Milton Granby - Four to a bed

“Won’t you sit down?” she suggested, gesturing to the sofa, “and I’ll fix us a drink. Will Scotch be all right?”

Mrs. Green disappeared into the kitchen and Harry sank down on the couch. He was beginning to wonder if he should have come. His wife didn’t seem to be too worried about her husband, and he wondered for an agonizing moment if Jeff had been playing a trick on him. But Mrs. Green reappeared and dispelled his doubts.

“It was very good of you to come and see me. You know, I’ve been very lonely since Jeff’s been in jail!” she explained, handing him a glass.

“Here’s to us both!” the dazzling older woman smiled, raising her glass, and they both took a deep sip of their Scotch.

“Now, tell me,” Mrs. Green said, looking at Harry from under thick dark lashes, “how is Jeff?”

Harry, setting down his glass on the coffee table, told her all about how he himself came to be in prison, and related to her how worried Jeff was about her.

“I hope he gets out soon, Mrs. Green,” Harry said earnestly, finishing his drink. He was surprised to find out how relaxed he was feeling, quite at home in fact.

“I do too, and please, Harry, do call me Ann!” She smiled quixotically as she refilled their glasses… As the strong liquor warmed Harry right to the bone, he discovered that he really liked Ann and felt a sort of rapport with her, so much so that he began to confide in her about Sandy and the depressing line their marriage was taking.

“You see, she’s so young and innocent… she didn’t really know what to expect!” he was explaining, the Scotch loosening his tongue considerably.

“Yes,” Ann agreed, her large blue eyes fixed unwaveringly on him, “it’s really a shame. I do think that girls should have more experience in that sort of thing before entering marriage!”

“Well, I don’t!” Harry retorted with sudden vehemence. “Even if it has its drawbacks, I’m glad Sandy was a virgin when I married her. In fact, if she…”

“Oh come now,” Ann teased, “a little experience never hurt anyone. I take it you are quite experienced yourself!”

Harry found himself blushing.

“Of c-course,” he stammered, “but it’s different with a man! A man is expected to – well, to know about these things!”

“Oh really?” Ann taunted, a curious glint in her eye.

“Sure, so that he can teach his wife, show her how to respond…”

“Well, all I can say is, with all your experience,” Ann smirked, “you don’t seem to be doing a very good job!”

Harry’s face was crimson now. How dare she leer at him like that? Make insinuating remarks about his sexual ability? He had a good mind to show her a thing or two …

Ann was sitting very close to him, and suddenly, Harry felt her hand burning into his thigh. His head was spinning slightly and he began to have difficulty focusing his eyes, but he was able to determine that her face was very close to his.

“I could teach you a few things that would really help you out!” she was whispering, her lips barely brushing his flaming cheek.

“W-what?” he gasped, his mouth hanging open in profound amazement. “W-what do you mean?”

“Here, let me show you…” she breathed, and then her hand slid up the length of his thigh and brushed against the flaccid flesh of his genitals!

Harry nearly yelled out at the intensity of the feelings which coursed through him at her touch, and as suddenly as it happened, she had withdrawn her hand again and was sitting a little away from him on the couch, looking demure and innocent. Had he imagined it all? Her whispered insinuations, her lewd touch? Had his weekend in prison made him over-imaginative? What was going on?

“Ann, I…“ he began helplessly. He meant to have it out with her, get to the bottom of her strange behavior, show her that he wasn’t a puppet to be played with at her will. But somehow, he couldn’t go on. He could barely look at her. His prick was awakened by her electrical touch and was now fermenting against his thigh in an agony of frustration, and against his will, his brain was writhing with a series of lewd images which tormented him with their unadulterated lust. He felt that he must be going mad, losing his grip completely. What could he do? He should leave! Yes, he’d get up and leave right now…

Determined, he turned to face Ann, his words of farewell dying on his lips as his eyes widened in sheer astonishment and his mouth hinged open like a broken door. She was oblivious to him, leaning back against the couch, and her hands were furiously manipulating the full ripe mounds of her breasts! Harry stared in disbelief as her fingers expertly kneaded the pliant flesh through the soft cashmere of her sweater, her lips parted, her eyes half-closed and glazed with excitement. Through her fingers, Harry could see the clear outline of her nipples thrusting against the soft fleece, and wondered for a thrilling second, if she was wearing a bra. She was grinding her hips into the seat of the sofa, rotating them in a pagan rhythm of her own. He stared, mesmerized, unable to do anything but feast his eyes on the amazing sight of the beautiful woman churning under self-induced pleasure.

After a moment, her eyes opened and she was smiling at him.

“Harry, I think we can really have fun together… “ she rasped, leaning a little closer to him.

“Ann,” he said resolutely, “I’ve really got to go!” He began pacing up and down, not looking at her, determined to make his speech. “Sandy is expecting me. She’ll be worried and…

“Harry…” his name sounded hoarse and lascivious. He looked up and all color drained from his face as he saw that Ann was standing in front of him, her hands on her hips, wearing only her toreador pants and a bra. She had taken off her sweater! Harry’s eyes were dimmed momentarily from focusing harshly on the curvaceous valley of her twin orbs, creamy and full and gently heaving encased in a light red bra, a mere strip of frail lace. He could barely make out the darkening circles of her nipples through the filigree and he thought he could see them burgeoning into hardness under his very gaze.

Without a word, Ann reached back with her hands and Harry continued to gape in disbelief as he watched the soft red undergarment fall away, revealing to his startled stare the ivory globes of her perfect breasts, the rosette nipples like ruby spears at the top of the snowy peaks.

Harry was rooted to the spot, unable to move. His first impulse was to leave, not to get caught up in anything he might regret later, but somehow, Ann had woven a spell over him, and he was entangled in the gossamer of her charm, unable to break free. He was a prisoner, held by the mastery of her incredible actions. Now she was humming a little tune, with a catchy air that Harry didn’t recognize, and her whole body was gyrating in time to her own melody. Her hands had reached up and were fondling the smooth flesh of her pulsating breasts, running the brown berries of her nipples through her long sinewy fingers, drawing out their turgidity to incredible hardness. As Harry continued to stare dumbfounded, her hands fell once more and blinking with incredulity, he watched as she pulled down the side zipper and began to ease the slinky pants over her graceful hips, slipping them down past her knees, finally stepping out of them altogether, before standing there unabashed, wearing only a pair of brief red panties that matched the bra she had just discarded. Her small waist was emphasized by her womanly hips which in turn fell to shapely tender thighs, but Harry’s eyes were riveted solely on the dark thatch between her legs, barely visible through the red lace. His eyes were drawn as though by a magnet to the enticing spot, and he felt that the intensity of his stare must be burning a hole in her panties. As if thoroughly aware of his thoughts, Ann dipped her fingers inside the tops of the panties and with agonizing slowness, began to draw them down over her thighs, until they slipped to the floor where she nimbly discarded them. She was completely naked! Harry felt as if he was in a dream. He was standing in front of a completely nude woman, the most beautiful he’s seen in his life, and her perfect body matched the wonder of her incredible face. With a final wanton gesture, Ann released the pins that held her raven tresses in place and they cascaded down over her shoulders, giving her the look of a rare Renoir beauty.