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Harold led her through his back door, past a kitchen that still had his late wife’s tea towels, and up to a bedroom with a brass bed and floral curtains. Mark followed at a distance and settled in the doorway.
‘Lie down,’ Harold said. ‘Legs open. Let me look at you properly.’
Claire lay back on the old candlewick bedspread and spread herself. Harold knelt between her thighs, slow on his knees, and buried his face in her pussy.
He ate her like a man who’d been starving for years. Broad, flat licks, then his tongue deep inside her, then sucking her clit between his lips while two thick fingers fucked her. Claire grabbed the brass rails and howled. She came on his tongue within minutes, then again when he didn’t stop.
‘Forty years of practice,’ he chuckled, wiping his chin. Mark laughed from the doorway, cock in his hand.
Then Harold climbed on top of her, heavy and warm, and slid his cock in. Missionary, deep and slow, his chest hair rough on her tits, kissing her open-mouthed. It was so tender and so filthy at once that she wrapped her legs round him and pulled him in harder.
‘I’m going to fill you up, love,’ he grunted. ‘And then I’m going to keep you all afternoon.’
He came inside her with a long groan. Then, still on top of her, he looked over at Mark.
‘Same time next Sunday,’ Harold said. ‘But next time, I’m bringing a few things from the drawer.’
What happens next? More paths are coming soon.