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Subject: Identical Twins - by M1KE HUNT
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You must be 18 or older to read this story.
You must be 18 or older to read this story.

I'll stop now, I promise.
I'll stop now, I promise.


Identical Twins - by MIKE HUNT


The plane was already an hour and a half late, of course. I'd barely
made it to the gate at O'Hare. I'd had to run through the underground
tunnel to United terminal "C" to get there. The motorized walkway and the
light show are fun unless you're about to miss your flight; then it's
torture, especially if you get behind some fat lady with a duffel bag.

Anyway, I got to it in the nick of time, fairly threw my ticket at the
guy at the gate, and jumped aboard just as the stew was slamming the curved
metallic door shut. Whew! Found my seat, 23-D, an aisle thank god, and
settled in. About five minutes went by when the captain came on the intercom
and announced that because of bad traffic on the West Coast we were on
a "ground hold" and wouldn't be taking off for a while. The entire cabin
gave a simultaneous groan as everyone realized that we were now at the
mercy of the airline for all of our wants: food, toilet, travel, sex.
Well, not necessarily sex. I usually handle that myself in the lavatory
sometime during the flight. Or if I'm feeling a little frisky, I might
just move to a window seat. You may have tried that too. It works better
if you get a blanket first, I found out.

Long story short, we landed at 4PM at LAX, and I shuffled off the plane
as disgruntled as the next guy, found my way to the baggage carousel and
waited for the always efficient luggage handlers to crush and tear my
suitcase before putting it on the little merry-go-round that would speed
it to me. At last it appeared, all black with just one ribbon of jet-red
piping. I grabbed it and tried to beat the crowd to the taxi-stand.

"The Four Seasons," I barked to the driver.

"Que?" he said.

I took out my Compton's "English to Cab Driver" translation dictionary
and gave the proper instructions. We arrived about 20 minutes later; I
tipped him and he sped away. Thankfully I checked in without incident
and went to my room.

I reclined on the bed and took a brief nap. I was about to leave to grab
some dinner when the phone rang. It was my wife June.

"Hi, honey," she said. "Have you unpacked yet?"

"Uh, no. Why?"

"I just got a call from some woman at a hotel in L.A. She says she has
your luggage. She thinks you must have hers. She said her suitcase is
black with red trim. That's what yours is."

"Yeah, hang on a minute," I said. I went to the suitcase which I had
flopped on the little rack by the door and abandoned when I came in. I
pushed the brass tab and opened the top. The suitcase burst with a veritable
explosion of bras, panties, skirts, bikini bathing suits, a leather thong,
and I can't even describe what else. "Yeah, it's hers all right," I muttered
into the phone.

"Well you can call the airline and they'll come and pick it up and make
the exchange," she said. "Or you can just do it yourself."

"I think I'd better take care of it soon," I said. "I need my suitcase
as much as she needs hers, and I don't want to be at the mercy of some
bureaucrat or cab driver or whoever. Where is she?" I asked.

"She says she's at the Drake. 2211 Escondido. Room 234, Sally Beth Jonsen,"
June said.

"OK, I'll give her a call," I replied.

"Mike?" June whispered. "You'll be good, right? I mean, you know I trust
you, but she sounded very attractive on the phone and I, well..." her
voice trailed off.

"Oh for heaven sakes," I said. "If you could see these clothes you'd
know you have nothing to worry about. This is Laura Ashley stuff, except
it's the original. She's probably 84 years old."

"She didn't sound 84," June protested.

"Don't worry about it," I said. "I'll be good." I hate it when June accuses
me of trying to hump every woman that I meet. If only that were true!
Actually the ratio is more like 2 out of 3. Some are too young, of course,
and some are too old. And then there is the group of females who are
just butt ugly and you wouldn't fuck unless you could find an absolutely
pitch black room with no windows. Speaking of which I've developed quite
a list of absolutely pitch black rooms all over the country; e-mail me
for it if you want it.

June and I made hubby and wifey small talk for a few minutes and hung
up. I went to the bathroom and tried to clean up, then went to the phone
and called the Drake Hotel. I'd stayed at the Drake before, I knew it
was only about a 10 minute cab ride.

"Drake Hotel. How may I direct your call?"

"Room 234 please."

"Please hold."

"Hello?" The voice on the phone did not sound 84. Or 64. Or even 44.

"Hi. My name in M1KE HUNT, and I think I got your luggage."

"Oh it's you. Thank goodness you had your home address on the tag so
I could call. Your wife got hold of you all right, I guess, huh?" she
said.

"Yeah, just a minute ago. Hey I'm really sorry about this. I must have
grabbed the wrong bag at the carousel and away I went. I never even thought
to look at the name tag. Black bag, red piping, right?" I asked.

"Right," she answered. "Identical bags, I guess. That's a perfect
description,
black bag, red piping."

"Identical twin luggage," I said thoughtlessly.

"Quite a coincidence," she said. "Can I get it back from you right away?"
She was in a big hurry; I could tell from the relief in her voice when
she first answered the phone.

"Sure, sure. I'll bring it over. I know where the Drake is. I can be
there in 10, maybe 15 minutes," I said.

"Would it be terribly inconvenient to make it in 30?" she asked. "I just
ran the water for a bath and it's hot right now. I'm standing here waiting
to jump in." An image formed in my mind. "I'll be waiting for you at 6:30
sharp. Is that OK?"

"That's more than OK, it's perfect. See you then." I hung up.

I took the bag and crammed her stuff down as best I could, then using
full body pressure managed to get it closed. She had overpacked by at
least 20%, but I managed to get it all jammed back in. I walked into the
bathroom and freshened up. I took the bag and went downstairs.

The cab took me directly to the Drake, and I stepped out at the curb
to the attention of a bellhop.

"Help you with that, sir?" he asked.

"No, it's not mine, actually. I'm just returning it to someone," I said.

"I can do that for you," he inveigled, looking for some angle to get
a tip.

"I'll handle it," I said brusquely.

It was 6:10, and while I wanted to be early I thought 20 minutes was
too much. I spotted a McDonald's Express tucked in the corner of an
adjacent building and went in and ordered a Coke.

I'd finished not quite half when it was time to go up to Room 234 and
make the switch, meet the bitch, scratch the itch. Or so I wished.

She answered the door just as I was about to knock for the second time.
I'd hoped I'd catch her just coming out of the tub, but no such luck.
She was dressed in a pair of spandex exercise shorts and a slinky green
Jazzercize top, low cut with lots of chest but not much cleavage. She
was a blonde, Swedish maybe. She was quite pretty, and would have been
moreso without the heavy eyeliner she sported.

"Hi," I said. It's a pretty standard open for me. "Mike Hunt."

"Hi," she said, looking at the suitcase in my hand. "Sally Beth. I'll
bet that's mine."

"Good guess," I said. "Of course you'll have to prove it somehow. You
know, try on some of the clothes or something." I laughed when she didn't.
I tried to indicate I was making a joke.

"Oh, yeah, ha ha," she said. I was off to a great start.

"You have one for me?" I asked.

"Sure sure. Come in. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude, keeping you
standing in the hallway. Please. Come in."

"Thanks," I responded. I walked through the door, the suitcase in one
hand and the half-finished Coke in the other, when my heel must have
caught on a ripple in the carpet.

Before I knew it I had dropped the suitcase and was quickly tumbling
after it. The black box with red piping landed on a corner and popped
open. Clothes went flying everywhere through the air as the kinetic
energy locked behind the brass tabs was suddenly released. I don't
know why I held the Coke so tightly, it was just one of those things
you do during a panic, but when I hit the floor the bottom of the Coke
cup also hit squarely, and the gooey brown liquid exploded upwards as
though it had been launched by NASA. The fountains of Florence should
be so symmetrical! The Coke flew into the air and hit virtually every
piece of clothing drifting back to the floor after the first explosion.

A moment passed. Then two. I looked up and saw her looking at me, looking
at her clothes, looking back at me.

"Uh, sorry," I said. "I guess I've made quite an impression."

"Oh this is awful," she said.

"I'm really sorry," I offered. "I'll pay to have everything cleaned.
It'll be OK; they must deal with Coke all the time."

"I'm sure," she said. "But I need my stuff tonight. We have a show tonight
and it looks like everything is ruined."

"You have a show?" I asked, wiping some Coke off my face. "What kind
of show?"

"A private party. I'm a, uh, dancer. My sister and I are, uh, dancers.
We do special shows for conventioneers and wedding parties and things
like that."

I suddenly realized why her makeup was so heavy. It was part of the uniform.
I didn't think she was giving foxtrot lessons at a wedding. She was a
stripper, albeit a pretty one.

"You have a sister? And you dance together?" I said. "I'd like to see
that." I realized how lame I sounded, so I added, "I'm interested. Maybe
I could hire you for a function I'm planning."

"Really?" she said, her anger dissipating momentarily.
She saw dollar signs. "It's $1000 for two hours, an extra $500 if you
want us to have sex with each other or if we just do the guest of honor."
She'd made the pitch before and was apparently quite comfortable with
it. "Plus expenses," she added.

"You and your sister have sex with each other?" I wondered aloud.

"Sure. Have been since we were 13." She paused a moment, then called
out in a strong voice "LuAnn! Come in here!"

>From the adjoining room a woman entered, and before I could warn her
stepped in a splat of Coke. "Sorry," I said. "My calling card."

"Yuk," she answered. LuAnn was a carbon copy of Sally Beth. A mirror
image. Definitely Swedish. They were identical twins, as alike as two
pieces of luggage from the same production line of the same manufacturer
on the same day.

"Nice to meet you," I said, extending my hand. She watched where she
walked as she stepped forward to take my hand.

"Yeah, sure," she said. "What the hell happened here?"

During the next few minutes I took a towel from the bathroom and did
my best to clean the floor as I explained what had happened. Sally Beth
let me tell the story, even though she was anxious to get on with it and
try to figure out what to do about the mess with her clothes. When LuAnn
realized that Sally Beth's wardrobe had been ruined she was distraught.
They had a show in just over three hours, and now only had one set of
costumes.

"So your act is, uh, identical sisters dressed alike, always two by two?"
I asked.

"Of course," Sally Beth said. "What else? We're identical twins. That's
the act." She looked at me like I was a moron. I'm not, of course, I'm
just clumsy sometimes. Only occasionally do I think I'm really stupid.
Like. for instance, if some light comes into one of those perfectly
dark rooms. "And tonight we only have LuAnn's set of clothes. So we
can't even look like identical twins."

"There isn't one single thing that didn't get splashed?" I asked. "Come
on, let's look." I was reaching for a miracle. The Coke had gone everywhere.

"I suggest we make two piles. One we'll call 'Hopeless', and the other
'Really hopeless.' I got a laugh from LuAnn. My sense of humor has gotten
me through some tight spots. And into some tight spots, actually. The
tighter the better, if you get my meaning.

We all rummaged for 10, maybe 15 minutes. At the end of the scrimmage
there were exactly three outfits in the 'Hopeless' pile. We stood back
and surveyed the damage.

"Whew," I said. "I couldn't have done worse with a squirt gun. I'm really
sorry."

"Yeah, well accidents do happen. But I'm afraid this one is going to
cost us some money, and you too," Sally Beth said.

"I guess the cleaning bill is going to be enormous," I offered. "Of course
I'll pay it. But I think you might be able to save the show. I've been
thinking about it."

"Really," Sally Beth said sarcastically. She was still pissed.

"Really?" LuAnn asked. "How?" I liked her better. As if I could tell
them apart except by their clothes.

"Well, instead of coming out dressed like the DoubleMint twins and then
disappearing and whatever, suppose we deal with the issue at hand with
the props at hand, which is to say two girls and one set of clothes."
I was on a roll, and was warmly buttering them up before slicing through
to the flaky solution to our jam. I could almost taste victory melting
in my mouth. If they didn't like this honey of an idea, I was toast.

"Well, we have three outfits that will maybe work for the twins thing,
so we save that for the end. At the beginning we don't tell them that
you're twins. In fact, we don't tell them that you're sisters, or anything.
In fact, we present you as just one girl to start."

I was interrupted by Sally Beth. "Too late, champ. We're billed as the
Jonsens. Get it? Plural. Just having one girl on stage won't work."

"Right, OK. Let me think about that," I vamped. "Anyway, the trick is that
you come out in one of your outfits, do a little tease and then disappear,
but reappear in a whole new outfit almost immediately, like before you
could have possibly had time to change. Sort of a magic-and-striptease
show." Yes, I was making it up as I went along, but I was doing all right,
except for the plural part of their names.

LuAnn looked at Sally Beth and said "You know it might just work. You
can wear some of my outfits and we can just jump back and forth and the
guys will never know. We'll finish big in the identical outfits and then
do the sex thing."

Sally Beth was not in a mood to be generous, but had little choice. "I'll
think about it," she said noncommitally. "So have you figured out how to
get around the billing?" she asked me pointedly.

"You're just called the 'Jonsens', right? Not the Jonsen Twins or the
Jonsen Sisters?" I asked.

"Right," she said. "But it's still plural, and tonight's show is the
$1500 show, so they're expecting somebody to have sex with somebody. Not
just one girl playing with herself. Get it?"

"Yeah, well..." It was time to make my big pitch. Not that I wanted to,
but I had fucked up their act and potentially ruined their reputation
and possibly cost them a bunch of money. I had to make the sacrifice.
"Suppose it was you and me on stage, or her and me, depending, of course.
Not Miss Jonsen and Miss Jonsen, but Mr. and Mrs. Jonsen, or something?"

"Great idea!" LuAnn exclaimed.

"Decent idea," Sally Beth said. "Might even work. And if it's going to,
we have exactly 2 hours to figure it out. You're doing OK. What's next?"

"I guess you have to decide the order of the costume changes, or I can
help if you want. I think three heads would be better than one, personally,"
I added.

LuAnn exclaimed "I'll go first!" And she disappeared through the connecting
door into her own room. Sally Beth surveyed me up and down. She had a
frown. I tried to make peace.

"I'm really sorry," I said. "It was an accident."

"I know," she replied. "It's just very frustrating, this close to showtime.
Plus I'm very frustrated. We never have sex on the day of a show so we're
good and horny when we get on stage. We try to save our orgasms for the
show; we think you can tell the real thing from a fake one."

"Of course," I said knowingly. "Good thinking." This was a weird
conversation.
I'd had weirder, but at the moment I couldn't remember just when.

LuAnn reappeared in a hot form fitting dress. It was red and ended about
mid-thigh. The top was low cut enough that a hint of cleavage was offered.
It was the style of the dress that sizzled. In a topless bar it would
have been fairly standard uniform. On the street it would turn men's heads
for miles.

"Very nice," I offered.

"Thanks," LuAnn said. "But here's what I do with it." She sank down on
all fours with her butt facing me. Now I could see the crack of her ass
and her pussy lips through the sheer panties she wore. "Depending on which
way I'm facing, I give a nice show," she added. She turned around and
began to crawl toward me, and I saw that the neckline hung low and I could
see down into it, viewing her swaying tits as they winked back and forth
behind the dress' neckline.

"I see," I said.

"I hope you do," she giggled.

Finally Sally Beth got into it and disappeared into the room. She reappeared
a few minutes later in a sexy teddy that was "thong cut" in the back and
almost transparent in the front. I stared at her.

"We should probably save that one for close to the end," I offered. "I
think we should start out slow and build."

"This one usually is near the end," she said. "LuAnn and I usually do
reverses with this one. I stand forward while she stands backwards, then
we flip. It usually gets 'em going pretty well."

For the next half hour the girls put on a show for me, trying on every
piece of clothing in LuAnn's suitcase and the three relatively clean ones
in Sally Beth's. During the 30 minutes after that we brainstormed an idea
for the show, and the girl's put the costumes in order while I worked
on the script for the emcee. It was a close finish, but we made it with
several minutes to spare.

We went downstairs to the function room the girls had rented. We'd called
the hotel staff and asked that a bed or a cot or something similar be
provided, in addition to the chair the girls had already ordered. Both
props were there when we arrived. Quick work by the staff, to be sure.

There was a small stage at one end of the function room with the bed
toward the back and the chair sort of off to one side. About 40 chairs
were arranged for the audience, and a dressing screen had been set up
to one side so the girls could change clothes out of sight of the audience.
It was almost perfect. The girls went behind the screen and arranged the
wardrobe for the show.

About 10 minutes later a guy came in. He was the one who had booked the
show, and he wanted to check it out. I caught him as he came through the
door.

"Hey buddy," I called out. "You with the Order of Fraternal Elks?"

"Yeah," he said. "I'm the host for this little shindig. Want to make
sure everything's set. Especially at these prices!"

"No problem," I said. "Well, a little problem. One of the girl's suitcases
got lost on the trip here." OK, so I lied a little. "We've had to change
the show a little. Don't worry, you'll like it. You didn't tell the rest
of the group that the girls are identical twins, did you?"

"No," he answered. "I thought the surprise would be great for them."

"It will," I said, now quite satisfied with our plan. "I'm part
of the show for tonight. I'm going to be Mr. Jonsen..." I went on and
filled him in, including the new script, and he seemed satisfied.
I got the names of a few of the Elks who would be in the audience and
wrote them on a piece of paper. I handed the list to the girls, and they
put it in the dressing area with their clothes. Twenty minutes later the
guys started coming into the room.

The host let them get settled, and the buzz in the room quieted when
he stepped to the front and began to speak. He welcomed them to the evening's
entertainment and said a couple of other words about some charity work
a couple of the guys had done, I guess to make up for what was about to
happen. I'd never been a member of a group like this, so I didn't know
what to expect.

In short order the lights in the room went down, a couple of overheads
above the stage area came on, and it was time. I walked over to the easy
chair and sat down. I was nervous and it probably showed. I heard a cough
from the audience, but in the darkness I couldn't see anything out there.

I waited a couple seconds and then called out, "Tasha?". A pause. "Tasha!"
Another pause. "Come here." "Tasha" was the name she used on stage, as
opposed to the name you read earlier in the story, which is the name I
made up for the story, even though when I met her she was using a
professional name which wasn't her real name, which she asked me to
change to protect her identity. Clear?

She entered from behind the screen at the darkened side of the stage.
She was quite pretty, with long flowing blonde hair at her shoulders and
a smile from stage left to stage right. Sally Beth was wearing a short,
flouncy skirt and a wispy thin white shirt. The bobble of her bouncing
breasts beneath the blouse was obvious even to those in the back.

"Yes, dear?" she asked.

"Get me a beer, and make it quick," I said. My character called for me
to play the part of the asshole husband ordering the wife around. I was
nervous because of my lack of familiarity with the concept.

Sure.

"And Tasha, change into something that at least makes you look like a
woman," I said.

Sally Beth walked to the front of the stage, a vision of loveliness with
her bouncing titties, and drew a murmur from the crowd.

"OK honey," she replied. "Whatever you say."

She walked off-stage into the darkness. Less than ten seconds later LuAnn
appeared with a beer and a napkin in her hand. She was dressed in a wispy
thin yellow blouse and a pair of red hot short shorts. The tips of her
nipples made a pointed statement through the fine material. She drew an
appreciative sigh from the third row.

"Is this better?" she asked. As she went to hand me the beer, she stumbled
and about a third of it went into my lap. We'd gotten the idea, of course,
from my episode in the hotel room.

"You stupid bitch!" I shouted. "Look what you've done to me!"

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she blushed. "Here, let me help." She began rubbing
the napkin across my crotch, much to the delight of the guys in the chairs.
And I was a guy in a chair and I was delighted also. Of course I'd helped
write the script. But I had to stay in character, so I scowled. I doubt
if anyone bought it.

After she had massaged my groin for a while, I stood up and took on my
meanest scowl. "You dumb cunt. You've made a mess of me!" And with that,
I threw the remaining beer at her chest. The liquid landed exactly on
target, and the material clung to her tits like a new coat of paint on
an old wall. She walked to the front of the stage.

"I'm so sorry, honey," she said. She jiggled a few times for the benefit
of the Elks, then turned and began walking toward me.

"Get out of here," I instructed. "And go clean yourself up. You look
like a dirty old rag."

She walked off stage and into the darkness. Maybe six seconds went by,
and Sally Beth reappeared in the low cut top and miniskirt I'd already
seen in the hotel room. A murmur of surprise went through the crowd, then
one guy whistled.

"Honey?" she asked. "I'll take those pants to the cleaners for you tomorrow.
I really am sorry."

"You bet your ass you'll take these to the cleaners, stupid Tasha," I
said. I took a couple bucks out of my pocket and threw them on the floor.
Sally Beth got down on her hands and knees and started crawling after
them, the deeply low cut blouse offering a terrific view of her tits swaying
back and forth as she chased down the fluttering pieces of paper. She
crawled around for far longer than necessary, making sure to give every
section of the audience a long look down her blouse. Nobody cared that
the action was obviously overly drawn out.

When she felt she'd given everyone a nice enough cleavage show she stood
up and walked to me. One guy hollered "Get back down!" We all laughed.

She came over to me and began pulling at my belt. "I'll just take these
right now and put them in the laundry," she said. Her fingers flew to
my zipper and she pulled. She began to struggle to get them off, but
couldn't.
I had to stand up to help. This wasn't in the script, but we forgot that
the pants wouldn't slide off as easily when they were wet, and we hadn't
actually rehearsed so we had to improvise. I'm pretty good at making things
up as I go along actually. You probably know that if you read any of my
stories. Of course, most people call it "lying."

She yanked and the pants finally came partway down. They bunched at the
knees, and I clumsily stepped out of them. At one point I almost lost
my balance and did a one-legged pogo stick hop across the floor. It must
have looked funny, cause it got a laugh from the Elks. Finally the pants
were off, and I stood center stage in my boxer shorts. I reached down
and picked up the bunched material and threw it toward the back of the
stage.

Then I said, "Get on your knees and go get them!" Sally Beth did as she
was instructed, and it was just a second before the audience had a perfect
ass shot, and only a nanosecond later that they realized she wasn't wearing
panties. She started crawling toward my dirty pants when another voice
in the audience yelled out "Crawl slower!" We all cracked up again.

At last she reached the pile that moments before had been my slacks and
I said, "Now pick them up and come back here, bitch!" She picked up the
pants in her teeth and began to crawl backwards toward the front of the
stage. The guys went nuts, hooting and hollering as her pretty legs seesawed
back and forth, getting closer to the audience with each motion. Her cunt
was perfectly on display as each leg moved forward, then stopped, then
moved forward again. Finally she stopped when she was no more than five
feet from the front row, wiggled her ass, and looked up at me.

"I'll take these to the laundry right now, sir," she said.

"Goddamn right," I replied. "And change into something a little sexier
while you're out, too. You owe me."

She stood up and walked off stage. Several men groaned in the audience.
But she wasn't gone but five seconds when LuAnn appeared in a new outfit.
The crowd buzzed, wondering how she could have made the switch so fast.

LuAnn was dressed in a see-thru blouse and cut-off jeans that had been
so closely cropped that her pussy lips hung from both sides of the material.
Small tufts of pubic hair could be seen attempting their escape down each
pant leg. The effect was stunning.

Someone in the audience gave a loud wolf whistle. LuAnn turned to the
audience and curtsied, as if to say "Thank you." She was into it.

She turned to me. "Dear?" she said. "How about if I make it up to you?"

"Yeah?" I said angrily. "How?"

"How about if I get undressed and we make slow passionate love over there
on the bed?"

"Fuck Fuck Fuck. That's all you ever do," I hissed. "Like last week when
I caught you in bed with Tony Thompson."

A huge yelp came from the third row, from Mr. Thompson, no doubt. The
rest of the audience applauded and snickered.

"Oh honey," she said. "That was an accident. You came home too early,
and there was really nothing going on. You just won't listen."

"Oh yeah?" I said. "How about two weeks ago when I saw you in the back
of Ramsey's Market getting humped by Dale Wachover?"

Another yelp, this time from farther back, stage right. Apparently Mr.
Wachover was in attendance as well.

"Oh honey," she said. "I couldn't help it. I was just walking around
when I saw him and I couldn't resist. Please forgive me."

"Sure," I said. "My wife, fucking everything that moves."

"That's not true," she pouted. "Why just a couple days ago I was mowing
the lawn when I saw Tommy Berkmire..." another yelp "...and I let him
walk right by. Even though I heard he's a great lay."

"It's true, it's true," Mr. Berkmire chimed in from the front row.

"Well come over here and blow me, Tasha," I said, cutting to the chase.

"Of course," she said.

LuAnn walked to me and inserted her hand in my shorts. She withdrew my
thickening piece and held it in perfect display for the audience. I'm
just average size, and this was one time I wished I had far greater
dimension,
strictly for the audience's benefit, naturally. Actually there have been
several times I wished my dick was bigger, like every time I see it or
touch it. It couldn't be helped, of course, and we hadn't had time to
contact Spielberg or Lucas to whip up a special effect. So the show went
on.

I stood facing the audience, she knelt in front of me as she stroked
my cock. Soon I was at full erection, or at least as full as I could
personally
achieve.

"Do you like my dick?" I said to her as I slowly turned sideways to give
the audience a better look.

"Oh of course, honey," she said. "But Mark Freholder's is much bigger."

"Goddamn right," an audience member chimed in.

"And Charlie Smith's is much thicker," she continued.

"Fuckin' A," rolled up on stage from somewhere in the back.

"And Cal Lufkin's tastes better," she continued.

"I wouldn't know," someone yelled. We all laughed.

All the while LuAnn was sticking out her ass and wiggling it for the
amusement of the audience. I reached down and grabbed her tits through
the thin blouse.

"Oh honey be careful," she said. "You'll rip the material." She paused.
"Maybe I'd better change."

She got up and walked off stage to a great round of applause. It wasn't
three seconds before Sally Beth reappeared. She was dressed in a demi-bra
which held her tits straight out in front of her. Her nipples winked at
the audience like the eager pups that they were. She wore a pair of
crotchless
panties.

The audience was stunned. The applause they were giving LuAnn's exit
ceased, then immediately restarted even louder to welcome Sally Beth.
They still hadn't figured it out.

Sally Beth walked over to me and knelt down. "Now, where was I?" she
said.

"You were sucking his dick!" someone from the audience shouted helpfully.

"Thank you," she said. "I lose my place sometimes."

"Do you need a drama coach?" the voice asked. The audience laughed.

"Maybe later," she said, improvising pretty well.

She put my dick in her mouth and gave a few loud slurps. She easily glided
down the shaft, making liquid noises as she encircled each inch of my
member.

"Ah," I said. "Now this is theater!" The audience rolled. Even Sally
Beth started laughing, which caused an unusual sensation for me. I let
her suck on my cock for several minutes, and the audience quieted, engrossed
with the sexual action on stage. My eyes had adjusted to the light, and
I could now see several members of the audience surreptitiously trying
to adjust themselves in their pants, or even copping a quick squeeze of
their dick.

"Dear," Sally Beth said. "Let's go over to the bed so I can fuck you
properly."

"Oh I suppose," I replied. She released my swollen dick and we walked
to the bed. I lay on my back with my erection pointing straight up, and
she climbed aboard. I slid in with ease. She bounced up and down on me
for several seconds, when with some difficulty I continued with the script.
"Say, honey. You said your sister is coming to visit. When does she get
here?"

That was LuAnn's cue to darken the stage lights to half brightness, to
give a "Thump Thump Thump" as though someone was knocking at the door
and to burst on stage. She did.

Finally the audience got it. I could feel, more than see heads turning
from the action on the bed to LuAnn at the side of the stage and back
again. A big burst of applause. Lots of mumbling. Lots of thinking as
the audience now realized that they were drenched in darkness. It was
so dark, in fact, that no one could see their neighbor, even though he
was just a few feet away. I thought I heard the sound of zippers being
lowered.

Sally Beth had stopped in mid-hump and turned to see LuAnn. She was dressed
in a microskirt and scoop neck blouse. She stood there for several seconds,
then exploded!

"What the hell are you doing?" she demanded.

"What are you talking about?" I said.

"That's my husband you're humping you tramp!" she said.

I looked confused. I said, "You mean, YOU'RE my wife? You mean I'm fucking
your sister? What the hell is going on?"

"You bet. She got here earlier and I had to go out. Owed a blowjob to
a few Elks." We had anticipated applause with this line but there was
silence. Tough to clap with just one hand, I guess.

"So you slut, you're fucking my husband, eh?" she continued.

"Sorry," the girl on my dick said. "I couldn't help it. With that big
dick of his, and all." At least that line got a laugh. It's easy to laugh
at another guy's dick, I suppose. Plus it doesn't take two hands.

"Oh, of course. I can understand that," the standing sister said. "Maybe
I could even get into it myself..." And as she said so, she reached up
under her tight micro and began lowering her panties. Now the audience
had two focal points, as LuAnn bent over and drew the little white
undergarment
slowly down her legs, and as Sally Beth continued bouncing up and down
on my dick. I only had one focal point, and I had to make sure not to
lose it too quickly.

LuAnn walked to the bed, faced the audience, and climbed onto my face.
She hitched up the skirt so it wouldn't impede the view. Then she reached
into her blouse and lifted one of her tits over the top. It jutted out
of the material, the hardened tip aimed at the Elks like a howitzer. She
repeated the action with her other breast.

Now I had one girl sitting on my face, another on my dick. I could hear
the slap slap slap of Sally Beth as she bounced on my manhood, and the
slurp slurp slurp of LuAnn's pussy as her wetness covered my lips. I could
also hear the softer bonk bonk bonk of hands on dicks in the audience,
and I knew we were giving the Elks their money's worth.

There were no more funny lines from me. No more funny lines from the
girls. No funny shouts from the audience. The room was quiet, except for
the sounds of sex emanating from the bed and from the 30 chairs in front
of the stage. The room stayed quiet for several minutes until LuAnn mumbled,
"Oh, I'm going to cum." I heard a moan from the audience as someone beat
her to it. "Oh, I'm going to cum," she repeated.

Then, with a realism that no actor could fake she exploded, vibrating
her entire torso as she climaxed. She grimaced as the orgasm traveled
through her, and then she let out a series of grunts, saying "Oh, oh,
oh," in perfect synchronization with her convulsions. I heard a couple
more grunts from the direction of the audience, and knew what that meant.

It was Sally Beth's turn. She began to moan and to buck wildly up and
down on my penis. Another grunt from the audience. Another grunt from
Sally Beth. Then, without warning, she climaxed with a series of exclamations
as she slammed herself against me. "Ooo, ooo, ooo," she said, and repeated
her identical twin's body shimmy as she came.

Now the audience was matching our rhythm, and I heard a series of groans.
One guy muttered "Oh my god." Another said "Ooooooo," at the top of his
lungs. Others were somewhat quieter but still vocal enough to communicate
their explosion to the crowd.

At last it was my turn. Sally Beth climbed off me, and both girls brought
their faces to my crotch. With one of them frantically pumping me and
the other cupping my testicles, I got to the peak in no time flat. I knew
it was coming. I knew I was cumming. I groaned, and the girls eagerly
began to kiss the sides of my cock as I exploded in the air. My first
spurt shot several inches skyward. Then gravity took over and brought
it down on LuAnn's face. The second shot even higher, and Sally Beth was
rewarded with a gob of spunk. I continued squirting and spurting, covering
the girls' faces with my spoogee, and moaning and groaning all the while.

Finally I was done, and the girls giggled as they sat up. Several drips
of cum slid from their cheeks onto their tits. Someone in the audience
yelled "Don't stop. I'm not done."

"Tough shit," I said respectfully. "You snooze, you lose."

Then, the same voice said "Ahhhhhh," and I knew he was done.

So were we all. The audience broke into applause, though we didn't get
a standing ovation. I guess that might have been embarrassing for the
gentlemen or something.

"OK guys," Sally Beth said to the audience. "The lights will be coming
on in about a minute. Thanks for coming to our little show. We hope you've
enjoyed yourselves." A few hoots and hollers greeted her warning and thank
you. Then I heard the sound of 30 zippers in motion as the guys prepared
to assume their otherwise decorous identities.

Sally Beth, LuAnn, and I left the stage and began dressing in the back.
The host appeared and handed Sally Beth a check. "Fabulous," he said.
"Better than I could have imagined."

"Thanks," she replied.

"Can we book you guys for next year?" he asked.

"Sure," she said, giving me the eye.

Hey. I wasn't doing anything next August.

* * * *

These stories just won't stop. I can't help it. I just get to remembering
what I've done in my past, and I have to write it all down. I've had *some*
wild life, I'll tell you. Sally Beth and LuAnn and June and I all live
together now in a little cottage in Ipswich. We actually all get along
great, except when it's time to take out the garbage, cause nobody wants
to do that.

And once in a while the girls fight over who gets to fuck me, of course.
I mean, there's only so much of me to go around. Clearly not enough, to
quote LuAnn.

If you'd like to hear some of my other exploits, may I respectfully suggest
you send an e-mail to Bannerboy1@aol.com. When the next one is ready for
publication you'll get it first, fast, and factual. If you'd like to send
me an e-mail and tell me you don't believe this story, send that to
MrM1KE@aol.com. Please remember that the 2nd character in M1KE is a
"one" (1) not an "eye" (I). Thanks.

This story is Copyright 1997 by M1KE HUNT. I'm planning to compile all
my stories into a CD-ROM, well actually a seedy ROM, and try to sell it
on the Internet. Of course to do that I'll have to start throwing all
kinds of spam into the newsgroups, but I'm sure nobody will mind. It's
free enterprise, and that's what made America great! That and the
Benevolent Order of Elks, of course.

Speaking of which, I hope I didn't offend anyone with the thought of
blowing an Elk. I've never seen that done, of course, but there was the
time Tommy Wilson and I got involved with the mascot for the high school
football team. It was a goat, and, uh, I guess maybe I'll tell that story
another time.

Hey! If you think I'm doing something funny with that "jam" and "butter"
and "flaky" and "roll" and "taste" and "mouth" and "slicing" and "melting"
and "honey" and "toast" section, you're wrong.

Did you know I have a website set up for the express purpose of making
my stories available and wasting server space on AOL? What other possible
reason could there be? If you'd like to visit the site, type
http://members.aol.com/mrm1ke into your browser and just watch what
happens! You'll be transported to a land of mystery, intrigue, and
adventure. It's "Must Read TV!" It's a free site, but you have to supply
your own manual labor.

By the way, if you're going to a convention anytime soon, look in the
"Activities" section to see if the Jonsen's are featured. We'll be, uh,
coming to a theater near you.

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