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The Day Mrs Pickwick Invited Someone Else Into Our Bed

Towards midnight, we assembled where we were staying and got ready for bed. It was very apparent early on that Dudley wanted to join us sitting on the bed as soon as we entered the room and shaking with anticipation.

It being Valentine's Day and the opening weekend at the local cinema for "50 Shades of Grey", Mrs Anastasia Pickwick and I came to the inevitable conclusion that we should invite someone else into our bed for the night. We had known Dudley for four years, after he had been introduced to us when we answered an advertisement at a nearby convenience store for like minded people. He became a loyal friend to each member of the Pickwick family, adoring Mrs Pickwick especially. Over this time, he had spent many hours sitting with each of us, often over dinner listening to our concerns with the serious expression that was characteristic of him, contributing where he could with the wisdom and understanding of his age, empathetic but at the same time with the dogged certainty of his intentions.

Towards midnight, we assembled where we were staying and got ready for bed. It was very apparent early on that Dudley wanted to join us sitting on the bed as soon as we entered the room and shaking with anticipation.

We had decided to use the fold out bed on the downstairs floor which was the only one that could accommodate the three of us. The sound of us pawing our way around the wooden floor of the room made it quite apparent that we all needed to get into bed for some peace following the expectant commotion of our arrival. More importantly though, we did not know what the night had to hold.

We slipped off our clothes and wrapped ourselves up into the warm sheets.

There was not a lot of room in the double bed with three warm bodies. And as I lay there expectantly, the feeling of cold grey steel from the end of the bed caused me to jump every time I brushed up against it like a Christian causing himself penitential discomfort. I would get to know this feeling a lot as the night went on.

We rested on our sides, feeling the heat of our bodies under the duvet in a Mrs Pickwick sandwich made more acute by Mrs Pickwick's enthusiasm for the feel of fleecy pyjamas. This created the same steamy environment that a chicken experiences in a roasting bag. It also led to beads of sweat emerging on one side of my well defined torso which grew into each other creating large rivulets down my back spilling onto the crisp white sheets on which we lay in the same way that the Mighty Mississippi grows longer and wider before penetrating the Gulf of Mexico. This meant also that I had become moist quickly.

There was a shock as I periodically found myself brushing a hairy leg as I reached down to caress the top of Mrs Pickwick's leg with my hand as the three of us settled down together holding one another. I initially thought this depilatory failure was Mrs Pickwick's reaching back to the early days of our courtship where she occasionally emulated the body hair of the female members of the Bader Meinhof gang. It was however the upper part of one of Dudley's beautifully sculpted legs.

Dudley also being very well endowed (a feature being readily apparent when you had cause to him upstairs) meant that at nether level there was enough meat and two veg in that bed for seconds.

As I reached to cuddle Mrs Pickwick, I felt Dudley's warm hairy chest against her and felt his hot breath against mine and Mrs Pickwick's faces. While we had eaten together that night, it was quite apparent that he had eaten something else which had not agreed with him or had been drinking from the large puddle by the back door again.

We slowly relaxed into each other comfortable with being together for this special night and wondering what joys the night may have to hold.

I was soon aware that Dudley could not sleep. He sat up in bed, panting quietly and looked down on us both. He then started licking the evaporating residue from my skin as he had done many times before when I had emerged from the shower or had returned after a work out. The sensation was exciting, both ticklish and mildly unnerving causing me to quiver and moan like it was my first time. I could take it no longer and used the safety word he had become used to from the two of us.

Sometime later when we had all settled down again Mrs Pickwick and I were both asleep, I heard Mrs Pickwick cry out - "Bad Dog".

In my half asleep/half awake state, I nuzzled Mrs Pickwick whispering into her ear - "talk dirty to me again".

There have been many times in our relationship when Mrs Pickwick's incredulity at something I have said makes it readily apparent that I have to return to my basket. This was one of those times.

I gasped having been taken to the brink again but knew I was the bad dog.

The only question left to me was what would Christian have done?

I reached forward to pick up the leather restraint I had left there earlier and said quietly, but firmly.


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