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From: M1KEHUNT@aol.com
Subject: (Repost)  The O'Stikkit Inn - by MIKE HUNT

I'm reposting "O'Stikkit Inn" thanks to the nice review in Celestial
Reviews (10's!) and because it's probably been long enough for it to
have dropped from your newsgroup line-up.

A quick note to new folks. I'll be on vacation for a couple of weeks,
so my response to requests for missing pieces, etc. will be VERY slow,
if it exists at all. It'll mostly depend on whether June gets lucky and
I get a few minutes to log on from the road. For missing stuff, try
eli's finer archive at <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/>.
Look in March and April for my stuff.

June and I are taking another driving trip, like the one outlined in
"Maria In Maine", except this one is in the Southeast.  Hey, if you
happen to see us in one of the motels or bed and breakfasts that we're
staying in, come by and say "O'Stikkit Inn."  We'll know.

Oh, how to recognize us?  Hmmm.  I'm 72, lots of gray hair.  June's 24,
and a dwarf.  Can't miss us.

* * * *

If you're under 18, you shouldn't be reading this. 
To figure out how many 18 is if you live in Utah, count
     off your age against all of your fingers and most of your toes.
Bikers should count all your nipple rings, all your girlfriend's
     nipple and tongue rings, and all of your toes.
IRS employees: subtract the number of years since your birth
     from the total of the number of fingers and toes. Put the
     result on line 62, and divide by your dick length. Put
     that result on page 52B, then wad the whole thing up and
     shove it up your ass.

I just tried to do my taxes.  Could you guess?


The O'Stikkit Inn - MIKE HUNT


My wife likes men. I've always known that about her. When we first
started going out, she was still seeing several other guys, but they
just sort of fell away and we ended up together. We dated for many
months, then finally got married. We've been hitched for 6 years, and
to the best of my knowledge she's been faithful to me, and me to her.
Well, I did have a couple of visits to a massage parlor, and there was
that one business trip in Orlando, and, oh, yeah the time with the bikini
contest I emceed in Dallas.  I mean, those girls practically jumped me. But
other than that, totally faithful. Um, unless I've forgotten something.

Anyway, June is a flirt. At neighborhood parties she's always hanging
around with the men; the womens' talk about kids and recipes just
bores her. And she loves to dance. I mean LOVES to dance. If my wife
had it to do over again, she'd probably make dance a career. That's
the one weird thing about our relationship. I don't dance at all.
Well, hardly. Maybe a waltz now and then.

So I've gotten used to seeing her dancing with guys (and women) at
parties, at company functions, and sometimes when we just go out to
a bar. It's great fun, and she loves it. It's innocent. Usually.

I was on a business trip to Boston, and since I had to be there on
a Friday, I suggested that she come along, and we'd make a weekend
of it. That way we'd only have to pay her airfare; my company would
pick up the hotel. My boss was good that way. Since we were staying
over a Saturday night, I'd save him almost $500 on the price of my
plane ticket. He was glad to pick up the Saturday night hotel room
for $125.

Anyway, we arrived on Friday morning, I attended my (boring) conference
and she went shopping. My meeting didn't end until practically 6:00,
by the time I got back to the hotel and we went out to dinner it was
nearly 8:00. The dinner service was slow, but in fairness, the restaurant
was busy, and we didn't get done 'til well after 9:00.

Picking up a taxi at the restaurant, I told the driver to take us
to our hotel, but as he pulled away, I thought better of it and asked
where something was happening. Unfortunately this cabbie was like many
and barely spoke the language. We ended up back at the Inn.

According to the literature in the room, the O'Stikkits had immigrated
from Ireland in the 1800's. Now maybe once upon a time the O'Stikkit's
had run a fine country inn, but it had long since been taken over by a
chain, which had added 100 rooms, a swimming pool, a sports bar,
and, well, you get the idea. Now the charming wooden house in front
masked two one-story brick buildings which fed 4 corridors of rooms.

June and I decided to just hang out at the Inn; we always had tomorrow
night to see the town. We went to the sports bar and sat down. 
The Bulls were on TV that night with a West Coast game.
So we sat and watched and drank and watched and drank and watched
and drank. Did I mention we drank?

Next door was another bar with music and a dj. In fact the music
competed well with the audio from the game; it was loud loud loud.
But it all added to the general party atmosphere.

I got up to take a piss, and by the time I got back I found a few
things changed. For one, the Bulls had pulled ahead by 10 points.
For another, there was a guy standing, talking with June. I walked
up and said hi. You could tell he was disappointed; I'm sure he thought
she was there alone. But I invited him to join us, anyway.

He declined, probably sensing better opportunities elsewhere. He said
he was going back to the other bar to catch a dance or two. As if
Groucho Marx had said the secret word, June squealed and said
"Dance? Do you dance?"

"Why sure. Love it. One of my favorite things to do," he said.

"Oh, Mike, would you mind?" she asked.

"Not at all," I said. I waved her away. I knew she would have been
disappointed if I'd said 'no'. And as I explained, I've long since
become used to her dancing with other guys. After all, I don't dance.
"By the way, I'm Mike, and as long as you're stealing my wife from
me, what's your name?" I asked him.

"Oh. John. John Rogers. Yeah, well, I mean only if this is OK..."
he trailed off.

"Don't be silly. She loves to dance. I don't. Simple. On the other
hand, I love the Bulls. I've got something to do. Go enjoy yourselves."

They left, actually moving only the 30 or 40 feet into the next bar.
I could feel the thump thump thump of the bass in the dance beat music
that was playing. I could see into the room as well, although it was
much more dimly lit than where I was sitting.

After about 20 minutes, June returned. "Whew," she said. "That guy
can dance. What energy!"

"That's nice," I said. "Bulls are down 4."

"Don't worry about it. Michael will handle it," she said.

"I know, I know. Just catching you up," I responded.

We made innocuous conversation for another 10 minutes, when John
walked by, apparently heading for the men's room. On the way back,
I motioned him over and offered him a beer. This time he accepted.

It was already nearly 1:00AM, the West Coast game was in the 4th
quarter, the sports bar was beginning thin out. The dance bar was
was still going.

We hit it off. The three of us, I mean. John said we was a comptroller
for a division of large company, a Fortune 500. He was well spoken,
obviously intelligent, quite charming, and darn it all, handsome as
heck. In fact, if he were bald, he would have looked a little like MJ.
John, you see, was black. Very.

Even after the Bulls won, we sat in the bar talking for another 45
minutes, yukking it up, playing stupid bar games like trying to balance
the salt shaker and stand quarters on edge and that sort of thing.
At about 1:40, the bartender shouted over to us that it was last call.
I ordered another round, but June suddenly asked him if that meant
the other bar was closing, too.

"Sure," he said. "Liquor law; everything closes at 2:00AM."

"Holy jeez," she said. "How about another dance or two?" I knew she
wasn't talking to me.

"Absolutely," he said. They both jumped up from the table, and as
they were walking to the dance floor, John turned to me and said "You
OK?"

"Of course," I said. "You guys go play in there, I'll just stay here
and play with myself." I laughed at my joke, and both of them did too.

The bump bump bump of the percussion still reverberated through the
bar, and I knew June was having a good time. I thought some of the
men in there might be too, since she was well dressed for the occasion.
June had on a top that should have been called a "scoop neck."
That meant it was square cut low across the front. June has
a great set of tits, a natural C cup, firm and high, and, well, just
fabulous. Take it from one who's dived in there many times. Her skirt
was above the knee, nothing obscene, but nice. June is also what I
would call an "aggressive" dancer. I mean she really goes at it,
bouncing all around. I like to watch her. I sometimes watch other men
watch her. She's something to look at.

At about 1:50AM, the DJ announced a "slow dance," and I watched as
both of them hesitated for a moment, then melted together on the dance
floor. I could almost feel the heat all the way back in my booth.
If you've ever slow danced with June, you know she has a way of pressing
herself against you so that her tits fairly bore a hole in your chest.
But more than that, she has a way of wrapping her legs around one
of yours and rubbing herself against you. And she was doing it 10
years before anybody ever heard of the Lambada. I used to tell her
it was no fair using my thigh as a rubbing board, she should go back
to the room and get out her vibrator like every other woman in America.

Anyway, it was evident to me that John liked having this woman rub
her cunt against his leg, and he tried to maneuver her to one of the
darker corners of the dance floor. In fact he did just that, and I even 
thought I saw him try to cop a feel, but June put a quick stop to that.

After 8 or 9 minutes of ballads the music ended; the dj apologized,
and shut down. They came back to the table. I had thoughtfully ordered
another beer each at last call, and while they might be a little warm
by now, they were at still drinkable. We chugged them.

John started saying his goodbyes, and June started saying how much
she had enjoyed meeting him, when I piped in, "Hey, the party's just
starting. Come on back to the room for a nightcap. There's a mini-bar
fridge; I'm sure there's a few more drinks in there." June looked
at me as though to say "What the hell are you doing?" but I ignored her.

"Sure, OK, why not?" John said. "I've got nothing to do but catch a plane 
back to Atlanta tomorrow. It's not until afternoon, anyway. Let's party."

We grabbed our remaining beers and found our way down the corridors.
We were more than a little tipsy, apparently, cause June stumbled
and crashed into one of the room doors. If anyone had been asleep
in there before, they weren't after that. We tried to "play straight,"
but it only made us giggle harder. We finally got to our room.

I had forgotten how small it was. There were two chairs, a small
table, and the bed. The TV was in an armoire that also served as a
chest of drawers. I sat on the bed. June and John took the chairs.
I got a couple of beers from the fridge and poured 3 glasses. We talked,
and laughed, and talked some more for another 20 minutes.

"Now what?" John said to no one in particular.

"Well," I said, "I was thinking of going swimming." We all cracked up.

"Oh yeah?" June shot back, it might be a little late, don'cha think?"

"Of course. That's why I want to do it. The pool's just up the hall,
you know."

John sat silently, watching the words fly.

June realized I was half-serious. She protested, "It's probably not
even open. And if it is, it's probably dark. And if it's not, I don't
have my bathing suit with me." Well. That was that, apparently.

Now it was my turn. "Well, I just happen to know that it is open,
cause I yanked on the door handle as we walked by. It opened a crack.
Nyahh Nyahh. And yeah, it's probably dark, but have you ever heard
of a light switch? Nyahh Nyahh. And as for the suit, well, you got
me there." I paused. "Of course we could go skinny dipping...."

June shrieked. I hoped nobody was trying to sleep in the next room.

"You're crazy. Nothing personal, but John, I hardly know you, and
I'm not, well, you know..."

"Perfectly understandable, June." He was so gallant. "Of course I
wouldn't mind if you were game, but..."

"Hey, hey, I was just kidding," I said. "But you know, we could just
strip to our underwear. I mean, my jockey shorts cover more of me
than that silly spandex suit you bought for me. And you prance around
in a thong at the beach in front of people you don't even know, now,
don't you?" I asked.

"Well, that's different," she said, not totally convincingly. "I
mean it's a bathing suit. That makes it different."

"Sounds perfectly logical to me," John said, grinning at her discomfort.
"Woman logic, I mean."

"Now come on, guys." She could see that we were ganging up on her.

"Anyway, it'll be dark. You said so yourself." I was winning.
"Tell you what. You wear the robe from the room, I'll take
a towel, John can do whatever he wants. Fair?"

Well, we were drunk enough and giddy enough that she bought it. June
stepped into the bathroom to disrobe. John and I stood up and took
off our shirts and threw them on the bed. Then we dropped our pants.
June returned with a couple of towels. She had wrapped herself
tightly in the robe.

"Oh, boxer shorts, I see," she said to John. "I thought so."

She suddenly realized what she had said, and looked at me. I knew
it could only mean she had felt his dick pushing against her when
they were slow dancing, but I pretended that I had no idea what she
was talking about.

"And jockeys for you, my dear husband. Here, towels for both of you."

We wrapped the towels around ourselves. I grabbed the remaining beers
from the fridge, a bag of pretzels from the mini-bar, and a pocket
transistor radio from my overnight bag. The three of us careened
down the hall to the pool. It was in the other wing, but our room was
close to the split, and we were only 5 or 6 doors away.

We burst in like a bunch of teen-age kids sneaking into the gym after
dark. As we entered we discovered there was a bell hanging on the inside
door handle, like a customer bell in a store. ding-CLANG-ding, it
went. "Oh shit," I said. "Careful, here. The swimming pool police
are nearby." ding-CLANG-ding, the bell announced as the door slammed
closed. We all howled.

There was actually plenty of light trickling in from the hallway
overheads; I'd say it was about like early dusk. I flicked on the
inside florescents, but they were sooo bright that I snapped them
back off again. At this time of night, we didn't need to put ourselves
on display for any passers-by. There was enough light to see the vacant
customer service desk at the front, the towel racks behind it, and
around the corner, the pool. You couldn't see straight into the pool
from the hall because of the desk and the towel racks; that was fine
with me. We weren't looking to advertise.

We went in and pulled some chairs and chaise-lounges together. After
another 10 minutes, and some more beer, I decided to go in.

"Taa-daa. The great unveiling," I announced. I stood up and dropped
my towel. I made a Mr. Atlas pose. I looked ridiculous. "Your turn,
John." He stood and did the same. Dropped the towel, I mean. "Now
you, June."

"Oh, I don't know..." she said.

"For god sakes, it's no big thing. Come on. Let's go in." She stood,
and opened the robe. It was true that the pieces of clothing she had
on covered more than her skimpy bathing suit, at least in the number
of square inches. The difference was that her bra and panties were
made of thinner material, and left less to the imagination, even in the
dimmer light of the room.

John whistled, and grinned. June grinned back. "OK boys, you got what
you wanted. Now grow up. In fact..." She made a dash for the water.
"Last one in is a big dick!"

She was already in the air on her way to the water as she said it.
SPLASH! John and I looked at each other. We rose more lazily from
our chairs. In fact I reached down and took another swig of beer.
Then we ambled over to the pool, and jumped in.

The three of us splashed around and floated and swam for several
minutes before we all ended up standing in the shallow end. We were
up to our hips, but that left June's top half on display. And what
a display it was. Her bra clung tightly to her breasts, the thin material
outlining every goose-bump and curve. John couldn't help but stare,
and frankly, neither could I. Finally she said, "Hey, whoa. Guys.
Come on, get a life. Jeez. You're going to make me so self-concious
I'll have to leave."

John and I immediately looked up at her. We all bust out laughing
again, and I said, "What, and stop having all this fun?" We really
were. We played some more water games, like swimming through each
others legs, and I could see that June's wet panties had turned just
as transparent as her top. This was getting me plenty excited.

In fact, I felt the beginnings of an erection, and rather than call
attention to myself, I waded over to the side and jumped out of the
pool. I figured I'd sit down for a minute or so and then rejoin the
party. I was sitting on my chair, lazily drinking my beer, when I
remembered the radio. It was just a pocket-sized job, but I managed
to find a station playing some decent music, and turned it up.
It wasn't loud, but it was listenable.

John and June continued to play in the water. From my vantage point,
I could see he was using every opportunity to stare at her tits. She
pretended not to notice, or maybe she was just so loose she didn't
care. Anyway, even I couldn't take my eyes off her chest. She really
has a nice set of knockers, and the effect of the thin wet material
made them even sexier as they played peek-a-boobie behind the soaked
brassiere.

Just then a Donna Summer song came on the radio. "Oooo," June squealed.
"One of my favorite dance songs of all time! Come on. Let's dance!"
They were both standing in hip-deep water. They looked stupid trying
to dance, fighting with the water to move their bodies in time with
the music.

Finally June waded over to the side and jumped out of the pool. She
stood at the edge and began to dance. I sat back and watched. "Come
on up!," she hissed at John. He shook his head. I guessed he didn't
want to climb out of the water because he was sporting an erection.
I didn't really know, but it seemed a reasonable conclusion.

June stayed at the edge of the pool, dancing. John waded over in
front of her. Of course she was elevated, with her feet at about his
hip level. That put his eyes even with her cunt. It was starting
to get interesting.

Now some 60's dances were named after the movements of the dance. 
Like the "mashed potato", where you, uh, mash potatoes with your feet.
Or the "jerk" when you jerk with your arms. If June's dance had a
name, it would have been the "thigh-master" in honor of the Suzanne
Sommers' machine that women used to flex their knees together, then
open wide, then back together.

I was looking at her from the back. John had the front view as she
squatted, flexed her knees, then stood, then repeated the series of
motions. I knew that her panties were dripping wet, and had to be
sticking to her pussy like a coat of paint. And her dance movements
were not exactly modest. In fact, I had never seen her dance like
this before, but it was late and we'd all had a lot to drink.

John stayed in the water, but I could see that his eyes were glued
on that "Y" where June's legs met her body. And I could also see that
she was staring down into the water at his mid-section. From my angle
I couldn't see what she was looking at; for all I knew his dick was
sticking straight out of his pants. Or maybe not. I really couldn't tell.

The song finally faded out. Then the announcer came on, made some
trite comment, and played a commercial. John and June just stood there,
staring at each other. I made a few seconds of polite conversation.
Neither of them paid attention. The announcer came back and said he 
was going to change the mood and play a whole set of slow songs. 
The first one came on, and June turned to me and said "Dance?"

"Thanks, hon, but I don't think so," I replied. "In fact, I think
I'm going back to the room for some more beers. I'll just be a minute.
Go on, dance with John. Really, I'll be right back." We still had
one beer left, but I deftly slid it under the chair as I got up. I
turned quickly as I stood so they wouldn't see my hard-on, which was
now pushing mightily against the fabric of my shorts. I walked directly
away from them, and around the corner. I pushed open the door. 
Ding-CLANG-ding went the bell. But I didn't go through. Instead,
I stayed inside and let the door close. Ding-CLANG-ding  it went 
as the automatic closer pulled the door shut. I was still inside.

I crept into the shadows. I wished I were nearer to them, but I had
a decent enough view. "So let's dance," she said to him. June jumped
into the water, and fairly slid herself up against him. At least she
tried to, but for some strange reason, her pelvis couldn't get close
to his. "My god," she said.

"Sorry," he replied. "Force of nature."

"No need to be sorry," she said. "But nothing can happen here. You
know. He's coming right back."

"I know. But I'd still like to dance this dance with you." I saw
him reach down and push his dick out of the way. At least I assume
it was his dick he was pushing. What else? He apparently had pushed
his hard-on right between her legs; there was no where else he could
have been hiding it! Then he pulled her to him, and she melted into
his arms. Before I knew it they were dancing, up to their hips in
the water. I saw her grab his shoulders and wrap her legs around his hips.
He was carrying her around as she bounced against his mid-section.

"Boy you sure to make it hard," he said. "Tough, I mean." They both
laughed. "Come over here." He walked to the edge of the pool, and
then began walking up the inclined bottom until she was at the edge
til at the perfect height. She still hung on him, and felt him set
her in a sitting position on the pool edge while he stood in the water.

She unclasped her legs from around him, and slowly hooked her heels
on the edge of the pool. Her pussy and his dick were now bouncing
against each other as they swayed slowly in time with the music. I
reached down and squeezed my dick through my shorts.

I watched with wonder as he bent down and kissed her full on the
lips. I was not surprised when she returned his kiss; hell, I'd have
been shocked if she hadn't. Then she broke away and said "We shouldn't.
And he'll be back any minute."

"Don't worry. We'll hear the bell. No sweat. Come on..." And he kissed
her again. He reached up and cupped her tits. Now I know those tits,
and when June get excited, those nipples get as hard as buttons. I
knew they were at this moment. He reached around and started to unclasp
the bra in the back, but she stopped him.

"No!" she fairly screamed. "No. He's coming back. When the bell rings,
that's it." Of course she didn't know that the bell wouldn't ring,
because I was already inside the door. Then she surprised him by reaching
up and pulling him down for another passionate kiss. His hands reached
for her breasts again, and I could see him gently massaging them in
his big hands.

June's hands weren't idle, either. I saw her reach into his crotch,
and although my angle didn't give me a direct view, I could tell she
was feeling his hardness in her hand through his boxer shorts. From
the funny angle of her elbow and her next movements, I knew that she
was snaking her hand into the flap in the front of the pants to grasp
his penis directly.

"My god," she exclaimed, "You're..." She stopped. She was listening.
"Just so we understand. When the bell rings, you're gone. You dive
back in the water. Under water. Somewhere. Anywhere but standing here
in front of me with your, uh, you know, here in my hand."

She could have convinced him to do anything at that moment. "Sure
sure," he said, continuing to grab at her tits. Her hand was obviously
at work, extracting his swollen member from the front of his pants.
Then her other hand went to her own crotch, and I could tell she was
pulling the panties to one side. As they again kissed, I saw his tongue
lick against hers, and I could tell she was rubbing the head of his
dick around on her cunt lips. Then she aimed it, and then I knew by
her grunting that she had located it directly at her portal of sex.

That is one great thing about June. She's vocal when it comes to
her pleasure. She's not afraid to make noise, and knows it's a turn-on
for me. She also likes to talk dirty, or at least use dirty words
when we're making love. She also cums quite easily, often requiring
only a few minutes of warm-up. One thing that really pisses me off,
tho, is that she can come several times. I'm only good for once, then
I need a half-hour cool-down period. After she comes, she can be right
back at it, and another 4 or 5 minutes later will be popping her cookies
again. It's just not fair.

Anyway, I knew that he was entering her just by her noises. Her "Oh
oh oh" and her "uh uh" and her "oh yes" told me everything I needed
to know. He was fucking her, and fucking her good.

Even though I was enjoying this, and by now had my own hand inside
my jockey shorts, I thought I'd better do something quickly. I figured
he'd try to blow his load as quickly as possible, thinking that at
any moment I'd be likely to come barging through the door and he'd
have to pull out and pretend everything was fine.

I crept forward in the shadows until I was just 20 feet from them.
I was directly behind her, which meant that he would have been looking
straight at me - if he had had his eyes open. He didn't. I took another
two steps forward. Suddenly his eyes opened and he saw me. He dropped
his hands from her breasts, stopped pumping, and froze.

I put my finger to my lips, as if to say "Shhhhh."  He seemed
to understand. He relaxed. I took another several steps forward.
I made the "Shhhh" gesture again.

He wasn't in any hurry, now. She let out a low moan. I stepped another
few feet closer, until I could almost have reached out and touched her.
I bent down and whispered, "I'm baaacckk," in my best Poltergeist imitation.

She screamed as though I had stuck her with a fork. If she had been
standing, she would have jumped about 6 feet. She was freaked out.
She recovered, kind of. "We were just, ah, dancing, and ah,"

I thought to myself "dancing, yeah, pole dancing, maybe." I said "Sure,
I know. Sorry guys, no beer. We're out." I waited a beat. "Jeez, hon,
what's with you? You look like you've seen a ghost."

She twisted her head to look up at me, as guilty as hell. Of course
I knew that she was sitting there with this guy's dick in her snatch up to
the hilt. But she didn't know I knew. And from my angle behind her, I
couldn't really see anything, so she thought maybe she'd get away with it.
One thing for sure, if he pulled out now, I'd see. So she stayed right
where she was. "Yeah, well, you just sort of, sneaked up, and I, ah..."

"No problem," I said generously. "Go on and dance. It's fine by me.
But boy are you tense." I knelt on one knee down behind her.

Now I often massage June's back, it's a great pleasure for her, and
I enjoy doing it. I reached up and put my palms on her shoulder
blades. It was as though an electric shock went through her torso,
but what could she do? She couldn't go forward and she couldn't go
backward, so she just sat. 

I began to massage her back, and after several moments sat down
and spread my legs and scootched up behind her, as though we
were both riding the same horse. I split my legs and moved closer.
I moved my hands to her shoulders as I snuggled up to her back.
I continued the massage.

Now she was getting into it. She was undoubtedly still wrestling
with the problem of John's dick in her pussy, but as long as she didn't
move, it was well hidden. I continued my massage. She began to make
noise. "Oh, that feels good." I didn't know if she were talking to
me or to John. At this point it didn't matter.

"Ah, ah. Lower." I moved my hands lower on her back.

"God you are just a bundle of tension." I knew why. "Here, this will
help." I released the clasp on her bra.

"What are you doing, oh, oh," she said. She knew exactly what I was
doing, but tried to maintain an illusion of modesty.

"Oh, for heaven sakes. That strap is in my way, and is holding in the
tension. And by the way, honey, your bra got soaking wet the first time
you went in, and doesn't hide a thing. Now be honest. John. John?
Does her bra hide anything?"

"Not a thing," he agreed.

"And doesn't she have great tits?"

"Fabulous," he said.

"See honey? No big deal." I let the bra straps hang down to the sides.
I put my hands against the flesh of her back and continued my rubbing
motion.

She didn't know what to do. She was doing her best to stifle moans,
not altogether successfully, while talking to two men who had her
surrounded, and penetrated. "Does this strike anyone as weird? Here
we are at 3AM, sitting in a hotel pool, with two men talking about 
my tits while my husband takes off my bra?" She paused."With
a stranger standing right in front of me?" She didn't mention
the cock that was poking into the warmth and wetness of her cunt.

I bent my head down and nuzzled the back of her neck. She always
loves that. She shuddered. "Here John," I said. "This makes her crazy.
Just nuzzle the side of her neck..."

He bent his head to the task. I put my head on the other side of
her neck and began doing the same.

"What are you doing?" she managed to say in between staccato breaths.
"Oh, this is great, oh, we shouldn't, oh..." Like I said, she makes
noise. And she excites easily. Her words degenerated into a series
of low moans, and I could tell by the volume and the pitch that she
was excited. "I feel like a sandwich between you guys..." she trailed off.

I continued to rub. I spoke into her neck as I softly said, "So John, 
you really like my wife's tits?" I knew that John's hands had returned
to her breasts. I sensed, more than felt her tremble he released her
hiding hooters from the bra cups.  I knew they would grow as the ruby
tip expanded in his hands.

"They're awesome," he said. "And I'm not just saying that." He was
nuzzling her neck as he said "You have the most gorgeous body, beautiful
breasts, wonderful skin..." He kissed her neck gently. I could see
him rocking his pelvis gently back and forth. I knew, but could not
see, that his dick was sliding in and out of her hot box, lightly and
slowly, but sliding in and out nonetheless.

Her moans increased, and I could tell she was getting close to orgasm.
I thought she might try to stifle it, even in spite of how far the
conversation had come. I whispered to her. "It's OK. OK. Relax. It
feels good. Your back is relaxed. The tension is gone. You feel good."

She was moaning. And I knew this series of sounds. This was what
she did with less than 20 seconds left before her explosion. I continued
talking. "John. You like my wife's tits a lot? Have you got them in
your hands? Do they feel good?" She climbed closer. He squeezed his
hands around her breasts. I said softly "Let go, honey. Let go." When I 
knew she had just hit the point of no return, I lifted my head and
whispered in her ear "And I know he's got his nice big black dick in
your pussy, and he's fucking you. He's fucking you nice and slow..."

She climaxed and let everybody from rooms 201 to 205 know it. She
screamed so loud I  thought she deafened John's right ear.
As she rode the roller-coaster down with her little series of "ah
- ah - ahs" John took to pumping his dick in and out of her. There
was no pretense left. Now we all knew.  And she knew we knew.

John was still pumping when  I said, "What did it feel like, John?" I had
interrupted him; caught him off guard.  His hips slowed.

"Uh, well, uh," Silence. Then "It felt like a thousand tiny fingers
massaging my dick. Her snatch got hot, and then I could feel it gripping
me, gripping me, gripping me, trying to pull me in. Shit, it was
fabulous." He began pumping away.

"Whoa, slow down soldier," June said. "Give me a minute. I can go
again. That is, if it's OK with you, dear." She twisted around and
looked at me.

I kissed her square on the lips. "It's fine with me. In fact, it's terrific."

"Whew. All right! OK tiger, straighten that dick up. Let's get ready."
I told you she liked to talk dirty. "And some dick it is, too."

"Really?" I said. "Can I see?" Of course I was curious. I peeked
over her shoulder and looked down. She explained to me, "It's about
the same length as yours. But it's thicker. A lot thicker." The
stereotype lives, I guess.

At that moment he was pressed to the hilt, and I couldn't see anything.
But he answered me, stammering, "Sure, I guess."

He slowly withdrew his hard-on from her pussy, and I saw what she
meant. He had the same 7" length as me, but he had to be as big around
as a beer can. At least that's what it looked like from where I was sitting.

"Holy shit!" I croaked. "Jeez. That is something." I paused. I was just
drunk enough to say "Do you mind?" And I snaked my hand around into
both of their crotches until my fingers brushed against his boner. He
didn't move. I slid my hand down further, until I grasped him completely.
I tried, but I couldn't get my hand all the way around it and touch
my fingertips together.  I took my hand away. June was looking at me
strangely.

"Hey man, if you want to..." John said.

"No, really, I was just curious," I replied. I hadn't had my hand on a
guy's dick since I was 11 and Jimmy Verti and I were jerking off
to Penthouse magazines and we started "helping each other." I looked at
John wondering if he were bisexual. I wasn't. But having my hand on his
aroused organ for those brief seconds gave me a jolt I hadn't expected.

Anyway I said, "Now, John. Slow and steady wins the race." I leaned
back into her and began to kiss her back. She snaked on of her hands
around and groped at my crotch. I knew what she wanted; I wanted it
too. I pulled my shorts to the side, releasing my prick into her waiting
hand. She grabbed at it and did her best to stroke it in spite of
the awkward position she was in.

John began rocking back and forth in front of her, sliding his tool
into her toolbox while he massaged her tits.

"Hey darlin'," I said. "How about some noise?"

She began to groan, then to moan. She said "This is so nice of you
two fellows. John, especially you. What would I do if you weren't
here? Why I'd be back in my room, probably just playing with my vibrator.
Instead I get to have you here with your nice big cock - and it is
a NICE.......BIG.......DICK sliding in and out of me. Does you cock
feel good right now? It's too bad I'm stuck in this position. I'd
sure like to be sucking that cock, and having you cum in my mouth
and all over my face."

"Uh," he grunted.

It didn't take long. "Oh, I'm getting there. I'm getting there." I
knew she was. Her moaning was increasing and her words were getting
more and more indistinct. All John could do was grunt. I could see
he was rocking more and more furiously.

"Oh oh oh," she said.

I jumped back and stood up. Now I had a perfect view of his cock
sliding back and forth into her. He was ramming her like a piston,
and she was taking every blow. I took my dick into my hand. "Look
at me, hon," I said.

She twisted her head around. She knew what was coming. I was. She
looked up into my eyes with love, then looked straight at my dick.
"Come on, big boy, cum all over me," she said.

I guess John and I came at the same moment, because I heard him 
groan just as I lost it. I shot my first huge load; it hit her right in
the forehead just at her hairline. Half my goop went into her hair.
SPLAT! My second spurt landed on the bridge of the nose on her
smiling face. Cum dripped down her cheek. John was groaning and
groaning, so I knew he was filling up her cunt with his jism; I wished
I could see it. But as my dick continued spurting, she kept her face 
turned up to me, her eyes holding my gaze, waiting for me to finish.
A little of my sperm shot right past her face and landed on
his arm, but he was in such throes of passion I don't think he even
noticed. My fourth spasm dribbled across her lips.

At that moment she reached her climax, and began bucking like a stuck
pig. Her moans became grotesquely loud, and her face contorted as
though she were in pain.

The three of us collapsed in a heap. We were silent for a couple
minutes, when John said, "God I'm thirsty. I have cotton-mouth. I
could really use a beer."

"Just a sec," I said. I ran back to the chair and grabbed the
one can I had stashed earlier.

I draped a towel over my arm and returned.  "Room Service," I
called out.  "My wife's cunt, and a beer. Will there be anything
else tonight, sir?"




If you like this story and want more, send me an e-mail at 
Bannerboy1@aol.com. I have others. Tell me you're at least 18.
Cross your heart and hope to die.

All my stories are either totally, or mostly true. Or partly. At 
least a little. Two things were changed in this one: John was a white
guy, not black. I just wanted to perpetuate some stereotypes. And the
place where it happened was the Marriott at Dulles Airport. No, there
really isn't an O'Stikkit Inn, but don't you wish there was?

Please direct fan mail and flames to M1KE HUNT@aol.com. If you're
typing in the address, note that the 2nd character in M1KE is a "one"
(1) not an "eye" (I). Thanks.

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