In Memoriam

"Move, Pam," said Bernard, and I began to do so, sliding up and down on that hungry pole now slippery with my juices. "Go faster, I can cope." He reached a hand round to search for my clitoris, found it, fastened on to it as I rode. We found a rhythm that seemed to work for us both. I had no idea how good his control would be but his breathing was easy and regular, allowing him to murmur frequent soft words of encouragement. He wasn't shy with his vocabulary, either; perhaps when you are the big boss in the workplace and master in the home, you don't need to watch your language. "Nice cunt, Pam," he said. "Smooth. Good grip. Fay said you knew how to fuck and she wasn't wrong. But I bet you haven't had something like this up you very often."

Though this was further indication that Fay had set up this whole encounter, I was past caring. I knew I was coping well with taking his cock but sooner or later his persistent manipulation of my clit was going to be decisive. And it was."I shall come," I cried, ecstatic now with the combination of penetration and external stimulation.

"Good, good." Bernard somehow maintained his pressure on my little button while wrapping his other arm round me to keep us in contact. Several times it seemed his cock must slip out but whenever I sensed impending disaster, I managed to plunge down and bury him inside me again. "My God," Bernard exclaimed, "You are just magnificent. Now let me feel you come."

Betty, who was the top half of the sixty-nine with Fay, lifted her head at the sound of her husband's voice and immediately rolled off. "Look at this, Fay," she said, tugging my employer round to watch.

There was no question of my having a choice, Bernard was rapidly bringing me to the boil and the two women looking on with lascivious eyes did the rest. I drove myself down on Bernard's rampant cock, held myself there, leaned back against him for the support I knew I would need when the moment arrived, and let his fingers do the rest. Something told me I should have resented the way Fay had manoeuvred me into this situation, but so shattering was the orgasm that wracked my entire being I could only be grateful.

To describe all the events that followed during that weekend would be beyond me. So many orgasms, so many couplings, male and female, female and female, have merged into a happy blur in memory. I do recall an occasion when we were all four involved together. Betty was on her back on the bed. I was kneeling astride her face, dipping down from time to time to let her tongue explore my pussy, which I kept alive otherwise with my fingers. Fay was kneeling, licking Betty. Bernard was standing behind Fay, vigorously ploughing her with his cock, which retained an astonishing firmness throughout the time we were there.

We had agreed to see if we could contrive four simultaneous orgasms. Of course, it was impossible, but we came reasonably close. I was the last to come, having been in more or less complete control with my fingers. When Bernard gave a great groan and cried out, "I'm done for," and pulled out his cock to send a huge jet of sperm along Fay's back, I let myself go, too, and collapsed on to three heaving bodies. The recuperation after that wasn't quick but the sexual chemistry between the four of us was so powerful it only needed one of us to make a move and the whole tinder box was in flames yet again.

Needless to say, Fay's enrolment on to Sir Bernard's Board of Directors was rubber stamped; my guess is that it had been agreed in advance, anyway, and was merely the ploy to enlist my presence. When we left, Bernard made us promise we would return. We did, at irregular intervals over several years until Fay's death. Sometimes it was for a long weekend, sometimes just for an evening. Always, we tried the simultaneous orgasm trick but never made it work. In fact, nothing ever quite equalled the extraordinary mix of spontaneity and stamina of that first occasion, but I have to say that I never came away disappointed.

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The service ended and we rose to filter from the church. Music was playing. I recognised the slow movement of Schubert's String Quintet, music that reaches into the very depths of grief. It may have moved some who heard it there but I knew such sublime emotion was uncalled for: in all the years I knew her, Fay never gave herself emotionally to anyone. I gained much from knowing her but I was always aware of the calculating mind behind everything she did.

Outside the church the air was warm with autumn sunshine. I stood for a while on the steps watching the congregation disperse and reliving a few memories. A hand touched my arm. I turned to see Sir Bernard and Lady Betty in their elegant dark attire, carefully appropriate to the occasion. That is, as long as you had not seen them, as I had, in the throes of sexual excess with the dear departed.

"So sad," said Betty. "You will miss her."

Bernard coughed, indicating the chauffeur who was holding open the door of their Rolls. He offered a few platitudes about having to draw a line, time to move on, as though his company had just marked the retirement of its senior accountant. "Anyway," said over his shoulder as they departed, "you'll still come and see us, won't you? It's what she would have wanted. I'm sure we could invite someone else, if you'd like that."

What she would have wanted. It's the phrase those who are left behind always use to justify doing what they themselves want. I called after Sir Bernard that I would think about it. And I will. In a few days I will call them and tell them what I have decided.