thing?!?"

Ingrid ignored the question as she set the massive, heavy item down on the floor, even as Michaela, taking the large tub in hand, clocked the implement and puffed out her cheeks in a manner that was a little surprised, but not completely. After all, nothing about these two incredible girls truly shocked the older woman any more. Least of all the ardour with which the redhead was already pulling at the hem of her dress, lifting it in a few short seconds above her waist, above her pert boobs. The slim brunette raised her arms and soon the garment was off, her body fully nude.

Now free of her frock, the desensitised 43-year-old quickly slathered her right hand with lube, squeezed her fingers together and, returning her focus to Odette's yearning ass, pushed swiftly and surely in. Eliciting a small, pleasured moan that grew steadily as the Frenchwoman, now gripping her arm, fed more of the appendage into her sloppy hole. Wrist. Forearm. Stopping only as the bump of the elbow approached.

"Whoa", Michaela mumbled as nearly half her arm disappeared into the dissolute girl, their gaze meeting. Odette's grey eyes betrayed no pain or discomfort, only impatience for more.

Now wrapping her fingers around Frieda's left hand, the fist-hungry cocotte calmly issued her next order. "Pussy."

The German, who had fistfucked her boss many times down the years, needed little encouragement and moved keenly around Odette's splayed body, settling on her knees just south of the woman's open legs, alongside Michaela.

Spreading a big scoop of the clear, cool gel from the open tub around both sides of her hand, and up and down her fingers, Frieda looked deep into the receptive girl's eyes as she slowly slipped all four fingertips beyond the warm, lolling folds of her vulva. As the full length of her digits swept easily in amidst her parting slit, the girl's eyes narrowed, not into a wince but into profound satisfaction. The ends of her mouth curled upward as she mewed softly, wordlessly pleading for more.

Feeling no resistance from the girl's loose interior, and the delicious imprint of Michaela's hand against the thin vaginal wall, the eager blonde carried on pushing, her entire hand now within the groaning Frenchwoman, deep in her cervix. The first small trembles tickled her wrist and her slightly chubby lower arm, the pale little hairs starting to rise on end, goosebumps forming.

Frieda was now profoundly aroused herself, and happily sighed at the steamy breath on her shoulder and the unmistakeable, northern English lilt of her other boss whispering. "Mmmmmm, she likes that. You're fisting her so nicely, Frieda, look at her squirm..."

She then felt the cool glide of fingers on her nape as Ingrid untied her halterneck, the front of the dress falling away. Next the zip, speeding down her lower back. Finally a tug at her wide hips, the full garment now dropping to the floor around her planted knees.

Turning her head to the right, she joined mouths with the redhead, the steamy wet kiss further rousing her damp, thrumming pussy. As did the movement of the Englishwoman's hand as it reached around her left side, its destination obvious. Closing her eyes, she smiled as she soon felt her moist cunt being caressed. She recognised Ingrid's fingers, but could also sense thin, manicured digits that she knew even better. Instinctively she reciprocated her girlfriend's gentle fingering, slipping her right hand down and into the graceful brunette's equally bare, still slightly puffy and decidedly sodden cooch, meeting the redhead's other hand there.

Now, as her clit tingled at Michaela's ever-tender touch, and her pussy began to ache for more of the rapid frigging that the flame-haired vixen behind her was continuing to deliver to both women, Frieda's moans grew louder and more urgent. So did Michaela's, the two visitors to this shamelessly sex-filled Italian farmhouse gasping together as they were brought closer to climax, almost forgetting that they each had a hand, wrist and more buried deep inside a writhing Frenchwoman.

Swapping frenetic, passionate snogs with each other and with Ingrid, their fingers playing out a rising symphony on each other, it took only a couple of minutes for both Frieda and Michaela to begin quaking, peaking in unison as if sharing the delicious orgasm, as if plugged into the same closed circuit, the surging current coursing through their bodies as one.

"Mmmmmmmm, yummy", the German girl giggled to her equally satisfied lover, a little lightheaded, the high of her orgasm mixing with the alcohol that was still sloshing around inside her.

The pair's giggles grew as they heard a sharp "Hey!" from beneath them, followed by an exasperated rebuke.

"You're supposed to be fucking me!"

Together they now gazed at Odette, still tugging desperately, and somewhat forlornly, on their inserted forearms, grinding her upturned body needily, twisting and buckling and pining for further ravaging. Her legs were still impressively taut, holding in almost a full split and, though each of her holes was obscenely stuffed with nearly half a girl's arm, she clearly had room and desire for more.

"Okay, my love, time to really stretch you out", Ingrid averred, matter-of-factly, switching her attention to her demanding spouse.

"Thank fucking god", came the impatient refrain.

"Can you pass me the lubricant please, Ms Dern", requested the redhead in pretend formality, as she pulled her tunic all the way up. The thin vestment turned inside out as she worked it clear of her shoulders, her head reappearing above her naked, heaving chest as the dress slipped off of her arms. She nonchalantly scrunched the pale cream garment into a ball and tossed it across to the large sofa, a few feet to her right. She was, of course, every inch as bare underneath her outer clothing as the other girls. None of them had bothered with underwear. Not in this heat.

"Certainly, Mrs Gaston-Mackenzie", Michaela replied, carefully passing the big clear tub, its lid long since removed, as Ingrid drew in between her and Frieda. The glowing, well-frigged pair each shuffled out a little, making space for the ginger, who was already coating both of her arms in the cool, slick gel.

"Now, my dirty little harlot, tell me which of your filthy holes you'd like me to spoil first?" the redhead calmly posed.

"Mmmmmmmhhh... don't make me choose, mon coeur..." murmured the needy Frenchwoman. "My holes are both so dirty, they both need you right now..."

Pressing her left palm on the inside vein of Frieda's straightened elbow, and her right palm on Michaela's, fingertips of both hands poised tantalisingly at the loosened entrances to her belle's equally primed holes, Ingrid stole a quick, intensely excited gulp before sliding both of her slick hands north, her fingernails catching and scratching briefly on the depraved girl's labia and sphincter as they squeaked in, closely followed by knuckles, palms and wrists.

"Aaaarrrggggh! Slowly!" Odette shrieked as her pussy and asshole were both forced open simultaneously by her wife's thrusting hands. She'd been double fisted before, in each of her heavily used holes. But not at the same time. Not like this. She'd never, ever had four hands inside her. Much as she'd craved it, this was painful new territory.

In her wrought snatch she could feel the sudden expansion, the crammed pair of hands seemingly pushing against her pelvis. Ratcheting her open, forcing her spread and stretched pussy lips far apart.

In her equally wracked rear channel there was searing, blistering heat as her strained cavity struggled to accommodate such a girth. And an extraordinary pressure, as the simultaneous stuffing of both holes compressed the sensitive sheath in between, her G-spot being assailed from all sides, twisted and wrung out like a wet towel. As the initial burning began to dissipate, this altogether new, and unbelievably delightful, sensation took over.

Now she could feel fingers, so many fingers, pressed from all angles against her sensitive recesses, eliciting first a small flutter, then a much larger cluster of spasms, that rocked her abdomen and which the women clearly took as encouragement to continue.

"Okay ladies, can you each pull out a little", came Ingrid's soft yet certain instruction, clear over her wife's gasps and mews. "Just to the wrist and no further."

Sure enough, Odette immediately felt the still hands that had been buried deepest within her begin their withdrawal, every millimetre bringing new bursts of pleasure, making her shake some more.

Now it was her beloved's hands that were advancing, quickly, into the space vacated by the others. Fingers spraying out as she did, pressing every nodule within her deepest folds, triggering every nerve. Such was her sensitivity, she could feel the shape of each individual digit as it prodded and probed her.

"Put some more lube on, please, girls." The redhead was fully in command, coordinating proceedings with reassuring calmness.

Now Odette felt the cold of the liquid against both entrances, and its thick smear creeping in as more hands rubbed against her vulva, taint and butthole, working the cool gel in.

"And push right back in." Instant shivers as the two sloppy forearms drove back into her, rushing all the way in, filling her channels more completely than they had ever been filled. A loud squelch as the lubricant did its job. More trembling as the arms finally slowed, deep within her cervix and rectum. Feeling utterly fulfilled already, but knowing that her longed-for quadruple fisting was only just beginning, she closed her eyes and, her helpless body rocking with big, fresh tremors, surrendered happily to the orchestrated defilement that was to come.

Four arms, each almost to the elbow, were now hidden inside the quaking, ludicrously stuffed woman, all holding firm as her buttocks, belly and tits shook around them. She was making a lot of noise, too, the orgasm that was taking hold of her eliciting short, lilting moans that flittered between high squeals and low, deep sighs each time a finger was curled, a thumb rotated, a fist clenched. Like her insides were being bombarded in all directions, all at once.

As Odette climaxed, her body jerked violently, muscles tensing up. Pinned to the floor, ass and cunt still pointing skyward, hopelessly impaled, there was no escaping it, nowhere for her to go. Biting her own lip, suppressing the screams that would otherwise fill the room, she throbbed and juddered around the four planted limbs, eyes turning upward, pupils rolled back almost demonically as the Frenchwoman succumbed to the most intense of petite morts.

For the next twenty or so minutes, even after her bone-shaking orgasm, the three entangled women continued to toy with their entrapped plaything, their hands and fingers delving and frolicking deep within her. Exploring every hidden inch of her. Tickling and fondling her heavily pressed G-spot, bringing her back to the brink of climax, before easing off, adding to her torment.

They pumped her, too. All four hands, in and out, fast and then slow, heavily and then lightly. Varying their rhythm and their angles, twisting in new directions. Bending her out of shape, ruining her utterly. Frieda scooping up yet more of the lube, slopping it in around each of the rapidly plunging limbs. Michaela placing her free hand on the girl's obscenely bulging belly, the presence of the invading hands monstrously apparent as they slammed each time against the roof of the besieged girl's cervix.

Looking down the length of her trashed body, to the disgraceful sight of her own abdomen being pummelled into new shapes, Odette was panting fast, each puff shortened by the intense pressure now on her diaphragm. Her cries quickening as the tempo and her breathlessness mounted again, every one of their thrusts rippling through her.

It felt like she was being torn apart. Demolished. Obliterated. She'd been relishing the prospect of this monumental fucking all evening. Then, with the initial pain, she had wondered whether she'd bitten off more than she could chew. But when that first glorious orgasm had hit, any doubt in her mind had instantly dissolved. This. Was. Amazing.

Her pussy was as wonderfully wet as she had ever known it. She'd already come once, and had nearly peaked a second time. Now she was getting close again, the pleasure within her swelling once more as the love of her life, and two of their closest girlfriends, showed no mercy whatsoever. A minute later, with her body breaking into fresh, heaving convulsions, she knew the dirty truth with absolute clarity.

The fact was, as used and ruined as Odette undoubtedly was at this stage, her once tight orifices no doubt permanently widened, her body bearing the marks of her whorishness forever, she had absolutely no regrets. This undeniably depraved occasion, and indeed her dissolute life as a whole, with her beloved and equally slutty redhead, were all she had ever hoped for and more.

With her wife's latest huge orgasm hitting its soaring, ferocious peak, Ingrid carefully began to ease her arms out from within her thrashing, whimpering belle. As her right hand slipped out of the ravaged asshole with a slimy wet slurp, she led Michaela's free hand to the gaping void and watched as the brunette dutifully pressed her fingers, palm and wrist all the way in, not stopping until her second forearm was as deeply rooted as her first. Frieda needed no such guidance, and soon her right arm had burrowed, in much the same way as her left, into Odette's capacious, pulsating cunt. The pulverised girl was still coming, still trembling violently.

"Lucky bitch", Ingrid thought. "You're not having all the fun tonight."

Her green eyes now turned to the imposingly large item, laid on its side, on the floor next to the rug, just a few feet away. Her chest and her pussy were already filling with a mixture of yearning and dread. No matter how many times she used it, and she'd used it countless times now, she still wasn't exactly used to it. There wasn't really any getting used to it.

Taking the remaining lube with her, she shuffled across on her knees, approaching the bright red monolith with the reverence it deserved. Placing it on its end, marvelling as it stood proudly before her. Kneeling over it now, pushing it down firmly into the hard floor, its vast suction cup compressing flat against the smooth walnut planks. As she lifted her weight from it, there was a little sway at the top but its base remained reassuringly planted. Reminding herself of its plush, supple texture that always felt so good inside her as her fingers gripped its veiny shaft, she was feeling ready for it now. The dread was lifting. Above all, she really wanted to come.

Now smothering it in generous handfuls of lubricant, she licked her lips in excitement, Her crotch was tingling now, her pussy anticipating its imminent entry, but her filthy mind had other ideas. Bending over and reaching a hand down, she instead applied a generous handful of the necessary gel around and into her butthole, pushing four wet fingers straight in without hesitation or discomfort, swirling the liquid around her rectum.

Now rising to her feet, she turned to face the other three women. Odette's climax seemed to have at last begun to ebb, her quakes smaller than before, and more fitful. Both Michaela and Frieda were still focussed on the supine woman, pumping her, slowly now, and her moans were tender, honeyed and happy as she lay spread out on the rug, legs and butt at last lowered to ground level.

As Ingrid stooped atop the gigantic dildo, its full 18-inch extent pitched fully vertical, its tip nudging her primed asshole, she finally cleared her impatient throat, demanding their attention. Turning towards her, Frieda's and Michaela's mouths both opened in a shared gasp.

"Wow!" the Englishwoman exclaimed, her face breaking into a wide smirk as she locked eyes on her slutty ginger friend, whose pale, neatly trimmed pubes and glistening, fat labia were on proud display a few inches above the enormous fuckstick. "It really is very big."

The German girl, meanwhile, seemed altogether lost for words as she looked slowly up and down the fearsome dong. Though its head was mercifully tapered, its body had to be easily five inches in diameter, its girth peaking about halfway down its length. Not only was it far larger in every dimension than any real dick could possibly be, but it was bigger than any dildo Frieda had ever seen. As the realisation dawned of her friend's scandalous intent, she shook her head in disbelief and quietly muttered "No fucking way."

Even Odette, still twitching, her twat and ass still fully stuffed, lifted her head to catch a glimpse of the sudden spectacle, smiling warmly as she saw what her wife was up to.

Her girlfriends' collective attention seized, all eyes now on her, just the way she liked it, her feet planted either side of the monumental cock, Ingrid slowly lowered her hips. Knees wide apart, she opened her body as best she could as the cool, thickly slathered tip pushed against her asshole, pressure building even as her loosened sphincter opened around it.

As she squatted down and felt her rear hole quickly giving way, she stole a gratified smile. The cold, wet tip felt soooooo good as it pried her open, its pointed end easing in as gently and painlessly as such a mammoth dildo possibly can. She relaxed down onto it and, within a few tickled seconds, the first three inches had breached her entrance, the tip widening her out to a similar diameter. Secure in her perch on the giant, heavy cock, she wasn't going anywhere. And for many women, that would have been more than enough. But Ingrid wanted more.

So down she continued, actively pressing her butt down now, hungrily taking in more of the fattening, flared head. Four inches. And then, with a further wiggle, five, her extremely well-practiced butthole now stretched tautly around its huge cone. Though she was nearly at the outer limit of the dong's flared tip, its bulbous bulk now filled every bit of her extensive gape. And yet, Ingrid wanted more.

Taking a short pause, she closed her eyes and inhaled, slowing and deepening her breathing, as she always did when riding this big old thing. Gradually she felt her butt start to loosen a little more. Not just her widely dilated rim, but her full anal cavity. Her treasured yoga practice never let her down. She sank down gradually, eyes still peacefully shut, her mind fully focused on the hot girth that was creaking her open, little by little, pulling her further apart.

"Almost there, ma chérie", came her wife's softly lilting, Gallic voice, drawing an instinctive smile from the impaled redhead. As Ingrid opened her eyes once more, she found Odette still on the rug, though now sitting upright, her legs still open but no longer with any hands planted between them. Instead, Frieda and Michaela were sat either side of the glowing Frenchwoman, their rapt eyes all peering down at the latest outrageous sight presented to them.

The colossal rubber dick, its bulging head almost fully inserted into the lusty vixen's ruined ass. Her massive, heaving tits, flushed pink with arousal as she slowly jostled down onto her wanton skewering. Her puffed cheeks and perspiring forehead, the effort showing on her determined face. But a wide grin, too, and seductive green eyes that looked back at them without a hint of shame, filled instead with intense, guilty pleasure.

Finally, with a little grimace and a small, squeaky yelp, the unabashed woman gave one last push, her obscenely expanded butthole visibly buckling in front of her onlookers' stunned gaze as it ate up the last half-inch of the dildo's immense head. A sudden gasp followed out of her open mouth as, resistance broken, she quickly sank a full five inches down onto its long, fat shaft, her feet giving way, knocking her off her balance.

Recovering just in time, her hands instinctively reaching out in front of her and catching her fall, Ingrid let out an embarrassed giggle at the clumsy slip. She'd almost lost her dignity, after all. As it was, with the gargantuan dong still stuck fast to the floor, she was now in an ideal position to truly test her limits in front of the awestruck girls. Legs apart, hands and knees pressed into the expensive hardwood floor in front of her wracked body. Torso pitched forward atop the rooted colossus. Shoulders pushed forward, tucked in, upper arms tightly framing her buxom chest, her huge tits squeezed together, fully emphasised. Like a complete and utter slut. With nearly a full foot of preposterously thick cock lodged up her ass. But Ingrid still wanted more.

Lifting a little, bringing her ass forward and up just slightly, she moaned in instant pleasure as the cock began to glide deliciously out an inch or so, its warm slickness and sinewy feel hitting every button throughout her engorged rear, indirectly stimulating her G-spot and even her lucky pussy. Descending back down onto it, its diagonal pitch heading straight into her innermost depths, inducing new, joyful pangs. Slowly she repeated the cycle, savouring each fresh rise, each delightful plunge. Again and again.

Still wanting more, needing more, she quickened her tempo a little, and began edging down harder with each thrust. Purposefully she drew out each breath, fully clearing her lungs before inhaling, her nostrils flaring with each large intake of warm air. The evening was still balmy, and Ingrid was feeling decidedly sultry. Not uncomfortably so, but enough to add to her ardour, as if any more heat were needed. She was so horny by this stage, but at the same time was desperate not to rush. Not to come too quickly, lest the incredible sensations draw to a premature end.

The others were clearly turned on too, as they now approached her, each girl crawling towards her with intentful, piercing eyes. Letting her know that she was now truly the centre of attention, devoting their hands, their mouths, everything, in fulfilment of her acute desire.

Feeling their caress all over her body, their smooth fingers, wet lips, even wetter tongues, stroking and kissing and licking her tingling flesh, as she drove further down onto the dildo. She let out a gasp as its deeply inserted tip pushed beyond her inner sphincter, her considerably enlarged rectum completely filled. Usually she would stop at this point, the bludgeoning pain usually too much even for her to ignore. But this time it felt different. She finally felt ready. And she still wanted more.

So, ignoring her better angel, she pushed again, and felt its protrusion surge into her bowel. "Ooooooooooowwwhhhhh..." she groaned as the monstrous red phallus plumbed new depths within her, eyes widening at the altogether new sensation as it tugged on her insides, bending and twisting her interior to fit its ridiculous dimensions. She had no idea exactly how deep into her it had now travelled, though as she could now feel the balls of her feet pressing into her buttocks she guessed that it had to be close to full hilt. In any case, her stuffed canal was twitching around the enormous invader, sending her into steady paroxysms that were reverberating through her abdomen.

"Fuuuuccck, Ingrid", Frieda purred into her right ear, nibbling and sucking tenderly on the lobe. "You're a fucking outrageous slut sometimes, you know that?"

"Mmmmmmmmm... careful sweetheart..." the kindled redhead refrained between shortening breaths as her climax edged closer. "This slut... is still... your boss..."

As they laughed into each other's faces, the licentious Englishwoman began to rock once more on the near-fully inserted dong, her ass and guts filled with almost a foot and a half of the incredible dick each time she sat back onto its maximum advance. Every thick vein, every degree of its bend as it curved deep within her, ploughing her more thoroughly and extensively than any dick ever had before. Rearranging her insides. And it felt simply divine.

The orgasm was close now, the rapidity and strength of her tremors growing with each motion of her body against the massive fixture that was now, at last, completing its passage into her quivering butt. Weak at the knees, tired legs tingling as she slipped further down, her strength collapsing as she surrendered utterly, the round curvature of her asscheeks finally touching the cool walnut floor, every inch of cock beyond her defeated rear hole. It was almost too much to bear. Yet still, she wanted and needed more.

Shutting her eyes once again, concentrating her focus on the pleasure erupting within her. Drinking in the new sensation, her lower intestine warped around its supple, fat tip, her wrecked anus crammed with its extraordinary shaft. Stars forming and colours swirling on the inside of her closed eyelids like a kaleidoscope. Bangs of delirium blazing through her. Every nerve attuned to the glorious, overwhelming thrill.

Slowly she began to lift her butt from the floor, from her obscene impalement, the gigantic dick retreating just a few strained inches within her strangled depths. Wringing out still more desperately gasped pleasure. Knees shaking as every sensation coursed through her synapses, she fell back onto it, the giant fuckstick quickly refilling her core. Again she lifted, repeating the intense cycle. Faster this time. Up and down, in and out, momentum building like a locomotive as she rode and fucked the enormous beast with a savagery of her own.

To hell with keeping quiet, her soft, panting mews turned into urgent, unsuppressed howls as she ground, writhed and shook on the mammoth rubber dong, losing herself in ecstasy. Eyes still closed, she picked up the beloved, sour-sweet scent, the one she knew and relished so well, and instantly she knew where she was once again. Opening her mouth to the warm musk of Odette's pussy, exploring its enlarged abyss with her tongue. Lapping at her defiled belle, her equally rampant fuckdoll, her partner in crime.

Feeling the press of fingers on her own sopping cunt, Michaela's slender digits frisking her with remarkable skill. Grinding her swelling clit with precision, her bud thrumming to the beautiful older woman's exquisite touch.

Savouring Frieda's gentle kisses and, even more, the girl's rough bites on her rock-hard teats, her nipples and areolas aching for each delicious pang as the hot-as-fuck German bombshell sank her teeth into the sensitive, rose-tinged flesh of her enormous, heavy breasts.

And below her breasts, her engorged belly swelling to the shape of the invading behemoth, the outline of its conical head visible in her distended, reordered gut. Pushing all the way up her abdomen, the biggest of bulges showing. Like she was pregnant again.

Her sounds muffling now as her wife's hands pressed forcefully into the back of her head, swaddling her face in the wreckage of her once-pristine vulva. All she could smell and taste was glorious pussy, its delicious flavour filling her mouth, her nose, her lungs. Dominating her senses, dominating her. She felt like an absolute whore, her wife's absolute whore, Michaela's and Frieda's too, and she fucking adored it. It was enough to tip her over the edge, her inexorably mounting orgasm finally cascading over her, an avalanche of earthshaking joy.

"Mmmmmmmmpppph..." Ingrid mewed with a stifled yelp, face still planted by Odette's tight grasp, as she shook violently on the fully bottomed-out dildo, her ass pinned to the gigantic fuckstick as firmly as her face was to her wife's ravaged twat.

As the smothered redhead helplessly bucked and shuddered amid her spoiled cunt, kindling new bursts of delight in the well-fucked orifice, Odette let out a pleasured gasp of her own. Making the most of the desperate face-fucking, the Frenchwoman fought hard to keep her woman's recalcitrant head in place, ruthlessly riding the dissolute bitch until her prolonged and altogether bumpy climax finally ebbed.

Letting go at last of her fuckspent wife's clammy scalp and looking down at her breathless, reddened, gasping face, for an uneasy moment Odette wondered whether she had gone a little too far. Then Ingrid returned her gaze, with her usual warm, sincere smile and those beautiful green eyes. Eyes that, nearly a decade and a half since they had first met, still expressed the same pure, genuine love in which she had happily basked ever since. All was right with the world, even if Odette's pussy and both their asses were feeling a little sore.

Dropping to her knees, Odette pulled the incredible woman into her lips for a long, ardent, and utterly essential kiss.

"Baby, that was un-fucking-believable", Ingrid whispered as their mouths eventually parted. "Now can you help me off this thing please, I think it's actually poking my spleen..."

Part 5. Monday 19 August 2019, 9.37pm.

As she knelt fully into her prone position atop the surprisingly comfortable bondage bench, its plush cushioning and soft, padded restraints causing no hint of discomfort to her wrists, elbows, knees and ankles, Frieda couldn't help but enjoy the view before her. Even as her pussy positively dripped with excitement at the pleasure soon to envelop her.

Looking out through the floor-to-ceiling glass that fully encompassed the east-facing side of the vast, top-floor room in which she and the three other girls were now preparing for a second night of carnal fulfilment, the bare naked German marvelled at the sight of the glimmering ancient town, its lights glowing warmly against the dark blue sky.

Amber streetlamps rising in a slow zigzag up the forbidding cliff, marking the slaloming route traced by the girls that morning. Above them, the bright yellow circle of the old clock tower and, to its right, the gleaming, proudly illuminated facade of the Duomo. And in between, a hundred little lights, the town still clearly up and awake, oblivious to the filthy misbehaviour in which the bound blonde woman and her most cherished friends were about to indulge.

Frieda had by now seen these sights, these beautifully preserved buildings, up close. The girls' small convoy had ascended the narrow streets up into historic Orvieto in the late morning, Michaela's carefully driven, hired Fiat following the trail of Ingrid's stylish, yellow Mini Cooper. If the redhead was cosplaying The Italian Job now that she was living the dream in this outrageously nice part of the world, who could blame her?

They had, as promised, lunched at Odette's favourite trattoria, within sight of the cathedral. And then, after a delicious meal of local antipasti, bread and Umbrian chicken, and a much-needed nap for Felix, they'd ambled happily around the compact old town, seeing the main sights, taking countless group selfies, stopping for coffee and gelato. It had been a wonderful day.

Right now, of course, following another scrumptious dinner courtesy of Odette and yet more of the Gaston-Mackenzies' excellent wine, things were about to get even better. Frieda's ass, after all, was primed and ready for the treat ahead, her large round curves pointing up and out behind her. Though it had yet to be softened with lube, she could already feel her butthole relaxing, yearning for what was to come.

Until half an hour earlier, neither she nor Michaela had paid any attention to the closed door at the end of the upstairs landing. Their bellies full of the best lentil soup either of them had ever eaten, they had barely shrugged as the talented French chef left the dinner table, ostensibly to check on the baby. Nor had they stirred when, almost straightaway, Ingrid excused herself too.

But when the two hostesses had returned together, several minutes later, each wearing an open-cupped corset and matching, knee-high boots, and invited the two visitors to finally complete their tour of the house, a day after they thought they'd seen it all, their suspicions were at last raised. Something was definitely afoot. Especially as each of the coyly smiling girls was brandishing a black, silky blindfold.

So up the stairs the unseeing guests slowly stumbled, Frieda guided by Odette's firm hand, Michaela by the redhead's equally sure grasp, both whispering excitedly. While agreeing that they'd clearly been set up, the blindfolded couple nonetheless couldn't wait to see what lay in store. Down the corridor they shuffled, careful not to wake the sleeping baby, before a clear creaking sound indicated their entry into a new and mysterious part of their friends' enchanting home.

Having navigated the second staircase with only a few minor stumbles, their unseen sherpas steered the pair to a giggling halt. Frieda felt Odette's calm breath on the back of her neck and, after a few seconds of grappling and Gallic cursing, her vision was restored as the tightly-knotted covering was prised apart and dropped to the floor.

What she saw made the German girl's heart skip a beat and took the breath from her lungs.

The vista, of course, the hilltop bourg standing in its shimmering glory. The gorgeous, starlit night, visible across the entire length of the huge room.

And yet, it wasn't the picture-postcard view outside that commanded Frieda's immediate attention, or brought out her broad smile. Because on the far side of the huge loft room, in front of the romantic panorama, and silhouetted by a thin row of warmly glowing lights along the edge of the brightly polished wooden floor, stood an array of pure, brazen naughtiness.

To the right sat a large, cream-coloured lounger, its smoothly curving form punctuated in the centre by a single mount on which sat a tremendously oversized buttplug, of similar width to the dildo on which Ingrid had feasted the previous night.

To the left hung a rather frightening contraption, its main component a long, vertical metal beam, suspended in mid air by chains that strung it tautly to both the floor and the ceiling. The vertical beam was intersected by two horizontal bars, each of which was adorned with a succession of chunky, white straps, four on each side, enough presumably to carry the full weight of whichever wretched soul might end up affixed to the cruel device.

And in between, pointing out towards the glass wall, the low, narrow, rigidly angled bench, its raised central band heavily padded with the same pale matte cushioning as the limb restraints on either side. The same bench to which Frieda would soon be helplessly bound.

"Welcome to our fuckatorium", Odette breezily smiled as the two stunned guests took in the extravagant view. Her lewd getup, deep burgundy bodice, slutty boots and all, tits and pussy on full display, now felt entirely apt in their racy surroundings.

"We figured, with this being our forever home, it really needed a sex room, you know?" added Ingrid in her equally risqué, dark teal outfit, her eyebrows lifting with utmost sincerity as she sought her friends' agreement.

"Mmm-hmmm", Michaela concurred with a smirk. "Every house should have one." Looking around the immense space, the brunette was keenly admiring the decor. On the walls either side of the glass frontage hung several large, exquisitely framed photos - Ingrid on one wall, Odette, on the other. All nude, of course, in a range of explicit poses. In the very centre of the room, a very large, very low circular bed, adorned with a host of big, chunky pillows and sparkling, bronze embellished sheets. And high above, a subtly stuccoed ceiling replete with a very modern, very shimmering chandelier of concentric, interlocking circles.

While she didn't quite have the redhead's flair for design, Michaela knew enough to be sure that it shouldn't work, this melange of styles and elements that had been thrown together in this secret love den. And yet, it did. It really did.

Frieda, by contrast, was silent, still fixated with wide-eyed astonishment on the more lascivious furnishings. Beaming widely, of course - the voluptuous blonde had always possessed a strong kinky streak. Her mind was whirring already as she examined the three mischievous pieces of furniture. Stepping forward, she investigated the hanging beam first, prodding the tightly strung metal assemblage and grinning as it snapped back into position. Stroking and tugging on the long leather straps. She would definitely be feeling their firm grip around her thick limbs before the week was out.

"One more thing, if you can both just turn around for a moment please?" the ginger vixen bade.

Michaela and Frieda both spun around obediently to face the interior wall. It bordered the open doorway and landing, through which their hosts had brought them, laughing and staggering, up to this slutty Shangri-La a few minutes earlier.

Compared to the rest of the eclectically appointed room, its surface was surprisingly plain and empty, the off-white veneer illuminated by more floorlights that, in their yellow glow, made the absence of features rather conspicuous. As if Ingrid had, in designing this beautiful home, simply run out of inspiration at the final hurdle. Indeed the only item on the long, bare wall was a small, brushed metal panel at one end, just inside from the doorway, with a grid of lit buttons.

At which Odette now stood. On perfect cue the raven-haired woman pressed a succession of keys, their short beeps followed by a longer chirp as the keypad's lights turned green. And the wall magically opened out, its heavy bifold doors parting to either side to reveal an enormous walk-in closet. Which, as might be expected from the property's two free-spirited and now rather wealthy owners, appeared to be filled, from one end to the other, with not only a wide range of kinky lingerie and accessories, but an equally large and diverse assortment of sex toys.

Michaela blushed as she glimpsed the full extent of the hidden treasure trove, letting out a guilty titter. Frieda, meanwhile, was biting her bottom lip with anticipation as she considered which of the vast cornucopia of vibrators, dongs and buttplugs to best play with. Each of the pair recognised a number of the toys from previous engagements with their sexually fearless owners. The classically shaped, nine-inch long dildo with which the elegant Englishwoman had been so surprised, and then so deeply pleasured, during her first night with Ingrid and Odette a decade earlier. A smooth, lifelike rubber fist with which the dissolute German had been stretched out in her rear hole during an intensive period of anal training at her bosses' hands, a couple of months after she started working for Parfait.

"Pick your pleasure", Odette smiled to the rapt couple, as she and Ingrid sidled in behind them, already keen to begin undressing their guests.

Michaela was first to make her selection, quickly choosing a trio of hefty, plainly shaped but brightly coloured dildos from the extensive range. Two broad, near-three inch wide slabs of silicone dick, one purple, the other lime green. "These for my pussy and my ass. And this one, for my mouth", she added in a nonplussed, matter-of-fact manner, while pointing to the third cock, a long, cobalt blue piece that, while a little less then two inches in diameter, looked to be close to a full foot in length.

"Hure", Frieda teasingly whispered to her newly naked lover, her admiration obvious in the warm smile that accompanied the slur. The older woman grinned back in pride to her equally nude girlfriend.

By contrast, Frieda took her time in perusing the well-stocked emporium, running her hands over many of the wares as she considered the almost infinite possibilities that were now open to a woman as dirty-minded as she was. Eventually she too opted for three dongs, each featuring veins, balls and a more realistic colour palette than Michaela's.

"I would like this one, in my ass", she cheerfully declared as she lifted the first dildo from its place on the long, overfilled shelf. Feeling its firm texture and squeezing the base of its shaft, she tossed the two-inch wide, ten-inch long black toy casually to Ingrid, who flapped to catch it.

"And this one, in my ass", she continued, as her fingers ran over a second, equally sized fuckstick, this one a deep brown hue. Tickling its large testes as though it were attached to a horny man, she passed it nonchalantly to Odette.

"And this one also. In my ass." As she gripped hold of the third toy with both hands, a pale pink number whose scale was slightly larger than the others, a shade over two inches in girth and a little under a foot long, the other three women raised their eyebrows in unison.

"You know, Frieda, I remember you once telling me one cock in your ass was enough", Odette intoned, her voice lilting a little as it often did when she was surprised. She was, in any case, already reaching for the harnesses that hung at the far left end of the cavernous wardrobe.

"Must have been a long time ago", the eager blonde shot back. "Now strap me into that bondage bench over there, I need you all inside me, schnell."

Her companions needed little persuading, even if Michaela, already reclining on the bed with her three fat dildos, met the impatiently barked order with a roll of her eyes, her place in the queue having been blatantly jumped by her horny girlfriend. The brunette's own desire, to be made fully airtight, would have to wait just a little longer.

Rising to her feet in acceptance of the new running order, the composed 43-year-old retrieved the dong that Frieda tossed onto the mattress alongside her, the largest of the three, and gratefully collected one of the black, leatherette harnesses from Odette. The cheeky schlampe would be well-punished for her impudence, of that the Englishwoman was certain.

By the time her three playmates had secured themselves to their respective strapons and lubed up, Frieda had already swiftly mounted the irresistible bondage bench and strapped her ankles in. Buckling herself in for the ride, her excitement for the week's coming depravities altogether palpable. Ingrid unfolded a small canvas footstool alongside the rear of the bench, and gingerly placed the open tub of lubricant atop it.

In no mood to waste time, Michaela joined her fellow Englishwoman behind her girlfriend's impertinent ass. Without missing a beat, she took a good scoop of the cool, gloopy liquid and quickly slathered it all around, and within, her voracious lover's rapidly loosening butthole.

Frieda chimed with giddy excitement as Odette wrapped the thickly padded restraints around her planted forearms, just below her wrists, pulling the straps close around the girl's constricted limbs and pushing each prong into the tightest eyelet she could manage. She readjusted the ankle straps likewise, for good measure.

Now, fastened securely into place and awaiting a trio of big, juicy dicks into her needy ass, the naked bombshell brimmed with lusty excitement, her bent-over position and tightly shackled limbs leaving her at the total mercy of three similarly horny women.

Could she take them all? Deep down, she knew she could...

Epilogue. 11.54pm.

Cuddled up snugly in the enormous round bed, the tender, heavily-fucked couple slept soundly. With the expensive privacy glass now switched on and the lights turned off, the vast room was now shrouded in near-total darkness, and the tranquil night was delightful in its silence.

Alongside them, the two promiscuous women whose bed and home this was, who had indulged the visiting pair in their deepest, most debauched desires, were both still awake, still gently caressing each other as they spoke, softly and lovingly, into each other's mouths, their lips nearly touching as they whispered.

No longer encumbered by their fetishwear, their nude bodies were mingling happily, rubbing together in a mild state of slow arousal as they reflected on their latest carnal escapade.

Fourteen years since they had first met, nearly eleven years since they'd officially begun dating, and three years since they'd finally tied the knot, Ingrid and Odette would still often engage in such pillow talk after sex, just as they had following those first forays in the ginger girl's Bloomsbury dorm room, nearly half a lifetime ago. It was something that they still cherished, these moments that were just theirs, a part of their unbreakable bond that mattered every bit as much as the incredible fucking.

"They both enjoyed that, huh?" Ingrid smiled, pointing her gaze towards the slumbering guests.

"It certainly sounded that way", Odette concurred with an eyeroll. "How Felix slept through it, I'll never know."

"I mean, we did push them pretty hard, my love. Especially Frieda." The eager blonde had, of course, been entirely successful in her ambition to fit the three sizeable strapon dildos in her capacious butt, even if she had nearly screamed the house down during the course of her triple anal pounding.

"Oui, her poor ass is almost as used up as yours, mon amie."

"Watch it, bitch", hissed the Englishwoman, albeit with a broad smirk.

"Awwwww, you know I'm only kidding, I love your enormous whore asshole", the playful coquette simpered, her eyes wide open and exuding sincerity.

"Damn right. And how about this one?" Carefully lifting the thin, unstuffed bronze duvet cover - in this climate, a full quilt in August would be unthinkable - Ingrid reached a hand across to the sleeping Michaela, whose rear side was pointed in their direction. Gliding down her back, into the rift of her ass, bubbly cheeks parting either side as the mischievous girl spread her fingers, revealing the perfect dark circle, an inch or so across and still raw around its rim, of the once-modest woman's rear hole.

"Oui, she has a nice gape as well. And a good throat too, for a dyke..."

The pair giggled. Sure enough, the strict lesbian had demonstrated a remarkable talent for deepthroating as, aided by the girls' combined spit and a little of the cherry-flavoured lube, she had gobbled down almost the full 12-inch length of the long blue dildo.

"I guess we've kinda... corrupted them, huh?" the Englishwoman murmured, narrowing her eyes sultrily as her gaze returned to her rose-cheeked wife.

"We seem to have that effect on people..." Odette sighed, meeting her kindled vixen's green eyes with an equally lusty focus.

"Yeah. Maybe we really are a pair of whores, after all." Their mouths closed to within an inch of each other.

"Filthy harlots", the Frenchwoman teased, her cadence quickening in needy anticipation as she emphasised the second word. Even if she hadn't been horny as hell, their shared sluttiness was hard to deny. And neither girl had any intention of curbing this debauched lifestyle anytime soon.

"Filthy and proud", Ingrid smiled as she breathed in her belle's sweaty aroma. Drawing her tongue to the glorious woman's neck, beneath the ridge of her immaculately sculpted cheek, she began probing the sensitive spot, eliciting a tickled mew and quiet encouragement.

"Mmmmmmmmmm... that's soooo nice, ma chérie..."

A whispered affirmation. "God, I love you."

A hushed refrain. "Je t'aime aussi."

Their bodies pressing together urgently now, pussies saturating once more, the two free-spirited, hopelessly dissolute soulmates disappeared into a passionate clinch. Disappeared into their limitless love. Disappeared into each other.

The End.