An ingenious couple who sell expensive houses delight in showing would-be buyers a particular home with one room fully furnished for loveplay.

“Jim, dear, I think we have a special client,” my wife said. Carol and I sell houses in a wealthy suburb. To us, “special” doesn’t mean rolling-out-the-red-carpet special. It’s more like laying out the bearskin rug. While our business is lucrative, it’s also a perfect way to find willing candidates for a lifestyle we like very much: making love with an added partner.

“A guy?” I asked.

“No, a good-looking woman. She really gave you the once-over when you passed my office a while back. We could probably take her on the tour right now.”

“The tour” is another of our code phrases. With most customers, we just drive them around to see houses we think are in their price range. But on a “tour” we end up at a particular house, one that has a room fully furnished with drapes, Persian rugs and, against one wall, a giant bed with the covers turned back. A large vanity table stands at one side of the bed, along with a full-length mirror. Sumptuous chairs and a sofa complete the luxurious decor.

We call the house the “Pennypacker Estate,” which is our name for an impressive house where we have an exclusive listing and the owners have moved away. Whenever the house is sold, we simply switch the “Pennypacker Estate” to another place.

“There’s something else about her,” Carol added. “She’s been married — she’s a widow now. But the way she’s gone out of her way to touch me a couple of times, I think she likes women, too."

On the tour that afternoon, I drove with Marjorie, the client, in the seat beside me. Carol sat in the back, leaning forward between us to make the sales talk. Once she had me stop the car so that Marjorie could look over a neighborhood feature, and I took the opportunity to look her over.

Like us, she was corning up on middle age, and, also like us, she was wearing well. She was strongly built, with breasts that moved under her conservative dress. Her skirt had ridden up over one thigh, and I could see the dark top of her stocking. As I gazed, her hand moved down and adjusted the skirt — upward.

“We’ll finish up with the Pennypacker Estate,” Carol was saying. I tore my eyes away from the band of white skin now exposed above Marjorie’s stocking top and started the car. As Carol turned from the window to resume her place behind us, I saw Marjorie discreetly edge her skirt back in place. Smiling broadly, Carol winked at me in the mirror.

As I drove the winding driveway, Marjorie murmured n appreciation. This particular Pennypacker Estate was downright baronial, with a sweeping view of our local river. We showed her the stables and the five-car garage and the tennis courts and the enclosed pool and the squash court. Inside she noticed that the house was heated as though people were still living in it. Carol and I explained that we like to make sure our clients are comfortable while viewing potential homes.

We took her through the empty first floor with the servants’ quarters in one wing and the ballroom-size conservatory in the other. All the way up the grand stairway and on the upper floor, everything was just as bare — until we came to the master bedroom down the hall.

“We like to stop here for the view,” Carol said. We always stock champagne at our Pennypacker Estates, so I offered the women flutes while I poured.

We sat before the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking down the great lawn to the river. We’d almost finished the bottle when Marjorie nodded at the bed and said quietly, “We’re not here just for the view, are we?”

“No, dear,” Carol said. “But it’s your choice. If you say no, we’ll go back to the office with no harm done.”

“You’re a good judge of people,” Marjorie said. There was a strange, suspended moment. And then she put down her glass. “You start; I’ll follow.”

Carol got up and walked to the sofa. Acting as if Marjorie and I didn’t exist, she removed her hat and coat. She was wearing a gray jersey dress. Loosening its belt, she drew it up over her head and laid it down carefully with the coat on the sofa. Over the years I have explored her body thoroughly and know every inch of it, but even now I was full of excited expectancy.

Still paying no attention to us, Carol stripped off her slip, revealing her magnificent curves and her smooth, pale skin. She reached back to unfastenen her bra, and the flimsy garment slid down her arms. Her strong white breasts, now free, proudly swung outward, the nipples a dark red. As though she were alone in her own dressing room, she began the intimate act of squeezing them and pulling on her nipples until they swelled between her fingertips.

Marjorie stood up; unable to take her eyes off Carol, she was trying clumsily to shrug off her fur coat. I went up to her and gently helped her out of it and laid it over one of the chairs. She tried to open her dress, but she was so hypnotized by Carol’s dreamlike actions that, once again, I had to do it for her.

Carol’s bra had dropped to the floor, and she was running both hands over her silk-clad loins. A spot of moisture was growing at the crotch. She slipped both hands under the elastic top of her panties and slid them down over her ample hips; I recognized her private scent.

Marjorie was now nude to the waist except for some sort of long-line bra/girdle affair that was opened a little at the top. Gently she inched her hands down to free her breasts. They were large, with swollen areolas that she was rubbing absently, occasionally pulling at the stiffened nipples. From behind her, I eased her dress and slip down over her hips and let them fall to the floor around her feet. I began to undo the snaps all down the front of her bra/girdle, and her plump white torso emerged like an exquisite Greek sculpture.

Carol moved to the bed, her breasts swaying with the movement. She sat down with her hips near the edge of the bed and leaned back on one elbow. Her pale thighs lifted and parted as her free hand moved down to caress her neatly trimmed pubis. Her fingertips poked gently at the obscuring hair and pulled it aside, revealing the plump outer cunt lips and the pink wet flesh peeking out from between them.

Marjorie stepped away from the clothes at her feet. Now naked except for panties, garter belt and high heels, she moved like a sleepwalker to the bed and knelt before Carol’s wide-spread thighs. Smiling, Carol reached out, and the two women kissed passionately. Pulling away, Carol sank back on the bed, and Marjorie’s lips drifted down between my wife’s breasts to her belly. Marjorie nodded her head gently as she licked her way further down and bent at last to my wife’s cunt, her hands reaching up to spread Carol’s legs. Her lips moved slowly over Carol’s loins, stopping to browse at the exposed flesh. My wife stiffened in pleasure and clutched at Marjorie’s head as our client’s tongue dipped between her sensitive inner lips.

I stripped off my own clothes as Carol watched me with half-closed .eyes. She started and caught her lower lip in her teeth as Marjorie licked her clitoris once and then, as Marjorie did it again, arched her back, the muscles in her throat drawn tight.

My cock was fit to break a plate as I strode across the room and crouched behind our client. Carol’s body was straining tautly under Marjorie’s rhythmic caresses. Her pleasure so excited me that I could not even take the time to remove Marjorie’s panties. I wrenched the filmy cloth aside and thrust my cock at the gaping cunt lips. The fat purple glans found the way and shoved its way on up. Marjorie lifted her head — she was gasping for air — and then burrowed between Carol’s thighs again.

Both women were nearing climax. Carol was thrashing desperately, and under my hands, Marjorie’s belly tightened like a rubber band at its breaking point. I felt a kind of sexual rage and began to thrust deeper. Marjorie’s gasps of passion were cut off abruptly when Carol clamped her thighs tightly around Marjorie’s head and signaled her climax with a high, keening cry. Marjorie’s hips began jerking awkwardly and out of sequence with my thrusts, sending me over the edge. I began to pump what felt like all my insides into her. Her ass backed against me urgently with each thrust, and she reached around as though to somehow pull me deeper in. As Carol’s thighs fell away from her head, she reared back, panting,” Do it, do it, do it!” in my ear and squeezing her breasts.

Our passion ebbed finally, and we sank back on our haunches. Lying against me, Marjorie was almost inert, although her hot inner flesh still clasped and unclasped my penis.

Carol grinned across her stomach at us, her chest still heaving from her exertions. “I hope we never sell this place,” she said. “It has such nice associations.”

“I’d buy it just for this afternoon,” Marjorie said. “How did you people ever get into this?”

Carol laughed. “It’s a long story. Jim, get that other_ bottle, and we’ll tell her about it over some more bubbly.”

Over more champagne we shared with Marjorie the story of our first menage: We had discussed separate affairs and swapping, and although we never came to any decisions, we really felt that we were missing something sexually, some sort of fun, crazy, wild adventure.

The something arrived one day with a very handsome client. I saw him in Carol’s office: a tall, distinguished man in a homburg and gray tweed overcoat and — what you don’t see often these days — carrying a gold-headed cane. Later that day, when Carol had taken him around to see some places, she came back considerably flustered. It seems that this esteemed gentleman came on to my lovely wife. What widened my eyes was that she admitted she was also attracted to him.

Although we had carefully discussed just such possibilities beforehand, neither of us had yet been tempted by anybody. We had agreed that each of us was free to do as he or she pleased. But now that I was confronted with it for the first time, I was dismayed. Nevertheless, I felt obligated to not put any obstacles in her way. “Why didn’t you?” I said forcefully.

“Oh,” she said, carefully smoothing her dress over one hip, “I kept wishing you were there.”

Meeting my puzzled stare, she went even further: “I wouldn’t have minded the two of you making love to me.”

Some men are said to have their brains in their penises. Certainly that day mine had more smarts than any other part of my body, because it became erect almost immediately. Under my desk this was rather awkward, and I edged backward to give it some room.

Seeing my situation, Carol giggled. “Honey, I was just fishing; I didn’t expect you to react in such an enthusiastic way.”

Her face was as flushed as mine felt. There was no point in talking about it when we were both so hot, so I hoisted her onto my desk and ripped off her panties. Her legs opened at once, and I plunged in. She felt close to a climax, and in a few seconds she had it and several more as I continued to drive into her. I could envision her client’s cock pumping into her while she arched against him in passion, and I had never been so excited in all our years together.

Arthur, which is what his name was, came to look at some more properties two days later. Carol had already told him our intentions, and when he shook my hand, he smiled knowingly. He and Carol rode in the back, and he began to “take liberties” immediately. When he leaned past Carol to look at one estate going by, I saw in the mirror his hand on her leg, and later, from the rustling and Carol’s gasps behind me, I knew that he had become bolder.

The back-seat action was heating me up as well. When we finally got to the house we had chosen to make our play in, I had to walk behind them to conceal my painful erection. The site of this first rendezvous really was called the Pennypacker Estate, so I suppose we’ve kept the name out of sentiment, although the spare furnishings of that first Pennypacker Estate have evolved into the more luxurious accommodations of today.

Inside, we went over the first floor and then up the winding staircase to the second. There the bedrooms were arranged behind a balcony that overlooked the first-floor foyer. It was dark, and as Carol and I had agreed beforehand, I went down to the basement to turn on the electricity.

When I returned to the foyer after a suitable delay, I heard my wife crying out urgently and looked up at the balcony. She and Arthur seemed to be dancing, although she was facing away from him. As I reached the top of the stairs, it turned out to be more than that. Both were fully clothed, but Carol’s dress was up over her plump hips and her panties were halfway down her thighs. Arthur’s legs were locked around hers to hold her in place. Her dress was open to the waist, and his hands clutched her bare breasts so tightly that her nipples seemed about to burst. He was driving into her from behind like a piston, grunting in a contrapuntal chorus to her chanted “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!”

Watching them, I was immobilized with lust. I freed my aching erection and began stroking it in time to his thrusts.

His cock was so thick that it pulled the inner flesh of her cunt out with each downstroke, even though the thing must have been as slick as glass with the copious lubrication oozing out of her.

My wife was trembling, and I knew she was close to a climax, but suddenly Arthur cried out. He gave her a few deep thrusts, and a flood of semen ran from the tight junction of their organs and flowed down her quivering thighs. He fell away from her in exhaustion.

Carol was leaning against me, her hot, raw breasts scrubbing my chest as she shuddered with unfulfilled passion. My lust made me almost superhuman. Pushing her against the wall, I grasped her under her thighs and lifted her over my iron-hard cock. Her pubic hair was smeared with their juices. “Do it, honey!” she hissed. “Do it in his stuff!”

I had never been so hot. I drove into her with the same pile-driving speed as he had. Her slick, rubbery cunt sucked at my cock in a frantic rhythm that became more and more spasmodic until she gasped, ’I’m there!” and I shot burst after burst of semen into her.

I held her against the wall until her thighs fell away from my waist. We rested that way until Arthur got to his feet somewhat creakily and asked us if there was a bed nearby. We told him that we had moved one in just the day before. Arthur sighed with relief, and the three of us gathered on the cool sheets.

Our next coupling was less fevered. Arthur turned out to be a skillful lover who led us in a graceful sarabande of fucking on the king-size bed. With Carol lying on her back, he and I kissed and caressed our way down her body on each side, and Arthur taught me things I would never have dreamed could yield such pleasure for both her and us. When Arthur and I reached her waist, he turned her on her side and began kissing her cunt as I worked my tongue slowly along the cleft of her asscheeks. So deft were his ministrations that Carol’s rising passion was almost imperceptible and was evidenced only by the goose bumps spreading over her flesh, the tightening of her nipples, the itchy-slow movement of her body against our lips. The entry of our cocks into her cunt and ass was almost as imperceptible, our moving in and out of her two orifices almost as glacial in its gently increasing speed.

Finally we were all poised on the edge, bemusedly contemplating our passion. “Now!” she whispered, and he and I drove in sharply, and our three-way climax rose up around us like one last great ocean wave as Arthur and I laved her inner cavities with our soothing come.

When we parted that evening, Arthur asked, “You’ve done this before?”

“No,” Carol said. “This is our first.” She looked at me questioningly. “Hopefully not the last.”And it wasn’t.