Part One: Four’s company? We follow the outrageous sex lives of two bed-hopping couples as they try to find love in the suburbs… whatever it takes.
When Max and Lyla moved in next door to bored bookkeeper Claire and her bank manager husband Blake, the scene was set for a series of dangerous liaisons. Before long, all four of them were living in bed-hopping, wife-swapping sin. Builder Max had even knocked down the wall that separated the master bedrooms of their adjoining houses, for a new era of four-way fun.
Lyla was proud of this double-sized bedroom. Max and Blake had – quite literally – made the bed. Max had bolted the divan base together firmly so the two halves wouldn’t slide apart at a critical moment. When they had just had the two beds pushed together this had happened stupidly often. Mostly – and, to Lyla’s mind, rather amusingly – with the curvaceous, creamy-skinned Claire slipping down the gap in a flurry of lingerie and lube. Blake, Claire’s husband, had been the one to finally suggest some kind of permanent double-double bed type arrangement. And although Lyla, who’d studied textiles at college, had always considered herself something of a needlewoman, it had been Blake, with far superior haberdashery skills, who’d found a way of turning two double mattresses into one with some strong thread and even stronger glue. Lyla had taken the sheets to her sewing machine and joined them together in pairs. The bed big enough for four was complete.
But today, more than six months after the bed project had been finished, there were only three of them enjoying the expanse of smooth cotton-covered space. Lyla was naked on her back with her boyfriend Max kneeling up behind her head. He was also naked – his hard golden body looming over her. Max was beautiful. Smooth and sexy, yet not model smooth. He was rough where he needed to be. Every proportion was perfect. Especially the proportions of his hard, hard dick, which he was fisting right now – inches above her face – as he jerked himself off. He was pinning her arms down on the bed with his big, high muscle definition knees. It didn’t hurt, but he was a big man and she couldn’t free herself.
Between Lyla’s wide spread legs was Blake. Lyla’s lover. Husband of the woman next door who was AWOL from the tableau. Blake was paler than Max. His white skin was offset by thick dark hair. He was taller too – long and rangy – but his cock was surprisingly, satisfactorily, thick. He had his hands on Lyla’s thighs. Unlike Max his grip was tight enough to be uncomfortable. But somehow, the thought of finger-shaped bruises on her upper thighs, the idea that she might sport them for days after, hidden under her clothes, made her twist and thrill inside. She was trapped by the two of them. Held firm, as Blake slowly glazed his rubber-coated cock head over her spark-sensitised, lusciously wet clitoris.
“God,” she said, almost angrily, “please, Blake, fuck me. God.” And she tried to buck her hips up to catch his cock, but his long fingers were tight on her thighs and she barely moved an inch.
Behind her head Max laughed, deep and scratchy. “You bastard. Give it to her. Fuck the poor girl.” And he took his hands off his own cock and moved to pinch both of Lyla’s nipples, hard enough that she was sure that her eyes had really rolled back inside her head.
“Dammit,” Lyla said, “you’re both as bad as each other.”
Blake let his cock slide right down the wet seam of her c**t until the head rested right at the opening. Then paused. Lyla screamed and thrashed against the hard flesh that held her prisoner. She shook her head from side to side until her black hair flew everywhere. Thick hanks of it fell over her face, covering her eyes. Max squeezed her nipples again, then took his hands away to brush her hair from her face. When she could see again he was looking down at her, smiling. He had a face like an angel. It was so filthy and wrong that someone so depraved should be so beautiful.
“Damn, Max,” she said, “make him fuck me.”
“Make him? I don’t know if I can make Blake do anything… Is that what you want though? You want him to fuck you?”
“Yes,” Lyla almost screamed. “God-fucking-dammit, Max. Isn’t it obvious?” Lyla tried to buck, but Blake’s hands still gripped her thighs. The head of Blakeip’s cock hadn’t moved – it was still resting with the tip just inside her vagina. Lyla knew very well that Blake’s cock was far more deliciously thick at the base than the head. That was the part of him she wanted to feel stretching her wide right now. “God, yes.”
“You want cock?” Max said and his smile had turned into a sneer. “You want cock do you? You want to get fucked?”
Lyla almost laughed. “Yes I do. Don’t make it sound like a bad thing. I want cock. I want a nice thick hard cock inside me right now.” Max moved his knees off her arms for a second and swung his body around. He moved from kneeling behind her head to straddling her shoulders, swinging one big leg across her body as he repositioned. Then, in breathless seconds, he caught both her wrists in one hand and lifted her head with the other, his fingers tangling in her hair at the crown of her head. There was a sudden moment of deliciously sharp pain as he raised her head just enough that he could thrust his erection into her mouth. “There you go,” he said, sliding his dick between her parted lips. “A nice thick hard cock inside you.” And Lyla was sure she would have bitten him hard enough that he could start calling himself Maxine, if that hadn’t been the exact moment Blake had primly said, “Seconded”, as he slid himself deep into her. Blake hit a viciously fast rhythm straight away. Pounding so hard she was gasping and screaming around Max’s cock. Not really sucking as he poked the blunt head of it down her throat, deep enough to make her drool and splutter.
Lyla was so blissed out she barely noticed when Max soon slid back into his earlier position behind her head and started jerking himself off over her face again. Then it was good, so fucking good, and such good fucking. Blake was a narrow-gauged man – not what Lyla was used to or what she usually picked. But he knew how to move. He knew how to piston his hips like a machine. Lyla screamed out and lifted her body higher so the sensitive spots inside her were being fucked just right. Nothing ever felt quite like being fucked just right. She’d tried to recreate this feeling with dildos and had never got close. God, but she loved cock. She loved getting fucked.
Blake leaned down closer. She pulled her legs up behind his back then lifted one higher and hooked it over his shoulder. He knelt back up a little, straightening his back. He kissed her instep as he took hold of her raised ankle then drove into her hard, his bony pelvis smacking against her flesh. She yelped and then moaned as, behind her, the half forgotten Max leaned forwards and caught Blake behind the head, still with his other fist tight around his cock. Max drew Blake close and began to kiss him. A hard vicious snog between men, while Blake still fucked and Max still jerked and Lyla shoved both hands – now released from Max’s grip – into her pussy and stroked herself to the rhythm of everything else in the throbbing, pulsing, sex-sodden knocked-through bedroom.
Trouble In Paradise
Blake Oberlander was a bank manager, occasional transvestite and a man who knew what he loved. Two of the people he loved most in the world were here in this room with him, basking in the afterglow of some very good mid-week sex. He turned his head one way and then the other through his half-closed eyes looking first at Lyla with her dark skin and dark hair and the longest eyelashes he had ever seen. She had Max’s dried come on her face and in her hair. Then he looked at Max himself, naked, such a wonderful concoction of hardness and angles and curves. There was only one thing missing.
Next to Blake, Max sat up in bed, rolling away slightly so he could grab a cigarette from the bedside table. It always jarred Blake to see Max smoking. Smoking seemed somehow like something everyone else he knew had left behind in the previous millennium. With an exuberant exhalation of blueish smoke, Max said, “So, Blake, where’s the lady wife this evening?”
Blake felt Lyla shifting next to him. “Max,” she said, soft but firm. Because Lyla knew (and Max knew, too) that Claire just hadn’t been around much lately. She was opting out of spending time with the three of them more and more. Claire who had been the first to show interest in the new neighbours, especially the beauteous Max, had been the first to drift away too. On the rare occasions she did join them, she hardly ever slept in the big bed any more. One of Blake’s greatest pleasures was spending the night with all his lovers, but Claire usually crept away to the next bedroom where the wall that divided their place from Max and Lyla’s was still firmly in place.
“Don’t answer him, Blake. I’m sure she’s just busy tonight, isn’t she?” Lyla said.
“Always busy these days,” Max said, “I miss that fucking ski slope of a body of hers.”
“Max!” Lyla said. Blake couldn’t tell if she was annoyed or hurt.
Blake shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know where she is. She was out all day on a training course but I’d have thought she would have been back by now.”
Giving Into Temptation
A few hours earlier Claire had been walking home from the bus stop after her very boring bookkeeper training course. She turned into her street and looked up at the bedroom windows of her house and the house next door. Both bedroom lights were on. The curtains were drawn. Enough to hide anything that was going on inside the room from passers-by, but not so diligently that thick slices of warm yellow light weren’t clearly visible from the street. In fact, Lyla and Max’s side didn’t even have proper curtains at all. Lyla had hung up two mismatched kilims. They looked nice from inside the room – if you liked that sort of thing, Claire didn’t – but from outside the scruffy backs of the rugs looked a right state. Claire was glad that no one outside could tell that the scruffy rug room was part of the same bedroom where own her neat haberdashery hung.
And wasn’t Max the thing. Claire was sure she would never have agreed to all of this if, after that first night all together, when she had come home to find what had been done to her house and was beckoned into bed by her smiling husband and next door neighbours, Max hadn’t taken her down to the kitchen on his side of the house and fucked her over the kitchen table. His big dick had pounded into her in her favourite position until she hung right on the edge of orgasm. Then he had withdrawn and bitten her ear as he said, “So, baby, how do you want to come?”
“With your cock inside me,” Claire had gasped. “And your thumb on my clit.”
As Max had done what she had asked and slipped back into her, reaching around to put the extra pressure where she needed it, he had whispered, “You’re going to love this baby. You’re gonna get to come like this every night.”
And Claire had screamed, “Yes, yes”, right into her tumbling orgasm. As she felt her breathing speed up at the memory, Claire let her gaze drift over the road to where Dan, the 19-year-old son of the middle-aged couple who lived opposite, was coming back from a hard day’s gardening in the sunshine. He’d only started his business a couple of months ago, but the weather had been hot and the work had clearly been hard. His rangy body was darkly tanned and wreathed with sinewy muscle.
The trouble with Max was that he did think he was the sexiest bloody man alive. He was fit, sure, but he wasn’t quite as hot as he thought he was. In fact, Claire thought to herself as she started to cross the road he wasn’t even the hottest man in the street…
Read Part Two of Semi Detached.
