Spicy Group Sex Erotica
"From Behind the Curtain," a voyeuristic Dirty Martini sex story by Chris Cohen
Scene, by Igor Vasiliadis (prints available at ObsessionArt.com)
My husband is a serious man. He leads a demanding life as a solicitor, and so I guess it’s difficult to be anything but serious. It’s sometimes only on weekends that he relaxes and returns to the Simon I fell in love with. Now, though, on this train, traveling through Europe, there is an excited glint in his eye, and it is wonderful to behold.
It is a wandering eye. Not just at the scenery outside, at the expanse of beautiful open greenery and landscapes. I catch his hazel eyes glancing down at my cleavage, two succulent pink globes pressed tightly together now that I lean close to him. He snatches a look at my legs, long and outstretched, naked and smooth now that I have removed my silk tights. I pull up my cotton skirt so that it falls high over my firm, shapely thighs, barely covering my tiny black panties, and I know that those eyes have followed my movements all the way to the top. I smile discreetly and plant a kiss on the nape of his neck. It is satisfying to know that my man still has a burning libido hidden away behind that serious exterior.
The glint is still there when we venture out into one of the communal areas. I watch from my seat at a long table as he chats freely with the bartender. His smile is easy and frequent and his typically tense shoulders hang loose. He occasionally glances around and catches the eye of various ladies. My cheeks burn; I think it is from a dangerous mix of pride and jealousy. This is my husband they are looking at.
He returns with two glasses of expensive white wine and sits down opposite me. His loose fitting blue shirt does little to hide the contractions of his muscular body as he makes himself comfortable.
As the train continues its journey in the darkness outside, other passengers join us at the table. We are all strangers, united as friends for the evening. Both the conversation and drinks flow. Simon is the only male, and he enjoys the female company. As he talks, I discreetly run my hand over his crotch underneath the table. He is thick, and he is most definitely stiff.
“Oh, I have travelled on this train so many times, darlings. Always on my own, but then, you never know what or who you might find of interest on the train to bring a spark back into your life.”
Nicola is a well-preserved American lady in her late forties, who gives the distinct impression that she is no stranger to money. I notice how she prolongs her exaggerated gestures when talking to Simon, her hands grazing over his forearms. She pouts her ruby red lips at him and flutters long fake eyelashes. As she does so, I slowly unzip my husband’s trousers and slip my own hand inside.
Hanna is young and pretty. Tall, blonde, and blue eyed, she is a perfect Scandinavian beauty. She has such a wonderful Swedish accent and speaks freely and frequently on a range of subjects, without a hint of concern for what others may think of her.
“More wine?” Hanna asks, words slightly slurred, filling our glasses to the top without waiting for a response. She smiles mischievously, exposing perfect, glistening white teeth. This is not all she shows, for as she stretches forward, her top loosens and her blue and white bra is clearly visible. I tighten the grip on my husband’s cock, now throbbing in my hand underneath the table.
Patricia is far more discreet, much more mysterious. She comes from France, but speaks perfect English. She is a black lady, probably in her early thirties. She has lovely dark eyes and cute freckles on her cheeks. I notice that the outline of her body, hidden away in conservative slacks and a cream blouse, looks slim and lean. I massage Simon’s heavy balls with my delicate fingers.
We stay drinking until the early hours.
When we return to our room, I make all the moves. I tie Simon’s hands to the pine bedposts with a purple silk scarf. My big, strong man is helpless to my demands. I pinch his nipples until he releases a pained scream. I lower my drenched cunt onto his cock and bounce up and down on him like a wild animal. I imagine that I am the different ladies on the train, taking it in turns to fuck my husband. The image is too much to handle. I slap his cheeks forcibly and scream out until I collapse in a shuddering heap in his arms.
On our final night on the train, we are, again, joined by the ladies. Again the drinks flow. Nicola openly flirts with my husband from the other side of the table. Her lashes flutter at such a rapid rate I fear that she will take off.
“Yes darlings,” she drawls, leaning forward and pouting at Simon. “There have been a few men on board who have floated my boat. But have any of them brought that spice back to my life? As yet, I cannot say that they have.” She releases a wicked, husky laugh.
I ask Patricia whether she has found romance on the trip.
“Oh,” she says, flashing a beautiful smile. “I like to keep my personal life strictly personal.” She raises her eyebrows as if to indicate maybe yes, maybe no.
Hanna is more outrageous. She has been topping off our glasses all evening, each time showing more and more delicious young cleavage.
“I guess you two love birds have been at it like rabbits all trip, hey?” she asks, laughing mischievously.
One moment I am engrossed in the good company, the next moment, the alcohol catches up with me. The room spins viciously. Simon escorts me back to the cabin and settles me underneath the bed sheets. I feel his lips gently pressing against my own, and then the curtains are drawn and the lights are switched off.
When I wake, the room is still filled with darkness. For a minute, I wonder where I am. I reach out to Simon, but the bed is empty. I unsteadily get to my feet and search for some clothes. I have no idea what time it is. I am still in a sleepy daze. I open the door and stumble outside.
The corridors are completely deserted. I search for my husband, but I have no idea where to look. I consider returning to the warmth of my bed. Then I hear a noise from one of the rooms. I dig my teeth into my upper lip. I know that I should return to my bed, but I am drawn by an almost magnetic force.
The door has a glass window in the centre, but there is a long, thick curtain hanging down, covering most of the glass. My bloodshot eyes peer through, careful not to be seen. I press my hands against the wooden corridor wall to prevent my legs from giving way. Inside, a lady lies on the carpeted floor, her head resting on a thick, fluffy cushion. Her long legs are spread wide, black high-heeled shoes pressing down against the floor. A matching black lace bra is pulled up over her breasts, exposing stiff, pink nipples. Her face twitches on the cushion, juddering with pleasure. A man has parted her cunt lips with his fingers and is expertly circling her erect clit with his tongue. His hands drift, stroking over the black stockings that cover her legs. I recognise the thickness of his hair, the strong ripples in the broad back. It is Nicola and my husband.
I know I should flee; run from the scene without a backwards glance. Instead, my trembling hand tentatively squeezes on the door handle. I tiptoe inside the room and hide behind the curtain, desperate to watch but not be seen. There is a strong smell of arousal in the room. Although I should hate him, my husband looks beautiful stretched out naked on the floor, his body smooth, muscular, and hard. He is too much of a man for Nicola to handle. Her long fingers tug at his hair now, pressing his face deeper inside her hot, sticky cunt. His hands have stretched out to her little round breasts, squeezing them hard, then find their way to her mouth. She eagerly licks her own juices from his fingers. There is a loud, uncontrolled moan. She must be coming. Then I realize that the moan does not belong to Nicola. I draw the curtain further apart and gasp.
Patricia lies on the bed naked, her slender legs outstretched, facing the ceiling; her feet pressed against the wall of the cabin. She is in her own zone, her beautiful body completely overtaken by pleasure. A long bronze dildo is pressed firmly into her open cunt, and it is apparent from the way that she is panting that she has just reached a glorious orgasm. She does not control the length that is forced deep inside her. A young girl lies next to her, long limbs slim, blonde hair covering her naked, pert buttocks. She is definitely a perfect Scandinavian beauty.
My husband is now on his feet. He takes Hannah by the hips and pulls her to the edge of the bed. She releases a feminine laugh, just like the one I had heard from the corridor. He takes some saliva from his mouth and inserts his fingers between her buttocks, pulling the cheeks apart with his hands. A giggle is replaced by a womanly scream as my husband’s cock pushes inside the dark hole. Her hands press against the wall for support as Simon builds a fast and furious rhythm, his cock thrusting in and out of her. My attention is distracted by Nicola, apparently not content with the explosive orgasm that my husband has just given her, lowering her sopping pussy down onto Patricia’s waiting face. The four corners of the room are filled with the scent of hot sex.
I close the door to the cabin and depart down the corridor at a rapid pace, returning to the room and slamming the toilet door behind me. I lie down in the bath, the hard plastic pressing against my warm buttocks. I feel an array of emotions. My heart is racing. My knees are trembling. I slip my hand down my shorts, and I know straight away that I have never before been so wet. I stick one hand inside my mouth and the other deep inside my cunt. I bite into my hand, my teeth digging into my skin, and reach an instant orgasm. I reach out for the showerhead, turn on the hot water, and then I gasp as it sprays over my already soaking hole. I close my eyes. My body loses all control.
I do not know how long I lie motionless in the bath, but when I finally find the energy to return to my feet, my husband is already lying in our bed. His body feels warm, his breath slow and steady.
“It happened just as we talked about, honey. I hope that it didn’t disappoint.” He rests his lips close to my ears. His words, which I remember can be wicked and wonderful, are tender and loving.
“No,” I drawl. “It was just perfect.” I reach out for his hand.
I really don’t want this trip to ever end.
Copyright November 2011, Chris Cohen.
Published with permission from author on OystersandChocolate.com. Copying or reprinting this work in part or in whole without permission is illegal.