1. A Question of Gender


    Date: 10/30/2017, Categories: Bisexual, Author: marlowe, Rating: 4, Source: LushStories

    her cup. “No, I can’t say I have,” he replied, catching a whiff of his fingers, the bitter smell reminding him of an old pair of shoes. “Then I must take you there one evening, as my guest. You’ll enjoy it. I know my female friends would enjoy you,” she smiled, impishly. “Emily would like to meet you. She’s a nymphomaniac who loves to fuck well-endowed men while her husband looks on. Her deep throat techniques are legendary,” she giggled. “It’s fun, you must promise to come one night. I’ll ring you,” she offered, pulling the duvet back, exposing a mass of middle-aged flesh, shuffling uncomfortably on the bed, narrowing her eyes and adjusting her plaster cast, lying on her side with her head resting on one elbow, waiting patiently for an answer. “Sorry about the leg,” he offered unconvincingly, casting an eye over her plump white body, the image bearing a remarkable likeness to one of Ruben’s nudes. “That’s okay. I would do it all over again. If I had the chance….” she said, hiding her embarrassment behind a smile, aware that she might have been a little too presumptuous. A deep sigh and a forced a smile, the cogs inside her head turning tirelessly, imagination flirting with curiosity, the corners of her mouth curling in an expression of feline calculation, a sexually neglected widow searching for the right words, looking for anything that would persuade him to come to the Brandling Club. The wheels suddenly stopped turning. Inhibitions brushed aside. “Can I ring you and ...
    arrange a threesome. In about two weeks. When my plaster cast is removed?” she brazenly asked, the shameless invitation making him cough into his cup. The conspiratorial act of copulating with women whilst husbands and strangers or even weirdo’s looked on with perverse intrigue certainly had a dark appeal, the precarious combination of deception and excitement enough to inspire an impetuous decision. “How can I refuse such an offer,” he replied with a noncommittal shrug of his shoulders, catching a glimpse of her stained knickers lying on the floor, placing his empty cup on the bedside table, anxious to be away. “Rosebud,” Sarah announced, confirming the password into the stainless steel voice box on a black painted door, the inquisitive eye of a security man peering through a viewer in the door, scanning their faces with the attention of a hawk, the sound of a buzzer and a lock disengaging from its housing giving them access into the main reception foyer. Under the humming sound of a tropical fish tank a female receptionist dressed in a white tunic with eye-watering tits and a permanent smile, welcomed them to the Brandling Club. A fat man in his mid-fifties with a young attractive woman in her early-twenties both wrapped in nothing but a towel greeted their guests in the foyer. After giving Sarah and Speed a kiss on both cheeks and an overpowering bear hug the fat man smiled cautiously at their guest before extending his hand. “Harold,” he offered, holding the handshake long ...
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