I check the GPS co-ordinates I was given, and I’m definitely at the right place. It’s a somewhat derelict office building in downtown Jhb. I walk in, and am met by three people. I assume them to be a couple, in their early to mid fifties, and an estate agent lady. I feel somewhat under-dressed in my jeans and t-shirt, but that is my standard work dress. It is, as it is. The estate agent’s layered dress is, in my opinion, just flirting with the naughty side of short, for the current weather..... We move through the building, the estate agent extolling the virtues of the location and square meterage, blah-blah-blah....I’m bored to tears....I’m there to quote on their security requirements. We eventually end up in a sunlit courtyard. The only item of furniture is a wooden picnic style table/ bench set-up. The couple sits on one side, and the agent on the other. Being quite short, and not knowing exactly where I fit in, I remain standing. The gentleman places his hand on his wife’s thigh. I start thinking how this gesture can mean so many things; to a long-married couple, it’s a sign of possession, comfort, and re-assurance. To people who have just met, an overt and most probably invasive gesture. The husband starts talking about a recent trip they had to the Seychelles, and it becomes clear that he is a property magnate of some standing. He is talking about their villa, and a party they had there. I watch as the estate agent gets drawn into his narrative. Both women are attractive. I’ve never yet met a woman who is not. Some women just like to dress up, and avail themselves to their sexuality, and some dress down to it, attempting to hide from it. But, in my mind, all women are divine sexual beings. I look at the wife. Her clothing, jewelry, make-up. Nothing pretentious or ostentatious. He has an old-school (obviously private school) accent. These people are old money. I see that his hand has moved up his wife’s thigh. He is stroking her in the most discreet manner. Only his hand and fingers moving. And almost imperceptibly, I watch as the colour rises on her neck. I feel a familiar twinge in my groin, and glance over at the estate agent, noticing that her knees have slightly spread, having been completely immersed in the husband’s story. There is absolutely no way that she could see, what was happening beneath the table, across from her......yet, her growing arousal was appreciatively noticeable. I take in her features. She is pretty. Maybe mid to late 40s. She is being drawn deeper into the husband’s story. She glances toward me, and for a fleeting second glares at me, accusatory and combatitive. The “I caught you staring, don’t fuck with me” look. Almost immediately, she starts to smile disarmingly, and asks me to sit. “You won’t grow any taller by standing!” I slip down on the bench next to her. I feel her hip and thigh against mine. I can hear the hum of the words, and feel the vibe of the banter, but my mind is on the dynamic playing out between us. The husband knows that I play. We have spoken before. It’s quite obvious that his wife is a willing participant. But the estate agent? This is an enigma. Has she also been paid to attend this meeting? I move slightly away from her, but ensuring that the physical bond between us, is not broken. I feel her leg moving with mine. Only our knees are touching. Her knees spreading. I ask her if I may borrow her lighter. She slides the lighter toward me. Her eyes locked on mine. Only the top of the lighter is protruding from between her index and middle finger. Covering and protecting her assets. I glance over at the husband. He and his wife are both smiling. I realize now, we are all playing a game. I’m the hunter, and the estate agent is my quarry. But yet..... The husband is the circus owner, and his wife is the ringmaster. The two women are feeding off each other’s arousal. I am, in effect, a caged lion. I run my hand over hers, gently but firmly pressing her fingers apart. In exactly the same way as I intend to press open her labia lips. My piercing blue eyes boring straight into her, as I feel her submit and the grip loosen on the lighter, allowing me to slide it out from beneath her fingers. I light my smoke and slide the lighter back beneath her fingers. Her palm trapping the lighter, like a tight and excited vagina. I seductively push the lighter back into her hand, and feel the tremor in her thigh. The lighter pushes up against the ridge of her palm, and I apply just the slightest bit more pressure. If she is using her hand as a beckoning assimilation of her sex, I want to leave her with no doubt that I will fill her completely. The husband is telling us about his wife and some beach bronzed youngster that they had met. His story has become quite graphic and erotic. His wife, I’m sure, by now soaking wet, is smiling serenely at the pleasant memories. We finish smoking, and the husband says that he wants to show us something. We follow him. He and his wife, hand in hand, the estate agent lady behind them, and I am, respectfully, a few paces behind. My gaze is drawn admiringly to her buttocks, swaying beneath her dress. I am so drawn to more mature women. Physically, things are not as picture perfect as they were 20-30 years ago, that is what age does to us all. But the encyclopedic sexual knowledge that comes with those imperfections of age, is mind blowing. We walk into, what I can only assume to be, the remnants of a boardroom. It is faux-Edwardian; dark wood paneling, a crappy dark red patterned carpet. Really not my style at all. But, looking down at the carpet, I can’t help but wonder how much semen has been spilt there.... The husband looks at me, and, as if reading my mind, says “Not here, young man”. He walks over to a panel, and by pressing it, pivots open a door. The realization dawns on me, that, at least he, has been here before. We enter a room that has a large, heavy desk, a leather couch, and various pieces of equipment, that I can only assume to be some type of weird BDSM set-up. The wife walks over to the desk, places her hands on the top and slowly lowers her upper body onto it, holding onto the opposite edges. He lifts her skirt and shows us her perfect buttocks, clad in a classy black lace panty. He runs his hand appreciatively over her creamy, glowing orbs. Suddenly, quickly, he smacks her. The stroke is neither aggressive nor particularly sore. With an “Oh,my....”, the estate agent sinks onto the armrest of the couch, a leg draped on either side. I can see now that she is wearing suspenders. I feel my manhood starting to grow. The husband catches the crotch of his wife’s panties in the crook of his finger, and pulls the material up slightly. We watch as her swollen lips envelope the soaking material. I marvel at his mastery, not having much experience in this form of play. In a low voice, he starts talking to his wife. Reminding her of her guilty pleasures, how naughty she has been, and that now she needs to be punished . All the while maintaining the pressure between her thighs. I imagine the delicate pressure of the material on her little button. Of her exposed and compromised in front of two strangers. I hear the estate agent draw her breathe in deeply, and feel her finger grip one of the belt loops on my jeans. I half turn toward her, and feel her fingers on my belt. My rigid member is straining against the front of my pants. My hands are on her shoulders as she quickly releases me. I feel her warm mouth enveloping my tip. I gasp at the pleasurable sensation. Her head moves slowly up and down, only teasing the very tip of me. Slowly, languidly, she coaxes me to full arousal. We move over to the desk, where the wife is now lying on her back. I notice that he has tied her wrists to the desk. My companion slowly eases the flimsy triangle of lace away from the wife’s femininity. I marvel at the dexterity and finesse of the female touch, thinking of how clumsy and heavy-handed, us men are. I watch as one woman explores another woman’s genitalia. A fingertip gliding up and down the cleft. Lips parting. Glistening slickness, and moist sucking sounds eminating from between her thighs. Careful, considerate and consistent. I look at the husband. He is smiling benignly, and the bulge in his trousers is clearly visible. I place my hand on his wife’s breast, feeling her warm, hard nipple beneath my palm. I start massaging her upper body. My fingertips running lightly over her breasts, circling her darkened and wrinkling areolae. Hearing how her breathing quickens. Almost panting with desire. Female hands on my hips. Guiding my lower body between the thighs of another female. I feel my manhood throbbing and twitching. I want to feel that warm wetness coating my shaft. A hand between my thighs, gripping my scrotum, circling my penis. Guiding me. I feel my head being placed at the bound and helpless wife’s sopping opening. The hand cupping my most sensitive parts, both instructing and tethering me. I feel her manipulating me, so that only the very tip of me is gliding up and down the other lady’s cleft. The sensation is somewhat erotic, and I wonder if this is how women enjoy using a dildo....slowly moving up and down. Dipping in and out of her entrance. Coating her exposed sex with her own arousal. Running upwards again and feeling her throbbing stiff little tip kissing my bulbous head. My body, my cock, being used for the pleasure of another. I feel myself being guided into her. The tight ring of muscles resisting my intrusion. Waiting patiently at her entrance, as her body relaxes to allow my entry. Sliding deep inside of her. The wonderous wet warmth of her cavity. Sunk deep inside another human being. Slowly moving in and out. Hearing her moisture seeping out of her. Her groans, as I push right up to the ring of her cervix. The sensation of another hand between our grinding bodies, the other hand on the small of my back, dictating both rhythm and depth of each thrust. Expertly manipulating each other. I watch him unzip his trousers. He is standing there, his throbbing cock inches above his wife’s face. His hand moving up and down his length. I see his pre-cum starting to ooze out of his eye, as I am busy fucking his wife. A writhing mass of humanity. Each moving to his or her own pace, yet, somehow we are all in unison. All feeding off each other’s desire. I feel the woman beneath me start to spasm in the first throws of her ecstasy. I thrust harder and deeper. Wanting her to feel the length and depth of me, buried inside her. I want to stimulate her every nerve. I want her to explode beneath me. Feel her hips bucking up beneath me, trapped between the desk top and my hard masculine thighs. Hammering into her. Driving her to her peak. Feeling her liquid heat gush out of her. Trickling down her thighs, and pooling beneath her frantic ass cheeks. Coating us in the heady scent of her sex. Seeing the visual arousal of both the husband and the other woman with us. Wanting everybody to live out this moment of hedonistic pleasure. As her contractions ease, I feel the hands on my hips, pulling me backwards. I feel my cock exiting. I am throbbing. Twitching. I am turned around and guided into another wet, warm and wanting depth. I put my hands down on her hips. Holding her tightly, I drive in and out of her. I hear the breathes whistling through her clenched teeth. My hand reaching forward and around her rocking hips. Cupping her sex with my hand. My middle finger probing and searching her liquid centre. Finding her hard shaft. Stimulating her manually, as my cock plunges in and out of her. I see his balls rolling up and his semen start jetting out of him, splattering his wife’s breasts, as I close my eyes and lose myself in my own orgasmic space.