Although we'd like to see them more often, we don't seem to manage dinner with Lizzie's first manager and his wife. Robert has been retired for 5 years now, so we have no contact through work functions any longer and, as Robert and Margaret lived a good distance from us since moving to the peace of the western country, it's been easy to let things slip. We make a point, however, of arranging dinner in London with the couple in the weeks running up to Christmas each year, often coordinating with their annual festive shopping trip to town.

We both like Robert and Margaret - Lizzie has known Robert for 20 years, and Margaret for much of that time. It was a standing joke between Lizzie and me that Robert had a real "thing" for her. I can understand that entirely. Lizzie is incredibly hot now, so one can only imagine what she was like in her 20s (I've seen plenty of pictures however..), especially as it was about that time that she discovered her love of anonymous sex, resulting in an endless string of one night stands which gained her something of a reputation - something Robert certainly would have been aware of.

For some reason Lizzie had never had any sexual contact with Robert back then - she'd told me the first time we were due to meet him together as I always enjoy knowing if men from her past have had her, particularly if we are likely to meet them. I have a very vivid imagination and can picture it happening. Even if I were not, Lizzie gives me as much detail as she can recall to keep me excited throughout.

We took a cab to the restaurant, Lizzie wearing very tight leather-look trousers which ended above her ankles, coupled with an almost masculine fitted shirt, the top three buttons open to the point where you could see the top of her breasts when she leaned towards you, and extremely sexy patent black heels with ankle straps. I only comment on her clothes in such detail to clarify why I had told her as she was dressing that she was likely to kill the old fella with a heart attack if she bent over anywhere near Robert. Lizzie just chuckled and said that she liked to give him his Christmas treat.

Robert and Margaret were waiting for us in the bar, their hotel for the night being just a short walk away. We hugged and told each other how well we were all looking (and Margaret certainly was aging well) and shortly were led to our table, thankfully in a fairly quiet corner as the place was full of Christmas revelers and the noise levels were high.

I sat next to my wife, opposite Margaret, Lizzie over the table from Robert. Margaret was a lovely-looking woman - high cheekbones, beautiful green eyes, and hair which, although certainly colored, was thick and shiny as it fell to her shoulders, curling slightly in a way that looked casual but which only hours in a salon can produce.

As we ate our conversation ranged over many topics, most of which none of us knew much about, of course, until, as usually happens over the post-meal drinks, we split into two groups, talking to our dinner pairing more intimately across the table to relieve the need to talk loudly over the background noise for a while.

I was staring happily into Margaret's wonderful eyes as she told me about her fitness regime - I made her blush when I told her, quite genuinely, that all the work she was putting in was paying off - her body would have been great on a woman of any age, but to look like that in your 60s was some achievement. In fact, during their trip to the bathroom, I'd noticed that Margaret, with her knee-length red dress and black heels, stockings and almost, but not quite, imperceptible knicker line (I look for these things..) - got as much attention from the men of the room as my wife did as they moved slowly past them.

Margaret was flirting, leaning in, elbows propped on the table as she held her wine glass in front of her with both hands, tossing her hair a little and getting quite giggly from the alcohol.

Sudden laughter made it clear that Robert and Lizzie had noticed too, Robert asking, jokingly, if I was making advances to his wife, and Lizzie suggesting we "get a room".

Blushing slightly, Margaret defended herself with a laugh, "Says the man who has spent the whole night drooling over Lizzie!"

A glance at my wife told me it was true, she gave me a mischievous little grin and turned her attention back to Robert.

"Keep an eye on her," Robert said to me, indicating his wife, "especially if she crosses her legs."

"ROBERT!" admonished Margaret, "Shut UP!", her hand flying to her mouth as she reddened, giggling.

Lizzie said, "OK, OK, we need answers - what's the whole leg crossing thing?"

"Robert," Margaret said, lower, more warning in her voice, locking eyes with her husband in a clear instruction to drop it.


"ROBERT," another warning, louder.

Robert, ignoring her, continued, "Have you ever heard the word Syntribation?"

Margaret made an exasperated noise and moved to rise from the table. I put my hand on hers and said, "Margaret, please stay - we promise not to laugh." Lizzie quickly agreed.

It turned out that laughter would not have been our first reaction.

"Syntribation is quite a formal word for what is, essentially, masturbating by tightly crossing your legs and squeezing your thighs together until you come. Some women call it a chairgazism."

Nobody spoke, all of us stared at Margaret, who stared at her empty plate.

A little aroused, as I could tell from her voice, Lizzie eventually asked, "And you, Margaret, you... do. that?"

Margaret said nothing for 20 or 30 seconds, then came to a decision, looked up from her plate, and straight at Lizzie.

"Yes. Been doing it for years. Since I was a teenager."

"OK - I mean, it's fascinating and hot, but - ", said my wife, still processing.

"Why?", said Margaret, "Initially because when I was growing up I had no privacy. I have 6 sisters and 2 brothers and we lived in a 3 bedroom house. My parents had zero money so we did the best we could - sharing rooms, some of us sleeping in the front room, the dining room, wherever - the house was full. I loved it, but it was impossible to be alone. If you spent more than 5 minutes in the bathroom someone was banging on the door to be let in."

She paused and took a long drink from her wine glass - the redness draining from her face as her embarrassment subsided.

"So, when I was a teenager I noticed I could get a little thrill, almost like touching myself, if I crossed my legs tightly enough and sat there wiggling my top leg a little, squeezing my thighs. I discovered it made all the difference if I trapped my knickers between my thighs, touching my. well - touching me."

"Please..go on..", said Lizzie - engrossed - her wine glass halfway to her lips and frozen there. I noticed, incidentally, that Robert was watching my wife and not his as Margaret's story continued.

"Well. By doing that for a while I could, you know, I could have an orgasm..." she tailed off, looking at a point over Lizzie's shoulder.

"Wow.", said Lizzie, "That's incredible. And hot - you're a dark horse... I assume, then, that you could do it, well, anywhere?"

"Yep", said Margaret, "my problem was solved. I could do it by watching TV, on the bus, or even at school. Much as I liked and nobody any the wiser. Changed my life. Sometimes, I still.."

"Really!?", Lizzie was incredulous, "could you do, here?"

Margaret looked shocked -glancing around her reflexively. "No! Well, yes, of course, it would be even easier with all this racket but, no, I'm not likely to do it in front of you all!"

Robert murmured, "Thought you already had..."

Margaret stared at him, open-mouthed, "Robert! I told you that in confidence, and it was years ago, really - I can't believe you said that."

Lizzie and I were very interested bystanders as Robert and Margaret faced off - eventually, Robert dropped his gaze from the burning stare of his wife, who sighed, resigned, and said, quickly, "That first Christmas we met up, 5 or 6 years ago - I was very ***** and you (she nodded at me) you, erm, were ***** too and you were stroking my leg under the table and I, well, I just did it."

Lizzie looked at me, amused, then to Margaret, lowering her voice, "And you came?"

"Hard," replied Margaret.

The effort to persuade Margaret to demonstrate her technique intensified - I was turned on by the idea of seeing it, Lizzie was, I later discovered, turned on at watching me watching Margaret come, and Robert was just staring at Lizzie, realizing she was aroused and enjoying the view.

"If you do it", I said, "we will never talk of it again. If you don't do it, we will never talk of anything else."

Sighing deeply, backed into a corner, Margaret capitulated. "But", she said, "I am NOT going to put on a show - I'll do it as if I were back in my front room full of people. It'll be difficult for you to even tell."

Lizzie nodded and we all watched the table cloth move and felt the bump on the underside of the table as Margaret crossed her right leg over her left. Lizzie and I looked intently at the barely discernible movement as Margaret started to gently rotate the ankle of her crossed leg and tapped her heeled foot in mid-air, the small movements of the table cloth and Margaret herself giving away that she was clenching and unclenching her thighs, still with her elbows on the table and, much to my excitement, still staring into my eyes.

We noticed Margaret's tiny movements get a little faster. Lizzie gently lay her hand on the bulge in my trousers, my cock hard against my zip."Look at her chest - watch her breathing.." Lizzie murmured next to my ear, too soft for anyone but me to hear.

I did what Lizzie told me and my cock jumped against her hand as I saw the speed of Margaret's shallow breaths - inhaling and exhaling with as much frequency as if she was jogging.

The glasses on the table vibrated very gently and Margaret leaned forward, clasping her hands as if in prayer and moving more weight to her elbows.

"She's close", whispered Lizzie, at the same time she tried to open my trouser zip but couldn't do it with the only hand she could reach with, so she just gripped my cock through my trousers and wanked me, fast - she seemed to have an instinct for how long Margaret had left.

As my cock began to jump, I saw Lizzie, from the corner of my eye, silently mouth the word "come" to Margaret, who may or may not have noticed as she still had her eyes locked on mine.

As I emptied my hot load into my boxers, Lizzie gripping my cock hard through the material, we both stared as Margaret finally broke eye contact, her head dropping as she looked down at the table, her hair falling onto the remains of her meal, her forearms shaking and he knuckles white where they interlaced. We could see her chest heaving and the pulse in her neck.


After a minute or two, Margaret raised her eyes, looking at both of us this time, slightly breathlessly she said, "Like that.. that's how I do it.."

Suddenly we all remembered Robert.

Turning as one, we saw he was practically catatonic, mouth open, staring at each of us in turn, eyes on stalks.

Margaret glanced into his lap, hidden from us, and, laughing good-naturedly, said, "Poor Robert - that suit was just back from the dry cleaners too.."

Still a little shell-shocked at how are evening had progressed, but with a feeling that I didn't want it to end just yet, I readily accepted when Margaret asked us to stroll to their hotel for a nightcap. Lizzie and I exchanged a meaningful glance as she took Robert's arm, I took Margaret's, and we made the brisk, 5-minute walk to Claridges - a treat the couple indulged in a couple of times a year.

Sitting comfortably in the elegance of the bar, champagne in hand, we gradually managed to resume talking about normal subjects, but now and then one or other of us would drift off into contemplation until they heard their name and snapped out of it. Lizzie and I had been in similar situations with couples we'd "entertained" for the first time before, many times, but Margaret being the center of the evening's sexual frisson was unexpected and somehow more thrilling.

As the night drew on, it became somehow clear to us all that there would be an opportunity for things to go further, and pretty soon we'd need to decide what to do.

Before awkwardness could set in, Lizzie asked Margaret, softly, "Will you teach me how to do it?".

I was immediately captivated, Robert stopped talking and stared at the two women, sharing a low leather sofa.


Less than 2 seconds hesitation. She wanted this to happen, had been waiting for it, expecting it.

"I would have offered if you hadn't asked".

Unspeaking, the air tense, we stood. As we walked past reception to the ornate lifts Margaret paused and spoke to the concierge:

"Good evening, please could you send another chair to our suite - the high-backed wooden one - we would like to seat our guests."

The concierge had people fetching the chair before we'd even entered the lift. Robert looked at his wife with a raised eyebrow, questioning.

"We only have one, the other chairs are soft and low-arm chairs. No good."

I was beyond excited, and I could see the anticipation in Lizzie's entire body as we rode the lift.

In the suite, which, although the smallest of its kind, was still the size of an average London flat and cost a small fortune, we had time to open more champagne, moving around each other slightly stiffly, wanting things to start but knowing we had to wait a few minutes - when a tap at the door signaled the arrival of the chair. The uniformed porter brought it into the room, clearly sensing something a little odd was happening as he scurried out.

Margaret gestured towards the second chair, under the writing desk, and said to me, "Put them in the middle of the room, facing each other, a few feet apart." I did so, my cock stiff inside my still very damp boxers. Her eyes were now locked on Lizzie, who had a hungry look I am very familiar with.

Robert and I sat on the bed together, propped against the headboard with our legs straight in front of us. A glance confirmed a large tent in his trousers too.

We had a perfect view of our wives who stood looking at each other at the end of the bed, each next to an elegant wooden chair.

Margaret started to undress, the cue for Lizzie to do the same. Although they were slow and measured, it didn't take long before they were standing in their lingerie. Margaret had not removed her bra, knickers, stockings, or suspenders, so Lizzie left hers on too.

I could not take my eyes off Margaret. The woman was 64 years old and was so mouth-watering, so fuckable, that it was incredible. Lizzie, I could see, was also very impressed. I'm not even sure she had had any work done - if she had it was very subtle. Margaret's lingerie was black, with very little embellishment. Lizzie was wearing cream, lots of lace trimming, and a tiny bow at the top of each suspender strap.

Margaret, her voice hoarse, said, "It's better with a thong", gesturing at my wife's French knicker cut. Silently, Margaret knelt and opened her travel case, taking out a pair of expensive-looking red knickers in a thong cut.

"I'm sorry, they don't match", she said handing them to Lizzie.

Lizzie slid her knickers down, wiggling them past her hips, and casually tossed them in the direction of the bed, where they landed between Robert and me Robert picked them up and slyly put them into his pocket.

Lizzie, now wearing the red thong, obeyed Margaret's gesture as they seated themselves, facing each other, a few feet apart, their high heels pushing their knees up a little.

"OK. trap your knickers between your lips - you can do it with no hands with enough practice - if there's a sewed joint you can put over or near your, well, your clit..", Margaret was still amusingly a little prudish about certain words, "then all the better.."

The women, still watching each other, parted their cunt lips a little and pulled the thin strip of cloth between them, their lips, which were swollen and damp, visible even from a distance, closed over them.

"Copy me."

Margaret slowly crossed her right leg over her left, pulling her right foot tightly back against her left shin. My wife mirrored her actions. I noticed that Lizzie was already gripping the edge of the chair tightly.

Margaret began to move, bouncing her suspended foot gently up and down and squeezing her thighs together - her toned muscles making it very obvious she was applying plenty of pressure.

Before long they were moving in time with each other. Once Lizzie seemed to reach to touch herself and Margaret snapped, "No!", very firmly, making Lizzie drop her hand back to the chair. I knew Lizzie would love this extra thrill of being told what to do by the older woman.

Slowly, Lizzie began to speak to Margaret.

"So, Margaret, you like my husband..?", my balls tightened and released.

Margaret inhaled sharply.


"Would you like him to fuck you, Margaret?"


Robert stirred from his stupor, "Hey - what? Margaret, I - "

Margaret didn't even look at him. "Shut up, Robert."

This was the most exciting night I'd had in a long, long time.

"Robert, Robert?", Lizzie addressed the blustering man, "It's OK - if you want, I'll suck your cock - then you're even, right?"

Robert made no reply, but I could tell from his breathing and the growing tent in his trousers that he was probably going to be OK with the terms of the deal.

The women were going for it now - their knuckles white as they held onto the chair seats, thrusting against themselves as they pulled their crossed legs tighter together and clenched their thigh muscles harder and harder.

With a jolt that almost made me come, I saw a clear drop of liquid from my wife's cunt trickle down the leg of her chair to the carpet.

Lizzie came first - shuddering and shaking as she held herself a little clear of the chair with locked arms. As Margaret began her orgasm, Lizzie uncrossed her legs, her orgasm still pulsing through her, splaying herself completely open in front of Margaret, her cunt dripping, her come pooling under her on the chair.

Breathless, Margaret said, "You've got a beautiful cunt", as she came hard, dropping her chin to her chest and holding her thighs together, the toes of her shoes pushed into the carpet like a ballet dancer as her calves strained.

Recovered enough to breathe through her nose, Lizzie beckoned Robert to her side. He clambered clumsily over the bed and stood beside her. Lizzie looked up at him, her face tilted to the ceiling, as she unzipped his fly and unbuttoned his trousers, smiling when she found his underpants were wet with come. She took his glistening, fat, hard cock into her mouth, her eyes never leaving his.

I stood and helped Margaret to her feet. I walked her round to the back of the chair and she bent over it, holding the arms so that her back arched, standing slightly on tiptoe in her heels as the chair was a little too high for her.

Standing behind her, I pushed my trousers and boxers to my thighs, my cock felt like solid iron. Margaret groaned long and loud as I pulled her knickers, which were drenched, to one side and used my forefinger to guide myself inside her, sliding easily in.

When I started to move, my hands were on Margaret's hips, pulling her hard toward me with each thrust, I could feel her using her cunt muscles to squeeze and stroke my cock as if with a hand - I have never felt anything like it before or since. It was simply amazing, and her control was incredible - she squeezed hard as I thrust into her, then released as I withdrew, time and again.

I looked up when Robert shouted, perhaps grunted, the single word "FUCK!" to see him empty his balls into my wife's mouth, her Adam's apple bobbing as she swallowed it all - and there was a lot - in fact, she thinks he came twice, as it didn't seem to stop for more than 30 seconds. Robert held Lizzie's face hard against him, both hands on the back of her head. He wasn't big enough to cause her problems, but I could see when he withdrew that his cock had enough of her saliva glistening thickly along its whole length that it must have been partially down her throat.

Margaret didn't even glance up when she heard her husband coming, just as he never once looked at her while I fucked her - perhaps that meant they could deny it in their minds later. Either way, we had Lizzie's full attention as Margaret came on my cock - bending further over the chair, her chin touching the seat and her feet lifted from the ground as I hammered into her. She was sweating - her hair damp and hanging lankly over the chair, falling to the floor as small beads of salty liquid fell from her neck.

Lizzie realized I was about to come, and encouraged me, which had the effect of making Margaret come again on my cock as I shot my load into her, my balls contracting almost painfully as I emptied myself.

"That's it darling, come in her cunt, come deep in her cunt - can you feel her coming on your cock? I can see she's coming on your cock. Make her come, then come in her cunt - use it - use her cunt to make you come."

I love it when Lizzie talks like this to me, but on this occasion, it wasn't necessary - my orgasm was so strong I almost ********** - I lay on the bed for an hour, unable to move a muscle.

We left in a slightly awkward hurry, as is often the case when the sex is over, but we have memories from that night that we still return to again and again. We didn't see Robert and Margaret again for a while, but Lizzie got a text message from Margaret asking about meeting up around Christmas this year.

We also like to imagine what Robert does with the knickers he stole from Lizzie. We both hope Margaret wears them.
  • Like
Reactions: phillipfun, Maximan, starrfred and 7 others