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From: "Jane Urquhart" <janey98@hotmail.com>
Subject: RP: JANEY'S FEBRUARY (FM, FM, cons)
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WARNINGS: This story includes explicit descriptions of
sexual acts. If reading this might involve you or another
person in an illegal act, or you are offended by the exploration
of adult themes in literature or on the Internet, do not read
further.
Copyright 1999 by Jane Urquhart. The author is a member of
the Net Authors and Creators Union (NACU), which defends
the rights of Internet authors and creators. NACU intends to
bring suit against any person or corporation infringing
copyright.
Specific permission is granted for publication in the news
groups Alt.Sex.Stories and Alt.Sex.Stories.Moderated and for
archiving by the Alt.Sex.Stories.Moderated archive and
DejaNews. All other rights are reserved. Do not repost or
distribute by any other means without express permission from
the author.
Anniversary Edition. First posted March 16, 1998. This
edition has most of the typos corrected, but nothing else has
been changed.
NOTE: This is the second in a series of stories about my
adventures. The first was "Janey's January." Later stories
sometimes refer to earlier ones, but may be read as standing
alone.
JANEY'S FEBRUARY (FM, FM, cons)
by Janey
Florida is all right in the spring and fall, but nobody goes
there in the winter--it's too crowded! (Apologies to Yogi
Berra.) Nevertheless, when Bob said we could get a free
four-day trip to Sarasota to attend some medieval history
conference I wasn't entirely against it. I can always get a few
days off from work, and the weather in Boston was dreary, as
usual, even though there wasn't any snow left on the ground.
Then the Weather Channel showed a picture of Florida that
looked like a volcano erupting--big orange blobs all over the
state--and I got less enthusiastic. Florida in the rain is the pits.
If you can't get to the beach, or at least a swimming pool,
what's Florida? Strip development. Yuck! Still, when his
mom, who lives in Belmont, said she'd be delighted to
house-sit and take care of the kids, I gave in. Bob seemed to
want to go, so what the hell.
Naturally I told Beth we were going, and then things got
complicated. Beth said she and Steve ought to go with us--they
could be with me while Bob was at the conference, and we
could explore the area. She said there are some great birding
places just outside Sarasota, and it would probably be warm
enough to picnic at least part of the time. I don't know if you
heard, but our January was pretty weird. Beth is my best
friend, but we got rather more intimate last month than I'd ever
dreamed we would. I mean we were spending time with each
other's husbands in different hotels. (See "Janey's January.") I
don't know how much more intimate you can get than that.
Well, I didn't then.
Beth is kind of a take-over type, and I tend to go with the
flow, so of course she immediately decided that we could all
stay at the Holiday Inn on Longboat Key--Steve had a bunch of
air miles or whatever you call them that would pay for all of
us. It's only half an hour from there to the college where Bob's
conference was going to be, so it would work out fine. Steve
travels all the time--he's in the oil bidness--so he gets all this
free stuff. Bob thought it would be a great idea. He said he
likes the beach, but I don't remember his being so hot for it any
time before. I had this sneaking feeling that maybe he hadn't
quite finished with Beth after all. All this efficient arranging
in such a short time kind of bemused me, but, after all, I was
only along for the ride. Even if it rained part of the time, it
would probably be a lot better than slouching around Boston
all wrapped up against the cold.
Anyhow, we finally flew to Tampa, rented a car and drove
down to Longboat. Beth and Steve had already been there for
a day and had gone to the Pelican Man's place, where you can
see all kinds of hurt birds and animals recuperating, and the
Mote Marine aquarium. We got in about 10 o'clock, had a
drink with them, called Mama, and then toddled off to bed so
Bob could get to his conference by nine the next morning.
Well, he did, and I spent all day lying around by the pool,
swimming and reading the first of my mystery hoard. I took
along all six of Mollie Hardwicke's Doran Fairweather
mysteries--got them at Spenser's Mystery Book Shop and saved
them for a trip like this. Doran's kind of weird and unstable,
but I never mind spending time in England as long as I didn't
have to live there. Bob got back around two and joined us. He
almost relaxed. Bob is a workaholic, and I'm used to it, but it's
nice when for some reason he cuts loose. Naturally that meant
he slept most of the afternoon, but what the hell, he needed it.
Beth showed off her new bathing suit, or, maybe, Beth's
new bathing suit showed off Beth. She even got wet, probably
to give everybody a better view of her nipples. A lot of the
pool loungers enjoyed the show. Fortunately, I've long since
gotten over competing for attention with the cuties. I figure
my body, which is 5" 10" tall, well muscled and nicely
rounded, is meant to work for me, not to advertise bathing
suits. My hair is sort of dark blond, and curly so it looks like a
mess all the time. My face won't launch any ships, but some
people like it. Let's not talk too much about boobs. And I can
outswim any of the cuties any day, if necessary. I did notice a
few of the guys gazing at me when they could take their eyes
off Beth, and of course I didn't mind that at all. They weren't
much to look at themselves, as far as I was concerned. Several
sleazies and numerous wrinklies.
We got enough dressed to go to the Gulf Drive Caf,,
where you can eat on an open porch right by the beach, then
came back to the hotel to watch the sunset. When I've spent
December and January and half of February in Boston and I
find myself someplace warm, I don't mess around--I soak up
every bit of sun available. I could feel the vitamin D. We
talked about our jobs and made jokes about Monica Lewinsky
and had a couple of drinks and it was bedtime. Bob was tired,
too, even though he'd slept half the afternoon, and he had to
give a paper the next morning.
The weather forecast was iffy. There was this
zillion-gallon pile of crud off the coast; if it came in, we'd get
wet; if not, it would only be gray. So Beth and I decided that
if it wasn't raining when we got up, we'd go to St. Armand's
Circle, where all the fancy stores are, and shop. Steve was
going to plug in his laptop and sell oil to some Arabs or
something. Bob, who was leaving early to make his
conference, would pick Steve up and they would meet us
around one.
No rain in the morning, so off we went. Beth being crazy,
she's great to shop with. At her office she wears her
accountant suit--the whole dress-for-success thing--and
sensible heels and hair tastefully arranged and a little red scarf
at her neck to indicate she's still aware she's a woman. Not that
anybody else would miss it for a minute. But once she's out of
there she might look like anything, as long as it's wild. Hippy
clothes, sweatshirts and baggy shorts, saris, you name it. No
matter what she wears, she's five-foot-two of sex bomb. Long
black hair, a figure I'd kill for, red, red lips, that little hook in
her nose, her olive skin--she gets stared at all the time. She
loves it. When we're together, I'm so tall compared to her that
I look like maybe the porter she brings along to carry her bags.
Except we laugh all the time and either make the clerks
nervous or make them think we're long lost friends of theirs.
Beth and I were delighted with our loot--I'd even bought a
new bathing suit, which led to major convulsions on both our
parts and weird looks from the other customers when I tried it
on and put on my discus thrower act. Beth has a strange effect
on me; most of the time I'm a prim, if large, suburban matron,
but with Beth I get almost as nutty as she is.
So we fell into chairs at the Hungry Fox at one o'clock,
lumbered with bags full of perfume and T-shirts and
knickknacks. It was getting darker all the time. Steve and Bob
showed up five minutes later. Bob was high because they liked
his paper, and Steve was happy because he'd figured out a new
way to bilk some third-world government.
Just as we started to eat our hamburgers, the rain came.
There we were, on the open balcony on the second story,
looking out at the bougainvillea getting its petals knocked off,
palm branches floating around the circle, and shoppers running
for cover. Fortunately, we weren't on the rail, so we could
enjoy it without getting wet. It did, however, make the
afternoon of beach bumming we'd hoped for look
unappetizing. So as we ate we started talking about what we
were going to do. Bob kind of wanted to hit the bookstores on
Main Street in Sarasota. Steve wouldn't have minded getting
back to his computer, and, of course, I had Mollie Hardwicke
to entertain me. Still, Florida in the rain is basically the pits.
Finally, Beth wiped her mouth daintily with her napkin
and said, "Or-----we could go back to the hotel and fuck each
other a lot."
I cringed and glanced at the nearby diners. Nobody
looked shocked. Bob put his sandwich down and stared at her.
Steve just ate.
"Well?" she said.
Nobody said anything for a minute. Sorting out my
thoughts, I finally discovered that I was a little curious about
what she meant.
"I don't do women," I said.
Steve stopped chewing, looked at me thoughtfully, and
said, "I do."
"Me, too," Bob piped up.
Beth actually giggled and said to me, "You're not my
type, honey, but we have these two guys here and I think we
could probably manage to enjoy ourselves some way, don't
you?"
The rest of us all masticated thoughtfully.
"You've already got some books, Bob," I said finally. I
could see how the wind was blowing, and Mollie would wait.
"Let's do it," said Steve, "but first why don't we just have
a nice cup of coffee and consider the possibilities?"
I was way ahead of him. By the time the coffee came (tea
for me), I was thinking about a threesome I'd found positively
weird, but quite satisfactory, when I went to Europe right after
I graduated from college. I must tell you about that sometime.
Then I realized that I had already sampled the two perfectly
adequate penises (dicks? dorks? cocks? no matter) that were
going to be on display and found them eminently satisfactory.
Also, I never had watched a really accomplished woman in
action, and that might be interesting. I found that my face was
getting warm and my vagina was beginning to get a funny
empty feeling. This has been known to occur at other times
when I was just beginning to realize that pretty soon it would
be filled.
"You know," said Bob, looking at me, "I have
occasionally thought about such a thing before." I was
amazed. Either we had failed to communicate fully for the
past ten years, or Bob's little fling with Beth last month had
opened new horizons for him.
"I didn't think it was likely, or even desirable, really," he
continued. "Can't you see me putting an ad in the Tab or
somewhere, saying, 'Very tall couple interested in swinging?'"
"You mean," I said, "that since you don't have to spend
money on an ad it will be OK?"
"No, I don't," he said, giving me a dirty look. "I mean,
you remember when Steve said whenever he thought about the
girls in Indonesia his equipment shrank up or something?
Well, the same thing happens to me when I think about the
wives in Needham. Horrors. We'd both catch something awful
and at best my dick would turn black and drop off. But this is
different. Very."
Suddenly we all talked at once and it was clear that
everybody agreed with him. Secretly we were all petrified of
AIDS or herpes or something.
"Actually," I said, "I really didn't think about doing this
before. I am a nice girl. But I am a nice girl who is about to
do something she never thought of before."
"Let's get out of here," said Beth. "Steve and I will
expect you guys in our room in about an hour. We have some
deli stuff we got at Whitney Beach for if anybody gets hungry.
And beer and wine." So Bob put some money on the table and
we headed off for our cars, hurrying through the downpour.
We got wet. I was cold, of course, so as soon as we got in
the car I took a T-shirt out of one of the shopping bags and
dried my face, hair and arms as best I could. Bob glanced over
at me while we were squishing down Gulf Drive.
"You win my wet T-shirt contest anytime," he said. I
blushed. I really did, even after that lunch conversation. Then
we pulled up in the parking lot, and got wet again going to our
room.
"What does one wear to a small, informal orgy?" I asked,
toweling my hair once again.
"Clothes," he answered. "We should have gotten a suite."
He was taking stuff out of his briefcase and shifting it to a
suitcase. I think he was in denial, as all the smartasses say
these days. I rummaged in my suitcase and got out my nice
almost-new Victoria's Secret undies, went in the bathroom,
took a shower, and put them on. Then I put on the only dress I
had with me, a kind of nice cotton sun dress with a V-neck and
a very full skirt that I'd brought just in case we wanted to go
someplace fancy to eat. I had no idea what was about to
happen, but I figured I'd better start out looking my best.
When I came back into the room Bob looked at me and
said, "You're lovely! If we don't get over there fast I'll ravish
you right here." Sometimes he says really nice things. Not
often enough, but sometimes. He stripped and went in to
shower. I avoided looking at him and got out my gold hoop
earrings and a shell necklace. Like me, Bob is tall for his age,
about six-three, and looks like Gregory Peck in that movie with
the little girl. He's 35, he just got tenure at one of our better
local universities, and he works all the time. I just work
part-time as a vocational counselor, but our two kids and
running the house keep me from missing him too much most
of the time. I wondered whether I ought to go jump in the
shower and fuck him to death right here and the hell with Beth
and Steve. But I'd agreed, so forget it. Thinking of Steve, I
wondered what I'd do if I had him and Bob all to myself. I
decided I must be getting as nutty as Beth. By the time Bob
came out dressed in khakis and a clean T-shirt I was ready go,
wearing my flat white slippers and my pretty dress and shaking
like a leaf. Bob came over and put his arms around me.
"Sure you want to do this?" he asked.
"I think so," I said. "If you do?"
"We said we would," he said. "Oh, hell, let's be honest.
Yeah, I want to." He gave me a nice, long kiss.
"I'm ready," I said. "Let's go beard the tigers."
It took only a minute to reach their door. Bob knocked.
Beth answered. She was wearing toreador pants, of all things,
with a ruffled gold, long-sleeved blouse, white stockings and
pointy-toed little shoes. All that black hair, still half wet, was
piled on top of her head. I was glad I'd put on my dress. Not
that I was competing, I just looked like I'd tried.
"Ah!" she said, smiling brightly. "Come into my parlor."
Their room was just like ours--two double beds, a
dresser, two comfortable chairs and quite a bit of open space.
Steve, dressed just like Bob, was sitting on one of the beds. He
jumped up and ran a hand through his short blond hair and he
smiled, too.
"How about a drink?" he said. "It's nice of you to come
visit us little people." He's not much bigger than Beth, maybe
five six or seven, built like a 150-pound wrestler. I think his
size makes him compete so hard in business. I'd already told
him he was plenty big enough, in every way.
Beth was back in the bathroom. I sat down in one of the
chairs. Bob sat on a bed and Steve brought him a Perrier and
me a glass of red wine. He knows what we drink; we'd been
sailing together and played monopoly and generally hung
around with him and Beth for more than a year.
Then Beth came sailing in. "Enough with the booze," she
said. "It's time to get naked!"
I grinned weakly. Steve and Bob looked at each other,
and Steve turned a hand to show that he couldn't control her,
either.
"Somebody has to take charge here," she said, "and since
I'm the only executive on the premises that'll be me. So--Guys
first!" She plumped into the other chair and looked at me. "If
we go first, they'll probably forget to take off their shoes or
something."
Steve looked at Bob, who was slack-jawed by this time,
and made a face. Then he stood and slowly began pulling his
T-shirt over his head. Bob stood and followed suit. Both of
them self-consciously slipped off their flip-flops and tossed
them into a corner.
"You ladies sure you can control yourselves?" Steve said
as he undid his belt.
I was beginning to think I was going to enjoy this. "I
think we'll manage, Steve," I said. "Please continue." Here
Beth and I were, sitting calmly looking at two nice male chests,
Steve's criss-crossed by big muscles with yuppie names like
laps and traps or something, Bob's sleek and smooth. Beth
laughed.
Of course Steve wore jockey shorts and my husband
boxers. They got out of them without looking any sillier than
usual. Eh, voila! The Full Monty!
"Nice," said Beth, "don't you think?"
"Y-e-s-sss," I said, "but they both look like the main
brace needs splicing."
They did. Beth jumped up, went over to Steve, knelt
down and grabbed his slightly droopy weapon. She stuck the
end of it into her mouth and I could see her tongue moving for
about 30 seconds. Steve reached for her head and she slapped
his hand away. Then she backed off, turned to Bob, and did
the same thing.
She looked up, shifting her eyes from one to the other.
"What's it take to turn you guys on, anyhow?" she said. Bob
reached for her and she scuttled back to her chair. "Now,
now, there's plenty of time and lots more to come. So you just
take it easy. It's our turn now." The appurtenances in question
seemed to be growing. Having never seen anything remotely
like this, I was fascinated, stuck to the chair. But getting
warm, all the same.
"Now, I'll go first, since Janey seems to be mesmerized by
the scenery," Beth said, standing up. She looked down and
started working on the top button of her frilly blouse. The boys
watched, closely. So did I. She worked her way down slowly,
a button at a time, looking up to smile as each button let go and
more Beth peeped out. I could see a bright red brassiere with
black lace around the top edges and cleavage that looked like a
crevasse in the Alps. I glanced at the men and by now they
were both standing at the ready, gawking at Beth's chest.
With a whoosh she pulled her shirttails out and shook her
shoulders, letting the blouse drift to the floor. The lace
extended around the bottom edges of her bra, and the cargo
looked heavy. Beth then snapped her tiny belt buckle and
starting loosening those ridiculous pants. More red nylon
appeared. Steve and Bob were not drooling yet--I checked.
Then she kicked her little shoes off. She zipped and
worked on the pants, pulling them inside out to get them down.
Red garters appeared. I could not believe this. In seconds she
was standing there looking like the Mona Lisa in bra, panties
and long white stockings. She sat down and stuck her legs up
in the air.
"Anybody want to help me lose the stockings?" she said.
The herd stampeded. My husband was at her left,
fumbling with the hook and eye on the garter. At her right,
Steve was looking down at her soulfully and gently stroking
the inside of her thigh above the stockings.
"Hey, Steve," she said, "that's nice, but it won't get the
stocking off."
This show was something to see, but it was making me
nervous. Tough act to follow. But Beth is a caring woman--it
turned out I didn't have to worry.
Scolded, Steve stopped fooling around, undid the garter,
and rolled the stocking off. Bob finished a second or two later.
They backed off and ogled the strands of black hair visible
down by the mound in Beth's bikini pants. By now there were
two big flagpoles flopping around. I was afraid they'd poke
somebody's eye out.
Beth sat up straight and said, "OK, Janey, get up and let's
see what's to see."
I pushed myself up out of the chair. Showtime. Oh, well,
I didn't think the audience would actually boo.
I took off my big earrings and unhooked the necklace,
then laid them on a night table. Then I shamelessly stole
Beth's button act and gradually opened up the top part of the
dress, smiling at the ravening monsters, whose eyes were now
on--ta-da--ME. My belt was a gold rope hooked in the front.
Unhooked, it dangled by my sides. Just as I was about to reach
down for my skirt, Beth spoke.
"I don't see how she can get that dress all the way over her
head without help," she observed.
The helpers turned up in a nanosecond, Bob on one side
and Steve on the other. On each side, fingers moved to my
skirt and gradually began pulling toward my shoulders. I could
imagine more and more bare leg appearing. It felt good.
Something whacked me in the hip and I looked down to see
this one-eyed man-handle staring at me, so I gave it a little
caress. Steve stiffened as if I'd shot him, then went back to
raising the dress over my hips. All sorts of surreptitious
touches just accidentally happened. They wasted no time in
getting the dress over my head and tossed over on the bed.
Beth knows things. I'd never been undressed like this before,
and it made me feel like a queen. Also, excited.
I stepped out of my slippers. Bob actually went over and
picked up the dress and hung it on the closet door. I stood
there in my nice bra and panties and waited for orders.
"I think she still has too many clothes on," said Beth.
"Why don't you guys take 'em off?"
Oooooh! Now we're getting serious, I thought.
Steve, having been taught under other circumstances,
knew to reach for the little hook in the front of the bra. He was
on it like a duck on a Junebug. (I notice that when I get in
circumstances like these my language reverts to that of my
origins. So far I haven't started singing "Dixie" in the middle
of operations, but I've had the urge.) Flip, and the boobs were
flopping in the breeze. I wish. Actually they were just sort of
sitting there up against my chest, small mounds of flesh that I
had been told were quite nice to use for things other than their
primary purpose even though they weren't huge. They worked
quite well for the primary purpose, too. So why complain?
"You can each have a little taste, if you like," said Beth.
By the time I thought that maybe that should have been
my line rather than hers, I thought I had twins grabbing a quick
lunch. But the heavy-duty shocks kicked in and I didn't care
whose idea it was. Just about the time my knees began to
buckle, Beth yelled, "Enough!" and the nice mouths
disappeared.
But the hands came back and the beautiful flimsy pants
were down around my feet. Bob reached down and took them
away, stopping for a careful look at what he had just
uncovered.
"My turn!" said Beth. "And I'm not going to wait for you
guys." Her hands moved like lightning and a pair of beautiful
36Z breasts appeared from under the red covering. Then
knickers, gone.
Four naked people standing there grinning.
I assumed a September Morn pose, using one arm to
cover the boobs and a hand over the, ugh, bush, one knee
slightly bent. They were on me like Turks on the Armenians,
Beth with them, grabbing my arms and pulling them away. I
was laughing like hell and struggling mightily. I could handle
the two runts with no trouble, but Bob is bigger than I am and
stronger than he looks. I found myself pinned down on the bed
by three giggling weirdos.
"OK, you guys," Beth said, "Now I want to see some real
tit-sucking, if her highness is willing."
Her highness was. I stopped wriggling and relaxed. And
some real tit-sucking began. Both sides at once. It was
heavenly. How nice it is that nipples are far enough apart for
that kind of action! I just closed my eyes and enjoyed. My
arms came up of their own volition and encircled both of them.
The old electric currents were running up and down my body.
Do I have to describe this? If I do, let me assure you it's
something you can try at home. Then I felt a very familiar
mouth on my mine, opened my lips and tasted nectar. On my
left side, my nipple was still getting the full treatment. On my
right, Bob's hand had replaced his mouth, gently caressing my
nipple. I realized that this is impossible with one guy, and
decided this caper had seriously good points.
I felt a hand glide smoothly across my stomach and come
to rest on my mound. Then a finger stealthily began moving
down between my other lips. Things were getting real
exciting. I resisted the urge to open my eyes and find out who
was doing what. I should care! The finger turned into two,
then three, then a whole hand, and one finger found its way
into what was by now a fairly slippery crack. I found my hips
beginning to move around. Minor earthquakes ensued.
My legs began to spread, and my hips were moving hard
against the intruding hand. Then I felt a gentle stroking on my
calf. I opened my eyes, looked at Bob's face so close I couldn't
focus on it, pulled my head back and looked over his shoulder.
Steve was still there sucking away--oh, yes, I could still feel
that even though other things were going on that you'd think
would drown it out. Steve's hand was down between my legs.
Beth was standing by the bed, leaning over just enough to
touch my leg with a big smile on her face and enormous tits
hanging at an angle. It didn't require a philosophical
discussion for me to realize that her stroking was very pleasant,
but, back behind all the great feelings a tiny little alarm went
off. I don't do women, and women don't do me, either. But
what the hell, what she was doing was less serious than a back
rub. And it did feel good. So I just closed my eyes again and
sank back into the sensations.
This went on forever, or for ten seconds, I didn't know or
care. I finally noticed that the stroking had stopped, the hand
was gone from my breast, and nobody was kissing me at all.
Somebody was still sucking on my right breast, however, and
there was still a finger moving around down in my box, so all
was not lost. But I opened my eyes to see what had happened.
There was Steve, in all the right places. I turned to look at the
spot where Bob had been lying. Nothing. I looked a little
farther to the left, and there he was standing up with his eyes
closed, slowly turning. I looked down, and there was Beth's
hand, slowly working up and down on his tool. And there she
was, smiling like a Cheshire cat.
"Watching all that was just too much, sweetie," she said.
"You don't mind if I borrow this one for a while, do you?"
Bob opened his eyes and winked at me, the clod. But just
then Steve's finger hit pay dirt again and I really didn't care
who was doing what to whom as long as he kept up what he
was doing to me. What a nice man! So I tapped gently on his
head and said, "Would you care to come in?"
"I have a little something more to do," he said, grinning,
then he started kissing his way down my stomach. I closed my
eyes again. Then the hand withdrew and a big face was down
between my legs, a tongue on the lips of my vagina. Oh, very
nice. The tongue crept in between the lips and sort of mooshed
around like it was hunting for something. It found the
something, and I gasped. More good electric currents. I had
one hand on Steve's head and the other on my nipple. The
force was getting stronger; I could barely stand the waves of
pleasure, then, suddenly, the intensity doubled or tripled or
something. I could feel waves of whatever it was even in my
cheeks. I was coming, hard. My hips jerked, but Steve was
hanging on to me. The tongue kept going, and so did I. And
then the wave subsided; I felt spent. But not totally.
"Come inside, Steve," I said. "I want you inside me."
And then he was there. Bliss. I held him tight. He kissed me,
probing my mouth, flicking my teeth. Once more the waves
surged and I felt as though I were vibrating. I was moaning, I
discovered. And I bit Steve's lip. He jerked his head back, but
he kept pumping and I felt as though I were exploding. After
an eternity I began to come back down, and just as I was
sinking he squeezed me and let out a wild groan. I could feel
his swelling, and then the sudden hard pressure against my
pelvis, the shot of warmth into my vagina. I pushed back
against him until he suddenly collapsed on top of me. Then I
gently stroked his back. He was breathing hard; so was I. For
a while we just lay there, eyes closed. Consciousness came
back gradually. I was wondering whether I had ever felt the
force of an orgasm the way I had now. But it was too hard to
try to remember.
I raised my head and whispered to him, "I hope I didn't
hurt your mouth."
He smiled. "I escaped just in time. You took just a tiny
piece of skin. It doesn't hurt. But it was close. My God,
woman, you are something!"
Am I now, I thought. "Well, it's all your fault."
Then noise from the other bed finally reached my
consciousness. "Hey, Steve, roll off," I whispered. "I want to
see what's going on over there." He rolled, but kept hold of
me. I wound up on top, looking across at a sight to behold.
Beth was on all fours, staring blankly at me, her breasts
hanging down trapped in a pair of big hands, and behind her
my husband was kneeling, his eyes closed and his head thrown
back. What I had heard was a slap, slap, as his pelvis whacked
into her bottom. Her face was screwed up and she was making
a noise that matched each slap--"A-a-a-agh!" Then, suddenly,
she lifted her head and howled. She was still writhing when
Bob started, was still for half a minute, then fell on top of her.
They both looked dead.
"Wow!" I said. Steve looked up at me and grinned.
"We might have looked a little odd ourselves a few
minutes ago," he said.
Beth opened one eye and looked at me. She began to
smile.
"Hi," I said.
"Hi, indeed."
"What happens next, Madame Executive?"
"You aren't happy?" she said. "You didn't like the show?"
"Oh, I liked it a lot. Maybe you could get a contract with
the Cirque de Soleil." By this time I was laughing. Beth was
struggling, trying to get the huge hulk off her back. She turned
this way and that and Bob, eyes still closed, wouldn't move a
muscle.
"Hey, let me up, you big lummox," she cried. "I have to
go to the bathroom!"
"I don't know," said Bob, opening his eyes at last. "It
feels kind of good this way."
She pulled both legs up under her body and gave a mighty
shove that pushed her clear off the bed onto the floor. She
rolled upright and said, "I'll get you for that!"
Bob, still collapsed on the bed, said, "You already did. I
don't think I can move. But it was nice."
That made Beth smile. She struggled to her feet, patted
Bob's shoulder, and said, "Oh, I think you'll be all right. I
never do permanent damage." Then she skipped off to the
bathroom."
"I'm next," I said, and so I was.
When I came out the guys were still lying in their
respective heaps. Beth was slumped in a chair with a towel
under her and another in her lap. Picking it up and holding it
out to me, she said, "This one's for you."
I took it and sat on it in the other chair. "You are so
thoughtful," I said.
"We leak," she said. "They don't. It's not fair, but that's
the way it is."
"I'm hungry," I said, ignoring her vulgarity. "Where's the
popcorn? Or maybe the beefsteak."
So, after the guys had each managed to get up and stagger
into the bath--they did, they staggered--we sat around and ate
chips and dip and popcorn and I finished the glass of wine
Steve had handed me before the hurricane. Bob was sitting on
the floor in front of me and I played with his hair in between
chips. Got it greasy, I expect, but it felt good. Steve sat on the
arm of Beth's chair, occasionally sticking his nose down into
the now messy pile of black hair in front of his nose. After a
while I felt Bob begin to play with my toes. Steve put his arm
around Beth and began stroking the top of her breast.
"You know," he said, "it's amazing, but even after all
that, female flesh still feels so good I can taste it."
Beth smiled. "You can taste it any time, big boy."
Watching this began to turn me on. Just little squiggles
down in the genital area. I couldn't believe it. But, yes, real
squiggles of the sexy kind. Bob's hand began stroking my leg.
More squiggles.
I checked Steve, and the only thing hard about him was
his thumb. An idea came creeping into my mind on little feet.
I leaned forward and let my right hand fall over Bob's shoulder.
I gently brushed his nipple. He leaned his head against the
inside of my thigh.
"That's nice," Bob said. "You could do that some more."
I did. I put my other hand down on his chest and he
reached up to take it. He held my hand and rubbed my palm
lightly with his thumb. Definitely sexy. I looked over at Beth
and Steve just as she tilted her head back to talk to him.
"Do you see what she's doing?" she said, pointing.
"Yes," he said. "I could do the same thing for you."
"Please do," she said, leaning back and closing her eyes.
Steve's hand moved down a few inches and began
brushing her nipple.
"Oh, yes, very good," Beth said. Steve looked at me and
winked. I looked at his little tiny willy and saw not a twitch.
But Bob sort of scrunched around a little, getting more
comfortable. Then I saw something come out of hiding--not
much, but something.
"I have an idea," I said. "I think you guys ought to pick
Beth up, put her on the bed, and do for her what you did for me
a while ago. I believe the phrase was 'some real tit-sucking.'"
Steve, still sitting on the arm of Beth's chair, pulled her
back, leaned way over and put his mouth on a
succulent-looking brown nipple for maybe half a minute. Then
he looked up.
"I think that might be fun," he said, looking at Bob.
Bob began to lift himself up, so I pulled my arms out of
his way. Once on his feet he stepped over to Beth's chair,
reached under her knees, put an arm around her shoulders, and
lifted her out of the chair. She squealed, then relaxed. He
placed her gently in the center of the bed. Then he knelt down
and kissed her, long and hard. Steve headed for the other side
of the bed.
For a second, I felt really weird. Half an hour before I'd
seen my husband vigorously fucking another woman from
behind. Not a single qualm. Of, course, Steve's softening rod
was still inside of me at the time. Maybe that made a
difference. But I'd never seen Bob kiss another woman, except
his mother, and that wasn't a bit sexy. This was. Here I sat,
across the room, and he was kissing Beth. I felt abandoned.
He finally broke the kiss and moved his mouth down to her
nipple. Beth sighed gently. I shook my head and decided I
was crazy. At least she wasn't a medieval history book--that
was my real rival.
I gave them a few minutes, then got up and walked over
to the bed. I started stroking Beth's calf, just the way she had
mine. Steve's hand came down and searched between her legs,
which opened up like a flower. She looked absolutely
whacked out except for a tiny smile on her face. She moved
her hips toward Steve's hand and moaned gently.
Bob's hand was lying on the floor as he lay on the edge of
the bed. I stopped stroking Beth and ran my fingers down his
back, slowly. Then I took the hand and tugged.
"I need you now," I said.
He lifted his head, kissed Beth gently, and stood up. Then
he took me in his arms and kissed me. I felt his tongue and
opened my mouth. His chest felt wonderful against my
breasts. I was lubricating freely, my fear of a few minutes
before forgotten. I reached down between us to find his penis.
It wasn't hard, but it wasn't soft, either. I broke free, led him to
the other bed and pushed him down. I climbed in beside him
on my knees, put my fingers around his dick, bent down, and
started licking it gently. He shuddered and put his hand on my
head. I took him in my mouth and continued to caress him
with my tongue. Gradually he grew harder.
"Wait," he said. "Come to where I can get at you." I
slipped up toward his head and straddled him, then I bent back
down to continue to lick him. He pulled my rear down until I
felt his tongue searching for the entrance to my womb. He
found it and I shuddered. Almost at once I could feel a wave
building. Great shocks were going through my system. I
shook, I moaned, I felt like I was drowning. I stopped
licking--everything stopped. With a wrench I felt the biggest
wave of all, all the way from head to toe. My mouth lost
contact and my head fell against Bob's thigh.
"I want you inside me," I said. He reached for my
shoulders, pulled me down on top of him and rolled us both
over. And he was inside. I put my legs around his waist and
pushed against him as hard as I could. He let me hold him
tight for second, then, as my strength waned, he began to move
back and forth. I came again, this time more quietly, more
slowly. "I love you," I whispered.
"I love you, too," he said, putting his lips close to my ear.
Then he began moving back and forth once more, and I was in
heaven. Suddenly it was his turn; his head went down past my
neck and his full weight landed on me. He was jerking
erratically, saying,"Oh, oh, oh . . . !" We lay like this for a little
while, my arms around him, his body holding mine tight to the
bed. His weight was an anchor; I had this great feeling of
security.
He rolled off. I raised my head as he slipped an arm
beneath my shoulders. I faced him and pecked at his lips. He
smiled.
Then he lifted his head and nodded toward the other bed.
I turned and saw Beth stretched out just the way I was, with
Steve's arm around her shoulders. She looked over and smiled,
then lifted her arm and gave me a finger-at-a-time wave.
We lay there for probably ten minutes, then Beth got up
and headed off toward the bathroom. Steve appeared to be
asleep. I looked at Bob . He was, too, I think, but he felt me
move and smiled another lazy smile. He opened his eyes.
"I still like you best," he whispered, and gave me a
squeeze. I pulled him closer and kissed him.
In a little while we managed to get dressed and
meandered down to the bar, where we sat rather quietly. I had
a cup of tea. Then we staggered out to the car park and drove
down to Lynch's Landing, a fake Irish pub that serves good
food, where we ate like starving animals. I shoveled down a
shepherd's pie in about three bites. I was drinking another cup
of tea and wondering whether I ought to have another piece of
key lime pie when I saw Steve smiling at me.
"One of the things I like about my wife," he said, "is that
she has such good ideas."
"Amen," I said. Beth just smiled. So did Bob.
That night we all sat in our room sipping various things
and watching the Olympics. The guys joked about rating the
nymphet skaters--and not by the their skating prowess--while
Beth and I made a big thing of ooohing and ahing about that
cute Japanese ski jumper. Steve started wondering which of
our mutual acquaintances we might invite along for our next
vacation and we all laughed until we cried at his suggestions.
The next day we drove back to Tampa in our separate cars
and took the plane home. Bob slept for half the trip, and I
dozed and read about Doran, still in the second volume, and
thought on and off about the way we'd spent the past afternoon.
At this rate1998 was going to be an interesting year. I'd
probably end up a prostitute in the gutter by July. I decided I'd
think of the whole thing as a way of getting Bob to loosen up a
bit, not be such a workaholic. Sure. Then I laughed out loud.
I got to musing about the conversation Steve had started
the evening before and thought about the couples I knew. I
was smiling again, trying to figure out their reactions if we
even told them about our trip. Then I did think of one guy we
knew, an English prof with a very pleasant wife who is a nurse,
and I figured they'd probably envy us. But who could we ask to
join us, if we wanted to? Not many. Of course there were
some I didn't know very well who might be interested. Like
June and Mike Hunt. Or maybe Bronwen and her husband, if
they could pop over the briny for a short visit. Maybe even
Celeste, even though she does make a big thing about her
monogamous marriage. But maybe if I could get to know her
husband a little . . . .
---------THE END---------
Please write to Janey at janey98@hotmail.com
My web addresses: /~Jane_Urquhart
http://annejet.pair.com/story
http://members.tripod.com/~janey98
Copyright 1999 by Jane Urquhart. The author is a member of
the Net Authors and Creators Union (NACU), which defends
the rights of Internet authors and creators. NACU intends to
bring suit against any person or corporation infringing
copyright.
Specific permission is granted for publication in the news
groups Alt.Sex.Stories and Alt.Sex.Stories.Moderated and for
archiving by the Alt.Sex.Stories.Moderated archive and
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