Surrogates

‘Don’t suppose you’d be hiring, would you?’

He looked up at her. ‘Are you serious? You’d leave this?’ He gestured around him.

She swallowed hard, afraid she would cry again. ‘I have my reasons. I can do more than kitchen gardening. I’ve done a bit of landscaping myself, though I have to say the veggies are my first love.’

‘But you want to leave all this and work somewhere else?’

Just then Cook stepped back in. ‘Tomatoes and coriander look just perfect for a nice dhal, and we’ve not had a good curry in a while. Oh, and the aubergines are lovely. I’ll send you a list.’ She nestled two of the newly transplanted basil plants into the end of the basket and motioned to Simon. ‘I’ll take you up to the house now.’

He turned to Francie, brushed a fingertip over the back of her hand, just out of Cook’s view, and held her in his steamy grey gaze. ‘Lovely to meet you, Francie. I hope we can talk gardening again sometime soon.’ Then he turned and followed Cook out of the greenhouse, leaving Francie to admire the exquisite way his arse filled out the seat of his jeans and contemplate what had just happened.

Chapter Three

There was plenty of wine to wash down what Dan was sure must be far too many vegetables, though he did find the courgettes particularly tasty. Extra wine would help ease him into the night’s entertainment, as Bel had called it. She was already next to him on the sofa in the lounge, leaning over his lap stroking his cock through his trousers. It was responding nicely, with the help of a few thoughts of Francie’s lovely round bottom.

‘You like that, don’t you?’ Bel whispered against his ear, her voice gone all throaty and porn-starry. ‘You like it when I play with your cock, don’t you, darling?’

He wondered if she expected the porn-star response: ‘Fuck yeah, baby, play with my cock!’ Instead he just moaned something like ‘mmmmrrrhp’ as she undid his trousers and extricated his penis with scary long nails that always made him a bit nervous. Then she went to work on him with her mouth.

Even in his surly mood, there was no denying Bel was good with her mouth. It wasn’t long before she had him rocking and grinding against the sofa, his fingers curled in her honey-brown hair. Wasn’t it platinum blonde just last week? Who could remember from one day to the next?

She had just pulled back to lift her top over her head, when he stopped her. ‘Not here, Bel. The servants might see.’

‘Who cares?’ she said.

But as she made a second effort, he grabbed her wrist and stood, pulling her to her feet. ‘I care. Come on. Up to the bedroom with you.’ She cursed under her breath as he herded her towards the stairs, struggling to stash his erection.

Upstairs in the bedroom, he tried to pull her to him, but she shrugged him off. ‘I have to go change.’ As she trotted off to the bathroom, even he had to admit she was lovely when she was pouting. While she rattled about at her ablutions, he stripped off his clothes. He started to get into his pajamas, thought better of it, and crawled into bed in only his boxers. He stroked his cock absently as he listened to water running, and wondered why Bel could never be spontaneous like Francie was. Thinking about her, skirt up, legs open, cunt swollen and exposed, made his balls feel full and heavy, even though he’d only been with her and had a good emptying just a few hours ago. But oh God, even the thought of her with that big-arsed courgette up her hole made him hot.

Bel interrupted his thoughts as she came out of the bathroom in a very tiny, very sheer lace bra with matching stockings and suspenders. And a fucking towel! Which she spread on her side of the bed. ‘Sally just changed the sheets,’ she said. ‘We don’t want to get them messy, do we?’

‘Of course not. We wouldn’t want that, would we?’ He forced a smile and patted the bed, on top of the spread towel.

She lay back next to him, careful to smooth her hair across the pillow. Then she gave him a heavy-lidded look and began stroking a nipple to a stiff peak beneath the thin lace.

He thought of Francie’s lovely breasts, and his mouth watered. He pushed aside the strap of her bra, lifted a tit free and began to suck and tongue the nipple and areola.

‘Mmmm,’ she moaned. ‘You like my tits?’

She knew he did. When they were first married it was all about her tits, her luscious, heavy, large-nippled tits. Back then, he couldn’t keep his hands off them. He still couldn’t, he supposed, at least not when she presented them to him so brazenly. He shoved the bra down until he could cup both her breasts, then he buried his face between them. He could suffocate in their deep soft cleavage, and in the past he had done his best to do just that. He had licked them, sucked them, spanked them, pinched them and fucked the valley between them until he had exploded in heavy spurts into Bel’s mouth. And she had sucked him dry like she was a baby at nursing time.

Now, all he could think of was doing the same thing to Francie, though her breasts were smaller, the squeeze would be tighter, but he’d be slick from the licking she would give him beforehand. His balls clenched at the thought.

Bel guided his hand down between her legs, sliding his fingers into the familiar pouting folds of her pussy. ‘I’m so wet for you,’ she breathed against the top of his head. She was creamy and heavy, and her clit strained against his thumb as he probed her. Her eyelids fluttered and her breath hitched, and he couldn’t wait any longer, thinking of Francie as he was. He freed his cock over the top of his boxers, crawled in between her legs and pushed home. She uttered a little cry as he began to thrust, concentrating hard on the vision of Francie’s lovely cunt full to the hilt with the courgette, imagining it was his cock pushing into her instead.

* * *

Damn it! Bel was so tired of Dan climbing on to her silently and going at it. Oh, he always made her come, or rather she made herself come, but it was getting harder and harder not to just fake it and be done with it. She should have known better than to ask for sex tonight. She could have slept in her bedroom, like she usually did these days, and had a good go with her vibe. It would have been easier.

She wrapped her legs around his waist to at least get a little stimulation against her clit where she needed it.

‘Shall I play with your clit?’ he asked between gritted teeth.

‘No,’ she grunted. ‘No, I’m all right.’ He was getting close, she could tell. He might have to finish her off with his fingers if he came first, and she hated that. She hated trying to come with him nodding off, with his mind who knew where, but wherever it was, it definitely wasn’t on what he was doing to her. She shifted again to get more friction and gripped his cock tighter, straining from the effort of pressing up to meet him,

The thought came uninvited into her head, but suddenly it was there: Ellen with the little droplets of sweat glistening against the lovely pert tops of her breasts, Ellen with her nipples pressing against the pink French-cut T-shirt that did little to disguise her lack of a bra. Ellen missing Bel’s cheek with her goodbye kiss, after her massage, and settling it firmly, not fleetingly but firmly, on Bel’s lips. Then there was that lovely opportunistic tongue darting in to take advantage of Bel’s surprised gasp. And suddenly they were tongue-dancing, mouth to mouth, breast to breast, body to body, and Bel damn near came in her panties from the sheer pleasure of it.

Her pussy gushed at the thought and clamped down tight on Dan’s cock. He gave a hard grunt in response, and she thrust up to meet him with renewed energy.

She’d hurried away from her massage session all flustered and confused. Oh, Ellen had offered an embarrassed apology, but in the car on the drive home Bel had come, with her fingers raking at the crotch of her knickers, while sitting there in traffic, thinking about Ellen’s luscious mouth, thinking about the feel of Ellen’s titties against hers. And oh, how she had come! It had been so easy. And now, with Dan tensing at the approach of his orgasm, she thought about what would have happened if she had slid Ellen’s hand up under her skirt. Would the woman have fingered her wet pussy? Would she have guided Bel’s hand to return the favour? And what would it feel like to diddle another woman’s cunt? God, she suddenly wanted to know.

‘I’m coming,’ Dan gasped, with a thrust that felt like it would go clear through her.

Thinking hard of how it felt to come on her own fingers, knowing just how soft and warm and wet a woman’s vulva is when she’s aroused, thinking about Ellen’s sweet lips, she gripped his cock with her cunt, bore down hard and tumbled over the edge with him.

* * *

Francie would have laughed at the irony of the situation if the joke hadn’t been on her. Her bedroom window faced Dan’s bedroom window. She knew that because he told her. He told Francie that there were nights when Bel was asleep that he would stand in front of the window and masturbate thinking of her. There had even been nights when they’d seen each other, and she had stood naked, wanting to show herself to him. Oh, she knew he could barely see her at that distance. But while he masturbated, he would know that she was naked with her fingers dancing over her clit and dipping between her labia while she thought of him. And she wanted him to know that.

But he wasn’t at the window tonight. He was fucking his wife. She felt that knowledge with an ache that was almost physical. She felt it down low between her hipbones. And she was horny. It really pissed her off that, for some stupid-arsed reason, knowing the two of them were humping and grinding and grunting made her outrageously horny, even as it ripped her heart out.

She untied the knot that held her robe closed around her waist and let it slide off her shoulders. Her breasts felt heavy and full, and the cool breeze blowing in the window made her nipples pucker and stretch. She could smell her pussy, like a warm brimming tide pool. She slipped two fingers in between her folds and felt her silky slip and slide yield to the touch. She wondered if Simon had smelled her when he found her in the greenhouse, all wet and slippery from just coming. Surely he had. How could he not?

Oh God, Simon. He had made the rest of her day bearable. If Cook hadn’t interrupted, would he have fucked her right there on the staging table in the greenhouse? She wouldn’t have needed a courgette. She smiled as she thought of the size of his cock pressing so anxiously against the thin fabric of her panties. Would he have actually fucked her, though? Or would he have been a gentleman and perhaps asked her out for drinks first?

And what about her? Would she have let him take her, knowing why he was in the position in the first place, knowing that her tears and her distress had motivated him, that she had thrown herself at him like some brazen slut. And yet he certainly wasn’t put off by her advances. He seemed happy to take it to the next level. And he was a gardener. Good with his hands. She could tell that by the way he handled her seedlings. She wondered what else he could do with those lovely hard hands. Her pussy gripped and pouted, gripped and pouted against the scissoring of her fingers, and her clit felt like it would burst with its fullness.

She looked out at the darkened window of Dan’s room. Then, thinking of Simon rubbing against her crotch with his heavy erection, she leaned her back against the window frame and perched on the sill, carefully moving aside the hefty forest cactus cascading in the moonlight. Once she was settled, she lifted one leg on to the sill and opened herself lewdly, imagining what might have happened if she’d had time to undo Simon’s trousers, release his hard-on and shove aside the insubstantial crotch of her already wet panties. He was right there, so close, so ready. And she was slick and swollen. He would have barely had to do anything but shift his hips slightly. She would have guided him in, in deep and hard and tight. Then she would have laid back on the table, wrapped her legs around him and watched him through the shafts of sunlight flooding the greenhouse. She would have watched him thrust and shove and grunt until he came, until they both came, and that empty spot for Dan would somehow not be quite so empty any more. In her mind’s eye, she imagined what Simon’s lovely face would look like when his body tightened in the throes of an ejaculation. And with a gush of wetness and a shudder that nearly knocked the plant off the sill and shook her to the core, she came on her fingers, imagining that she’d been riding Simon Paris’s cock, while Dan looked on longingly from just outside the greenhouse door.

Chapter Four

Ellen Martin went to the homes of her more exclusive clients. They paid her a lot for the privilege. She was that good. But Bel enjoyed going for her massage at the health club surrounded by the sweaty metal-and-leather atmosphere of the gym. OK, it was an exclusive club, and it never really smelled like sweat, but the atmosphere was still there. Today the workout had been particularly hard. The shower afterwards was cool and bracing, but it hadn’t been enough to take Bel’s mind off Ellen’s kiss or the fact that it had been thoughts of Ellen that had sent her over the edge last night when she had sex with Dan.

She hadn’t been able to sleep afterwards, and when she finally did, long towards morning, she dreamed of Ellen. The dreams were super-heated, with visions of Bel nursing at Ellen’s lovely breasts while Ellen stroked and caressed between her swollen labia; of Ellen’s lovely mouth lapping and nipping and sucking its way down over Bel’s breasts and belly and right on into her pussy. In the morning, the need was so great that Bel had had to bring herself off while she was sitting on the toilet.

There had been no planned massage for the day, and she seldom came to the gym two days in a row, but she couldn’t resist. A little extra exercise was always a good thing, Bel convinced herself, and luckily Ellen had a light day and could fit her in.

Surely Ellen could figure out that it wasn’t a massage she really wanted. The problem was, Bel wasn’t actually sure what she did want. She didn’t want to cheat on her husband, and God knows there had been plenty of opportunities. She wasn’t unaware of the looks and the come-ons of other men. She knew she was an attractive woman, but she was also a faithful woman. Bored, but faithful. She figured if Dan could endure the boredom, so could she. And in truth she had never been tempted before Ellen’s kiss.

But somewhere last night in the tossing and turning and listening to Dan snore, before she tiptoed off to her own bedroom, the thought had come to her as clear as daylight: how could it actually be cheating if she were with another woman? There’d be no penetration, no testosterone, nothing for Dan to be jealous of really. In fact Dan, being a typical bloke, would probably really get off on the idea of two women going at it. And it wasn’t like she would actually fall in love with Ellen or anything like that. It was just sex. It wasn’t even real sex, right? It was two girls fooling around. It meant nothing really. Other than the fact that she might actually get some satisfaction that didn’t involve the same old, same old she endured with Dan a few times a month.

She would never look at another man. She took her marriage vows very seriously. It was just, well, their sex life was such a bore, and she was a sexual woman. She had needs, needs she had been perfectly happy to take care of with her growing collection of sex toys, but then Ellen had kissed her. OK, she had to admit she’d harboured secret thoughts about Ellen even before the kiss. She had thoughts of Ellen’s tight nipples popping out of the top of her vest, thoughts of Ellen’s lovely massaging hands moving right on down over her belly and in between her legs. She’d made herself come to those very thoughts more than once. But they were just fantasies. Everyone had fantasies. On the other hand, who would know better how a woman likes her breasts touched and her nipples fondled than another woman? Who would know better how a woman likes her clitoris stroked and the creamy valley deep between her labia fingered and probed than another woman? And who could possibly know what to do with her hands better than a massage therapist? Once the thought had planted itself in Bel’s brain, and between her legs, she couldn’t get rid of it.

So here she was shaking like a leaf, drying herself from the shower, but knowing even the thick Egyptian cotton of the towel wasn’t going to take care of the wet condition of her pussy. Ellen was waiting in the next room. Ellen would know what she wanted. Ellen would see it in her eyes. Ellen would smell her heat, and no amount of lingering in the shower could wash the smell of her lust away, not when she could barely stand up from the weight of her arousal.

With hands that were trembling, she tied the sash of the thin linen robe around her waist, checked her hair and took a deep breath.

She barely managed a soft rap on the door before Ellen opened it. ‘Isabel, sweetheart, are you all right?’ This time there was the proper distance and the kiss on each cheek. The massage table was spread with fresh linen, and everything seemed strangely normal, which made a cold knot tighten below Bel’s breastbone. Had their kiss meant nothing to Ellen? Had she been just a stupid, needy woman fantasising about what Ellen had already forgotten, making something out of nothing?