I kissed down his chest, feeling his cock rubbing over my tummy, then my little breasts. When my head I reached his cock, I opened my mouth and closed...it over his knob-head. It didn’t look quite as long as Mick’s, but was quite a lot thicker, and I had to stretch my mouth to take it all in. I felt it twitch and jerk inside my mouth as I licked the smooth flesh of its head before taking more of it into my mouth. It tasted tangy – probably, I realised, because it had been buried in Miss Sharpe’s. Meanwhile she had his cock in one hand and was wanking it quickly, firmly and with the aid of oil, so fantastically smoothly. Her other hand was moving from the base of his cock to cupping and pulling his balls to tickling and lightly flicking his arse hole. Their mouths had continued French kissing deeply, urgently non-stop. She gasped, he moaned. Don’t fucking stop they murmured together. Her breath came in shorter and shorter gasps. She began to shiver, to shudder and was almost standing. The pictures were almost always accepted, no doubt more on account of my wife’s ample curves than my photographic prowess. My wife appeared in the Readers’ Wives section of the magazines as “Holly from Eastbourne”, and while both name and place were complete fictions, I shall continue to call her Holly here.It came as a complete surprise when the fan mail arrived. Oh, the readers couldn’t possibly know how to get in touch, but the magazines appeared happy enough to forward such letters as were. I heard the door to our room being opened further and then slightly closed, as they seemed to check on us before going to bed in the guest room.They must not have closed the doors to the bedrooms, however. Soon I heard more giggling and laughing, then Marie’s voice after another moment of laughing, “See, I told you it wasn’t the most obvious or modest thing to put on. Do you need some help?”What were they up to? It wasn’t like Helen to wear anything to sleep in, even on our rare cold nights..