"Well, what do you think about the idea?" I asked my wife Vanessa (or Vivi as everyone called her) late one Sunday evening last March.
"I don't know, Vic; I really don't," she shouted.
I followed her into the bathroom. Vivi had stripped down completely in the living room but I had been too busy adjusting the color TV to even notice. When I turned around to look at her, all I saw was a pile of her clothes sitting in the middle of the rug.
Vivi had walked pretty fast, and each time I turned a corner in our apartment, I caught sight of a sliver of her creamy back, her round ass, her strong, slim calves, and her narrow ankles and feet. I could feel my cock springing to life, and by the time I reached the bathroom, it was pressing hard against my pants. I tried to ignore my erection-for now at least; we had important things to discuss, and I wanted to get those out of the way first.
"I don't know," Vivi repeated, disappearing into the shower and slamming the glass door behind her.
Vivi always took showers whenever she had to think about something, and I could usually tell by how hard she slammed the door how serious she felt the problem was. This time the glass had rattled; it was critical.
I leaned against the wall opposite the shower, watching her silhouette. Vivi was tall, with a model's figure, except for her breasts, and, only recently, her ass. Her tits were high and firm, heavy and well-shaped. And big... really big. Since she had started taking the pill a few years back they had gone from a C cup to a D, and that, let me tell you, is a lot of tit, even for someone of her size. Her areolas were a clear pink-brown, and the nipples were hard and pointed slightly. They begged to be sucked.
Vivi turned on the tap, reached down for the soap, and began to lather her long legs. Her tits swayed back and forth, like the clanger of a bell. Only it was my cock that was doing the ringing.
"Look, VM," I shouted over the sound of the running water, "if we don't do something fast we're going to lose even more business, and in times like this we simply can't afford it."
Vivi and I owned Skinner's Tours-at least controlling interest in it. We had gotten the ball rolling nine years before, after we returned from our third trip to Europe. Vivi and I had been teaching at the time, and we were both pretty fed up. We were itching to do something different, and package tours seemed to fit the bill. Money and a good time was what we wanted; teaching in New York gave us the first-to a point-but it was pretty low on the second.
Vivi's old man had some dough that he wanted to invest, and we had saved a couple of thousand. When we told him about our plans he was reluctant, but when we showed him the figures-and the profit he was-likely to make-he perked up and handed us a check.
Now Vivi was soaping her cunt, rubbing it really hard. It was an excellent cunt-a cunt in a million. She had a thick blonde curly patch, long pink lips, and a clit that got big the second you touched it. Her tits jangled as she rubbed, and again my prick rang out
"But why do we have to go along?" she shouted back to me. "We fly out anyway to check on most of the tours."
"In the first place it's good PR: Skinner's Tours are supposed to be swinging, and we've always billed ourselves as swingers."
"Yeah," she said laughing; "they should only know."
I thought to myself if they only knew how much we were some of our customers would have convulsions. Vivi's father-the straightest guy in the East-would expire on the spot
"Having us along as guides would add a little something-especially if we went on the Skinner Special."
The Skinner Special was our most expensive tour: we charged $I,000 a head, and for that we had to give them something extra-and we usually did. Vivi and I had nicknamed the tour Sin Cities. It comprised five cities-London, Paris, Borne, Amsterdam, and Copenhagen-and concentrated mainly on those places that the regular tourist only hears about when he gets home.
The tour was pretty titillating: in fifteen days we covered every strip show, blue movie theatre, brothel, sex fair, porn shop, homo bar, sex store, commune, and drug connection that we thought was worthwhile. Most of the spots were public, but along the way we had arranged a few private showings and parties.
Invariably the tour leader was some well-traveled hisexual stud (both Vivi and I had to try him out at the interview before we gave him the job), and if he didn't put his prick into at least five of the twenty cunts and ass-holes, then we knew that something was wrong.
So far nothing had gone wrong, but we weren't going to take a chance. Although business was generally bad at the moment, touring was booming. In fact, touring places were springing up so fast that we couldn't keep up with them. Some of them stayed on the tried and true paths, but many were adding their own "specials" and that is what scared the shit out of us. We didn't need imitation-or competition-in that area, but now we were beginning to feel a slight pinch.
Vivi started to soap her ass. Instead of doing a half-turn, she stood there, her back arched, her tits out, and her head thrown back. I started to peel off my clothes, my eyes on her butt. When we had first gotten married-almost ten years before-I was able to cup each cheek in my hands. Not that I had big hands, mind you-they're pretty average for my height-but Vivi's ass was small, like a kid's. It was nicely rounded, but a little flat all the same. She had spread a bit over the years, put on some weight, most of which ended up in her ass; she had a woman's ass now, and whatever she had then had become ripe-but not overripe. The extra layers were soft, but inside she was hard.
"Vic," she called, opening the shower door just enough for me to catch a glimpse of one of her tits. "But what'll happen if things go too well; what if people will want us along all the time? Anyway, I'm not as young as I used to be," she laughed (Vivi was thirty-one) "and those trips really wear me out. A Skinner Special-at least if we did it the way it should really be done-would tire me out for weeks."
"Ah come on, baby," I said, "you have more energy than anyone I know. I'll be the one who'll collapse in the end."
"Sure, sure," she mocked, "no one could beat your record for the long distance fuck. Just how many times did you do it on the first Skinner Special: twenty, thirty.. . . "
"All right, all right, but I had to give it a dry run," I said, thinking about the jumble of boobs, pussies, pricks, balls, and ass-holes that had been offered to me on that one. I could taste the memory in my mouth.
"Cut it out, Vic-that was the wettest run Skinner's ever had. You practically needed an umbrella, raincoat, and galoshes to shield yourself from everyone's pices."
"Yeah," I said, the memory transferring itself to my cock. "What was her name... Jessie, Jessie Munder, the one with the big hips. Now that lady.. . T
"Could fuck," we said in unison.
"Anyway," I said, opening the shower door and peering in. The water hit me in the face, but when I wiped it away, there was Vivi, her delicious body dripping and glistening, her tongue waving at me suggestively.
"Anyway," she said looking at my prick, her hazel eyes suddenly misty and her voice full and husky.
I ran my eyes over this fabulous piece of ass who, even after all these years, could still find things that would make me go wild with excitement. Drops of water dripped from each of her sumptuous tits and ran down her gently rounded hips. Her blond patch looked darker and very damp and inviting. I took a step forward and my cock erected with renewed vigor. Vivi reached out and patted it admiringly. My legs went a little limp and I took another step forward.
The shower was steamy and there was the distinct odor of sandalwood soap. Vivi's thick blonde hair stuck to her shoulders and looked, at first glance, like thin fingers on very long hands. She lifted her arms and pulled back her hair. Her tits rose, then dropped, giving off a slight spray of water that trickled onto her smooth, taut stomach. The downy hairs that led from her tiny navel to her patch had already dried and a few stood out.
"Mmmmmra," she whispered, turning off the taps with her left hand and stroking my now raging prick with her right. "You're so big," she said, her voice seeming to come from very far away. "Sooo big and hard," she added, almost wistfully.
"Vivi," I answered, coming closer to her, my blood pounding in my ears. The Skinner Special receded to the back of my mind.
"Yes," she said, drawing me into the shower, her hand upon the back of my neck.
I pushed open the door from the inside and stepped into the shower; there was about an inch of water on the floor and it washed over my toes and around my heels.
Vivi ran her hands over my shoulders, under my arms, and then around my back to a point a little above the beginning of the crease of my ass. She pressed her fingers into my sex center and moved towards me.
"Yes," she said, "yes," turning her slim body from side to side, her nipples lightly touching the hair on my chest. Within seconds her nipples became prominent and hard. She inched her way towards me till her tits pressed against my chest; I stepped a little to the right so that my hard prick fit in between her slim, water sparkling thighs. The rougher she rubbed her body against my own, the more my muscles tensed and my prick became inflamed.
"You're beautiful," I whispered to her, bringing my face near to hers and outlining her ear with my tongue. She smelled fresh and her body was warm.
"Fuck me" she whispered, "please fuck me."
"No, beautiful, not yet; you know what I want-blow me, blow me hard."
Vivi raised her arms and dug her nails into my shoulders; deftly she ran her fingers down my chest. She could scratch like a cat when she wanted to, but now she was tame and tender. Very tender.
She moved away slightly and began to knead my buttocks with her hands, every once in a while bringing her fingers forward and gently teasing the lower part of my stomach and the stem of my cock.
That's it, that's it," I said. "Go slowly now, and then.. . . "
Vivi knew the way her sweet brutality affected me, and she wanted my erection to last as long as possible. Un-like a lot of women, she could stir me until I felt the first tremor of orgasm and then bring me all the way back to the rigidity of a new erection.
"Vic, Vic," she murmured, her hands now on my hips. She massaged them slowly with the tips of her fingers, her palms pulling back the skin of my lower belly.
I bent down and took one of her nipples, then the other, between my teeth. Her areolas were still wet from the water that had dripped down her shoulders. One by one I licked off the drops, stopping only intermittently to suck deeply on her nipples which by now were as hard as stones. I could feel her desires in my own body: it was as if we were made of one flesh, one bone, one blood.
"Please," she said urgently, but I continued to lick her areolas and then suck and bite her nipples.
"Please," she repeated, now clawing at my hips.
I looked up and into her eyes: they were ravenous with lust, but I knew that she could wait. I kissed her full lips, opening our mouths wide so that my tongue could have full play over her teeth and tongue. She moaned a low, deep moan, and I knew I was in control.
I reached down for her clit, first working my way through her thick, wet patch and then pouncing upon her pussy when she least expected it. She was wet and it wasn't only with water.
"Vivi, do it, do it now," I commanded her, my voice hardly above a thick whisper.
Again she moaned and grasped me by the shoulders. Slowly she slid down my chest, her tongue making a quick tour of my nipples, her breath hot on my body. It was only when her mouth reached out for my pounding prick that she let go, her fingernails lightly scratching the length of my arms.
She took my cock between her teeth and, while she ran her tongue over the tip, she bit down. I whimpered in pain and pleasure and she responded to my moans by opening the slit of my knob with her tongue.
"Do it, baby, do it, beautiful," I murmured, forcing her down on me.
Vivi took the whole of my stem into her mouth; I could feel the tip go all the way back to her throat. She sucked on it deeply, pulling my skin forward and back with her mouth and lips, twisting it, turning it, licking it.
I could feel her trembling with the urgency of my passion and I heard her moan and murmur, "I love it, I love your big prick." She grasped the lower part of my stem with one hand and gently ran her fingertips over the surface of my balls and then back to my anus.
"Fuck me, blow me," I said, my cock now pounding for release.
Vivi complied. She went down on me, then drew back, down on me, then drew back. Each time I could feel my knob hit the back of her throat; it bounded forward to meet it
Faster and faster she ravished me with her mouth, working up to an incredibly fast rhythm of sucks. "Vivi baby, come on, come on and do it," I said. "Fuck me, fuck my prick with your mouth."
Still she went faster, her mouth a perfect O. I thrust forward to meet her, again and again, my hands grasping her head, my fingers entwined in her hair.
"Yes, yes," she murmured, "your big, hard prick." Suddenly I felt myself rise up and her finger enter my ass-hole. We were like two pistons, plunging into one another.
"Oh Jesus," I exclaimed and then I exploded into her mouth with a force that threw her off balance for just one moment. But she hung on tight with her lips and her mouth, greedily accepting the stream of my life.
"Oooooo," I cried out. "Yeees, yeees."
She moaned deeply, desiringly, swilling each spurt of my come around my stem.
My chest heaved and I laughed. A final spasm shot out and then all was still. I heard Vivi swallow, and then I felt her lick up the remaining drops of come from my prick.
For some time afterwards we stayed in the shower, I with my legs apart and my hands on her head, and Vivi on her knees, her ear against my stem. The water gurgled and finally died out
CHAPTER TWO
We left a month later-a little rushed and a lot publicized.
Admittedly we could have made it easier on ourselves, but Vivi and I aren't the type to cut comers. Working on the old advertising trick of "new and better" (read sexier) tours, we wrote and designed a whole new set of brochures for Skinner's, had them printed, and then sent them off to people on our mailing list It cost us thousands but the response was terrific: we were booked solid for the year-beginning with May.
April was the problem, and it was in April that we had scheduled the "new and better" Skinner Special. Most people plan pretty far ahead when it comes to vacations, and the heaviest bookings usually occur in the May to September months. For years we had been pressing for tours in April and October. Vivi and I always thought those were the best months of the year for travel: Europe looks and feels better when its practically de-Americanized.
The Skinner Special was based on two things: an interest in sex and $I,000 to spend on it. Few people-except for those who either economized or had it in the first place-could afford it, and many of those were only interested in the regular tourist attractions. But somehow, somewhere twenty people always scraped through. This time, however, they had a little over two week's notice, and that was cutting it close. We started with ten and worked our way up to eighteen only two days before we left. At the last minute we got a $2,000.00 check from a couple who lived in Kansas-Hiram and Hannah Smith. That took us aback somewhat: our clientele are usually New York based. All in all they're a fairly sexually sophisticated lot. It's not that we're against moving into new markets; in fact, we're always looking for them. But Kansas... that was another thing entirely. How the hell did they hear about us? And what did they hear? We were curious, to say the least. I deposited their check, hoping it wouldn't bounce.
The Pan Am 747 jumbo jet was even roomier than we had expected it to be. If you ignored the passengers' seats, it looked like somebody's duplex apartment, designed with an open plan setting. Very lush, very comfortable, and, when the lights went out, very seductive.
The stewardesses were something else altogether. Over the years we had seen hundreds come and go on a score of different airlines. Fashions were always changing, and on each trip I noticed that a little more tit and thigh was showing. In spite of this, most "stews" still stayed in the plastic smiling, sexless robot class.
Except these. God only knows who hired them or brought them together on this trip, but he or she must have been a flesh fancier extraordinaire. One was stacked and well-thighed even more than the next, and all of them seemed so willing to please.
It wasn't as if they were trying to hide what was up front and down under. No sir. Their outfits-tight, ribbed sweaters, hip-hugging midiskirts with the buttons opened to the crotch, and knee-length boots-only accentuated what was there, and that was certainly more than one man could handle. When I saw that a few of them weren't wearing any bras, I nearly choked on my scotch.
I looked around me to see the general reaction. Vivi looked calmly back at me, but I could see that her eyes were lit up in that curious way that most men (and some women) possess when confronted with a sexual possibility.
From my aisle seat at the beginning of the Economy Section, I could only see about half of the people in the group. To our left sat Mary Lerner, a precocious, Lolitalike pout on her face, a glass of tomato juice in her hand. To our right were Dick Tucker and Pat Spooner, a nice-looking couple who let it be immediately known that they were engaged. Dick's hand was on Pat's knee and she was whispering in his ear.
Directly behind us sat the Buschells and the Grossells. The women (Mirium and Gertie) were yelling at each other across their husbands about another friend of their kid's who just had an abortion. Myron and George were gesturing to one another and winking; Myron licked his lips when one of the stewardesses bent down to ask him if he wanted another drink.
Behind the Buschells were the Phillips, a handsome Black couple dressed in the latest weird chic. They were talking to one of the single women-Kit Fisher-who seemed intent upon looking at the opening between the short, dark stewardess' legs. I couldn't blame her: Jenny (the stew) was some honey-pot. If Kit didn't get to her first (and she looked like the type that wanted to), I certainly would make something more than a pass at her before we landed in London.
Behind Kit and Lester and Billie Phillips were Sadie Sharp and Alex Sexton, both on aisle seats, both middle-aged, and both recently divorced. These two had struck up a conversation when the plane took off and it seemed, from the way they were touching each other, that they would eventually end up between the sheets. Now, however, Sadie, a brassy blonde with a body you could easily lose yourself in-was playing it a little coy. Her eyes when she wasn't giving Alex innocently meaningful looks-were everywhere; she seemed to be checking out the situation, especially with the younger men. I sensed that if Sadie was given a chance, she would put out for anyone who looked like fair game. I filed that thought for the time being.
Two of Sadie's prospects sat behind and diagonally across from her. John Thorne and Thomas Knox, lawyers in their mid-thirties, were handsome in a rugged way, very self-assured, and, one could see, quite well off. They seemed to be dividing their time between two young secretaries-Francie Rivers and Christie Wells-and two of the more buxom but less attractive stewardesses. The secretaries reeked with radical chic: Sassoon hairstyles, polo shirts, and tailored dungarees. Both were braless, but that was understandable, given what they were into. Francie was taller, with points for breasts. Christie was better endowed, with nicely rounded tits and a real seat for an ass. There was something about the shape of her hips that made me think she could really move them. I'd have to find out to be sure.
Harold Palmer, a nondescript guy, was sitting behind Christie. Every once in a while he leaned out and oogled at her and then sank back in a cloud of frustration. He seemed to spend a lot of his time scratching his balls.
To Harold's right, all the way over by the window, was Peter Poynter. Thin and fair, almost anemic, he seemed vaguely uncomfortable and very shy. During the three hours we had been in the air, I noted that he had consumed more than a fair share of gin.
Finally, all the way in the back, were Hiram and Hannah Smith. Perfectly composed American Gothics, the Smiths ate cautiously, drank cautiously, and spoke cautiously. And yet, when the lights went out I saw Hiram reach under Hannah's flared, flowered dress and play with her pussy. I wondered if he learned that down on the farm.
"Well?" whispered Vivi, putting her hand over mine.
I turned around in my seat to look at her and saw that she was stifling a smile. I gave her a broad grin.
"Looks pretty promising," I commented quietly, again glancing around. All the overhead lights had been dimmed, and except for a few reading lights that were still on, our section was dark.
Vivi put her hand between my legs, her palm resting on my stem. I went hard instantly, a warm feeling creeping into my thighs.
"I think so too," she said. "And he does as well," she laughed, caressing my hard-on.
"Now Vivi, let's not start this thing off on the wrong foot. This is your tour just as much as it is mine, and I don't want you to feel that I'm stopping you from doing anything I wouldn't do."
"Stopping me from doing anything!"
"Keep your voice down, Vivi."
"That's a laugh, Vic. When have you ever made me feel inhibited about anything that had to do with sex?"
"I just thought.. . . "
"You just thought-ha! What you're afraid of is that I'll cut into your score, and who knows, I just might."
I thought about what Vivi said for awhile. I'm a pretty egotistical guy, and I know that I almost always get what I'm after. Vivi is much the same herself. The only difficulty I could see was if we went after the same person, or if the same person played both ends. Things might turn a little sour then if we let our egos get in the way; I really hoped we wouldn't.
I looked at Vivi. She was drowsy and about to drop off to sleep. I decided not to disturb her as I didn't think it worthwhile to pursue the matter any further.
I sank back in my seat, my eyes half closed. Through the partially open curtain that divided our section from the one before it I could see Jenny reaching up to get a blanket for a fat, old man. The blanket was all the way back in the rack and I heard her ask the man if she could step on his seat to get it. He got up immediately and reached up but he too couldn't get it
Jenny stepped onto the seat, stood on her toes, and stretched. She seemed to grasp hold of it but she didn't pull it out. Then she groaned and made a face like a sensuous pixie. For a split second I saw her naked in my mind's eye; she was playing hide and seek behind the trees, running from one to the other in a flash of flesh. Again I felt the distinct thrust of a hard-on and I got up to help her.
"Here, let me get it down for you," I said, appearing from between the curtains.
"Oh thank you," she said merrily, "but I'm determined to do it this time."
She put one foot on the arm-rest. Her skirt parted and I caught a glimpse of her small but well-formed thigh. Then she grasped onto the rack and quickly pulled out the blanket A pillow toppled down and the old man caught it. She started to get down but she lost her balance. I caught her around the waist, marveling how tiny it was, and helped her down. One hand glanced her pert little ass; my cock gave a slight thrust.
Jenny thanked me with a nod, told the man to sit down, and arranged the blanket and pillow. Then she looked up at me. Her look was more than friend-
"Uh, can I have a drink?" I asked, thinking quickly. I knew that the bar was closed, but if she agreed to open it for me then I could take it from there.
Jenny didn't answer me. Instead she gave me a cool once-over and, apparently satisfied, she wiggled her finger for me to follow her.
I watched her ass as it swayed back and forth down the aisle and then up the stairs to the bar. I could feel myself rising and I felt strangely excited at the thought of putting my cock into her-if she'd let me.
She opened the bar and made me a scotch and water; I was glad that she remembered my drink. I offered her a cigarette.
"Uh, uh," she said, "it's against regulations. They'd ground me if they found out I was smoking while I was on duty."
I lit one for myself and exhaled. "And what else is against the regulations?" I asked.
She gave me her sexy pixie look and said, "Mr. Skinner.. . . "
"Call me Vic."
"Vic," she said, a laugh in her voice, "you're just as aware as I am of the regulations; package people always are, and you especially"
"Why me?" I asked blithely.
"Skinner's Tours are absolutely notorious. Lots of the girls always try to line up at least one flight a year with them. And you know why." I
"Tell me," I challenged her, knowing full well that some of our customers start their vacation from the moment they step on the ramp.
Jenny smirked and then took my cigarette from my lips and stubbed it out Then she led me further back into the lounge and seated me on the soft, circular couch. Hurriedly she walked over to the light switch and flicked off all but one. Then she turned around and walked towards me, crossing her arms and lifting her sweater over her head. For a split second the light shone on her olive skin, illuminating her perfectly rounded breasts, her dark brown areolas, and her button-like nipples. Then she walked into the darkness, and when she reappeared, I saw that she had unbuttoned her skirt and let it fall behind her.
I stood up and put my arm around her. Jenny was small, the top of her head barely reaching my shoulder. Her flesh felt warm and smooth and very tight. She was tembling slightly.
I downed the scotch in a gulp, feeling the burning liquor course through my body. Time was short; we would have to skip the preliminaries. If Jenny was discovered, she'd be grounded for life.
I felt her reach down and unzip my fly and open the snap. My cock was raging and it leapt out when she pulled down my pants. In the dim light it looked like a saber.
"Wow!" she exclaimed. She took my hard stem between her hands and whistled admiringly at my cock. "You are big. Wow. Are you big."
She touched my cock lightly and I could see that she was staring at it incredulously. If I didn't put it into her soon we'd end up spending the next few hours with her regarding it in wonder.
I took the waistband of her tights between my finger and inched them and her underpants down over her thighs. Her hips were slim, almost bony, and I hoped that she would be big enough for me to get into her.
I lifted her and lay her down on the couch. I unzipped her boots, pulled them off, and threw them onto the floor. Then I pulled down her tights and tossed them aside.
She lay there looking defenseless and yet very resolved. Each time she glanced at my pounding prick her eyes grew large. I stripped within a few seconds and stood over her, ready to pounce on my prey.
I eased myself on top of her and she opened her legs out wide. She was wet and I could feel her juicy cunt against my belly. She was breathing hard and she groaned deeply when I aimed my prick at her and gave her a prepatory thrust.
"Please, please don't hurt me," she whispered.
"You're so big. I don't know if I can take all of you."
"Don't worry, Jenny; I'll be gentle," I said easing myself into her. She was small and tight but fully wet; I could make it.
Quickly I rubbed her lower lips, opening her up with my middle finger. With each thrust I went deeper and deeper into her and I heard her moan "Jee-zus, Jee-zus." Then I pushed her thighs apart till they could go no further. She moaned and I thrust into her with my prick, again and again, until I felt myself go all the way in. She closed around me like a tight-fitting glove.
"Now," I said to her, ramming my pulsating prick into her hot, wet womb. "Now," I repeated, moving faster and hitting her pubic bone.
"Wow, wow, wow," she whispered, "this is so great. You're filling me up with that big prick of yours. Wow."
I slowed down slightly, knowing that I would come if I didn't stop for a bit. Her cunt lips closed around my lower stem and I felt a spasm rip through her small, delicate body. She dug her fingers into my back and it was then that I knew we would have to go on.
I pulled myself up onto my knees, cupped her ass in my hands, and lifted her up a few inches. She felt light and totally relaxed, but I could see that she was poised for the kill.
I aimed myself at her once again and plunged into her. Jenny accepted me completely, growing wider with each thrust
"Fill me, fuck me," she whispered excitedly, "Wow. What a man, what a prick."
My cock seemed to grow inside of her and I rammed into her brutally. She started to move her hips but then became passive, taking my thrusts with tremors of delight.
"Oh, oh, I'm going to come; oh shit, Tm cooooming," she suddenly cried out.
I rammed into her again and again and again. She shook violently, cursed and laughed, and then cried happily.
At the sound of her laughter my cock shivered and I exploded into her.
"Now," I yelled.
CHAPTER THREE
I was startled out of my sleep by a knock at our hotel room door. Ordinarily I'm a very heavy sleeper and only a bomb going off could wake me. But today-the first full day of the tour-I had dropped off into a warm slumber from which I could easily awaken.
Again someone knocked, only now it sounded like it was made with a ring and not a knuckle. Bracelets seemed to be jangling in the distance.
I sat up, feeling a little drowsy, and reached for my pants. When I went to put them on I realized that I was partially erect. I wondered who I had been dreaming about
Just as I was zipping up my fly I heard the knocks again, harder this time, and the sound of bracelets hitting the door. I looked at my watch: it was only four in the afternoon. Vivi wouldn't be back for at least another two hours, although some of the group might straggle in before that.
Most of the day had been spent shopping, only it was shopping with a difference. We had been to the London sex supermarkets. We started with Phil's
Personal Products, owned and run by Phil and Beverly Dumas who were old friends of ours. Here we looked at sex aids, things that actually help people with their sexual problems. The Dumas's specialize in artificial sex organs, but they also give counseling. Everything's above board, and they're very discreet.
After working our way through a number of other sex supermarkets, we finally ended up at one of Doris Silver's stores in the West End. It's a fun place, very gay and delightful. The salesgirls-sexy in a colorful English way-won't blink an eyelash if you ask them for a whip.
It was here that Sadie Sharp sidled up to me and asked if I could take her back to the hotel. She told me she was tired from the plane ride and time change, but I only half-believed her. She looked pretty sprightly to me, and only a few minutes before she had been kidding the Phillips when they looked at a dildo.
I complied, feeling, in fact, tired myself, but not wanting to admit it. When we got into the taxi I took a good look at her: at first glance she appeared to be a soft, flesh-pillow, and I wanted to put my head on her breasts and stomach and drop off to ; sleep. Close up, however, she simply looked like a lot ; of woman: big tits, big stomach, big hips, big ass, and big thighs. She was quite tall and big-boned and the extra flesh looked good on her.
If it was anyone, it was Sadie Sharp on the other side of the door. I rolled the thought of her around in my mind and opened the door.
"Oh Vic," said Sadie, "I hope I'm not disturbing you." She looked at the bed which appeared so obviously slept in. "You've been sleeping. Well so have I. But now I'm completely refreshed and I want to ask you a question. Do you mind if I come in?"
Before I even had time to say "yes" she had bounded into the room and sat on the edge of the bed. I shut the door and walked over to her. It was then that I saw that she had a box in her hand; I wondered what was in it and if there was anything in it for me.
"You see, I've bought two of them, one for my daughter who just got married and one for myself. She-my daughter-asked me to because she was too embarrassed to go into a store and ask for it, and she knew I wouldn't be, and anyway she wanted to surprise her husband with it," she said brightly, rattling on unconcernedly. Each time she said "it" she raised the box and eyed my prick. I opened my mouth to ask her what "it" was, but she spoke before I was even able to get out a word.
"I wasn't going to ask for two, but then I said to myself, 'What the hell; you only live once,' and I bought it. At Doris-what's the name?-Silver's store. The salesgirl was so young, even younger than Becky-my daughter-that I couldn't bring myself to ask her how to use it. She probably thought an old woman like me really got around. When I got back to my room I looked at them. The instructions said absolutely nothing and I don't have much of an imagination, so I decided to ask you. You probably know. Don't you?"
Sadie had, for a moment, run out of steam. Now was my chance to ask her what was in the box. "Uh Sadie, what did you buy?"
"Oh," she said, "I thought I told you. Vibrators. I bought two of them." She giggled like a young girl. "Ever since my divorce I've had to... let's say I've had to do without sex. It's hard for women of my age to find fellows."
I thought to myself that it couldn't be that hard for a woman like Sadie to find men. In fact, while we were at the Dumas', John Thome had asked me a few things about her. From what I gathered he liked "older" women.
"Now Sadie, a good-looking woman like you.. . . "
"Flattery, Vic, will get you everywhere," she said.
Sadie wasn't kidding. She handed me the box and I opened it. Inside were the vibrators. Both were white with narrow, rocket shaped heads. I was about to tell her that these were the better types-the others were round and only good for surface stimulation-when I saw that she had moved further back on the bed. She had opened the top buttons of her dress, exposing two massive mounds of tit with a deep cleavage that looked like a valley between mountains. Her hem had been pulled up and I could see masses of pubic hair peeking out from the crotch of her panties.
Big, fleshy women always excite me, but I've never quite figured out why. If they've run to fat, then forget it-they have no appeal. But Sadie was in the other class, and she wore her body well. Besides, she was actually pretty-not just well-preserved. My cock began to throb lightly, and I suddenly felt ready for anything.
The problem of approaching her was solved by Sadie herself. She mumbled something like, "I hope I'm not being too forward," and proceeded to undress, giggling to herself. I stood there watching her, vibrators in hand. Each article of clothing was folded neatly and placed at the foot of the bed. When she took off her bra, my eyes bulged at the size of her tits. I've seen a lot of tits in my time but nothing could compare with Sadie's. Each was about the size of three oranges; the areolas and nipples were massive. Un-like most women with big tits, Sadie's hardly sagged. I wondered how this was possible, but I didn't ask. Frankly I was just too dumbfounded. My hands actually began to itch.
Sadie was wearing a black garter belt and stockings. The elastic made creases in her enormous white thighs and the marks still showed a bit when she took off the belt. Her panties were miniscule, and from what I could see they just about covered her patch. Her full stomach came down to the top of her V which widened out into a super-thick patch of reddish-brown hair. When she spread her legs I saw that her big clit was already partially erect and that her lips were long and heavy, like a big gash. For a second I wanted to say to her, "To hell with the vibrators," but then I thought I better not-at least for now-as Sadie was using them as her pretext for a good fuck. Still, there was a lot of ground to cover.. "Now you, Vic," said Sadie, leering at my bare chest.
Immediately I knew her intentions. I handed her the vibrators and took off my pants, keeping my eyes on her stupendous mounds. When she saw my erect cock she gasped, and I could see in her eyes that she thought the better of me. The vibrators were long, but they looked almost puny next to my enticing rod.
"Sadie," I said, taking the vibrators from her, "if I tell you how to use these I'll just end up sounding like some manual. Let's just try them out instead."
That's fine with me," answered Sadie quietly, licking her lips.
I sat down next to her on the bed, switched on one of the vibrators and put the other on the night table. "Now relax and lay back." Sadie nodded her head. I lay on my side, my prick against her thigh. She jumped at my touch but then settled down.
Sadie was like those sag bag chairs: all cushion and a lot of give. I started with one of her big, white mounds, taking a long, slow journey around it and moving inward, still going in a circle. Sadie giggled and murmured, "It tickles," but I kept on going. The closer I came to her areola the harder I pressed into her flesh; her tit began to shimmer and shake and sbe took deep breaths. I dotted her areola with the vibrator, teasing her nipple until it stood out; it was almost the size of the vibrator's head.
She was totally mesmerized. While she watched one nipple grow I reached over and got the other vibrator and began on the second tit, making the exact same tour. Round and round I went, kneading her knockers, separating them, bringing them up towards her shoulders, and then pushing them down towards her stomach. "Oh, that feels so good," she said. "Do it again; do it harder." I ran the tips of the vibrators over her hard nipples. Suddenly her whole body shook and she exclaimed, "I'm going to come. This is wonderful. I'm coming."
Many women I've come across can reach orgasm without having you come near their pussy; Sadie was obviously one of these. Now her body was arching and I bent down towards her, licking her cleavage and working both of her tits hard.
"Ohhhhhh, Vic, I feel it. Ohhhhhh," she cried out. "Faster, faster, go faster."
A spasm ripped through her body. I took her left tit in my mouth and brought the vibrator down on her clit. "Vic, oh, Vic, I can't believe it," she whispered, her body going taut. I teased her clit and ran the tip of the vibrator along her lips, sucking at her tit and burying my face in her soft flesh. Another spasm shot through her: she was ready. "Viiiiiiic," she yelled and her body lurched. Just as she came I plunged the tip into her, churning her up for possibly the longest orgasm she ever had in her life.
Sadie lurched from side to side, wallowing in her own delight. The more she screamed, "Harder, harder," the more excited I became. My cock throbbed mightily; if I didn't get inside of her I would come on her thigh.
I felt her orgasm scream through the vibrator and I jumped on top of her. Her juices were flowing heavily and she was enormous; I entered her with ease and found my prick lost in her gigantic cavern.
"Ohhhhhhhhh," she cried. I rammed into her with my prick and then forced in the tip of the vibrator. I pushed in and out, in and out, die vibrator humming against my raging cock. I didn't want to blow my load just then, but I knew I would have to.
Suddenly I felt Sadie wrench the vibrator from my right hand. I felt myself go numb and then I almost jumped out of my skin: Sadie had found my anus and shoved in the vibrator. My tube constricted over it immediately and she plunged it in again. I continued to hump her, my prick crashing into her hole which whirred with the quivering instrument.
Within seconds we found each other's rhythm and we pumped and shook, spasms ripping through us. I felt as though I had failed into a tub of ice cream, and I sank and rose up, charged by the cold.
"Oh, again, Vic, I'm coming again," screamed Sadie, heaving so hard that I was practically tossed to one side.
The jolt was enough to set me off. I shoved my shuddering prick into her and felt the first explosion. "Do it, Sadie, push it," I cried and she pushed in the vibrator so far that I thought it would go all the way up my ass. "Harder, harder," she moaned, groaning like a great heaving animal.
I slammed into her, shot my load, was recharged, and then I shot my load again.
"Again, again," we said together and with one more heave we exploded, our juices like flowing milk.
"Oh, oh," we cried, going over the top, subsiding, in time, to the relaxing murmur of the switched-on vibrators.
CHAPTER FOUR
Mirium Buschell had a loud mouth-the loudest mouth I ever heard on a woman except for her friend Gertie Grossell. When I found myself sitting between them at the Danny Wilson show in London, I wished, like no man ever wished, that I was deaf.
Frankly I was pretty pissed off as the Danny Wilson show is one of my favorite stops on the tour. Danny's a female impersonator-the best in the business. Without his female attire he looks like any well-built man: tall, muscular, with a chest that even Steve Reeves would be proud of. But the second he puts on his makeup: a long, blond wig in a flip style, one inch eyelashes and a lot of face makeup, forty-inch padded tits and thirty-eight inch padded hips, high heels and jewelry-well, he (or she) looks great!
The lights had dimmed and the show was about to begin. We were sitting in "the heavens"-the highest (and cheapest) seats in the theatre. Most people sit down below and to my mind it just isn't worth the money. "The heavens" afford privacy which is what we needed, especially for the people on the tour who get turned on by Danny and just can't help themselves. I can't blame them.
Danny appeared at the top of the stairs, wearing a gold lame dress and carrying a feather boa. Around him are twelve little "ponces" as they call them here in London, dainty sorts of fellows who serve as Danny's "handmaidens."
"Hey, look at that dress," exclaimed Miriam.
"Oh, Miriam, that must've cost him at least a thousand dollars," screamed back Gertie.
"I'd love one like that for Ira's Bar Mitzvah," yelled Miriam. "You think you can get one like that on Flatbush Avenue?" asked Gertie.
"Maybe," answered Miriam.
On and on they went, cackling like hoarse hens. You could hear them all over the Center Theatreand they knew it. Even the people who were saying "Shhh" gave up after a while and continued to watch the show.
As the tour leader they were my responsibility; I would have to do something about it. What? I thought for a second: I had told them, even threatened them, to shut their mouths-to no avail. They had been extra-friendly to me, hovering around me like birds. I knew what they wanted-I'd give them a taste of it right now.
I put one hand on each thigh closest to me and gently ran my palms across them. Both were pretty hefty Women and their thighs were like tree-trunks--soft tree-trunks and easy on the hands. They were wearing similar velveteen dresses and the material felt nice. I continued to run my hands back and forth on their thighs, moving further up towards the crotch and further down towards the knee. The cackling quieted down to a murmur.
However, when I rested my hands on each of their knees their voices started up again. If I had been provoked just a little bit more I would have punched them in the mouths-women or no women. As it was I took a different tactic.
I reached under their dresses, my fingers finding their way to the elastic rim of their panties. I whispered a silent "You're in luck," thinking how this really could have been fouled up if they had been wearing tights.
Both of them had ample stomachs (but not as ample as Sadie's) and their skin was surprisingly smooth. I stretched out my arms and massaged them gently. Not a peep came out of them. I wondered what kind of expression they had on their faces, but I decided not to look at them. In the first place, this "anonymity" was sexy in its way; in the second it was just too damn dark. I was glad for that.
I moved my hands lower down their stomachs to the point where their patches began. I gave a preliminary press and fondle; I could now hear them breathing.
I thought they'd jump out of their skins when my fingers suddenly crept under their elastic, low-waist panties. When I ran my hand over their patches they lurched forward in their seats, but when my fingers touched their pubic bones both of them sat back in their seats, their asses close to the edge. I moved forward in my seat just a few inches so that I could get at them better.
I rubbed their pubic bones, wondering if that would turn on both of them. You can never tell: some women feel nothing and others love it. It depends on the type of orgasm they most often have and there really are two!
Miriam continued to breathe fairly regularly but Gertie started to heave and twist around in her seat, I worked both of them just a little bit longer, hoping that they'd both respond to the same thing-it would make the whole thing easier. They didn't: Miriam remained quiet and Gertie groaned.
I touched their holes: Miriam was dry but Gertie was moist. I'd have to do something about that situation. I plunged my index finger into Miriam's hole and played with her lower lips with the four remaining fingers. That did it: within seconds I felt her fluids on my fingers, her hole open wide and pulsating slightly.
With Gertie I did something completely different. I brought my fingers down on her clit and applied some pressure. She groaned, then groaned again, but not loud enough for too many people to hear her.
I looked at the stage: Danny was doing his third skit; if I didn't make this one fast it would be time for intermission and the lights would go on. I wasn't in the mood to be embarrassed by my maneuvers.
Again I plunged my finger into Miriam's hole. It was easy now as she was fully wet. Her hoarse breathing resounded in my ears but I kept on finger-fucking her, going in as deeply as I could.
In the meantime, Gertie's clit was growing under my fingers. Fve seen clits and I've seen clits but hers was one of the biggest I'd ever encountered. It was filling up and becoming slightly hard and erect-a veritable miniature perns. Jesus Christ! She was moaning like a baby calf and straining herself against my fingers, trying to jump them without actually doing it.
In spite of myself I got aroused. Miriam and Gertie weren't my cup of tea, as they say, but the whole idea of bringing both of them off at the same time was pretty exciting. My prick gave a little start and lurched forward in my pants. A good hard-on; too bad Td have to wait for another time.
I slammed into Miriam as hard and as deeply as I could, my other fingers pressed on the inside of her lips. I could feel her contractions-she was almost ready.
Gertie was reveling in her juices and groaning "Oh, oh, oh." Was she up to Miriam? I wasn't sure. I began to rub her clit with my middle three fingers, beginning slowly and gently and then working her up to a point where a brutal rub would do the trick.
I had a momentary regret in my prick: I would have liked to have had a little work done on me as well but I contented myself with fingerfucking and rubbing and the feeling of the heat that seemed suddenly to surround us.
I peeked at the stage-I had about one minute more. Furiously I worked at them, the sounds of their combined "Oh's" piercing my ears. "Now?" I whispered to them. "Now," they answered in unison, and with a few more slams and strokes I brought them over the top to the sounds of moans, groans, laughter... and applause.
During the second half of the show they were as quiet as the dead and I didn't have to give them a repeat performance. I sat back in my seat and enjoyed the show.
CHAPTER FIVE
I'm not the type to add up the score-not really. But when Vic told me about that Sadie Sharp and her vibrators and the Buschell and Grossell women at Danny Wilson's and, as an afterthought, that cute stewardess on the plane, my blood began to boil.
You probably think Fm jealous, but it's not that either. Sure I can be jealous about other things, but not about Vic, never about Vic. We've been together far too long and have done so much both together and separately that we're past it. And I mean it. I really do.
At the same time I didn't want to make my chases ioo obvious-ordinarily they do chase me and a couple of them-the two lawyers, for example-were making a play. Strangely enough these sexy young guys were being slow on the uptake. Maybe they'd improve when we got to Paris-I certainly hoped so.
These were the type of thoughts that were running through my mind as all of us were sitting in this Soho strip-joint. The stripper on the stage was a real beaut in the English rose sense: tall and skinny and blonde and pink-cheeked. Delicate facial features but a nice-sized pair of knockers. And a cute ass-but nothing that special. Sexy in a pristine way and too high-class for a place like this.
I glanced around at the male section of our touring party and I could almost see them-salivating. The Buschell and Grossell men's eyes were out on stalks; they couldn't seem to get over her. Their wives, needless to say, were yakking away, but not as loudly as usual. Everyone else looked pretty pleased, especially Harold Palmer, our "ball-scratcher," as Vic calls him.
I swallowed the remains of my gin and tonic with a gulp and stood up. I'm not a heavy drinker ordinarily, but tonight I had had more than my share. I was a little tipsy, but not so much that I didn't know what I was doing. I headed for the toilet, only half-wanting to pee.
I opened the door to the "Ladies." I couldn't find the light-switch and the only illumination I had was from the colorful lights of the other Soho strip-joints. I relieved myself and turned to go when the door opened. I was about to say "Wait a minute" as the bathroom was so small that two people would have felt as though they had been caught in somebody's womb.
Immediately I realized it was Kit Fisher. She had made herself pretty scarce since the beginning of the tour, spending most of her time (I gathered) at the Golden Club, the best place to meet lesbians in London. She hadn't gone back tonight and I was surprised when she stayed with the group. Now she was crying.
In the dim lights she looked so small and vulnerable that I wanted to hug her to my chest and tell her that everything would be all right Besides, I needed a little comforting myself-not much, just a tiny bit. I put my arms out and she rushed into them, sobbing bitterly.
Between her sighs she told me what had happened. It seemed that one of the reasons she had come on this tour was to see a girl who had rejected her last year. The girl was English and had been working as a secretary in New York when Kit met her. They were lovers for a short while and then the girl suddenly upped and went back to London. Kit followed her and had been with her for the previous two days. Then the girl told her that she had someone else and so it was good-bye Kit all over again. The stripper on the stage reminded Kit of her... hence the tears.
I really did feel sorry for Kit. For some reason the break-up of lesbian relationships always hits the partners harder than would the break-up of a heterosexual relationship. And yet, at the same time, in spite of my compassion for her, I began to feel just a little bit aroused.
I'm fairly tall and Kit wasn't even up to my shoulder. She had buried her head in my breasts and moved it back and forth between the cleavage. Our arms were around each other tightly, like two very old friends. I could feel a slight tingle in my pussy and I was curious if she felt the same in hers. The more she quieted down the tighter she held me and the faster she moved her face into my flesh. It was one of those situations where you do it or you don'tand I did it.
I bent down and began to loss her, first in her sweet smelling hair and then on her lips. I cupped her chin in my hands and covered her eyes and nose and cheeks with tender kisses. She responded-with a passion! She sought my lips and gave me a searching kiss. Her tongue ran all over my lips, then my teeth, and then it pressed against my tongue. Her hands, her child-like hands, moved over my body with an agility I would have never thought possible in such a seemingly "innocent" girl.
I could feel my pussy begin to pound and I pushed one of her hands from my breasts and guided it to the crotch of my slacks. At first she seemed a little hesitant-I don't know why. She somehow was more interested in my breasts, drawn to them like a baby is to their mother.
But it wasn't-strictly-mothering that she wanted. Anyway, I can be aroused to orgasm without any fingering whatsoever. If she did a good job on my breasts, anything could happen.
I reached down for her, making a fast tour of her tiny breasts, her small waist, and her almost boyish hips. She moaned when I touched her pussy, putting her hand over my hand and pressing down. However, when I began to reach into her pants she stopped me, muttering something like we couldn't do it prop erly in so small a place. I was a little bit disappointed: I'm very drawn to other women-though not especially to butch-type lesbians-and the feel of a cunt in my hand and its lips between my fingers is always an exciting one.
Suddenly I realized that she was opening my blouse and drawing it out of the waistband of my slacks. She seemed intent on her work and before I knew it she had taken it off me and was unhooking my bra. I looked down at my breasts: in the half-light they looked like alabaster mounds.
"Oh you're so beautiful," whispered Kit, taking off my bra and dropping it on the sink.
Then she reached over to the door and felt around for the lock-something I had forgotten. After a bit she found it and I heard the click. Then Kit returned to me and soon I felt her hot breath on my breasts.
Something wild ran through me-something that made me want her to bite and claw at my breasts, suck them deeply till the nipples could stand it no longer. She brought her head down on my left breast and bit it hard, but not painfully. Then she did the same with the right breast, only this time her teeth dug repeatedly into my areola. With that I knew that she felt the same way as me, wanting me the way I wanted her to want me.
She began to claw my back like a little tigress, biting and kissing my chest and my breasts. I felt totally passive and yet very aroused and I held on tight. Her clawing became more intense and her hands moved all over the trunk of my body. She was scratching, but not to draw blood; it was merely her expression of passion. I longed to reach down for her but I knew that she would push my hands away. The desire was quickly submerged when she began to lick my tits, salivating furiously and kissing them deeply. She seemed to be in a trance, murmuring words like "I love your tits, your great big beautiful tits. "You have the most beautiful tits in the whole world."
"I'm going to bite your nipples till they're as hard as stones. Yes I will."
I was in no position to stop her, and, in any case, I wouldn't have done so. While she was salivating on my mounds, my fluids were running and I felt very wet. My blood was pounding in my ears and the walls of my womb sent back signals in reply. I moaned and called to her, "Kit, Kit, what you're doing to me, oh it's so good."
She re-doubled her efforts, cupping my breasts in her hands and sucking on them in much the same way I had done with her small, sweet face. The more she sucked the hotter I got, writhing with a strange passion for this young woman. She responded to me with a lunge, taking my entire right areola and part of my tit in her mouth and sucking on it and drawing it out till it felt numb. When she began to do the same with my left breast a shiver ran through me. "Suck me, Kit, suck me hard. Suck me, suck me," I whispered, hardly able to hear my own voice. I felt as though I was on fire and I knew, with the second hot shiver, that I was going to come.
She brought both of my breasts together and buried her face in the tight cleavage. Then she began to ravish me with her teeth and I shuddered and called out, "Oh, oh, I'm coming. Kit, I'm coming. Keep on doing it, suck me, bite me, do it, Kit, do it."
"Come, come," she whispered back to me. "Come beautiful."
At her words I rose up and felt hurtled over a giant sandbar. Kit must have felt the same way too because I heard her moan in ecstasy and bite my nipples as if to prolong my orgasm. Again I rose up and was washed over, again and again. When I began to subside Kit hugged me, once more burying her head in my breasts, only this time she was laughing happily.
CHAPTER SIX
After my encounter with Kit I felt much better. Even Vic noticed it and this made me feel as though I was walking on air. And I was... in a way.
We arrived in Paris the next day, all of us looking forward to a really great time. Paris was beautiful in the spring and we had arrived at a perfect moment. Romance-with that slight undercurrent of Gallic lust-was in the air... and I was horny.
You see, I adore Frenchmen and their mincing ways-at least it's a change from American brutes. I was determined to have one during our three days there, and my wish was rewarded that very first night.
We were scheduled to go to Sensualite-a new and popular "nudie" nightclub in the center of the city. I had been there only once before-and then only briefly-and I remember how I walked away thinking it was one of the most sensuous places on earth.
The decor was cushions, deep rugs, and private booths. It was dark except for the candlelight. We all walked in together but dispersed immediately. I couldn't see where Vic went, but later I did catch sight of him talking to Sadie Sharp and (I could hardly believe it) Peter Poynter. There was a band playing romantic music and lots of very chic men and women looking as cold as the ice in their drinks.
Just as I sat down on one of the cushions-they were harder than I imagined, like mini-couches covered in fur-I was approached by a very dapper looking gentleman who introduced himself as Jacques St. Jacques, a staff writer for a local newspaper.
Jacques (we were immediately on a first name basis) was one of the taller Frenchmen I've met and one of the best looking I had seen on some of my previous trips to France. He had the charm of a viper: quick, sharp, and intelligent. And very stinging. He moved in on me with such rapidity that I was completely taken off my guard-as though I wanted to be on it anyway!
We had moved from our booth to one in the back, and on our way there he ordered a bottle of champagne from the gargon. By the time the boy arrived at the booth, both of us (Jacques and I, that is) were relaxing nakedly against the heavy back cushions. In fascination I watched the garcon take the bottle from the bucket of ice, put it between his legs, and open it. There was a loud "pop" and the cork came out, as did some of the bubbly liquid. Every time in France a bottle is opened I have to look, as the sight is so incredibly sexy. Would Jacques come with such a loud "pop"? I wondered.
The champagne poured and tasted and poured again, Jacques returned to amour, sweet amour. His specialty, I-gathered, was foreplay, particularly soixante-neuf. I happen to like soixante-neuf, but this was soixante-neuf with a Gallic difference. Jacques took the champagne glass from my hand and poured the contents over my breasts. Then he spread my legs and poured his partially filled glass on my pussy. "La Mime chose," he said. I filled my glass with champagne and dripped it slowly onto his prick. He began by being totally flaccid, but with each successive drop his prick rose higher and higher. It was a good-sized prick, even when it was not erect, but when it was, it was full and also sparkling from the champagne. Jacques then refilled his glass and drenched my pussy with the cool liquid. The first time I had hardly noticed the feeling as I was taken by surprise-total surprise. But this time I felt the shock of the cold liquid on my lips and wow! Did that ever feel delicious!
He shrugged, smiled, and dove in. The first thing he did was lick my breasts free of the champagne, and, once done, he drenched me and licked me all over again. My body went all tingly from the repeated shocks and the roughness of his tongue. He was like a cat with milk and his moans seemed like deep purrs. I purred back, excited as hell.
While he "washed" or "douched" me, as they say here in France, he was. working my clit with such madness that I was afraid I would come. I tried to tell him to go a little more gently, but all he said was, "Ah, you American women." Before I knew it felt the first shock of orgasm rip through me, then another. My legs began to close but he forced them open, poured even more champagne on my clit and licked it till it hummed. "Stop, stop," I cried, 'pain and pleasure mixing together. The feelings I had were indescribable: my nerves seemed to be vibrating and shocks of cold ran through me. I lay there, shaking as though I had been electrocuted. I yelled and moaned and tore at him, but still he continued, my orgasm going on and on and on until I thought I would turn into the champagne he had so lavishly poured on me.
Just as the tension relaxed, he jumped on me in a soixante-neuf position. With one hand I took his flaming rod by the stem and with the other I reached over, grabbed the bottle of champagne and liberally doused his prick and balls. The bubbles "popped" on his pubic hairs. At the first shock, Jacques jumped, but when I put his prick in my mouth, sucking him all the way down to the base of his stem, he purred in glee. I drew him out by the folds of the skin, licked and sucked on his tip, and poured on more champagne. "Ah oui, ah oui," he called back to me, taking the bottle from my hand.
He spread my lower lips with his tongue and then with his hands, opening up my hole. He foraged deeply inside of me, fucking me gently with his tongue.
"Ah oui," he murmured into my pussy. "Tres belle, tres belle." He sighed in a typical Gallic way and said, "You have ze most preety puzzy, ah oui, c'est vrai."
With that he literally poured champagne into me and began to lap it up hungrily. I went alternately hot and cold, then numb. I grabbed the bottle back from him and doused his balls. Then I took them in my mouth and sucked on them, moving my tongue around their hairy circumference. He grunted and groaned, lapping me into a tremendous lather.
I could feel his hard prick by my cheek; it almost seemed to be resonating. I knew I was ready, but all he needed was the final touch. Excitedly I took his tip between my fingers and pressed on the sides. The slit sprang open. I took aim and poured in the champagne. Jacques bellowed loudly. I did it again. His moans were deafening.
He pushed his tongue back into my hole and whipped it up. I screamed, "Maintenant, mainte-nant," shuddered and came.
Dimly now I heard him murmur, "Ma belle, ma belle, maintenant" and with that he shot his load into my mouth, the taste of semen mixing with the taste of champagne.
"Maintenant" I cried. "I'm coming."
"Oiiiiiiiiii.. . . "
"Ohhhhhhhhh.. . " ttAhhh oui."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Pepi and Paula were on stage at the Last Hotel, die hottest show in Paris. I had been there before, in the days when only watered down lesbianism was shown on the stage. Now their act was full-blown and simply gorgeous to behold: black and white women making love in the full frontal nude. We knew both the girls, and I made an arrangement with them to take care of Kit after the show: there was a lot of enthusiasm all around and I was glad.
In the meanwhile I had set up my own sex a trois with the two lawyers, John Thome and Thomas Knox. They had really been getting on my back-verbally that is-for the last few days, and we decided that the best thing to do was to slip away from the Crazy Horse when things were really getting hot and return to Vic's and my hotel room.
Just as Pepi started to lick off Paula, John gave me the signal and we got up and walked out. I don't know if anyone noticed, but if they had I wouldn't have cared anyway.
We caught a cab back to the hotel and raced up to the room. I could sense a certain nervous excitement in these two young men. Ordinarily they would have been chattering away, making wisecracks and so on, but now they were silent. I was slightly amused by this and I hoped they wouldn't disappoint me. Or me them. These things happen, you know, even to the best of us.
While Thomas poured the wine John and I got undressed. I quickly understood that what Thomas wanted was to see me make love with John and then he'd join in. That was fine with me: in times like this I like a little revving up before I really got going.
John walked over to me and put his arms around my waist. When he kissed me-a long, deep searching kiss with his tongue-I could smell the wine, and the cigar he had just smoked. A manly smell. I liked it.. . and I liked him. I returned his kiss with such passion that I instantly communicated to him my desires.
We stood there a while longer, kissing each other and running our fingers lightly over each other's' body. Although he was about my age, he had the body of a much younger man; his flesh was taut and there was a certain lankiness about him. A looseness. I wondered how good he was with those slim hips of his-now I expected a lot.
Thomas, I noticed, had also removed his clothes and was leaning in the shadow of the wall I glanced down at his prick: it was big and meaty and was just beginning to erect. He was licking his lips, but I don't even think he knew what he was doing. His eyes were fastened on my ass and he seemed to be mulling over its size.
"Come," said John gently, leading me over to the bed. "What are you thinking about?"
"How you're going to put your prick in me; that's what I'm thinking about," I returned, not shy at all.
He laughed a low, deep laugh and threw me back on the sheets. For a man who had such slim arms he was very strong. I hit the pillow with a "whack" and almost simultaneously I felt him fall on top of me.
Again he searched my mouth with his tongue, grinding into me with his hips. I could feel his strong stem against my lower stomach and the pressure of it started my fluids going. I began to grind back, moving my hips hard against him. It was hot in the room and we were sweating: our bodies, rubbing against each other, sent up a tremendous friction.
I opened my legs and he began to push my pubic bone with the top of his stem. He hit it again and again and I began to moan softly.
"Isn't that good?" he said, his voice indicating to me that he was not asking a question, only giving me a command. "Tell me, Vivi, tell me how good I am. Tell me how much you like me, how much you're enjoying me."
I could hardly speak as I felt myself going weak. His cock was now pressing against my lips, teasing them, playing with them, exciting them. "You're great," I finally whispered to him but my words were lost in our humping, the sound of two bodies smacking against each other. I wanted to see the expression on Thomas's face but I was too intent on what John was doing to me.
Suddenly he reached down and his finger entered my hole. The swiftness of his assault startled me. His finger went deep, very deep inside of me, going as far as it possibly could. One finger was followed by another, then another: his three fingers filled me up and moved inside of me wickedly. "Fuck me," I whispered. "Fuck me." I looked up into his eyes and they seemed gentle and smiling. And patient. He didn't want me now, not in this way, and I waited to find out the way he would finally do it to me.
John's probes with his fingers had Drought me to a point of excitation from which there was no turning back. I moaned again, louder this time, my fingers digging into his flesh. When he began to press on my clit, molding it, massaging it, forcing it up with his fingers I bellowed loudly.
"Come, my little cunt, come, my little wet cunt," he said, charging into me with his fingers, opening me up so that I could take him. I reached down for him.
I was barely able to touch the rim of his prick. He brought himself up further on me, his balls against my stomach, his prick covering my navel. I took him in hand and just as I did he slammed into me again with his fingers, his pinky finger pressing on my anus and, after a time, entering it.
"Fuck me, please, John, fuck with me those fingers. Fuck me. Ohhhhh, you're so good," I moaned, moving my fingers all over his prick and then reaching for it with my free hand. I pulled the skin upwards with my palms, and with each successive pull it seemed to grow under my hands. It got bigger and bigger and very hard and it seemed to be enormous, at least from the angle at which I was laying. I felt the tip-it was wet. Fluids flowing from his red hot piston. I longed for him to slam it into me, ram it and push it all the way up so that I could almost feel it in my mouth.
I worked his prick harder, knowing that eventually he would have to put it in me. And he did. "Do it, baby, do," he said, jumping off the bed and pulling me to the edge. Then he twisted my body around so that I lay half-on, half-off the mattress. I locked my legs around his waist and he rammed into me.
His prick was made of iron and with each jolt I felt as though a thunderbolt had been unleashed inside of me. "Do it, baby, do it," he cried and I began to hump him back, pulling myself in with my legs-"Oh, Jesus, this is good. You're so good. Oh," I called out to him, holding onto the sheet, afraid that
I would be jolted out of my rhythm. His hips moved brutally and all at once I felt his hand on my anus.
"Ahhhhh," I screamed out to him when his finger entered my hole. My shouts and screams only served to spur him on and his fingers inside my hole gouged me, twisted me, wrenched and pulled me. I thought
I was going to split in two, the pain searing through me.
Just at that moment when I thought I could stand it no longer I felt hot breath on my face. I opened my eyes and saw that Thomas was bending over me. He was on his knees, his ass pointing straight up at John. His red cock dangled before my eyes, before my lips, and I strained my head and caught it with my mouth.
"Lick it, Vivi, fuck it," he screamed to me.
I sucked on it deeply, pulling out the skin with my lips and mouth, running my tongue all over the tip. He was big, but not as big as John, and his cock tasted good.
John slowed up his rhythm so that I could do a good job on his friend. His finger was still in my hole. I stiffened my muscles around it and his cock, making the entrance a bit more difficult but much more exciting because of the friction. He fingered my nipples and moaned, "You're great, you're the greatest. The greatest fuck."
I kept on working Thomas's tool, kissing and sucking the tip. In one swift motion I withdrew it from my mouth and forced in his balls. "Take it, Vivi, take it all," Thomas whispered to me, bringing the lower part of his stomach down on my face. I ate his balls ravenously, wetting the hairs with my saliva, "popping" them in and out.
Thomas's balls were, it seemed, his Achilles heel He moaned and yelled and twisted around, crying out for me to take him, eat him, suck and lick him the way I could only do it. He words seemed to have an effect on John who began to work at me with a faster pace. Suddenly he began to hit my pubic bone and clit, filling the depths of my sex with his big cock.
I felt myself rise up; I was nearly ready. All of a sudden Thomas wrenched himself free from me and shouted, the sound of his voice filling the room. Immediately I discovered what had happened: John had begun to finger-fuck his ass-hole. It came on Thomas as a total surprise and his body had heaved heavily at their entrance.
"Ohhhhh," Thomas shouted. "Ohhhhh."
His body was shaking. Quickly I reached up for his cock, soothing the stem and balls with my tongue. I could feel it pulsating and I forced it down into my mouth, just as John slammed into me with a mammoth force. Again and again he pushed and banged, our bodies making great sucking noises. I was in a frenzy and I tried to scream out "now" but it came out all garbled.
"Go, baby, go," directed John. "Go and do it. Do it, do it now, fuck me, fuck me."
I went faster, keeping up a rhythm of sucks and fucks.
"Ohhhhh," yelled Thomas. "Come on, beautiful, drive me crazy with that mouth of yours, ohhhh."
I felt myself surging and roaring, numb to the tips of my toes. "Now, now," I tried to scream, "now, I'm coming."
John rammed into me again and I suddenly felt a shock run through him. "Come on, Thomas, come on, Vivi," he yelled, humping me furiously. "Ohhhh, gooood, that's it, that's it, baby," he yelled, shooting his load into me.
I was at the top of the peak, every nerve screaming, fighting, totally on fire. Just as I tried to say "harder" I went over the top, moaning and heaving, sucking on Thomas's prick with every ounce of strength I had, and drawing in John's seemingly endless come.
"Ahhhhh," yelled Thomas. His body lurched and he began to fuck my mouth. "Ahhhhh." His prick was flaming, on fire. With a burst of hot rage he came in my mouth, spurting his load in great bursts. I took it, swallowed it, licking his come soaked cock.
"Obhhhhhhhhhhhhh," yelled Thomas.
"Ohhhhrmhhhhhhh," yelled John.
"Yes," I cried, "oh yes."
For a few more seconds our bodies were a trembling mass of flesh and nerves and then all was silent.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Le Con cafe. A fitting ending to the fabulous time we had had in Paris. A place to really get drunk in, to laugh in, to sing in, to dance in. A crazy place, a wonderful place where everything is colors and movement and sound.
We arrived there at two in the morning, ready for a good, gay time, expecting anything and yet hoping for everything. From the moment we walked in we knew we had come on the right night. The night of the "Snake Dance."
It isn't often that Le Con has them, but when they do it seems as though half of Paris turns up. Vic and I have never quite figured out how they hear about it-we don't. It seems like telepathy: people simply "hear" that the "snake" is coming and they flock to the cafe in droves.
The "snake" is an Algerian. No one knows his name. He's short and dark with very delicate body features. Except for his prick. When it's limp it's enormous, but when it's erect-well, there's nothing in this world that can compare to it. All good meat. I've seen him stay erect for nearly an hour, and then some.
You could feel the tension building up in the cafe; everyone was waiting for him. Some people had already undressed and were sitting there chattering and sipping their drinks. The shades were down and the lights were off; a few candles had been lit in expectation.
Vic had sauntered off somewhere and I sat alone at my table. I heard a chair scrape and turned around. It was Myron Busehell, drink in hand.
"Would you mind if I joined you?" he asked, a catch in his throat.
"Sure, come and sit down."
"Ugh, could you tell me what's going on. I don't want to sound... ugh.. . stupid, but.. . . "
I turned to him full face and opened my mouth to say something when I noticed the expression in his eyes. You couldn't exactly call it lust-it wasn't that deep. Instead it was curiosity with a dash of desire. I wondered what his wife had told him about Vic and about me.
"It's the 'Snake Dance.' An Algerian comes here every so often and conducts it. Everyone gets undressed and forms a big circle around him. Then somebody starts to play a flute.. . . " I hesitated.
"Go on," he said, "tell me. I'm old enough to know." There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice, just a hint.
"Well, when the music starts his... prick... begins to rise. He doesn't masturbate-it just seems to rise on its own accord. Then everyone begins to dance, and he dances too. When the music stops everyone stops and the person his prick is aimed at has to go into the center of the circle. Everything's up to them: they can fondle it or lick it or put it in them... whatever they want. When the music starts up again they have to go back to their place and then everything starts all over again."
"Oh," said Myron. He threw back his whiskey in his throat and sat there in silence. "Oh," he said finally.
Just then I noticed that the "snake" man had arrived; cheers went up. "Excuse me," I said feeling very amused. I stood up and began to strip off my clothes. I knew Myron was watching me, I could see it out of the corner of my eye. He whistled very low when I took off my bra and I deliberately tantalized him with my tits, bringing them close to his face when I bent down. When I took off my panties I thought he would fall over. His eyes seemed to search out my slit and I knew that he wanted to reach out and touch it. I tantalized him still further by sitting down with my legs spread wide open. Then I crossed them.
"You're some good looking lady," was all he could say.
I looked around me. In the dark I could make out people getting undressed, tits and asses and pricks suddenly flashing white in the candlelight. I turned back to Myron and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. He looked up at roe and then he quickly downed his drink.
"Come on, Myron," I said, teasing him with the tips of my fingers. He, too, looked around, probably for his wife. When he didn't see her he got up and in a flash he took off his clothes.
I was pleasantly surprised to see how much better he looked without them. Fully clothed he looked middle-aged, but when he was nude I saw that he was still in very good shape. His prick was long and thin and his pubic hairs were dark and very curly. I "accidentally" touched it and it sprang up, ever so slightly. He put his arm around me and inched his body towards mine. I felt his prick touch me and then he rubbed it against the upper part of my arm. In seconds it was hard.
I turned to take it in my mouth but stopped when I saw a figure lurking about ten feet behind him. I strained my eyes and realized that it was Harold Palmer, the "ball scratcher." He was still fully dressed and from the way he was standing there it seemed that he was going to stay that way. I thought to myself that he was really going to get his kicks from this: the "Snake Dance" was a voyeur's Paradise.
Just then the music started and everyone scrambled to form a circle. I took Myron by the hand and led him over to where a cute Parisian girl was standing. In the half-light her body looked very inviting to me. She had small pointed breasts with enormous areolas, medium sized hips and a very full ass. What a dilemma!
Myron must have sensed this and he decided to take possession. He took me by one arm and pulled me in front of him. The Parisian girl danced on slightly ahead, her ass wiggling wildly. I could feel my juices beginning to flow and I rushed on, keeping myself sufficiently behind her so that I could have a good look at the movements of her body. I turned around and smiled sweetly at Myron and he smiled back. He no longer seemed that curious; there was out and out lust in his face.
When I turned back I realized that the Parisian girl was looking at me over her shoulder and staring at my bouncing breasts. A feeling of desire ripped through me and I shrugged my shoulders, dancing up and down to make my breasts bounce even more. I winked at her then and in return she kissed the tip of her finger, half turned around and touched my nipple, all without losing a step. Then she laughed and danced on ahead, her ass shaking wildly.
Myron edged closer behind me and pressed his prick into the crease between my cheeks. He held me to him with one of his hands on my stomach, using the other to guide his prick into my ass-hole. Another feeling of desire surged through me and I threw my head back for him to kiss me. He caught me in the cheek and kissed me quickly, his hands running over my breasts and then down to my patch.
"Let's dance," he whispered in my ear, rubbing his hand over my patch. "You have such a lovely cunt; I want to get to know it."
I giggled to myself, feeling both ticklish and excited by his actions. Myron really knew what he was doing with his big hands. He pressed his fingers against my pubic bone and nudged the skin around it, going in a circular motion. I turned back to him and said, "That, feels good, do it just a little bit harder." He obeyed. He grasped the fold of skin, pinched it, and pushed it roughly against the bone. I gasped and moved closer to him, his stem feeling hard in its nesting place between my cheeks.
I glanced around me. The music had become wilder and people were shaking and throwing about their arms. A bevy of breasts seemed to be cascading, a parcel of pricks were handed about, and my little Parisian, my little Parisian was wiggling her ass, her hips gyrating round and round. In the center was the "snake" man, looking not a day older than the last time I saw him, his prick still gigantic and pointing, whipping the air in a very odd way.
Suddenly the music stopped, suddenly his prick shot forward and pointed, suddenly someone danced into the center of the circle: it was my Parisian, all points and curves. While everyone watched she knelt down and kissed the top of his enormous prick, her tongue finding its hole and darting in. The "snake" man took her by the back of her neck and urged her forward, entreating her with soft words of French. Her tongue continued to play with his slit, the tip was now almost open. She pinched it, it widened, and she darted in.
At the same moment Myron's fingers entered my pussy. He scratched at me, churned me, lathering me up. My cunt was immediately sensitive to his touch and my hips moved around faster and faster upon his fingers. Just as I reached back for him I heard the flute, heard the "suck" of my Parisian's lips, heard the sounds of coughs and shuffles, and darted forward in my dance. After about fifteen feet I passed by Harold Palmer: his hands were on his balls and his face was white. I blew him a kiss and surged forward.
Again the flute player imitated and spurred on our frenzy and again we danced in our wildness. The Parisian girl had slowed up and turned around towards me and I reached out and fondled the points of her breasts, running my fingers around her areolas, and teasing her nipples when they went soft. I longed to take her tits in my mouth and suck on them deeply, but Myron had me firmly locked to his body. Again I shrugged and the Parisian girl laughed gaily, turning around and throwing out her ass towards me.
Around and around we danced. Myron's free hand was now on one of my tits; he was kneading it furiously, pressing it against my chest, scratching at it with his blunt fingernails. I could feel his urgency, I could feel my own, and I danced more furiously, jogging on his fingers. The cafe seemed to turn into a kaleidoscope of colors and my mind was spinning.
I reached out my arm and patted the Parisian's ass, almost as if to say good-bye. She gave me no sign whatsoever and instead danced merrily on, her buttocks jiggling in time to the music. I could hear people moaning and their sighs impelled me on. Myron's finger was churning in me, whetting me, arousing me. It soon would be time.
Again the music stopped and again the "snake" man's prick found it's mark. Peter Poynter danced lightly into the circle, aimed his prick into the "snake" man's ass, opened the cheeks and took a preliminary thrust. A shout went up and then I felt myself dragged forcibly over to the side of the cafe, to a table in the corner. Another shout went up and Myron lifted me onto the top of the table. The cold metal made me jump but I welcomed its coolness.
"Dance, dance for me," whispered Myron, getting on top of me and fingerfucking me furiously. I was wet and I wanted him, wanted him desperately, wanted his prick inside of me, filling me up. I touched it and felt its hardness. He edged it into me, slowly at first, his thrusts becoming harder.
"Dance on my prick, dance hard. Hump the hell out of me. Put your legs around me and hump me. Dance," he commanded, his words tumbling out of his mouth.
"Yes," I called back, taking aim with my hips and pushing home. "Yes, slam that cock into me. I love it. Fill me up, come on fill me up," I whispered to him.
Myron pushed into me and I answered with the thrusts of my hips. A shout went up, then applause; Peter, too, had thrust home. Myron reached down for me with both his hands under my ass. He wrenched up my hips, aimed them, and together we slammed into each other. "Oh," I cried, "do it again. Fuck me as hard as you can."
Once more he tightened his grasp on me and brought me forward. His prick seemed to grow inside of me, become even bigger than I could ever imagine it to be. Slam, slam, our bodies shot forward to each other. "You little, cunt, you juicy cunt, your great big cunt." Slam, slam, smack went our bodies, fucking, humping, writhing in perfect rhythm.
Suddenly I felt every part of me go numb, my thighs becoming like lead. I was completely overpowered by Myron's prick and I felt strangely passive in his hands. "Ohhh," I moaned, "what you're doing to me with your cock. What a cock. Ohhh."
Myron picked up speed as the music started once again. "Fuck me, fuck me," he yelled but I could hardly move. He grabbed my hips, steadied himself, and then wrenched me up and down on his prick. I could feel the insides of my legs rubbing against his hairy skin and the strong movement of his cock within me. "Oh Christ," I called to him. "Do it"
His fucking reached a pitch of brutality which drove me half out of my mind. My body was streaming with desire and I knew that momentarily I would come. "Now, now," I called out to him, moaning and twisting on the table top. Still he remained erect, groaning and breathing heavily, shoving me onto him with all the strength he could muster.
"Just a little more, just a little more, you juicy cunt m shoot into you, shoot my load into you. Fuck me, fuck me just a little bit longer."
I couldn't hold myself back any more. My body rose up and I began to come, screaming, "Slam that meat into me, slam it, ram it, fuck me." Just as I felt the first jolt of orgasm my senses returned to me. I pulled myself back out of Myron's grasp, aimed, and forced my way onto him once, twice, faster.
"Oh, you fuck, oh, you great big beautiful fuck, you've done it, you beautiful cunt, now, I'm coming," he yelled, meeting my rhythm with his thrusts, shoving them back to me.
"Ohhhh," we cried out. "Oh shit," he said, humping me, his prick like a cannon discharging ball after ball. On and on went my orgasm. "Oh shit," I yelled back at him. On and on we went. "Ohhh, ohhh," we cried out.
CHAPTER NINE
"I didn't know it could be like this. I never knew. You feel so nice. I really like your body. And you have such nice breasts. They're so big and soft. Not like mine. Oh, do that again, will you please. Please Mrs,. Skinner, I mean Vivi. Please, huh?" said Pat Spooner in a soft pleading voice.
I fitted the dildo into its place and opened up Pat with my fingers. She was a tall girl, with small rounded breasts and the smallest pussy I had ever come across. It was very hard going and not all that entertaining... yet.
Pat had been a surprise, but those sort of things keep the world turning. This, our first night in Rome, we had gone to some of our Italian friends' home to see a private viewing of a new blue movie they had made. By day he was in television and she was on a fashion magazine; by evening they were fun-loving sensualists as many Italians are.
The film was called "Sappho," after the famous lesbian. The girls who were in it were quite beautiful and I could feel myself becoming aroused just by looking at them. Making love to a woman had been very much on my mind since that incident with Kit and that nonincident with the Parisian girl in Le Con. I had brought along my dildo in the hope that Anna, our hostess, would ask me to stay the night with her. She didn't and I could see, quite visibly, the reason why. Since we had last seen her a few months before she had gotten herself pregnant by Ennio, her husband and our host. For her it was a happy state of affairs, and, un-like other evenings, she never once left his side.
I looked down and was met by an ecstatic expression in Pat's eyes. I hadn't realized quite how innocent she was, until now. Her fianc�, Dick, had hardly broken her in, and this too was a disappointment. Her whole manner seemed very knowing, but once you began to make love to her you discovered how naive she was sexually.
The movie had obviously stirred her in much the same way as it had aroused me. After it was over, and while most of us were waiting around for Ennio to set up another reel, she came over to me and asked if she could speak to me in private. We went into Ennio and Anna's glassed-in patio and sat down on their floral-printed sun couch. The upshot was, after a lot of uming and ughing, that Pat wanted to make love to me. She didn't know why, and she didn't care, and she wished (her tone was so serious that I almost laughed) that I would consent. She seemed so expectant that I couldn't say no, and when I nodded my head she threw her arms around me and kissed me solidly on the lips. I liked her kiss-it was dainty and very feminine-and the feel of her body against my own. She "fit" at first touch, our bodies seeming to have a similar shape. I noticed that she was warm and trembling slightly and this I imagined was from a combination of fear and excitement.
We undressed together, side by side, but Pat turned from me when she took off her bra and panties. I was amused by her shyness and the simplicity of her movements; it didn't seem "to go" with her whole appearance.
When I was ready I called to her and again she rushed into my arms, burying her face in my neck. "Don't be afraid," I whispered to her, stroking her hair and moving my big breasts against her own. What her breasts lacked in size they made up in firmness and this aroused me. Just a bit. I couldn't stop thinking of those mammoth sized breasts of the women in "Sappho" and was a little sad that Pat couldn't hold a candle to them.
I bent down to take her right breast in my mouth and she shook and cried out. I decided to hold her to me just a little longer so that I could get her used to the feel of another woman. For a while we stood there, locked in each others arms, giving each other brief, gentle kisses. I could feel her heartbeats.
After some time I took her by the arms and sat her down on the couch. Gently I cupped her right breast in my hand and kissed it, doing the same to her left. At first she was sincerely frightened, but when I continued to kiss her she became much more relaxed and very willing.
"That does feel good," she whispered to me, placing her hands on my shoulders. "I... I know I'm very small but I really feel good whenever Dick... touches them. But he's never done anything like this, never. And I like it...."
I indicated to her that she should lie down and after she did I lay down next to her. Her breasts hardly spread out at all; in fact, they seemed almost the same as when she was sitting up. I decided to go slow with her, showing her the delights of a woman's love for another woman. Gently I ran my hand over the whole length of her body, pausing at her wiry patch and kissing it where the hair began at the top, then following its outline on the sides of her now open legs. Pat's cunt smelled warm and delicious-very clean and very fresh. I couldn't wait to take it in my mouth, to taste its delights.
She moaned slightly when I kissed her clit and continued to moan when I teased it with my tongue. When I began to kiss her patch she forced my head down again and I sucked deeply on her lips. "Mmmmmm," she murmured, twisting and turning her body, responding and yet not knowing what to do. I reached underneath and grasped her buttocks, bringing her hips up to my mouth, sucking on her clit, then pushing her down again. "Oh God, Oh God," she cried out, trying to lurch free from my grasp. I held onto her tight, repeating my movements but with an even fiercer passion. "What is this, what are you doing, I never let anyone do this, never, oh God, it feels sooooo nice."
I looked up at Pat; her face was white and contorted slightly. She looked back at me and then drew me up towards her, shaking and murmuring, almost in tears.
There, there," I said to her. "How does it feel? Do you want me to go on?" I kissed her very briefly, running my tongue over the top of her lips. I could feel them quivering and I stopped. She looked at me through very bright eyes and shook her head as if to say "go ahead."
Once again I lay down full length next to her and caressed her breasts. Her expression brightened and she almost smiled back at me. "Can I do it? Can I touch you? Will you show me how? Please?" She looked at me with an innocent passion and when she spoke there was a catch in her voice.
Instead of answering I took her hand in mine and guided it down to my pussy. Her hand was cold and I shivered. I moved up a few inches and turned on my side, resting on my elbow. She seemed slightly ashamed to look at me, to even touch my breasts, but she was a willing student in clitoral stimulation. I showed her where she should touch me, indicating on her own body the way she Ought to do it. At first she had some difficulty, especially in finding the strength and rhythm to use. I was patient with her and very kind and soon she found her way. The more I moaned the more excited we became, our desires for one another surging through us, drawing us together, making us lovers.
"Am I hurting you?" she asked when she put her finger in my hole. Her nail was long and I had winced at her first attempt.
"No, no, please go on, you're doing nicely, I like it, just go on," I said encouragingly. It was honest encouragement: now she was working my hole the way a woman should be worked, touching all the right places. She sensed this and continued her probes, hugging me to her and kissing me.
Tm so happy," she said, her expression now considerably changed. "Really I am."
I smiled back at her and ran my hand over her breasts. Slowly I made my way to her hole, feeling her body stiffen. When I entered her with my finger she exclaimed, "Oh God, oh my God," and brought herself closer to me. It was then that I realized how small she really was. I opened her legs wide and bent the left one to give me easier access. She was wet, as wet as myself, but even then it was hard for me to get much movement inside her as there was hardly room for my finger. "Relax, relax," I whispered. She sighed and seem to loosen up generally.
I began to finger-fuck her and she screamed. I started slowly, touching only her inner lips, and then I built up to a faster speed and a deeper plunge. Her juices now were flowing and her body heaved. She. strained her arm and sank her fingers into me, her movements, at first, echoing my own and then finally becoming more frenzied.
I moaned in desire, in the knowledge that I soon was to come. "Don't stop now, don't stop, keep going," I called to her.
"Yes," she answered, "yes. And do me too, do it to me too."
We lay there bathed in a fury of warm sensuality, madly fingerfucking each other, bring each other higher still higher. I could feel her body arch toward me and simultaneously my own met hers. Everything, everything was perfect, perfect rhythm, perfect unison.
Suddenly I felt myself flooded in sparks and I called out to her, "Pat, I'm going to come, I'm coming. Fuck me hard, fuck me."
She moaned like a wounded animal and whispered, "Yes, yes, I'm doing it. I can feel you. I can feel me. Tm coming, I'm coming too."
Faster and harder we went, our fingers working each other to a paroxysm of lust, of warm and loving lust.
"Now," I cried to her, startled by the first burst.
"Oh yes, now," she answered, her voice filled with joy.
"Now, harder, yes, yes, yeeeees," I whispered, rising, rising, almost there, almost, there I was there and she was as well, fucking me, me having fucked her, again and again. We went over the top, laughing and licking and kissing, feeling wonderfully warm and completely satisfied with each other.
"Oh God, oh God, oh God, this is good," she laughed.
"Yes, yes, yes," I said to her, my voice lost in my throat
"Oh please, please let's do it again," she said after a while.
We lay on the couch, holding onto each other. Her warmth and tenderness surged through me once again and I knew that I could go on and on.
Minutes later I got up, walked over to my pocket-book, snapped it open, and then drew out the dildo, the dildo I was going to use on Anna. I could see Pat's eyes grow large when she saw it. For one moment I saw, when I put it on, a slight fear in her eyes, but when I murmured "Trust me," she smiled.
I came towards her, the dildo looking shiny in the light. I turned Pat over on her back, spread her legs, and brought them up. Then I got on the couch, sitting on my knees between her legs. When I bent down to kiss her pussy she groaned and drew my lips to her quickly. I cleaned her still wet pussy and with each lick she was aroused a tiny bit further. Just when she thought I was going to kiss her clit, I straightened up and aimed ihe dildo. Holding on tightly to her hips I tried to ram it into her and she cried out in pain. I withdrew, teased her open, spreading her legs as wide as they could go. Slowly I moved into her, each thrust opening her more and more. The actuality of her tight cunt made me think of Vic: he would love this. I'd have to tell him, I thouslit.
"Nice, nice, please do it again, ohhh, Mrs. Skinner, Vivi, do it again," Pat moaned.
Once again I entered her, slowly. The tightness of her clit sucked in the dildo. I hoped it would hold.
Suddenly, of her own free accord, Pat sat up and felt my anus. She looked up at me, curious as to what I'd say, wondering what I was thinking. She almost giggled when she saw approval in my eyes. Then she began to twist and turn her finger in me; I moved forward, making it easier for her and for me. We both shot home at exactly the same moment and while I fucked her with my dildo she fucked my anus with her finger.
"Oh God.. .oh God," she cried, fucking me brutally.
"Do it, do it Pat," I answered.
"Ohhhh," she moaned, "ohhhh. This is so good, you're so good, you're so beautiful, I love you, I love your breasts." She reached up and touched them, running her fingertips over my tits till my nipples stood out.
"Oh, oh," I moaned to her, "Harder, harder, pinch me, scratch me, rip me in two, tear me apart. Oh Pat, this is fantastic.. . . "
"Vivi, Vivi this has never happened before. I.. . I think, yes I think I'm going to.. . come. Come. Hurt me, hit me, oh God this is good," she moaned, moving her hips on the dildo, forcing her way in.
I re-doubled my efforts, plunging into her fiercely, going as far as I thought possible. At the same time I felt her fingers push all the way up in my hole. I shuddered. She was right. We were going to come.
My juices were flowing and my cunt was vibrating... I was going numb, rising, rising.
"Now, now," she screamed clawing at my breasts. She shuddered and my body felt it and echoed it. Higher, higher, higher.
"That's it, that's it," I yelled.
"Oh God, oh God."
CHAPTER TEN
It was "Marrieds" night" at the orgy and a swapping good night it was. For once Vivi decided to accompany me (although she claimed that it was I who refused to be with her during the last half of the tour), along with the black couple, Lester and Billie Phillips, and the couple from the Midwest, Hiram and Hannah Smith. The Buschells and Gros-sells said they were too tired: the tour had exhausted them. However Vivi told me that Myron Buschell told her that they had planned a private swap of their own back at the hotel.
Frankly I was surprised that the Phillips and the Smiths agreed to come. Both couples had kept pretty much to themselves on the trip, and often we discovered that they had "gotten lost"-always at night. In the morning they'd show up at breakfast looking pretty haggard, but when we asked them where they had gotten to they always changed the subject. At one time it crossed my mind that the four of them were going out together, but I dismissed that fairly fast. It never worked point for point.
Anyway we arrived pretty late and the orgy was in full swing. If you've ever come in to anything-a party, for example-in the middle of things it can be pretty off-putting. Especially at an orgy. In New York there's always someone there to answer the door, take your coat, and give you a drink or a joint. The whole thing is really self-conscious and you always want to leave the moment you walk in. But you don't. Sometimes things turn out all right but a lot of the time they don't. Too many people get drunk or stoned. Too many people try to outdo each other. Too many people, period.
In Rome you just walk in... and you take it from there. There's an air of wholesome decadence about orgies in Europe, especially in Rome. It's their tradition. In New York the whole thing stinks of Wonder Bread and new furniture.
Vivi at times can be pretty hung up on etiquette and tonight she was chewing my ear off about introducing ourselves to our host and hostess. Compliments of Ennio and Anna. And so on. I finally talked her out of it. They knew we were coming, and anyway-how could they miss us. We reeked "American.
The house was off the Via Veneto and needless to say we couldn't find it (at the last minute we decided to walk there). When we finally did we couldn't find them-the people. The house was gigantic: it must have had at least 26 rooms. We finally decided to strip down in one of the bedrooms and make a more logical search. After what seemed like hours (pleasant hours at that: I had my eyes on Billie's beautiful black flesh) we discovered they were in what we call the basement. Only it was an underground cavern, akin to those underground passageways that run under the Vatican. The passageways were lit by lamps and the walls were whitewashed. Everywhere we saw pillows and cushions in a wide variety of colors and shapes.
When we walked into the "main" room we couldn't believe our eyes. Tables had been placed along the walls and were heaped and spread with food. Liquor was literally flowing from the mouths of silver lions in enormous silver bowls. And the people-the people seemed as though they had arrived straight from "La Dolce Vita." The women were all statuesque beauties with tits like watermelons, and the men were short and tanned, with heavy pricks.
Vivi forgot sex for the moment and headed for the food; I headed for Billie Phillips. Lester headed for Hannah and Hiram, good old Hiram, headed straight for a small circle of Italians who were busily, if not merrily, buggering each other. He, I can tell you, didn't bother to introduce himself-he jumped right in, his prick waving in the air, his rough, though muscular, body moving like a thresher.
"That Hiram really knows where it's at," said Billie, her voice husky and soft.
I was a little surprised by her comment. I looked at her but her face was cool. I was curious to know if she was speaking from observation or from personal experience, but I didn't want to ask. Instead I stared at her, taking in her whole body with my eyes, tasting her flesh with my tongue. Billie was a real beauty-a knockout. She was almost as tall as myself, but her Afro hair gave her a few extra inches. Her skin was a dark honey color. Smooth to look at and smooth, I suspected, to touch. Her arms and legs were long and slim and her fingers were covered with rings. Her tits were big and heavy, the areolas large and light brown. Her nipples stood straight out, as though that was their natural stance. Her patch was very black and curly and it looked as though it had been shaved to form a semicircle on top.
Before I knew what was happening Billie had draped her arms around me and sat me down on one of the pillows. Her hand immediately searched out my balls and while she gently tickled their surface she spoke to me. "I hear you know where it's at too. But maybe that was just talk. People talk. I never pay too much heed to them. I like to be shown.. . . "
Her touch, coupled with her words (and her challenge) produced in me an instant erection. Billie looked down at it and smirked. "Well, they weren't lying about that. I can see it. You have one of the biggest pricks I ever saw, big and delicious looking." She touched the tip then bent over and kissed it. Her breasts brushed my thighs and a nice warmth ran through me, especially in the area of my groin.
"Man, you are big," she said, looking at my prick and "clicking" her tongue.
I thought for a minute, then put my hand between her legs. Her flesh felt good and tight and very inviting. Her patch felt bristly. And she was wet. Just a little bit wet. Again my groin was suffused with warmth. Finally I said, "Looking doesn't tell you much, does it?"
She didn't answer. Instead she bent down and took my balls in her mouth and "hummed" a few times. Then she sat up again and kissed me, kissed me like no one has ever kissed me. My mouth and lips and tongue felt as though they had been raped when she finished (and she took a long time over it, I can tell you, a very long time).
With half a mind I wanted to be raped by her and with the other half I wanted to ravish her, ravish her so brutally, so wonderfully that she'd never be able to forget me. My fingers sought her hole and then entered it with a slam. She groaned. I held her by the shoulders and forced in my fingers once again, pushing her down and at the same time pushing them up. She was like a deep, dark cavern, a mysterious beauty with unmined charms. The pulsations of my prick told me that I should get into her right away, but my mind told me differently.
I pushed her back on the pillows and opened up her legs. Her flesh gleamed in the light and her pussy shone wetly. I ate her clit like a man who has been starved for it Her flesh tasted sweet and her clit was big. It swelled in my mouth and tasted even sweeter by the minute.
She moaned soft words and spread her legs still further so that her whole pussy was on view. Her lips were a light pink-brown, very long and very thick. I took them between my fingers and spread them, moving the fingertips lightly across the inside, spreading her lips just a bit further each time. Her fluids now were flowing and the sight of them dripping from her cunt and down to her ass-hole, her neat black ass-hole, drove me into a fit of excitement. I concentrated on my erection, almost prayed I wouldn't have to come so soon. I didn't want to disappoint her, especially after all those stories she had heard.
Her hole seemed to widen in front of my eyes, its mysteries unfolding to me. I opened my mouth fully and took her all in between my lips. My tongue shot into her, lapping up her juices, licking her flesh. Again she moaned and strange, almost nonsensical, words came out of her. "Oh baby, oh baby. You are a winner, a really fine winner. Do it to me, eat me, oh you.. . . " I drew out her lips then blew into her open, steaming hole. She screamed and laughed and called out, "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Baby, fuck me. So good. So fine."
I moved closer to her and then I swung my body on top of her in a 69 position. My aim was perfect: she took my prick between her teeth, bit it sharply all along the stem, and then "hummed" on it as hard as she could. Her mouth, too, was like a cavern and with each suck she took me in a little more, salivating furiously, biting me, bringing her tongue round and round my raging prick. Her hands reached up and fingered my balls, delicately at first and then more fiercely. She molded them between her fingers as though they were pieces of clay bringing them forward over my rod then around my thighs and finally stuffing them as far as they would go into the crack in my ass.
My own movements gained momentum. I took her patch in my mouth, its bristly hairs tickling the sides of my lips. Then I plunged in three of the fingers of my right hand into her warm wet hole and two fingers of my left up her ass. She tightened her muscles around them, calling out "Fuck fuck fuck," and began to gyrate her hips around my finger pistons. Deeper and deeper I plunged into her, tearing at her flesh, opening her, arousing her to a screaming ecstasy.
"Fuck me, man, fuck me, do your thing with that prick of yours, do it, man, do it," she yelled to me, her words humming in my prick.
She was ready. Quickly I swung her around to the dog position and got in back of her. Both her luscious, liquid holes were presented to me in all their fullness. My cock felt bullish, ready to burst into her, explode in her, drive her wild with wonder. I aimed and rammed into her cunt and she screamed. I quickly withdrew, opening up her ass-hole with my fingers. I aimed and slammed into her. She screamed a deafening scream and then yelled back to me, "Do it, baby, do it." I withdrew slowly from her ass and shot into her cunt once again. This was the rhythm and she followed it to a T. Slam, suck, slam, suck, slam, suck. My body shook from the fierceness of my fucks and with each one she answered it with a preciseness of her hips, her thighs, her cunt, and her ass.
"Thata baby, thata girl, you're great, the greatest, the best fuck around. Move that ass, move it, move it," I yelled to her. Faster and faster we went, fucking in joy, in passion.
Just then I felt a burning sensation in my ass and I turned around: it was Hiram, his cock red and meaty, his eyes on fire. He was taking aim, he was fucking me from the back, fucking us in perfect time to our rhythm.
"Keep it up, Vic, sir. This is real nice," he yelled to me, his voice hoarse. "I can take it for just as long as you can, maybe longer."
"Do it, Hiram, do it," I yelled back to him, my cock rampant, my ass-hole burning.
I looked up and Billie met my stare. She smiled at me, her beautiful face streaming with sweat. Suddenly one of the Italian men approached her, kissed her on both cheeks, and presented his cock to her face. I saw her head surge forward to grab it, suck it, eat it. I saw his face, his chest, his flashing thighs. He looked ecstatic, fired by his ecstasy, rising, burning, almost ready to explode.
"Good, good," he called to me, and just as he did I saw Vivi walk up to him and throw herself into his arms. He laughed wildly and grabbed her by the tits, pulling at them, clawing at them, working them over. "Ohhhhh," she moaned. "Oooohhhhh," she cried, her body heaving, her hips grinding.
Slam, suck, slam, suck, slam, suck. I moaned and cried out, clawing at Billie's body with a gusto. "Yes, man, do it," I heard her say. "Oh yes."
Suddenly I heard Vivi laugh and I glanced up. I couldn't believe it-couldn't believe that Hannah was hugging her, kissing her, sliding down her body, her nailmarks in Vivi's skin. Eight before she bent over to take Vivi's cunt in her mouth she yelled to Hiram. "Get along there and show 'em. You show 'em Hiram." Then she got on her knees, arched her back, opened up Vivi's legs and dove into her with her tongue. Her hand was planted firmly on Vivi's stomach and she was rubbing it, pressing it, pinching the soft folds of flesh. "Ohhhh," called Vivi. "You're driving me crazy, it's so good, do it, Hannah, do it, you fabulous woman, do it to me, lick me till I'm dry, take it from me, take it, baby. OhKhhhhhh."
My ass-hole was ablaze and each muscle of my body strained to keep itself going just a little bit longer. I couldn't give up now and I couldn't blow my load-I was literally caught between the devil and the deep blue sea and neither of them showed any signs of flagging. My cock was raw from fucking and flashes of pain and pleasure leapt through me like hot flares.
A glance at Hannah rejuvenated me. In ecstasy she was really pretty and the curve of her back and her slim ass was surely a sight to behold. But I wasn't the only one who found her charms appealing. Billie certainly did. "Hey, Lester, look at that woman, all alone and nobody doing nothing to her. You come here less I give you a sound beating when we get back."
Lester, at that moment, was embroiled with one of the Sophia Loren types over at the other side of the room. When Billie spoke to him he listened, and before I could slam Billie's cunt for the umpteenth time he dashed over to Hannah,, opened up her hole, and rammed into her. "Yes, man, she is good," he called back to his wife. "Moving those hips like a tornado.. . . "
"Sophia" followed him and she was followed by others. Seconds later I felt the whole chain give a shake and shudder. My ears vibrated to the cries and the moans, the sucks, the slams, the hums, and the bangs. The whole room seemed to explode like a bomb, the bodies bobbing and turning and twisting. The vision of wet cunts, wet pricks, wet tits, wet asses. Going higher in the flames, rising up, rising, rising.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I screamed and the chant was picked up.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," called the voices, heavy and straining and hoarse.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I answered, my body telling me, commanding me, ordering me to explode.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," called the writhing crowd.
Suddenly I heard a shout above the rest, it was Vivi, Vivi's voice, she was yelling in ecstasy, "Now, now, now."
Almost simultaneously the chant went up, ripping through the steaming air. "Now, now, now."
I felt my prick lurch forward, I felt the whole chain shake, I felt myself shoot niy load, shot into by Hiram, the whole group of us coming, coming, a whirlpool of wetness of sweat and semen and gism.
There were screams of delight, moans of ecstasy, sighs of pleasure. "Now, now, now," we yelled.
"Now."
"Now, now, now," I could hear myself yelling, rising again, shooting my load, shuddering at its impact throughout the chain.
"Ohhhhhhh."
"Ohhhhhhh."
"Ohhhhhhh."
"Ohhhhhhh."
And we all fell down.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
If I had my choice I would have slept all the next day, all the next week, in fact, if I could. The orgy continued till dawn, and it was fucking good all the way. And exhausting. The next morning I sank into a warm bath, bellowed, let out the water, and took a cold, painful shower. I thought that every inch of skin had been stripped off me and thrown away somewhere. I ached everywhere (even my feet hurt!) and my prick and ass-hole glowed like torches. Vivi refused to get up and comfort me. The only time she awoke was to say that she would murder me if I got her out of bed. I actually believed her!
Lester, Billie, Hiram, and Hannah didn't show their faces the whole day. Neither did Sadie, Alex, Myron, Miriam, George, or Gertie. Mary took off for a closer look at the Vatican (you can believe that was something we'd never think of scheduling on our tours, even though some pretty sexy things went on there a long time ago).
So I was left with the "younger" members of our group (and Harold Palmer, of course) and this wasn't such a bad thing. We had scheduled a trip to a sex commune on the outskirts of Rome-just the right place for "youthful" antics.
We arrived an hour before sundown. The hills were magnificent and the setting was out of this world. The women walked towards us to give us their welcome. Olive-skinned beauties, naked to the waist, from their tits hung suckling babies. It was Italian warmth-trebled.
The men, strapping fellows in cut-offs led us for a tour of the place. We saw their fields, their flowers, their huts-all very rough and yet quite enchanting. The majority of them were craftsmen in the old style, and their machinery looked new and complicated. There was an air of peace about them, a looseness and happiness, a pride in themselves, their children, and their work. It was, in fact, one of the most successful communes I had seen, not only in spirit but in shape. Drugs were outlawed.
We dined with them on a mixture of pasta and organic food, an air of expectation hanging over the table. There was nothing venal about the whole thing; in fact, I had the sense that things would work their way out naturally. In spite of the innocent sexuality of the members of the commune, I didn't see anyone making a particular play for anybody. Our group remained cool, and I was happy for this. It would have been very embarrassing for me to have shepherded them there and then have them run amok. I didn't want any hard feelings on anyone's side, and I certainly didn't want to spoil things for the people who went to the commune on the next packaged tour.
After dinner I began to notice people drifting off into dark corners. There seemed to be a free mixture of our people with theirs and on the whole everyone looked pretty pleased. After exchanging words with one of the temporary leaders of the commune-making arrangements for things and so on-I sat down by myself in the darkened communal playroom. I was very tired and I found myself nodding off, time and again. I wanted to be back in Rome by midnight as we were leaving early the next morning to fly to Amsterdam. I needed a good night's sleep-that's all.
When I look back on what happened all I can see is confusion. The fine line between dreams and everyday life was crossed and crossed again. Did, in fact, anything happen?
I remember waking up-or at least thinking I woke up, feeling that it had gotten to be quite late. My body was heavy with sleep, aching still, and my mind was in a blur. Someone was talking to me-or it seemed as though someone was talking to me-and at first I didn't understand the words. He, and I was certain immediately that it was a man, was saying, T wanted to thank you. Not only you, but your wife. You've helped us. I'm happy. She's happy. This was the greatest experience for us. It really was. I mean it."
I tried to see who was talking to me but it was far too dark. My eyes were focusing on everything but on nothing in particular. I could make out the outline of a man coming towards me, a tall, slimly built man, who walked with a slight shuffle. I stared at the figure and tried to talk to it but no words came from my mouth. I was terrifically puzzled and very unsure of myself. I felt as though I had been thrown to the bottom of a pit and was trying to call for help, crawling my way out.
"I do want to thank you, honestly. Everything's changed now. We're changed. It's better. And so are we. We're good."
I felt his breath on my face and his hand on my shoulder. Suddenly he bent down and kissed me, not gently, not passionately-just a kiss. He was obviously someone who had come along on our tour; he certainly wasn't one of the members of the commune. Who could it be? Peter Poynter? John Thorne? Thomas Knox? Dick Turner? Harold Palmer? All of them had come with us, but which one was here, kissing me? What woman? I couldn't think straight; my mind was a jumble of names. Who was it? Who could it be?
Then I felt his hand close over my crotch, slip down between my legs, and rest there. One part of me was passive; I was far too tired and in a certain way very unwilling. It's not that I'm against homosexual encounters, not at all. But I'm happiest when they happen in groups, as part of the sex of everyone. But between two men... just two men.. . .
I was surprised when his touch awakened a longing in me, I was vulnerable, there were no two ways about it. When he unzipped my fly I didn't protest but I didn't show any sign of encouragement. Instead I sat there, slumped in the chair, waiting.
He massaged my prick through my shorts and a slight tremor went through me. I was aroused, definitely aroused, and warm in the groin. When he undid the buttons to my pants, opened them, and then pulled down my shorts I felt my whole body begin to dissolve.
He bent down and kissed the tip of my prick, murmuring "Thank you. Thank you." all the while. With each successive moment of contact I felt my erection becoming harder and firmer, and by the time he brought his mouth down on me, I was fully erect.
I sat there, a dream man being sucked off by a dream man. Or were we both real? Again and again he brought his mouth down on me, cupping my balls in his hands and moving them around tenderly. I had no desire to reach out for him, none whatsoever. On the one hand I wanted to stay like this for a very long time, his mouth on my prick, his tongue licking my stem. But on the other I wanted this to end immediately but I didn't have the power to throw him off.
In spite of myself I became excited-by the darkness, the man, his tenderness, the image of myself... everything. The more I tried to picture what was happening, the more my emotions flooded in, washing everything away, I had lost control and although I strained to recapture it I couldn't
When his sucks became more insistent I knew that I would come. It was just right for two people, two men, to do it this way, though I knew it wasn't the only way. His tongue encircled my entire stem, ran its length, grazed my balls. I heard myself moan, moan wordlessly, totally at ease in the situation, fully a part of it Soon, soon I knew. Soon.
The movements of his mouth and lips on the tip of my prick impelled me on. I was now in the groove of orgasm, moving swiftly towards a completion. X heard a voice calling to me, crying to me, and I felt his words echoing through me. He began to moan and his moans drove me on and on, closer, closer, closer.. . .
I came in what I thought was slow motion. There was no sense of urgency, no rush of feelings, no feeling of going through a life and death cycle. Nothing-none of that. Just a spray of my life being passed on to him. Taken without greed or anger or passion. Simply acceptance.
I seemed to shoot on and on, on and on, subsiding only when he withdrew his mouth from me. "Thank you, thank you," he whispered. Then he kissed me, solemnly. And then I slept
CHAPTER TWELVE
It was fabulous being back in Amsterdam, really great. It has always been one of my favorite European cities, among other peoples. The canals, the trees, the pace of the city, the quality of life-everything so unhurried and safe and clean... so un-like New York.
We arrived mid-afternoon and were very lucky to get there at all. Vic and the rest of the people didn't arrive back from the sex commune until dawn and it was a rush from that time till the time we finally got on the plane. From there it was smooth sailing... or flying... from there on in. Poor Vic slept all the way. In a way I felt sorry for him, not having helped him take the tour to the commune or even taken them myself. It was irresponsible of me, but when I looked at the situation clearly, I knew that I just couldn't make it, even if someone had carried me. Now he was the one who needed to be carried.
When we reached the hotel he headed straight for bed, and when I left him he was snoring loudly. Our planned expedition was to the porn shops along one of the canals was carried out in bright sunlight. I felt almost drunk on the warm air and the lively feelings of this lovely city, so drunk in fact that I didn't even realize that in one of the shops George Grossell was standing behind me, his chin on my shoulder.
I continued to turn the pages of a glossy men's magazine, marveling that pubic hairs were now being shown on women. In my day they covered them up with cloth or even inked them out so that all you saw was a smudge on the crotch. At worst they "flesh-toned" them, making women look like those nude mannequins that you sometimes see in shop windows. I used to get a laugh out of those.
"Nice looking women," he commented. "Especially the fair-haired ones. Maybe they're Scandinavian, but I wouldn't know. Never met any in my life."
I turned around and smiled at him and he smiled back at me in a friendly sort of way. Then I turned back to the magazines and opened up another one. I flicked through some of the pages and saw that there were a number of them that showed men and women, both of them nude. Ordinarily you don't see very many males in men's magazines... strange isn't it?
One man caught my eye. To be precise he was a boy, not older than twenty I suspected. He was posed very artfully with a young girl on sand dunes and they seemed, at first glance, to be part and parcel of their surroundings. Curves melting into curves. It was very beautiful and very serene. And very young.
"Do you like that one?" asked George almost wistfully.
"Yes, yes I do. There's something very real about it and yet at the same time it seems like someone's dream of what love and sex should be like. Warm and nice."
"I know.. . . I know," he said, putting his hand over mine and pressing it affectionately.
It was almost time to leave. We had scheduled a few hours of free time and in a way I was very glad for it. As I walked towards the door I heard George call to me. In seconds he was by my side and he shepherded me out, his hand on my elbow. Suddenly he presented me with a plain envelope. I looked at it curiously and then I opened it. Inside was the magazine that had the picture of the young boy and girl. I thanked him and continued to walk on, feeling, for some reason, extraordinarily happy.
I wanted to ask him where his wife was, but I didn't. It would have completely spoiled the mood and we both knew it. All at once he let go of my arm and took my hand. I didn't pull back-I didn't want to. My hand felt suddenly small, much smaller than I thought it was, or maybe it was just that he suddenly seemed so large and protective, but not all fatherly.
We walked along one of the canals and then along another, talking, mostly about himself and his job. Not once did he mention his wife; he seemed in fact to be greatly relieved that she wasn't with us. He bought me some flowers, bright yellow flowers, and then he suggested we return to the hotel. He'd bring a bottle of wine and some bread and cheese. I said yes, thinking that it was a long way to walk and that I'd enjoy the stroll.
On we walked, on and on, and in what seemed like seconds we reached the entrance of the hotel. It was dusk and the romanticism of the city seemed to encircle us, bind us together in some way. I wanted to hold onto it just a little longer, and while I leaned against the wall, he ran across the street and brought back, a few minutes later, a large loaf of bread wrapped in paper, a mound of cheese, a bottle of red wine, and a knife and an opener.
His hotel room, even for the short time he'd been there, was in disarray. Clothes were strewn everywhere, littering the chairs, table, and bed. He scooped everything up and put it in a pile on the floor, apologizing profusely. His wife, he said, was ordinarily a very neat woman, but the rush., . .
We sat together on the bed, me with my legs together and out straight and he with his dangling over the edge. I felt as though I was being courted in some old-fashioned way. Each of his words and actions were extremely considerate and his whole manner was warm and loving. I hadn't eaten for many hours and the wine on my empty stomach made me feel a little lightheaded. Even the bread and cheese, which were delicious, didn't fill me up, and after a while I only nibbled on them.
He asked me, really asked me, if he could make love to me. It was a truly beautiful gesture, something which HI remember for the rest of my life. I nodded my head and began to undress, but he stopped me, saying that he wanted to do it.
With each article he took off he gave me a lass and by the time I was completely naked I felt bathed in sweetness and light. I stood there, feeling very young and innocent, like those people in the picture. I watched him undress. He fumbled and I thought I saw his hands shake slightly. When he too was naked I looked at him fully, and for just one moment I saw the handsome man he once was-tall, with a broad chest and slim hips, strong legs-and the way he now was-greying, a little stooped in the shoulders, sagging a bit in the stomach.
He took me in his arms and hugged me. I could hear his sad sighs and feel his lips on my shoulders. He kissed me lightly, just a few times, and then he led me proudly over to the bed.
We lay down next to each other, exploring each other's bodies as though we were new lovers. His hands brushed my breasts, encircled them, and then he kissed them, but all so gently and sincerely that a sob almost rose in me. I wanted him, I truly did, but not out of compassion and sympathy. Out of love. The kind of love in which brevity is the most poignant quality.
His hands explored me further, running down the length of my body then up again to my breasts and my neck. He seemed almost hesitant about going any further and I encouraged him by taking his hand and bringing it down again to my pussy. I knew I was moist, and I knew this would please him, and I was happy.
He patted my thighs, kissing me on the neck, and then he sought my moistness. He touched me, then hesitated, then touched me again. His gentleness was lovely and it excited me tremendously. I began to moan when he ran his fingers over my lower lips, opening my legs to give him easier access. At the same time I reached down for him and brought my hand between his legs, running it again and again from his anus to his balls to his stem, resting, for a second, at his tip. He moaned and sighed, murmuring that I was beautiful, that I had made him very happy, that he hoped he could please me. I kissed him fully on the lips, my tongue lingering on his, as if to say thank you but I was certain he would.
"I love you for what you're giving to me now, for what you've given back to me. I do love you for this, for this."
I moved closer to him, warmed by his words, and for a long time we lay there caressing each other in silent passion. He was hard and I was very ready, and we came together in the most simple way, smoothly and yet without any subtleties. I lay on my back and he lay on top of me and his prick moved in and out of me gently.
I heard myself moan and I hugged him to me even more tightly. I was rising, growing numb, but it was a sweet numbness, a delight. His movements echoed my desire and he began to plunge into me. I could feel his uncertainty and my heart rushed out to him. I took his face in my hands and kissed him and by this one, small, meaningful action he was buoyed. He steadied himself and plunged into me, again and again, The only sounds in the room were our soft cries, and the smack of our bodies hitting each other. I do not know how long we continued that way, it seemed like an eternity, but the type of eternity that is the best. Suddenly he heaved heavily and gasped. It was time, his and mine, and we rose to it. I moved my hips upwards towards his own, faster and faster. It was good, it was wonderful, and we were so very fine. Again and again we met, rising, rising still higher, still higher.
. I felt him explode within me and then I answered it with my own. There were no words to arouse us, no commands, no exclamations... only sad-happy sighs of two people brought as close as any people could ever be by the height of love.
When we were fully spent he continued to lay on top of me, his head on my shoulder, his arm dangling over the side of the bed. I stared up at the ceiling, totally calm.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The building that houses The Coffee House is painted in garish colors-reds, yellows, and blues and strange designs. You can spot it a mile away and it certainly is an eyesore for many of the residents of Amsterdam. For others The Coffee House is paradise: a haven in which smoking marijuana is completely legal. Sanctioned by the government.
It has had its own ups and downs. Opened a number of years ago, it has been deliberately shut down for many complicated reasons. On many of Vivi's trips abroad she has stopped by-not to smoke-to see if it is in fact in business. Simple curiosity. Ordinarily I never go near the place; I have no great love for smoking, although I'll do it when I'm in a social situation or when Vivi and I want to add another dimension to our sex life. But I do have to check on it for business reasons. It's on our tour schedule and if it isn't open we have to make alternative arrangements.
It was in business when we arrived. However, taking account of some of the "older" members of our group, I proposed a topless club in its place.
Most of the people chose the latter, although some of the people who had gone to the sex commune decided in The Coffee House's favor. Among them were the two young secretaries: Francie Rivers and Christie Wells. I had noticed that they were becoming a little fed up with the two lawyers-John Thorne and Thomas Knox-and they told me that they didn't think the two young men were particularly "with it." I never like people who divide the world into people who are "with it" and people who are "without it." It seems, at least to my way of thinking, that this is a very unfair distinction: people are people.. .that's all.
And yet, even though I wasn't too pleased with that aspect of their thinking I was pretty enthusiastic about them generally, aside from their radical chic, that is. Another bone in my throat. I had been thinking about both of them on and off during the trip, always saying to myself I'd like to have either one or the other. I preferred Christie, but mainly for her body: her full tits and ass and those well-oiled hips. In a good pinch Francie would do, although I prefer girls with bigger tits than she had.
In any case when we came to Amsterdam it suddenly crossed my mind that I could have my cake and eat it, if you know what I mean. Their "fed-upness" with the lawyers had resulted in them hanging around me even more than ever. The day that Vivi took the group to the porn shop I had stayed back at the hotel to sleep. The girls had obviously slipped away from the group; I knew it when I saw them standing over my bed, giggling. My nudity has never impressed me or anyone else for that matter; my big prick always does. They were staring and pointing at it, and I would have serviced them on the spot if I wasn't so damn tired.
The Coffee House was my opportunity-and theirs. The group split up at about nine in the evening and I made my way with the two girls and a few others from the group to the "smoke house." All the way there Francie and Christie regaled me with their knowledge of pot: the price of an ounce in New York, the various qualities and so on. I hardly listened: I was far too turned on by the sight of Christie's nipples outlined by her tight polo shirt. And Francie looked particularly nice this evening. I noticed that she had put on some weight since the beginning of the trip and most of it went to her ass. I could see her breasts through her gauzy shirt and they looked very pert and suckable.
We split up when we went inside, Francie and Christie staying with me. I got hold of a dealer, bought six joints from him, and took the girls over to a darkened section of the large room. The smell of grass hung heavily in the air, and by the time we finished the first joint I knew I was stoned, but not stoned enough not to know what I was doing. The girls then smoked a joint a piece while I sat and watched them, figuring out my method of approach.
I shouldn't have bothered wasting my time-the game was in their hands. Christie leaned over to tell me about the Stones song on the loudspeaker. I couldn't hear her so I leaned towards her and she fell heavily against me, putting her arm around my waist As she was talking she ran her hands up and down my back, each time probing lower and lower into my pants. When she lifted my shirt and put her hand next to my skin I began to feel my prick going hard. Just at that moment Francie leaned over and said something in my other ear, placing her hand on my thigh and then moving it up to my crotch. My head began to "grow a head," as they say, and the touch of their hands against my skin was intensified sevenfold.
I put my arms out to encircle them both and with that they began to unbutton my shirt and zip down my fly. Then Francie said something to Christie which I didn't hear and before I knew it both of them were sitting by my feet, tugging at my pant's legs and laughing. With each tug they ran their hands over my legs, Christie sometimes brushing my balls with the palm of her hands. They threw my pants into a corner and began on my shorts. I helped them a bit but they were in the lead. As they were doing that, Francie reached down and took my balls in her hands and began to lick them with her tongue. Christie, not to be outdone, kissed the stem and then ran her tongue all around its base. They were laughing and definitely ravenous for me and I heard them exclaim that they couldn't get over the size of my prick. They fondled it, kissed it, and licked it as though it was some treasured object, marveling over my erection which threatened to explode any minute.
In a twinkling of an eye they had my shirt off and me on my back. While Christie worked at my prick, Francie got on top of me and straddled my chest. Then she bent over and kissed me, moving her hips and exciting herself by the friction of her crotch against my ribs. I put one arm around her and with the other I unbuttoned her blouse and unzipped the fly of her dungarees. I opened her blouse fully, and brought it over her shoulders and arms. Through the dimness I could make out the true shape of her breasts: small, very pointed, with areolas that covered half of their surface. Her tits were high and the nipples pointed straight at me. When I put my hand in her pants and reached down for her cunt, she groaned and began to shake her shoulders and wave her tits only a foot away from my mouth. I brought my head up and opened my mouth to try to catch one of them between my teeth, but I wasn't able to succeed.
The next thing I knew was that Francie was laying down flat on top of me, moving her hips wildly and grinding her hip bones against my own. Every once in a while I felt her move back, material being brought across my legs, and, eventually, a belt buckle scratch my right leg. "Do it, Christie, do it," she murmured, and just as she said it I realized what had happened. Christie had undressed her and was now fingering her hole. Francie squirmed and moaned, clawing at me and kissing my neck and ears. I reached down for her. My hand touched Christie's. For a second our fingers locked and I felt a spark of electricity pass between us. Then we both plunged our fingers into Francie, churning her, lathering her up, making her twist and turn her body against mine and arousing me to a further point of expectation.
Just when we knew that Francie was ready, I moved my hips up, threw her back against my bent knees, and lifted her onto my raging cock. She screamed when it entered her, clawing at my arms and chest. It was then that I noticed Christie. She had quickly removed all her clothes, her big breasts and ass gleaming in the half-light. Now she took Francie's place on my chest, half-straddling me and sitting up on her knees. Immediately I put my hands on her ripe ass, ran my fingers over her soft, fleshy cheeks, opening her up to receive my fingers. Her arms were around Francie and they were kissing each other and feeling each other's breasts. At one point Francie bent her head down and took one of Christie's nipples between her teeth. Christie screamed and tore at her and Francie continued to bite harder each time. Christie's screams of joy pierced my ears, spurring me on. I spread my fingers and took aim: the first went into her wet cunt with the greatest of ease, the second went, with a bit of difficulty, up her ass. Christie began to hump my fingers, yelling, "Fuck me, fuck me, I want you to fuck me. Harder. Do it harder. Hurt me, hurt me." At that moment Francie began to hump me, my prick going into her like a spear. She screamed and went faster, throwing her arms around Christie and working out a rhythm between them.
Up and down, up and down they went, my cock and fingers charging up to meet them. With each second I felt myself coming nearer to shooting my load and they answered my call with the pulsations of their streaming pussies and their cries of "Fuck me, hurt me." My head was whirling and my prick grew to the size of a pole. I redoubled my efforts and they did theirs and all of a sudden I heard Francie scream, Tm coming, Fm coming," following by Christie's cry of "Yes, yes." Almost simultaneously I felt the first thrust of an orgasm, then another, then another. Up I shot, spraying Francie with come.
I was uncontrollable and so were they. The moment our orgasms subsided I wrenched myself free and flung Christie over on her back. Her face was ecstatic with desire and she pulled my hair and whispered to me, "Fuck me like no man has ever fucked me. Fuck me till I hurt, till I scream. Put that big prick into me and fuck, fuck, fuck me."
I spread her legs and bent over her while sitting up on my knees. Then I lashed into her, sucking at her big, juicy tits, biting her nipples, licking the cleavage. "Ohhhhhh, fuck me, fuck me," she cried, but I continued to tease her, excite her, arouse her. Francie got in back of me and took my stem in her mouth and while she sucked on it with a passion she rubbed her hands over Christie's lower lips, driving her into a fury.
"Fuck me, fuck me, please fuck me," Christie cried. Francie's fingers rammed into her and Christie's body shuddered. My cock raged in Francie's mouth, longing to explode all over again.
"Do it, Francie, suck me hard. That's it. Suck that prick. Suck my big prick," I called to her and she sucked on me harder, drawing up the skin and letting it go again and again.
"Ohhhhhh," moaned Christie. "Oh Jesus." I moved back, wrenching myself free from Francie's lips. Then I drew up Christie and plunged my mouth into her juicy, come soaked cunt. I bit her lower lips and she pulled wildly at my hair. She was ready.
I put my arm around Francie and pushed her down on Christie. Christie's tongue licked the air and she spread Francie's legs and brought her pussy down on her face, eating it as voraciously, but much more deeply, than I had hers. Francie moaned and covered Christie's face with her cunt, grinding her hips against Christie's mouth and kneading her breasts.
I took aim and plunged my fiery cock into Christie, tightening her thighs against and around my waist. Again I rammed into her, again and again, while Francie grinded on her face, covering her skin with her juices. I aim and shot into Christie; it was a powerful thrust and she moaned and threw her arms about, scratching at Francie and myself. Francie's face was a few feet away from mine. Without losing a thrust I bent forward and kissed her, my tongue running all over her lips.
Faster and harder we went, high on ourselves, getting higher with each passing second. We moaned and twisted and thrust and grinded and bit and clawed at each other, a frenzy of cocks and cunts. Suddenly I heard Christie scream, then again; her hips charged out to meet me and we rammed into each other with a fury. "Suck me, lick me, Christie," cried Francie and from the expression on Francie's face I saw that Christie had hit home.
A head was grown upon my other head, then another, then another. My prick ravaged Christie, slamming into her and searching out her innermost depths. Her responses became fiercer and all at once I felt her body jerk convulsively. "Fuck me, Tm coming," she moaned. "Harder, do it harder." I slammed into her and shot my load, cries escaping from my throat. "Ohhhhhh," yelled Francie. "Do it. Tm there, I can feel it. Do it."
On and on we went, humping and groaning and eating each other, going up, up, over, coming again and again and again. "Ohhhhhh," yelled the girls and I groaned and laughed in response. "Ohhhh you fuck, you great fuck. Ohhhh," cried Christie. Again I shot my load into her, again they came, again and again and.. . .
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Every time I'm in Amsterdam I always pay a visit to Brunhilda, the sweetest piece of motherly whore flesh that ever walked this earth. It was she who had initiated me into sex when I was sixteen. My parents were teachers and had taken me along on their umpteenth tour of Europe. When we got to Amsterdam they left me pretty much alone... and that's how I met Brunhilda.
She was sitting in a window in the red light district, dressed in a corset and high-laced boots. I liked her from the start: she looked friendly and open and, in those days, very young. Hardly older than myself. She was a big fleshy woman with a lot of tit and thigh and when she beckoned me I didn't hesitate to walk in. She was fair and treated me well and I'll always be grateful to her-at least a small part of me will.
I excused myself from the tour for a few hours and made my way to Brunhilda's. When I opened the door there she was: as big and beautiful as ever. We gave each other a bear hug and kiss and I shut the door behind me. Just when it was about to close
I realized that Peter Poynter was standing there, looking even more white and anemic than ever.
He asked to speak to me privately. I felt a little edge around him, ever since that night at the sex commune. Although I was almost certain it wasn't he who had sucked me off, I wasn't sure. I was, however, pretty certain that he was nine-tenths homosexual and one-tenth heterosexual and only that intermittently. He outlined his problem to me: he didn't want to have relations with a woman, not now at least, but he did have a tremendous desire to see one masturbate. He'd heard about Brunhilda from Vivi. Could she accommodate him? He'd pay her $25.00 if she would.
I told him to wait a few minutes and I'd ask her. I went upstairs and again she gave me a bear hug, laughing when I told her Peter's request "Of course," she said. "For you, Vic, anything. I can give you a special treat." She pointed at a mirror-it looked like any mirror to me. When she told me it was a two-way mirror I laughed excitedly. Brunhilda and I were past sex-if you know what I mean. This would be fun. She showed me where to go and then told me to tell Peter to come up.
I walked downstairs. He was twitching and generally looking weak. He seemed relieved when I told him that Brunhilda had agreed. Then I said I'd meet him back at the hotel. He looked chagrined, but conceded.
I waited till he closed Brunhilda's door and then I hopped up the stairs to the spare room. I sat down on a chair and watched Peter nervously rub his hands together while Brunhilda undressed. The room was bathed in sunlight and the plush cushions, couches, and bedspread burned a blood red. If I knew Brunhilda she'd put on a good act.. . and she did.
She stayed within touching distance of Peter while she removed her clothes, taking her time unlacing her corset and her boots. I could see Peter's eyes bulging and his mouth opening wide. Brunhilda was keeping up a steady stream of chatter and her movements were coyly sensuous. Peter must have asked her if he could undress because within a few minutes he removed all his clothes. His prick looked very slim and his skin was pale: he was visibly trembling.
I ran my eyes over Brunhilda's body-still the same woman, if not even more a woman. In some ways she reminded me of Sadie Sharp, but while Sadie was out and out brassy, Brunhilda was subtly sensuous. Her giant tits hung down like tear drops and her ass was high and seemed like it was actually following her. Her upper arms and thighs were thick but soft-looking. Her stomach protruded but only so far as to remain sexy, instead of like people who have gone to seed. A woman's woman-that's what Brunhilda was. She knew it and so did my prick.
She beckoned to Peter and directed him to sit on the edge of the bed, turning him around so that I could get a good look at both of them. Then she threw her head back dramatically, unloosened her long, thick black hair and lay down on the pillows. Peter moved slightly away, his prick hanging limp between his legs.
Brunhilda opened her legs, exposing her enormous gash to our eyes. Then she pointed at it and patted Peter on the knee. He jumped up, but then he sat down again. When she spread her legs even wider Peter stared and when she began to control her muscles, opening and closing her hole, I felt my prick begin to pulsate lightly.
She reached down for her pussy with both her hands and began to run her fingers over it as someone would if they were playing a harp. She closed her eyes and from the expression on her face I could see that she was moaning. At the same instant that my prick gave another jerk I noticed that Peter's was beginning to erect. He looked down at it, clearly surprised. Brunhilda now began to finger-fuck herself, beginning with one finger and then adding another then another. She was squirming in her place, her hips shimming and shaking, her breasts sliding from one part of her chest to another.
I reached down for my erection, thinking how though Brunhilda was playing it false my responses were true. Her fingerfucks became more intense, as was the general movement of her body. Her patch peeked out between her fingers and I could see her ass-hole contracting.
At the same time Peter put his hand over his prick, took his stem between his fingers, and began to masturbate. His eyes were shining and he was totally absorbed by Brunhilda. So was I.
When she began to stimulate her clitoris with her thumb, rubbing it hard, Peter swung fully into a mastubatory rhythm. His eyes were closed now and I could see Brunhilda wink at me over her tits. I winked back at her, even though she couldn't see me, and took myself fully in hand. My prick sprang out to a full erection and I continued to tease it along, staring at Brunhilda.
When Brunhilda started to thrash about, screaming and moaning words I couldn't make out, Peter opened his eyes. He moved closer to her, put out his hand to touch her, but then withdrew it. Disgust, repulsion, curiosity, and fear crossed his face and for one moment I saw, or thought I saw, tears in his eyes. He got up as though he was going to leave and then he sat heavily down again.
Brunhilda continued her labors, drawing him in with her words. His face relaxed and a certain kindness-and lust-crept into it. He now seemed to be egging her on, applauding her, marveling at her. His hand moved quickly up and down on his shaft and his body began to shake.
Just then I saw Brunhilda arch her back, bring up her hips, and shake her head. She was coming, she seemed to be saying, yes, she was coming. I felt my nerves tingling and lightning bolts shooting through me. My chest was heaving and I was sweating, letting myself go, relaxing into my orgasmic cycle, up, up.. . .
I shuddered and shot my load then shot it again. Through my half closed eyes I saw Brunhilda's mouth form a perfect O, I heard her moans of ecstasy, I felt her warmth through the mirror. This was real, she was real, and Peter sensed it. In a split second he climbed on top of her, held open her legs, pulled away her hands, and rammed into her. In passion he was fierce and his hips swung into her moist cavern with force and might. Slam, slam, slam went Peter, Brunhilda moaned, took aim, and slammed her big hips into him. Ram, ram, ram. Peter yelled and laughed wildly and with one final thrust he came; then he collapsed on her, completely fulfilled.
I glanced down at my come soaked cock, smiled, zipped up my fly, and walked out
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
My success, or more appropriately, Brunhilda's success-with Peter caused me to take a closer look at Kit Fisher on the plane ride to Copenhagen. Viyi had told me about what had happened between them in London. Nothing, she said, had happened since, and although in a way she was disappointed, she wasn't going to press Kit into anything she didn't want to do. I knew she meant it.
But did I? I was sincerely curious about Eat, not so much sexually, but more as a person. She was an extremely intelligent young woman-a doctoral candidate in Comparative literature. For how long she had been carrying on lesbian relationships was beyond my ken; I wondered if it had always been that way.
On our first afternoon in Copenhagen, she walked up to me as I was looking at one of the exhibits they had at a mini sex fair. On display were pieces of erotic jewelry-pins in the shape of a phallus, a choker with a clasp showing fellatio, brooches demonstrating the way a woman looks after intercourse; the prices were astronomical.
"What do you think of those?" she asked.
"Frankly I think they're pretty worthless," I replied.
"I think even less than that of them. They disgust me because they're so male oriented. What kind of woman would be so stupid to wear one?"
I laughed. "I'm sure there are lots who would, 'right in this room."
She sniffed. "They're slaves, sexual slaves. They give everything to a man and keep nothing for themselves. How can anyone respect themselves by doing that? Don't they want respect?"
"It depends on your point of view," I said, trying not to be unkind. "Women's Lib or.. . . "
She snorted. "Most of them have nothing to do with their time and a few are les.. . . " Kit stopped short and looked a bit embarrassed. She had reached an impasse and wanted to find a way out. I began to walk on, thinking that with the move we might change the subject
"Don't misunderstand me," she continued. "I have nothing against lesbians... I... I think I'm one myself."
"People usually know those things," I replied.
"I know, I know," she answered. "But this trip has made me very confused. I can't tell you why-it's just a feeling that I have." She paused in front of an exhibition of photos showing positions of intercourse. "I've, I've almost always been that way but.... Can you help me? I know when I first thought about this I decided I was doing it-or wanted to do it-Just to get your wife jealous. But that was silly, even I know that. Now it's all for me. Could you?"
I looked down at her small pretty face and felt compassion for her. "Sure, sure I'll help."
Fifteen minutes later we arrived back at the hotel. We didn't speak all the way there, nor did she say anything till we got inside her room. "I feel guilty. I'm using you, I know it. And you know it. But for you it won't matter that much, but to me it's very important. I just want to see... to know. I think I'll always be confused about this and Tm trying to keep my mind open now. But I'm wavering... going back to what I was... what I am.. . . "
I kissed her delicately but she shook her head. "No, no, I don't want it that way. I don't even want you to touch me very much. Just do it and get it over with. I know what will happen, but I just don't know what I'll feel."
I began to protest, wanting to say to her that she was confirming her own notions by acting this way, but she refused to listen to me. Instead she began to undress, each movement cold and mechanical. I felt very put-out-alienated-and I hesitated before unbuttoning my shirt. She didn't look at me till I was naked and even then she barely glanced at my pendulous prick. Most women can't get over its size, but Kit wasn't impressed and in a way I was a little hurt because of this. Male ego.
And yet, at the same time, I was aroused by the sight of her body-so petite and yet so strong. Her breasts were small but very lovely as were her delicate cheeks. Her slightness made her seem very vulnerable, but I was, in a sense, certain that she could be quite aggressive, even thick-skinned.
She lay down on her back on the bed, her face expressionless. Again I tried to touch her, but she pushed my hand away and motioned to me to mount her. I got on my knees between her legs, all the while feeling a warm, steady pulsation in my groin. I teased open her hole with the tip of my cock, but she remained dry and I couldn't enter her. She looked so small that I wondered if I could.
"Relax, just relax. You're tight. And dry. I'll try again," I said soothingly. She nodded her head and soon her body felt a little less tense.
I moved my cock over her clitoris and then around her lips, lifting her up slightly and putting her thighs on my own. She bent her legs and asked me to continue. "No hands?" I asked. She said no.
I brought my cock down on her clitoris, then up again. Nothing. I pressed the tip into it and she gave an almost inaudible moan. I pressed again and again, my cock growing harder with each successive effort. I showed her how to move her hips and she began to help me along. Decidedly she was inexperienced.
I returned to teasing her hole, rubbing the top part of my stem against her clitoris. She was getting wet, I could feel it, and her breathing became heavy but not excited. By now I had my tip into her, but only that. I stopped and left it there and a few times she moved her hips over it. I encouraged her to do that, to aim and try to thrust at me. She failed, but not completely; I was moving in further.
Time passed and I tried again, my strokes becoming more insistent. For a moment she went dry again but constant stimulation had its effect. I thrust into her, not wanting to hurt her. Soon I was halfway in and I knew she could take more.
I was sweating and my breathing was labored. My erection was full and firm and I didn't want to lose it. I aimed again and rammed into her, my cock going all the way up. Her tightness excited me tremendously and I experienced a complete turn around in feelings. No, I wouldn't lose my erection-I was too far gone for that But I might blow my load and there was no way of stopping that. I wished, for one minute, that she was bigger. Small cunts have always had the effect of making me come quickly. Sometimes I can prevent it, but her "no hands-all intercourse" stipulation left me no leeway.
I slammed into her and she moaned. I glanced at her eyes: they were large and staring and confused. I thrust into her harder, her juices making things just a tiny bit easier. She was obviously feeling something; I could sense it in my own body. But what? And how much? She was straining to return my thrusts, but her efforts were awkward. I reached out to help her but she shook her head no. I thrust and withdrew, thrust and withdrew, the beats of my cock impelling me on. Seconds later I felt myself fall into the groove and
I thrust into her harder, hitting her pubic bone with a whack. Her hands were clasped firmly onto the bed cover and her knuckles were white. "Relax, relax," I whispered to her but she took no notice. Her back was arching and I thought that surely I was on my way. Soon I realized I was hardly any further with her; I would have to concentrate on myself.
I slammed into her, quickly withdrew, and slammed into her again. Her tightness was driving me wild and I couldn't hold myself back. Once more I hit her pubic bone, once more she gasped and strove to meet me. Suddenly I shuddered. "I... can't hold on...." I gasped. "I'm coming, I'm coming."
She responded to me with every bit of strength she had, weeping and moaning and tearing at the bed cover. "Now," I called to her. "Now." I felt a rumbling in my prick and then an explosion, two explosions, three explosions.. . . The friction, rather than any of our movements, made me go on and on. My ears were pounding and I shuddered and shot with each contact. At the same time I knew it wasn't fair to her and after the next thrust I withdrew sharply. She cried out in pain and quickly closed her legs. My orgasm burned within me and some drops of semen spirted out. Then I was still.
I sat there, gazing at her face; a million different feelings were fighting in each of us, but soon one held sway.
"Th... thank you. You were good. It's all right. I know, I know now," she said, smiling and crying at once.
I reached over and tousled her hair. Then I kissed her, my lips brushing her cheeks.
Outside the window a bird broke into song.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
When you think of "Copenhagen you immediately associate sex-and so did we. In fact most of our tours always stop there for at least one day, just to give everyone a good taste in their mouth to go home with. The sex fair we had visited the day before had really revved up our people for more, more, more and that's what we planned on giving them. A few of them, unfortunately, had proved a little too anxious and that same night they went to a few clubs that had been mentioned in one of the glossy magazines. Neither Vivi or I knew about it until the next morning at breakfast. Heard about it-well, we never thought we'd hear the end of it. After the Phillips' and the Smiths' voiced their complaints (I calmed them down by saying for the umpteenth time that they should have stuck to the tour and not gone there on hearsay) Miriam Buschell and Gertie Grossell opened their mouths and yelled something to the effect, "They're clip joints, their all clip joints. Why are you going to take us to one tonight? Don't you know they cheat you like hell. You're crazy. What a dump we ended up in last night. You could get better in downtown Brooklyn...." and so on and so forth.
I was livid and for once so was Vivi. She repeated what I said to the Phillips and the Smiths but they didn't listen to one word. Finally, after a lot more yakking, Mary Lerner piped up with "Shut up." Everyone was amazed. Mary hadn't said more than two words to anyone on the whole trip and now she was shouting down Miriam and Gertie. I could see that they were taken aback. Both of them went white and their mouths slammed shut. I repeated, for the third time that morning, that Vivi and I had instructed them to stay away from places like those. Now they see that they should have listened to us. "Don't put the blame on me," I said. "That was totally of your own making and you got what you deserved. Just wait till tonight; you'll see things that'll knock your eyes out." They grumbled something to the effect of "seeing is believing" and shoved another piece of toast in their mouths.
Copenhagen is a lot of things to a lot of people but to Vivi and I it is a sex nightclub called the Love In. It has everything a good nightclub should have: a good bar, plush surroundings, and a fair cover charge. PLUS a three hour show which consists of blue movies, a lesbian act, and male audience participation. Seeing is believing-you can bet on it.
Our group went wild from the moment they walked in, all except Miriam and Gertie, that is. They talked through the drinks, the movies, and the show and when calls were made for audience participation they croaked the loudest. Suddenly I heard them calling my name and before I knew it they had practically lifted me up on the stage. When the two women asked them to leave, they refused. I could see the bouncer making his way towards the stage. Luckily I knew him and he turned back when I waved my hand. Before I could even say "Shut up" to them they were fighting with the two performers and winning!
Eventually the girls conceded and stepped down and Miriam and Gertie took their places. The audience began to chant "Strip, strip" and clink then-glasses. Miriam and Gertie looked at each other and blushed. They had fought too hard in the first place and now they couldn't turn back. Even their husbands were egging them on (thanks to Vivi I later found out).
The band started playing and Miriam and Gertie began to take off their clothes as though they had always been in the striptease business. Bumps, grinds, tossing articles of clothing to the audience the whole thing. The audience started to laugh at first but soon they quieted down to a murmur. I could almost read their minds-this could have been their own wives... this.
When they were completely naked the band really went wild. They struck up some music which was a strange cross between a waltz and a monkey, and Gertie started to dance, her short fat body whirling, twisting, and shaking all around the stage. Miriam, not to be outdone, now threw herself into the act and soon the two of them were dancing around like aged Rockettes. Miriam's fat fanny shimmied and Gertie's floppy tits jumped up and down like someone dribbling two basketballs. Round and around they went, leaping and diving like two porpoises. Suddenly they stopped, the two of them gasping for air. The audience refused to let them go-they whistled, stamped, and hooted and the girls started up again, dancing in each other's arms.
That did it-I burst out laughing and continued to laugh until my stomach hurt. That turned out to be my fatal mistake. Miriam and Gertie had been so busy with their "act" that they had forgotten about me. When they heard my laughs they took notice of me and hoisted me into the limelight. I rolled my eyes and gave the audience one of those "this is it, fellows" looks. The band started up and soon I found myself stripped of every article of clothing I was wearing. Miriam and Gertie gasped and cooed at my naked body, walking around it, touching it, pinching it, and kissing it.
I was embarrassed, but cool, and I decided to make the most of the situation. When the audience began to chant "Fuck, fuck, fuck," I bent down and planted a kiss on each of their lips and ran my fingers over their breasts. Both of them started to groan immediately, calling me "lover" and "handsome" and "do me, do me." Their cries pierced the room and everyone went quiet.
Suddenly the two women began to fight among themselves about which one deserved to be fucked first. The audience picked up on this and called out, "Fuck the fatty, fuck the blondie, no, fuck the one with the big thighs." Finally someone shouted out, "Fuck both of them at the same time," and the rest of the audience took this up.
Two women at once-the thought staggered me. Every position I knew flashed through my mind and finally I came up with an answer. The novelty of it excited me and my prick began to twitch. Graciously I led the women over to the pillows; the spotlight followed us. I directed them to lay down, Miriam on the bottom, and Gertie on the top. At first they objected violently, each claiming that they should be first. However, when I reminded them that fair was fair, they conceded and followed my instructions.
They were not the most beautiful women I've ever seen nor were they the sexiest. And yet, seeing both of them there laying one on top of the other and looking like a giant breast really was enough to arouse anyone.
I searched my mind for the formula for their orgasms: was Gertie clitoral and Miriam vaginal or was it the other way around? I decided to chance my first guess and fortunately it proved correct. I got down on my knees and began to manipulate both of them, one in each hand. Soon the room was shaking with their moans and cries and both of them screamed out, "Fuck me, fuck me." I bent down and began to liclc them off, placing their pussies one above the other and giving them the full measure of my tongue. With Miriam I tongue-fucked her hole; with Gertie I sucked on her clit. The effect was stupendous-on all of us! My cock jutted forward in readiness and each of them opened up, a long stream of fluid flowing from them.
I didn't have much time to survey my handiwork: here were two horny women begging for it, pleading for it, crying for it and I was going to give it to them but good. I gave them a final lick, biting them brutally, and then I took aim, steadied myself on my knees, and made the first plunge.
Gertie, who was on top, let out a scream and thrashed about while Miriam called to me to fuck her. I wrenched myself but of Gertie's hole and plunged it into Miriam's; she, too, began to scream. Once more I withdrew and slammed my meat into Gertie, first hitting her pubic bone and then going up as far as I could. "Ohhhh," she called out, "fuck me again, fuck me again, please." Before I withdrew I gave her another thrust; it went up so far that for one split second I got scared. Then I wrenched myself free and slammed into Miriam. She tightened herself over me, almost as if she didn't want to let me go. To satisfy her I slammed into her again with all the force I had and she bellowed, "Stick it up me, stick it up me. What a prick, what a big, juicy prick. I love it. Shove it."
I wrenched myself free, took aim, and rammed my now raging prick into Gertie, pulled it out, then slammed it into Miriam. It was so quiet in the club that you could literally hear the sucks and slams. Both women's holes were now as big as they could ever be; they were positively swimming in their own juices. I glanced down at my cock-it burned as brightly as a branding iron. Slam I went into Gertie, hitting her pubic bone so hard that she screamed. Suck. Slam I went into Miriam, thrusting up into her as far as I could go. Suck. Slam. Gertie. Suck. Slam. Miriam. Suck. Slam. Suck. Slam. Suck. Slam.
The room suddenly seemed to become charged with electricity and the three of us turned into sparks. Suck. Slam. Suck. Slam. Suck. Faster and faster I went, my ears ringing with their shouts, my chest heaving from the incredible strain. Slam. Suck. Slam. Suck. Slam. Suck. I was on my way, nearly there, just----
Simultaneously I heard both women call out, "Fm coming, I'm coming. Fuck me. Harder. I'm coming."
I felt the first thrust of an orgasm rip through me and I shot my load into Gertie, pulled out quickly, then shot some more into Miriam. "Fuck me, fuck me," they cried and I shot my load again, this time into Gertie. "Ohhhhh," she groaned, "oh, baby, Ohhhhh." I wrenched myself free and shot my last into Miriam who pulled me in with her strong muscles. Then I wrenched myself free.
The fights on the stage began to darken and murmurs began to fill the air. Just before the spotlight was cut I looked down at Gertie and Miriam. They lay there as though they were dead, their legs open wide and semen and gism covering their big, red gashes. I bent down and kissed their holes, then left the stage.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Miriam and Gertie didn't show up at breakfast the next morning and we didn't see them again till the following day when we boarded the plane to go home. Their husbands looked a little sheepish, especially Myron, but when I winked at them they winked back at me. Everyone saw this, and everyone laughed, even Vic. Poor Vic. He had really taken a beating-and had given one too-and he was really feeling its effects.
Fortunately it was the last day of the tour and everyone was given as much free rein as they liked, within limits, of course. Shops, shows, clubs, and exhibits were on the list-each one specially chosen by us. We stipulated only one thing: be packed and ready with your bags in the lobby of the hotel at 8 a.m. the next day. Not one second later.
Everyone agreed readily enough and then dispersed. Vic headed straight for bed after telling the man at the hotel desk to ring our room at six o'clock. Our plan was to have a quiet dinner alone in the most fashionable restaurant we knew.
The doorman opened the door and I bounded outside, lightly tripping down the steps and into the sunlit streets of Copenhagen. For the first time in two weeks I actually felt free-of schedules, people, hotel rooms... even Vic. A whole day to be my own woman-one whole day.
My first stop was at the hairdressers where I had my hair trimmed and set. I emerged feeling like a rejuvenated person-new haircut. I scoured the shops, looking for nothing in particular but wanting to buy everything I saw. The counters were heaped with so many lovely things that I'd never make use of and the racks were filled to overflowing with clothes I knew I'd never wear.
Eventually I settled on a silk scarf in a bold pattern of brown and tan. It truly was an expensive treat, but I consoled myself by saying that I hadn't bought anything for myself in a very long time. I knotted it around my neck and wore it out of the shop.
My destination was Baker's Park on the outskirts of the city. I don't know why I chose to go there; in fact the reasons never entered my mind. It was, in a way, a total escape from the tour; we hadn't mentioned it on our list.
It took quite some time to get there and by the time I arrived I was famished. I headed straight for the open air cafe and quickly ordered an enormous salad with black bread and cheese. And a glass of white wine. Immediately I .had regrets. The park looked shabby, almost as if the soul had seeped out of it. Lights were hung all around but being day time none were lit. A stand which they used to set off fireworks was empty and flags hung limply on the scaffolding. A few young mothers were walking with their children who were obviously being given a respite from a day at school. Groups of businessmen passed by, gesturing to one another and talking loudly.
Although my meal was surprisingly good, I ate it without relish. Not only had the soul gone out of the park, but it had also, quite suddenly, gone out of me. I kept on thinking how the day had started out so promising and now.. . .
I decided to order another glass of wine. Perhaps I was tired-the last two weeks had certainly been hectic-and I only needed a bit of sleep.
Just as I raised my hand to catch the waiter's attention I noticed someone walking towards me. He looked familiar. Suddenly I realized it was Alex Sexton, Sadie Sharp's silent partner. I couldn't understand why he was here or how he had even heard about Baker's Park. Then it came to me: he must have found a glorified description of it in a travel book and therefore he had come to have a good look at it.
"Hello," he called out, "can I join you?"
"Oh yes, please do," I answered.
He walked over to my table and sat down. He saw my empty wine glass and without much ado he got the waiter's attention.
After our drinks were served I asked him what he
.thought about the park; I was pleased that his response echoed my own feelings. He said he was disappointed, but probably for reasons different than my own. "You see," he said, a sad smile on his lips, "I came to Copehagen fifteen years ago, on my honeymoon. We-my former wife and I-stayed in a hotel that wasn't far from here and we'd begin our day by walking in the park. I think it's better to leave things to memory."
I didn't want to probe but I could see that he desperately wanted to talk to someone. His wound was still fresh, just enough to hurt. We finished our drinks and began to walk along the paths, talking quite seriously. However, there was an undercurrent of gaiety in our words and we really did begin to laugh quite a lot as the hours wore on. Finally he suggested that we sit down somewhere, and after searching around for a few minutes we found a nice secluded spot under some trees. The light streamed in through the branches, catching the steely gray hairs that made him look so distinguished. When he put his coat down on the grass for me to sit on I noticed that he was. powerfully built, with very broad shoulders and chest and very slim hips. I estimated that he was about forty-five, but he gave a far younger appearance. His face was tanned and rugged, his nose thin and pointed, and his eyes a wonderful shade of blue.
It was only when he mentioned his wife did his whole manner change. She had obviously hurt him deeply, and although he had already been divorced a year, he still thought of her. This was one of the main reasons he had gone on the tour-to forget. Only today he remembered.
Sitting with him I suddenly felt very secure. When he saw me he must have recognized my loneliness. It's strange how loneliness comes upon you, even when you think you're most happy. He too seemed to sense this about the park. In the evening, he said, things were very gay in a silly, second rate way. Fun if you don't think about it. But during the day.. . .
He bent over and kissed me, drawing me close to him and hugging me with his strong arms. He laughed when I gave him a passionate kiss and he kissed me again. "Let's make love," he said abruptly.
"Here?" I said, thinking how I hadn't made love outdoors for years and years.
"Yes here," he said brightly, standing up and unbuttoning his shirt.
I looked around-the park seemed deserted. I rose and he helped me off with my dress. I shook out my hair: that good feeling of the morning was coming back to me. He completed it by complimenting me on my scarf and I told him that I had just bought it this morning.
For a few minutes we stood there, looking at each other. I saw approval in his eyes and I was certain he saw it in mine. "You have lovely breasts," he said, reaching out to touch them. He brushed his fingers over them and I felt a shock of desire fun through me. Then he took me in his arms and helped me sit down on his coat. The grass felt cold and wet under my feet, but he was warm, very warm.
He lay on his side, his hands making tour after tour of my body. There was something so classic about his every action-so good. He bent down towards me and took my right nipple in his mouth, sucking on it deeply and drawing it out. Just as he began to do the same with the left one I felt his hand skirt down my stomach to my crotch, squeeze it, then begin to rub it gently.
His lovemaking was masterful: he seemed to know my most tender spots, where they should be licked or sucked or touched. He aroused me in waves and my passion for him grew with each passing minute. I ran my hands over his chest; his flesh felt taut and smooth. His prick nestled between his legs, and his underbelly was heavily tufted with dark hairs. I reached down for him, drawing him up with one hand and then with the other. Within minutes he was hard.
Suddenly he swung himself around, leaning on his side. He sought my moistness with his lips and licked me fully with his tongue. I could feel my blood beginning to turn cold and a moan escaped from me. He seemed to want to prolong my preliminary ecstasy and his tongue ran along the inside of my thighs, over my patch, around my clit, and along my lips.
I teased him with my mouth, sucking on his cock and following the outline of his stem with my tongue. At one point he pressed his hand down on my head, indicating that I should take him in more, completely. I did; the tip of his prick hit the back of my mouth and I took deep breaths then blew on it lightly.
Just when I felt I had reached the point that preceded orgasm he swung around, lay me down on my back, and entered me, swiftly and easily. Then he turned both of us over on our sides and we began to grind into each other, slowly at first and then faster and faster. He kissed my neck and ran his fingers through my hair; I shuddered. Then he murmured, "Beautiful, beautiful," and my heart leapt.
Our efforts were sure; our rhythm coincided perfectly. Still we went faster, plunging into one another, deeper, deeper.. . .
Suddenly I cried out, "I'm coming, I'm coming." He didn't reply; instead he gasped and thrust into me, exploding in me at my first burst. We helped each other along, bringing each other up and over, up and over, quickly at first then more and more slowly. Soon we subsided, resting, for awhile, in each other's arms.
I dozed, and when I awoke I saw that it was almost sunset. I kissed Alex briefly, untangled myself from his arms, and got up and dressed. The air was sharp and both of us scrambled into our clothes. Then we walked out of the grove, our eyes squinting.
"Are you coming back?" I said when we reached the entrance to the park.
Alex shook his head. "Not now, not yet," was all he said.
I smiled, turned on my heel, and walked away.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Vic said that I started it, and there's probably an element of truth in that. Well, maybe more than an element, but I'll only admit to that if I'm praised for it. But if I'm blamed... forget it. I had nothing to do with it.
Everything was all right until we got to the airport. It was there that we learned the plane would be delayed, mainly because of inclement weather. That can mean anything I've learned. The passenger never gets to the root of it; he just waits.
And wait we did. And wait some more. And some more. First we had a leisurely breakfast. Then a long lunch. And finally an endless supper. All compliments of the airline. If anything like this has ever happened to you, you'll know what I mean. In the beginning it's fun: you have extra time to shop duty free or to talk to people you've never really had a chance to know. Then you become twitchy-wanting to get home because the next day you have to get up and go to work. Your only solace is food, food to feed the twitch. And so, by the end of the day you feel bloated and perhaps a little drunk, all of which serves to cover up the little voice inside you that's screaming "I want to go home."
That's how we felt when we got the announcement to board the plane at ten o'clock in the evening, twelve hours after we had set off from the hotel in Copenhagen. We had the plane pretty much to ourselves, which is always nice. Everyone ran for the seats they had had on. the trip over and by eleven o'clock we were in the air and being served "midnight supper." The last "twitch feeder" of the day.
I suspect that the airline thought that this would put us to sleep, but they should know better when they deal with people on a Skinner Special tour. All of us-and I do mean all of us-were wide awake and raring to go, yours truly included.
I had my eye on the steward from the moment we boarded the plane. He looked different from a number of the stewards I had encountered. Usually the other type are handsome in an antiseptic way-like dentists. This one-Jens-was adorable. He was tall and broad, with longer than regulation cut blond hair and blue-green eyes. He positively reeked sex. Even in his white jacket.
After the "midnight supper" was served and the lights were turned out, I sat there thinking about him. Vic had gone off to "talk" with Francie and Christie, and even Mary was embroiled in conversation with the two lawyers. I had the seat to myself and I stretched out on it, my head against the window.
I must have dozed off for a few seconds because when I awoke there was certainly a lot of moaning going on in the Economy Section. I knew it wasn't the plane-it was us!
I started to twist around in my seat, just to see what was going on (I'm a great busybody, you see, especially in matters relating to sex) when a voice said, "There's a private party in the lounge. Please come."
Immediately I recognized Jen's voice, and I followed him upstairs like a dog follows a scent. It certainly was a private party, at first. Just the two of us. I expected that. But how was I to know that he bad also extended the invitation-in a half hour's time, of course-to the rest of the group?
Most of the lights had been turned off, and the only illumination we had was from a few of the side lights. It was very cozy, and very quiet. At least we were spared the Muzak.
Jens wasted no time. After the preliminary, "Vivi, I have heard so much about you. I have always waited to meet you. You are even more beautiful than people have told me. Your hair, your eyes, your.. . . " which was certainly designed to give any woman's ego a boost, Jens kissed me.
It was an extraordinary kiss. He took me in his arms, pressing me to him with his hand on the small of my back. Then he brought his lips close to mine, nibbling and kissing the top, then opening my mouth slowly so that our tongues could meet. When they did it was like dynamiter his tongue darted into my mouth, drawing me out to him, then lingering, drawing me out, then lingering. Then his mouth moved to my cheek and cheekbone, and finally, when he reached my hairline I could feel his breath in my ear. I shivered with delight and continued to do so when he ran his tongue over my earlobes and then into my ear. He blew into my ear again and again and while I moaned I licked his neck.
When he buried his face in my hair, twisting and turning my neck, I put my hand on the buttons of his jacket and started to open them. One button opened. Then another. Then the last. I sought his cock with my fingertips, pressing in his stomach and then putting my hand inside the waistband of his trousers. His kisses became more intense and I could feel his small, sharp teeth digging into my flesh. I ran my hand down his belly while continuing to suck on the skin of his neck.
I touched his cock and he groaned when I. took him in hand. His warm breath sparked off in me an incredible passion and I stroked his prick time and again, feeling its hardness grow under my fingers. Just at that moment I felt my dress being unzipped from the back and brought over my chest. Instantly he unhooked my bra and my breasts offered themselves to him. I slipped my hand from his pants, letting the top of my dress fall forward and my bra fall to the floor. Then I began to unzip his fly.
His kisses continued and he worked his way down my neck, across my chest, and over my breasts. He licked me, bit me, kissed me and caressed me with that wonderful mouth of his, taking in bits of my breasts and making them tingle. I could feel my juices flowing from my pulsating cunt, and with one part of me I cried out for completion and with the other I wished this could go on and on.
I presented my nipples to his mouth and he sucked on them greedily, going back and forth between them. In minutes they were hard, as hard as his long, strong cock that I had in. my hand.
His kisses continued and he. worked his way down my chest to my navel. There he rested for a time, licking it and blowing into it, pressing his chin against my stomach. With each kiss he gently eased down my dress, my stockings, and my panties, and by the time he reached my patch I was ready to step out of my shoes and clothes.
I stood there, waves of numbness proceeding down from my head and up from my feet. I moaned and cried out to him when he placed his tongue over my clit, wetting it, licking it, sucking it out to him. If he had continued that way I surely would have come right then, but his body seemed to know what my body was feeling.
He was now on his knees, his hands around my waist. His tongue sought my hips and within seconds these too were numb from his efforts. Still he moved down, kissing my thighs, my knees, my calves and my feet, drawing me close to him and running his hands over the back of my legs. "Ohhh, ohhh," I called to him. "Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me hard."
With one swift motion he lifted me into the air and set me down on the couch, a mass of pulsating jelly. Then he quickly undressed and took me up again into his arms. We wrapped our arms around each other and I could feel his prick seeking my hole. He held me out and at the same instant that I closed my legs around his waist his cock thrust its way into me. I screamed and moaned, clawing at him and kissing him. I locked my legs and felt him lift me slightly then bring me down brutally upon his searing prick. Again and again he lifted me and brought me down, his prick seeming to go all the way up me, opening me, tearing at me, arousing me.
I was getting number, number by the second. I didn't feel someone put his tongue in my ass, run his hands lightly over my cheeks, and open me up to receive him. Jens was calling to me, "Fuck, fuck, fuck my cock. Fuck my cock." I began to help him, pushing myself up by my thighs and coming down on him as hard as I could.
Suddenly our bodies shuddered and with one powerful thrust I started to come. "Now. Now. Now. Fuck me. Fuck me." Instantly he slammed me down on him and simultaneously I felt a cock sear my ass-hole. With power it slammed into me; my hole burned with its fire. I rose iip and Jens thrust me down on him, shooting his load into me. Then he drew me up and the cock rammed into my ass-hole. I came again, feeling its burning fluids shoot inside of me. Jens brought me down, the cock withdrew then slammed into me. "Fuck me, fuck me, harder, harder. Break me. Burn me," I cried out and instantly Jens came and the cock slammed into my ass-hole and shot its load anew.
Moments later I felt myself falling to the floor. I lay on my back, streaming with come, and then someone entered me. It was Harold Palmer, his still engorged prick aimed at me. "Yes, yes," I yelled to him and he slammed into me, drawing up my hips and thrusting his fingers into my hole.
"Good, good. Fuck, fuck," he called to me ramming me anew with his raging prick. "Now, now," I called to him, feeling another orgasm about to rip through me. He moaned and slammed into my pussy, shooting his load and gasping. I threw back my head in ecstasy and immediately I felt a pussy brush my lips. I sucked at it ravenously, eating the lips, licking the flowing fluids. Harold rammed into me again and we exploded upon one another.
Suddenly he withdrew and when I swung around I heard Kit's voice call to me, "Eat me, lover. Eat me. Suck on me. Fuck me with your mouth." I redoubled my efforts, desiring to give her all that I had left in me. I could feel her teeth on my clit and I responded by putting mine on hers. We ate each other, then ate each other again, our tongues in each other's hole, our fingers plunging into each other's ass. Our mouths sought each other fully and Kit's fluids streamed from her, covering my mouth and nose. "Ahhhhhhhh," she cried. "Ohhhhhhhh. I'm coming. I'm coming. Harder. I thrust into her with my mouth, pressing on her pubic bone and feeling her pulsations in my face. "Ohhh, yes," I laughed, rising up, higher, higher, bursting, exploding.. . .
Just as I began to subside I was torn from her arms by Lester and Billie Phillips. At the same instant Pat Spoorier kissed me and then leapt on Kit and rolled her over on her side. Lester lifted me to my feet, turned me around, and entered me from the back. Billie put her arms around me and sought my mouth with her tongue. As Lester plunged into me, Billie made his way down to my nipples while I ran my hand over her pussy. Lester slammed into me with such force that I felt his prick in my chest. "Ram it, Lester, ram it," I screamed, and he thrust into me with added vigor. Billie sucked on my nipples and bit them till they stung, whispering to me, "Beautiful. Man you are beautiful." I felt my legs begin to shake and I fucked Billie's hole even more furiously. "Oh yes, oh yes," she called, moving her hips over my fingers. I was rising, rising again, almost ready to explode. The three of us shuddered and groaned. "Now," I said, ready to receive Lester's load.
Someone grabbed me away just as I was about to burst and I found myself pinned down to the floor by Francie, Christie, Myron, and George. Their hands, their lips, their mouths, their cocks, their cunts, their tits, their asses covered me, entered me, withdrew, pinched me, sucked at me, and I threw my arms around them all and we rolled over and over again along the floor. We were like a ball of fire and each touch sent off sparks. Over and over we turned, grabbing at each other, kissing each other, fucking each other. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," we all called out. Just as Myron took aim to enter me I found myself torn from them and dragged over to the couch by Hannah and Hiram.
They lay me down and Hiram thrust his cock into my mouth. I choked and gagged and drew him down, sucking at his sweetness, my pussy being eaten by Hannah. She sucked at me, forcing my juices back into me with the lip of her tongue, licking them out again and smearing them on my clit. With one hand I reached up to take Hiram's cock and with the other I pushed Hannah's face into me. "Harder, Hannah, harder," I tried to scream out but my voice was lost when Hiram's prick exploded in my mouth, drowning me in semen. Again he shot, again and again, my mouth filled to overflowing with his heavy liquid. An explosion ripped through me and I was hurtled over the top, kicking my legs and clawing at Hannah's head. "Ohhhhhhh," I gurgled, coming again. "Ohhhhhh, Jesus."
Hiram forced his prick into my mouth one more time and then both of them withdrew, leaving me writhing on the couch, burning, stinging, calling and crying out for more!
At that instant I sank down into the big, soft fleshy bodies of Sadie, Miriam, and Gertie. Sadie had a vibrator in each hand and she was working up a lather in the other two women. They were moaning, "Sadie, Sadie, Sadie, do it to me, do it to me." Their hips were moving madly and they were banging their fists on the floor.
Suddenly Sadie turned to me, and while the. two women sucked on each of her enormous tits, their fingers plunged into her holes, she teased me with the vibrators. My whole body shook and shimmied and my arms and legs flailed out in ecstasy. Tit upon tit was presented to my mouth and I sucked and clawed at them with perfect abandon. I was coming, I knew it, and just as I felt the first surge Sadie turned up the vibrator and plunged it in me. Someone began to kiss me-it was Alex. His tongue sought mine and our mouths locked on each other. Together he and Sadie drew me out, drew me on, longer, longer, still longer.. . .
----
I found myself in the center of four men, John, Thomas, Dick, and Peter. They stood there, almost in a line, plunging their cocks into each other's asses. There were bellows and roars and groans and I felt myself being handed from one to the other, then back again, one to the other, then back again, their hands rubbing my breasts and my buttocks, their fingers searching out and stabbing my holes. I clutched at them, clawed at them, kissed them, and still they went on, stripping me, scouring me while I heaved and groaned and cried. I was so weak that I couldn't move; I knew I had reached my limits.
At exactly the moment when I felt I would drown in my own passion, I saw Vic come towards me. Lifting me from their arms, he kissed me gently and carried me over to a corner to lay me down. Through my half-closed eyes I could see the faces of Mary and of three of the stewardesses. Then I fell into a long, deep sleep.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
"Well, what do you think of that idea?" said Vic about two weeks after we got home.
I was in the shower, thinking. It had in fact been my idea for us to be the tour leaders for all Skinner Specials, but I wanted to lead him to believe it had been his own.
"I don't know," I said, opening the shower door.
Vic stepped in and quickly shut the door behind him. Then he took the bar of soap from my hand and began to lather me.
"It's good PR," I said off-handedly.
"It certainly is that," he said, a hint of joy in his voice. "Since the last trip our bookings have increased 100 per cent."
"They have," I said coyly.
"And that's phenomenal," he exclaimed, reaching down to lather my cunt. "How many companies make that much progress just on one big promotion?"
"I don't know," I answered, going limp. His fingers had entered my hole and his palm was rubbing my clit with a frenzy. "I don't know," I repeated, my voice husky.
We slid into each other's arms and kissed each other. The water followed our journey to the floor of our small shower stall.
"Tell me," I said, touching his prick. It was hard and I longed for him not to tell me anything, only to show me.
We crossed our legs in back of each other and we held onto each other tightly. His beautiful prick lay between us. Together we held onto it, moving towards each other on the slippery floor. We aimed and found our mark. Perfectly. Kissing, hugging, laughing, talking, groaning.
