Yummy Mummy

It’s almost impossible to gauge Paul’s reaction to the idea of sharing me with Sarah. He doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve, and he does have a habit of keeping his emotions in separate boxes (all neatly labelled with copperplate script). I’ll admit that I blurted it out in a moment of passion and had never given the idea any serious consideration, and if he’d suggested that we both go back to his place in the Chilterns there and then I wouldn’t have welcomed the idea.

Would I fuck her? It’s hard for me to say in the cold light of day. I’ve met her three times at the annual Christmas parties. The first time I was the new girl and a little in awe of my boss. The second and third times I was the girl he was fucking so all contact was limited as he shepherded her away to distant corners of the room. So I can’t say that I know her at all. I do know that I think she’s very attractive. They have two kids that I think are approaching their teens, and by anyone’s measure she’d be described as a “Yummy Mummy” or a “MILF”. Would I want to her to fuck my face or play with her pussy as I did with my colleague? I just don’t know. Probably.

I talked to Lora about this, but her suggestion was that I should keep Paul occupied while she organised some kind of lesbo-ninja raid on their house in Buckinghamshire and subjected his wife to girl-on-girl action until she came out of the closet and divorced him for millions.

However amusing my friend may be, it remains the truth that I have tasted her cunt on his dick, and I do want to experience tasting her sex first hand. In my imagination all the possible combinations involving my pussy, her pussy and his cock should be safely locked away in the wank-bank, because I seriously doubt that anything will come of it.