Ladies Who Lunch - Sex Stories

Ladies Who Lunch

... bringing them about. It was Vivienne's normal custom on a Friday to have lunch with a small group of five of her closest friends at one or other of their homes, taking it in turns to act as hostess. On those occasions when Alan wasn't at work, he would find an excuse to be out of the house when it was Vivienne's turn, saying that he felt rather outnumbered, however delightful the company. Friday evenings were Alan's choir nights, and sometimes he would be away from Friday to Sunday, when the choir was taking part in a music festival in another part of the country. Vivienne used to tease him about all the pretty ladies in the choir, telling him to make sure he behaved himself with all those predatory females, to which he responded that he was more likely to be found propping up the bar discussing sport with the rest of the men, and anyway most of the women were far too old, and generally overweight into the bargain. One Monday morning in early August, Vivienne asked Alan if he would like to to join them for lunch the following Friday at her friend Sylvia's house. She told him that it would be the usual crowd, but that a few of the other husbands had also been invited. Not wanting to be a spoilsport, Alan agreed, thinking that at least with a few men there he wouldn't be too bored, and that perhaps the men could escape to another part of the house for a drink or two and proper men's conversation. A lunchtime listening to gossip about the latest fashions, or the escapades of ...

... minor Royals, definitely not being his idea of fun. Vivienne had always dressed smartly for these lunches, but of late her costume had become more sexy and provocative, but Alan assumed that this was just because she liked to show off a little, and especially the way that she had kept much of her youthful figure - mainly through careful attention to her diet, and regular sessions at the local tennis club. On the Thursday evening, Vivienne told Alan that she wasn't going to allow him to let her down, and that she would choose what he should wear the next day, and that he was certainly not going to get away with jeans and a sweat shirt. The following morning Alan pottered around the garden, deadheading the roses and dealing with the crop of weeds that always sprang up when his back was turned. He had lost count of time, when he heard Vivienne shouting to him out if the bedroom window, "Alan, it's nearly a quarter past twelve, and we have to be round at Sylvia's in just over half an hour, get up here now and change." Grumbling mildly under his breath, Alan dropped what he was doing, and made his way up to the bedroom. Vivienne was sitting at the dressing table, applying her make-up, dressed in a pale cream basque which he hadn't seen before. In the mirror, he could clearly see her dark areolae, and her prominent nipples, barely concealed by the lacy cups of her bra, which made him raise his eyebrows in surprise. "You will find your trousers and shirt on the bed, my dear," she said, ...