Mrs Jordan's Wedding Ring

Mrs Jordan blurted a laugh, one hand reaching for her husband's hard-on. Then she jacked at his cock and twisted to look back at me. "Don't stop," she hissed, eyes glazing. "Don't you fucking dare stop doing it."

So there I was with my cock inside Mrs Jordan, her husband facing me in the most surreal and unnerving experience in my life to date. I could only look at him in snatches, my eyes sliding anywhere except on his face.

Once, when he caught my eye he smirked and nodded and said, "Go on, son. Give the missus the good news." Then he winked at me again, even clicking his tongue off the roof of his mouth, adding, "She's sexy, eh? I bet a young 'un like you never had anything like her on your cock. I can tell you, I was hard as iron when I spoke to her yesterday. The dirty mare told me all about you."

I couldn't respond. No reply seemed apt, and it didn't seem appropriate to reach across his wife's back, a hand extended for him to shake while thanking him at the same time.

So I did the only thing I could and dug my fingers deeper into Mrs Jordan's hips, fucking into her harder.

"Oh, God, yes," the woman mumbled around a mouthful of cock. She gasped and swivelled again, a hand yanking at her husband's length while she gaped back at me, eyes glazed. "That's it," she whimpered, buttocks shivering, her pelvis thrusting back to meet me. "Go hard. Go deep. Fuck the ruddy arse off me!"

"Ah shit," I heard Mr Jordan mutter, and when I looked up at him I saw his face all twisted. He had his dick in his hand and was tugging at himself, the wet bell-end squelching as he wanked. "Jenny," the man grunted. "Aw, fuck, Jen..."

Mrs Jordan turned back to face her husband, her lips pursing over the end of his dick. Then I heard the man grunt again, a low hiss of air following before his whole torso wrenched forward, head lolling.

When the muffled squeals came from Mrs Jordan I realised her husband was squirting jizm into her mouth, those weeks on the rigs with just his hand for solace in no way comparable to his wife in the flesh.

"Fuck, I'm coming too," Mrs Jordan mumbled next. "I'm there ... I'm fucking there..."

I knew the woman had been rubbing at her clit while I fucked into her. I could feel the occasional nudge and scrape of her as she worked herself to her climax, the shock at her husband's appearance delaying my own orgasm.

Mr Jordan slumped onto the foot of the bed, trousers round his knees, his eyes on his wife while she bucked and writhed and squealed.

"Go on, Jen," the man muttered, his attention fixed solely upon his wife. "Go on, girl. Let it all out."

"Spunk," Mrs Jordan burbled, collapsing forward, my cock slipping from her puffy-lipped sex. "More spunk," she gasped, clambering around on hands and knees to face me. She took hold of my cock and began to tug, her tongue swirling around the knob-end. "Come for me," Mrs Jordan mewled, eyes blazing with some inner desire.

The sight of her – hair dishevelled, jizm smearing her chin, the zealot's fire in her eyes – sent a surge through me. The fact her husband was sitting right there on the bed watching faded from my thoughts, all I could see was Mrs Jordan and her left hand working the shaft of my dick.

"Are you gonna come?" the woman mewled after a minute or so of frantic yanking and sucking. "Tell me when it's on the way. I want to know..."

"Fuck..." Mr Jordan breathed from the touchline.

"Is it here?" his wife yelped. "Is it?"

I groaned and gasped when I felt the stuff fizz through my cock.

"Mrs Jordan," I moaned. "I'm--"

And then it was spitting out of me, squirt after squirt of semen. I watched the first jet hit her right between the eyes, jizm sliding down one side of Mrs Jordan's nose before she shuffled about and repositioned herself on the bed. Then, when she had herself set she aimed the outpouring at the back of her left hand, spunk spattering against her wedding band, semen coating the rock on her engagement ring.

"Cum," Mrs Jordan crooned, her eyes locked on where my cock still dribbled the hot stuff onto her fingers. "All that spunk," she purred. "Look at it," she said to her husband, holding up her hand, ejaculate sliding down over her wrist.

Then, in one of the most lewd displays I've ever witnessed – and I've still yet to be stirred on such a primal level as I was that day – Mrs Jordan locked eyes with her husband and licked semen off her wedding band.

"He's come a gusher," Mrs Jordan mewled, tongue lapping. "So much spunk..."

I could see the man's expression and thought I understood how he felt: the look on his wife's face when she licked jizm from her wedding and engagement rings was something almost feral. It was fingers pushed into my vitals, twisting and pulling at some elemental place while lust exploded anew, my cock undiminished despite pumping my balls dry.

Ignoring Mr Jordan completely, I dragged his wife around and forced her onto her back. The madness was on me, insanity: I was crazy with desire for Mrs Jordan. I needed to possess her body; I had to be inside her.

"Oh my God," the woman squeaked when it dawned on her that I was going to fuck her again. She squirmed her rump against the bed, feet coming up, legs folding at the knees as I settled between her thighs and sank in.

I stayed up on straight arms so I could watch the piston of my cock coming out of her all greasy with our desire, Mrs Jordan mumbling, tits rolling while our pubic bones collided with a solid thump-thump-thump.

On one occasion, while his wife squealed and fingered her clit – with her cum-smeared left hand of course – Mr Jordan looked on, face slack, a hand fiddling with the flaccid giblet poking from his lap.

I came again, probably dry this time, or perhaps I squirted some potato water into Mrs Jordan – I don't know. But I do know she came with me, thrashing and gasping and begging me to kiss her mouth.

When I rolled off Mrs Jordan her husband had coaxed his cock into a fresh erection, which he then pushed into her, the woman's grunting beginning anew.

I left them there, rutting and gasping and lost in one another, sensing their need for privacy after such a homecoming. I'd let them love in their own way, with no doubt in my mind I'd be invited into that house again.

More time with Mrs Jordan and her wedding band.