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From: Al Steiner <al_steiner@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} RP: New Years Eve by Al Steiner (FMFM, wife swap)
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Date: Wed, 29 Dec 1999 06:10:00 -0500
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Feel free to archive, share, use, repost, be offended by, or anything
else you want to do with it. I just like to write ‘em. What you do
with them is your business. Mail comments to al_steiner@hotmail.com
NEW YEAR’S EVE
By Al Steiner
It’s not uncommon for cops to marry each other. We work a nasty,
unforgiving, thankless job with pressure from all possible sides. We
try to do what’s right most of the time but somebody is always coming
down on us. Our suspects, obviously don’t like us and often curse us.
We can live with that. Their victims, often enough, also curse us a
lot. I can’t count the number of times I’ve arrested an abusive
husband for beating the shit out of his wife and then had the wife in
question verbally or even physically attack me for doing so. You LEARN
to live with that. Our citizens, the one’s we’re sworn to protect, are
afraid of us, the best of them just avoiding our presence, the worst of
them writing angry editorials to the newspaper about our alleged power
abuses. We learn to live with this also. The media, it goes without
saying, loves nothing more than to slam us for something, taking
comments out of context, interviewing outraged family members that were
not present at the incident in question and presenting those interviews
as if they were the gospel. We learn to cope with and protect
ourselves to some degree against that. Even our administration; that
collection of captains, deputy chiefs, and the chief himself; people
who have not been street cops in years, if ever, who are more
interested in public relations than the morale of us poor line slobs,
will burn us in an instant regardless of whether or not we’re right.
We learn to protect ourselves against this too.
We persevere. It’s the nature of most of us. But it’s not surprising
that we’re perhaps the most xenophobic group of individuals on the face
of the earth. We have a divorce rate that is right off the chart. I
know cops, both male and female, that have been married four times and
still haven’t learned the lesson. Marriage with civilians just doesn’t
work. They don’t, they CAN’T understand what we go through, what
motivates us, what frustrates us, what things we know about our fellow
human beings. A wall of uncommunicativeness inevitably develops
leading to antipathy with each other, infidelity, and eventually,
hatred.
There are many cops of the old school still around that think allowing
women onto the department was the worst mistake ever made. I beg to
differ. For one, a good many of them make descent or even outstanding
cops if they make the effort to fit into what had traditionally been a
man’s world. After all, bulk and muscles are not what gets the job
done but words and the projection of authority most of the time. Cops
are the greatest bluffers on earth. Second of all, there is now a
group of females in existence that DOES know exactly what we go through
because they go through the same thing. We can now relate to someone.
The divorce rate for inter-profession marriages is remarkably low,
lower in fact than the national average of all marriages.
I’m one of the smart ones. I began dating Stephanie shortly after she
was hired by the Seattle Police Department six years ago. At the time
I was a two-year veteran, just becoming comfortable with the job and
just getting bored with the life of a single cop. I’d had my fill of
night shift waitresses, dispatchers, clerks in convenience stores, and
other forms of cop groupie and was ready to settle down a little. She
was a cute brunette assigned to one of the training officers on my
shift. We often ran into each other on calls and hit it off pretty
well. We began dating once she was released for duty on her own. A
year later we were married and proceeded to pump out two kids, girls,
both of them, twenty-two months apart. We now have a nice house in
suburban Seattle (two civil service incomes combined is a comfortable
salary that qualifies for a NICE amount on a home loan).
Like most cops, we choose not to socialize with civilians in our off
time. Such relationships just don’t work. The civilian will feel the
need to vent about his or her encounter with what he or she considered
a rude cop. Or they’ll express their opinion about the latest damning
editorial they’d read in the paper. At some point, they’ll get a
speeding ticket or something and, after complaining about the
heartlessness of the cop that had issued it, will ask if you can “fix”
it for them. It’s best to just avoid those kinds of relationships.
But still, we have the need to socialize and to fulfill this, we
naturally turn to other cops.
Stephanie and I are very close friends with another pair of married
cops; Mark and Michelle Lacy. Mark was hired the year after I was and
had been assigned, once his training was complete, to the same district
as I. Michelle, a big-boned blonde, not quite large enough to be
considered chunky, was hired the year after Stephanie and had met Mark
in a manner similar to the way I’d met Steph. They married within a
year of meeting and they too proceeded to pump out a couple of kids.
Mark and I became friends early on when we found ourselves frequently
assigned to calls together. Our get-togethers on mutual off-nights
began shortly after the birth of Mark and Michelle’s first child.
The get-togethers were not as frequent as we would have liked. Since
none of the four of us were particularly fond of day-care we each
sacrificed time with our spouses in order to minimize the amount of
time the children were not in the presence of one or the other of the
parents. To do this, we worked opposing shifts from our spouses. Mark
and I both worked weekend day shift, he in Central Seattle (not nearly
as glamorous as it sounds, downtown Seattle, once away from the high-
rises, is a pit), me in South Seattle, a lower-class residential area.
Michelle and Stephanie both worked the same division and shift; East
Seattle, another crime-ridden ghetto, on the weekday swing shift. It
was rare indeed when all four of us had a day off at the same time, but
we’d made a point, a long time ago, to take advantage of such
opportunities when they arose.
Usually, when we DID get together, we would watch the children, who
were becoming fast friends with one another, play together. We would
barbecue something and make a nice dinner. We would play cards or
Pictionary or some other board game. We would talk shop, getting calls
off of our chests, bitching about management, that sort of thing. But
always we would drink. Cops are voracious drinkers of alcohol in our
off time. Why not? It is legal. As for driving under the influence,
we can do that with near impunity. As long as we don’t actually get
into an accident, we are safe. If another cop, even one from another
agency, pulls us over for erratic driving or something else, a simple
flash of the badge will bring the encounter to a quick end. You can
call it corruption or professional courtesy, or whatever else you
like. You can think it right or wrong or just an interesting perk of
the job, but it’s a simple fact. Off duty cops, in the matter of
driving infractions, definitely live above the law. Don’t ever let any
of them tell you otherwise.
Thanks to the alcohol consumed at these functions, quite an intimate
rapport developed between the four of us. We could say things to each
other that would have caused other invited couples to storm out of the
house in outrage. For instance, I could say how nice Michelle’s tits
looked in her new sweater and then make a snide comment about how much
I’d like to squeeze them. Neither Mark, nor Michelle, nor Stephanie
would be the least bit offended by this, though they would usually
laugh outrageously at the observation. Michelle, who was proud of her
tits, might even cup them for a moment as emphasis. Similarly, Mark
could point out how Steph’s ass was looking extremely tight in those
jeans she was wearing and speculate on the firmness of the individual
cheeks and what they might feel like with his cock in between them.
This offended me not the least bit, nor did it Steph or Michelle. Many
a discussion had centered on the possibilities of wife swapping. We
joked about how it would be perfectly safe since both Mark and I had
been vasectomized and we were all free of dangerous diseases. These
discussions always produced good laughs.
Now there are fundamental differences between women and men. I knew
and Mark knew that both of us were not fully joking when we talked of
wife swapping. And we both knew that the other knew this. We’re males
and the instinct of a male is to strive for variety in his respective
sex-life, no matter how attractive, pleasant, or skilled his spouse is
in the bedroom. We knew that if the wives were to suddenly agree to
this, it would not take more than a minute or so to convince US that it
was a good thing to do. We also both assumed that the wives WERE
joking when they discussed it. Women’s sexual desires and needs are
different than those of a man. Women did not strive for variety for
the simple fact of experimentation. Or so we thought. Until New Years
Eve.
We always made it a point to get together on December 31 of each year.
Usually it involved one or more of us taking the night or next day off,
but New Years eve, though it pays holiday overtime rate, is not a
pleasant shift to work anyway. In fact, it’s our busiest day of the
year, what with all the drunken revelry and the inevitable domestic
disputes that result from it. Throw in all of the calls for “shots
fired in the vicinity of…”, and you have an ugly ten hours of work that
usually turns into twelve or thirteen. When you had the seniority
that the four of us did, and if you asked for that particular day off
far enough in advance, it was usually granted. This year was no
exception. I was scheduled to work at 6:00 AM New Years Day but a time-
off request submitted way back in October had neatly taken care of
that. The rest of the crew, by luck of the draw, was already off.
Our house was the chosen locale this year. Mark and Michelle showed up
about seven o’clock that evening bringing a couple of marinated steaks
and a bottle of tequila with them. Their two children, Jason and
Alexandria, followed them inside where they greeted us and our two
children, Sarah and Jessica, enthusiastically. They weren’t there five
minutes before the first batch of potent margaritas was whirring to
completion in our blender.
We started dinner right away, finishing it and cleaning up the dishes
by 8:30. We were all pleasantly buzzed by then, our discussions
animated and mostly centering on work. The kids of course wanted to
stay up until midnight and we told them that they could but the oldest,
Jessica, was only four and a half, and by ten minutes after 9:00, all
of them were sound asleep on couches or floors. We carried them to
waiting beds and returned to the living room where the REAL drinking
soon started.
We began by playing TABOO, a board game in which you have to have your
partner guess a certain word by giving clues. The catch is that the
most obvious clues are usually on the list of taboo words. It’s fun,
all the more so because a member of the opposing team is required to
sit next to you to make sure you don’t say any of the forbidden words.
Since the married couples were natural teams, this meant that Michelle
and I were sitting next to each other as were Steph and Mark. As we
played we drank more and more margaritas, taking turns getting up and
making each new batch. Soon we were all pretty squiffed. I
particularly enjoyed the way that Michelle leaned into me whenever she
needed to read over my shoulder. Her balance was off and her large
breasts pushed pleasantly into my arm each time. I certainly didn’t
complain, nor did Stephanie who couldn’t have helped seeing what
Michelle was doing. In fact, I noticed, she was doing the same thing
to Mark when she read over his shoulder. I began to get aroused.
At about 10:00, we had just finished up the last round of TABOO.
Michelle, still sitting next to me, was telling a joke. “And so the
Pope looked at them all for a second,” she said, giggling already. She
jabbed her elbow into my side in a friendly manner, indicating that
this is what the Pope in her joke did. “And said, ‘you motherfuckers
are all right’.”
We began laughing. It WAS a pretty funny joke, made all the more so by
our current level of intoxication. Stephanie, in a fit of girlish
laughter, accidentally knocked her quarter-full margarita glass over.
The green, icy liquid sloshed across the table and poured into Mark’s
lap, causing him to jump up, startled. This caused everybody to laugh
even more.
“I’m so sorry,” Steph giggled, sounding anything but. “Here,” she said,
grabbing a handful of napkins from a pile on the table. She quickly
cleaned off the chair and discarded the wet ones. She then picked up
another pile and began wiping the wet spot on the front of Mark’s
pants. Her strokes were firm, teasing, and not doing much to dry him
off at all. It was probably, in fact, making him spring some wood.
He looked at me a little uncomfortably for a moment. “Better be
careful,” he told Steph with a smile, “or it might suddenly get a lot
wetter.”
She chortled. “I’m good,” she said, “but I didn’t know I was that
good.”
“Maybe you oughtta vacuum dry it,” Michelle suggested to her. “If you
know what I mean.”
This actually made Mark blush which served to make everyone else spew
laughter. After a moment, Steph removed her hand and he sat back down.
It was Michelle’s turn to make the next batch of drinks. She
disappeared into the kitchen for a few minutes and then came the sound
of the blender grinding up the concoction of ice, tequila (lots of it),
and generic margarita mix. When she returned, she unsteadily poured
herself a glassful and then set the blender down on the table.
“I’m too friggin’ drunk to pour everyone’s drink,” she said, slurring a
little. “You can all just do it yourselves. That way, if you spill
the shit, it’s your own fault.”
“I know a good place to spill it,” Steph said, casting an amused eye at
Mark.
A look passed between the two women at that point. I didn’t know what
it meant, not then, but some form of telepathic communication took
place. Michelle, on the way to her chair, eased behind me. I felt the
weight of her substantial breasts pushing against my back. She paused
there.
“You know Stephie,” she said with mock indignation, “I’m offended. You
went and spilled a drink on my husband. That’s an insult in some
countries.”
“Oh yeah?” Steph grinned.
“Yeah,” she answered. “I can’t just let that go without retaliation.”
With that, she stretched her drink arm over my shoulder and poured
about half of her margarita right into my crotch.
“Jesus!” I exclaimed, jumping. Have you ever had icy liquid poured
onto your genitals? It’s kind of like, well kind of like having icy
liquid poured onto your genitals. I stood up so quick that my body
threw Michelle, who’d still been on my back, backwards. She stumbled
and fell to her butt on the floor, pouring the remainder of her drink
into HER lap.
Mark and Steph were both in hysterics, seeing this. Though my crotch
was numb I quickly found humor in the situation and began laughing too,
as did Michelle. I held out my hand to help her up. She took it but
when I started to pull she gave a strong yank, pulling me down on top
of her. We fell to the floor, our chests and groins pushing together.
“Gotcha,” she grinned, her face inches from mine, close enough so I
could smell her breath. She ground her crotch playfully into me.
Playful or not though, my body responded immediately to the feel of her
wet crotch rubbing against mine. Though we’d joked around before – it
was almost a ritual – this was the first time I’d ever been in close,
intimate contact with her body. It felt nice, different than Steph’s.
It was a little larger and a little softer. And her breasts were a lot
larger.
“Careful,” I said. “Your husband might get offended.”
“Are you offended Markie?” she asked lightly, giving me another grind.
“Nope,” he burped. “I’m very inoffensable.”
“You guys ARE getting my carpet all wet though,” Stephanie pointed out,
giggling.
Reluctantly I pulled myself off of her, holding out my hand once again
to help her up. This time she stood in the normal fashion.
“Gee Michelle,” Steph said, looking at me. “I do believe you gave my
husband a boner.”
I was shocked that she would say such a thing and opened my mouth to
deny it. But then, looking down at myself, I could see there was
nothing to deny. My pants, made tighter than normal by the margarita
spilled on them, were most definitely bulging outward. I felt myself
blushing, the boner of which they spoke wanting to wilt in shame. I
wondered if Mark was going to kick my ass for this and felt grateful
that none of us were wearing our off-duty weapons at the moment. But
Mark was simply grinning, shaking his head back and forth.
“She gives good boners, doesn’t she?” he asked me.
“But does she know what to do with them afterward?” Steph inquired.
“I’ve never had any complaints,” Michelle answered. She looked at me
and ran her finger up the bulge in my pants, both making me jump again
and making Steph and Mark laugh. “You better get your wifey to take
care of that for you.”
“Oh no,” Steph said. “You gave it to him. YOU take care of it.”
At that point the atmosphere in the room underwent a change. Before,
though we’d been admittedly more raunchy than usual we could still tell
ourselves that we were only kidding around in a drunken way. That
illusion was about to end and we were about to cross over a line, from
friendliness to open sexuality. We stopped giggling and became more
serious, serious enough to feel the charge of sexual electricity in the
air. If any one of us would have said anything, even jokingly, to
indicate that they didn’t want to take part in where this path was
leading, it would have come to a stop right there and we would have
gone back to our usual sort of party. But no one did.
“Well,” Michelle said, issuing a joking statement with a dead-serious
voice. “If I must, I must.”
Slowly she sank to her knees at my feet, so that her face was even with
my wet crotch. Seeing her do this and realizing its implications, my
cock sprang back to life, becoming instantly, painfully hard. She
licked her lips once and then peered around the room, looking at each
of our faces for objections. It was still technically possible to
abort at this point. Nobody gave a negative sign, either verbally or
through body language. In fact, Stephanie was showing the unmistakable
signs of arousal that I was so familiar with. Her face was flushed and
her brown eyes were shining. I could see that her nipples were hard
and poking through her bra and her shirt.
Slowly, Michelle reached forward and undid the button on my pants.
When she pulled the zipper down, causing the pants to fall around my
feet, leaving me standing there in my BVDs, which were quite tented,
the line had been crossed. The going became much easier after this.
She pulled my underwear down with a single stroke, revealing my cock to
her gaze (as well as her husband’s who, I HOPE, wasn’t that interested
in seeing it). She caressed it gently with her fingers and then leaned
forward, licking from the shaft to the head.
“Tastes like a margarita,” she commented.
This broke the tension in the room. We all laughed for a moment.
“It’s margarita-dick!” Mark chided.
Michelle kissed the head a few times and then took it in her mouth,
giving it a little suck. She pulled her mouth off and turned to my
wife. “Hey Steph,” she said. “I bet I can make your husband come
before you can make my husband come.”
“Oh yeah?” Steph breathed, very flushed now. “How much?”
“First choice of patrol cars next shift.”
“You’re on,” Steph said, pointing to a spot on the carpet next to her.
“Get over here,” she told Mark. He didn’t have to be told twice.
Steph undid his pants and dropped them, along with his underwear. Soon
his cock was out in all of its glory.
“On three,” Steph said.
“And you gotta swallow,” Mark put in. “Or it’s a forfeit.”
“Who put you in charge of our bet?” Michelle asked.
“Somebody’s gotta be a judge,” he told her. “Just to make sure it’s
done fairly. Spilling indicates poor technique. And poor technique
shouldn’t win such a vital contest, don’t you agree?”
“Oh shut the fuck up,” Steph said, grabbing him around the base of his
cock. “One, two, three.”
With that the two women dropped their heads and began orally
copulating. I have to say, in all fairness, that my wife sucks cock
better than Michelle does. Unlike many married women, she actually
LIKES to give head and does it frequently. But that’s not to say that
Michelle was a slouch at it. She’d obviously had a cock in her mouth a
time or two before. She mouthed and tongued me, jacking me with her
hands, occasionally licking my balls or fondling them. Her hands
caressed and squeezed the cheeks of my ass. That fact that this was
not my wife also added a lot to the experience, as did the fact that my
wife not only knew about this and consented to it, but that she was
less than five feet away doing the same thing to someone else. The
whole thing felt nasty to me, but nasty in a good way. The alcohol was
doing a nice job of keeping those nagging second thoughts from
surfacing, those dirty little things that had ruined more than their
fair-share of good times.
I looked down at Michelle’s head bobbing up and down on me. It was so
strange to see a blonde head between my legs. While she slurped away I
looked over at Mark and Steph. Steph, I could see, was intent upon
winning her bet. She was going no holds barred at his cock, bobbing,
sucking, and jacking all at the same time. Mark glanced over at me for
a moment and our eyes met. This was a man that I’d worked with on the
streets, that I’d gotten drunk with in cop bars, that I went hunting
with every October. My wife was sucking on his cock. Groovy. He
grinned at me for a moment and then gave me a thumbs-up sign. He then
closed his eyes and leaned his head back, dropping his hands into my
wife’s brown hair.
Steph won the bet handily. I heard a grunt and a groan from Mark’s
mouth and looked over just in time to see my wife swallowing
frantically. She slurped him dry, not spilling a drop and then pulled
her head out of his crotch.
“Winner!” she proclaimed proudly.
Michelle took her mouth off of my cock for a moment. “Well ain’t that
some shit,” she said. She looked up at me. “You let me down.”
“It was close,” I said weakly, telling the truth.
“Yeah? How close?”
“Go back to work and you’ll see.”
She smiled up at me and then dropped her head to my cock again. I kept
my eyes closed while she sucked, knowing that we now had an audience
and figuring that seeing them watching would distract me. It took
about two minutes of work before the spasms started in my groin. My
hips began bucking and I shot a huge load between her lips. She too
swallowed every drop.
The sound of applause made me open my eyes. Steph and Mark were
grinning at us. Mark, I saw, had kicked off his pants, socks and shoes
at some point. I began doing the same.
“Hey Mark,” I said, sitting on the floor to complete the job of
clothing removal. “I bet I can make your wife come before you can make
my wife come.”
He chuckled. “How much?”
“A dollar,” I said.
“You’re on,” he answered. “Mouths only for the purposes of the bet?”
“Mouths and fingers,” I amended. “For the bet.”
“Don’t we have any say in this?” Michelle asked with false huffiness.
Mark and I looked at each other. “No,” I finally said, and patted the
ground next to me. “Lie down.”
Michelle sat down on the carpet. To my right, Steph did the same in
front of Mark. I reached out and stroked her face lightly, making her
smile.
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” she said softly, nervously.
“Me either,” I told her, running my hands down her jeans to her feet.
“But it’s fun, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” she said. “It is that.”
I untied her shoes and removed them, setting them aside and then
pulling off her pink socks and putting them inside of the shoes. The
bet was just a façade, I didn’t really care about winning it. I’d
imagined making love to Michelle before, it was only natural male
instincts, and I wanted to make it good for her, not fast. I leaned
forward once her shoes were off, running my hands up the outside of her
thighs to her waist, pressing my chest to hers. I kissed her gently,
sucking on her bottom lip a little before inserting my tongue between
her lips. Her tongue reached out to touch mine, tentatively at first
and then with more aggression. I grasped the bottom of her shirt and,
breaking the kiss and leaning back, pulled upwards on it, revealing her
stomach and her bra-clad bosom. I pulled the shirt over her head and
tossed it aside. Her breasts were barely restrained by the brassiere
she wore. The straps had to be biting into her shoulders and back. I
ran my hands softly over the cups, feeling the hardened nipples
beneath. Her nipples, I could tell, were bigger than Steph’s. I
trailed my hands downward, over her the flesh of her abdomen, which had
an array of stretch marks on it, the mark of childbirth. Steph had a
similar pattern on her own stomach. Kissing her again, I reached
behind her back and found the clasp of her bra. As I undid it, I began
kissing her neck and bare shoulder. She cooed softly as I did this.
Once the bra was released, I leaned backward again, letting it drop.
Her tits sagged downward due to the sheer weight of them, but they were
still impressive. Her nipples were standing out firmly. I ran my
hands over them softly while she tossed her bra aside, squeezing them a
little. As I pushed gently on her, forcing her to her back, I heard a
groan from Steph and Mark’s direction. I spared them a quick glance,
seeing that Mark was moving a lot faster than I was. He already had
her naked, his mouth attached to her left breast, his fingers plunging
in and out of her black bush. Steph was lying on her back, eyes
closed, seemingly enjoying herself.
I turned my attention back to Michelle, pausing for a second to remove
my own shirt, which left me naked. I kissed her gently again and then
began to lick and suck my way down her neck, onto her shoulders, and
finally to the top of her breasts. I kissed all around them, working
my way to her nipples but avoiding them for the time being. Finally I
took the left one into my mouth and began to suckle it like a baby.
Her hand came to the back of my head and began running through my
hair. I switched to the other breast, suckling it for a while, and
then began to work my way south, planting strategic kisses on her
stomach and flank. I licked across her belly button and then reached
the waist of her jeans.
Slowly, deliberately, I unbuttoned the snap and slid the zipper down.
The panties beneath were white with little Santa Clauses printed on
them, obviously left over from Christmas. “Cute,” I remarked, making
her giggle. I grasped the waist of her pants and pulled downward. She
lifted her hips, allowing them to come free but leaving the Christmas
panties in place. I slid the jeans off of her and tossed them aside.
Her legs were full but not flabby at all. Like Steph, she ran at least
twenty miles a week and her calves bulged with runner’s muscle. I slid
my hand up and down her pale legs a few times, liking the feel of them.
Another groan caused me to look over at Steph and Mark again. They
were going for broke. Mark had his face buried between my wife’s
widely spread thighs and she had her hands on the back of his head,
urging him on. Michelle looked over at them too.
“I think you might lose your bet at this rate,” she told me, smiling
sexily, seductively.
I shrugged. “I guess I’ll be out a dollar then. Hope I can cover it.”
With that, I dropped my head down to her left knee and began to kiss
it. Her legs opened as I went to work, affording me a view of her
panty-clad crotch. Her panties, I saw, were absolutely soaked with
secretions. Like a wet T-shirt, I could see right through them to the
flesh of her vagina. My dick, which had begun to harden again the
moment I touched her breasts for the first time, now let me know that
it was firmly back in the game. I licked and sucked my way up her
legs, treating each equally (us cops are champions of equal rights you
know), until I came to her panties. I could smell her now, the scent
of female arousal, the most powerful aphrodisiac known to man. She
smelled different than Steph, not better, not worse, maybe a little
stronger, but different. This turned me on incredibly.
I planted kisses on the outside of her panties, right above her vaginal
lips, sucking her juice from the cotton of her underwear. She sighed
in a frustrated way. Hooking a finger into the elastic, I pulled the
crotch aside, getting my first unimpeded view of her vagina. It was
swollen and wet, just begging for a tongue to enter it. The hair
surrounding it was light brown in color and very kinky. It had been
years since I’d seen a blonde bush and I stopped for a moment, just
drinking in the sight of it. Finally, I leaned forward and ran my
tongue across her puffy lips, lapping up her taste and making her draw
in a sharp breath.
“Quit fucking around,” she ordered in a deeper voice than was her
normal. “Get those fuckin’ panties off and EAT me!”
Instead of responding immediately, I planted another soft kiss on her
inner thigh, running my tongue over and barely flicking her engorged
clit.
She moaned almost painfully. “Now Goddamit,” she commanded.
As I pulled her panties off and prepared to begin my serious work, I
saw that Steph was approaching orgasm. I knew the signs well. Her
pelvis was thrusting with an erratic rhythm, her forehead was sweating,
and she was chewing on her bottom lip. It looked like I’d definitely
lost that dollar.
I tossed Michelle’s panties aside and then spread her legs wide. I put
my face between them and began immediately plunging my tongue in and
out of her. She groaned loudly as I lapped at her. I spread her with
my fingers to achieve deeper penetration (and to get some of her thick
hair out of my way—she was HAIRY) of my tongue. I deliberately avoided
her clit at first even though it was about as swollen and inviting
looking as a clit could get. I flirted with the hood a little, running
my tongue in circles around it before returning to the licking and
plunging of her slit.
Just when she was probably starting to think I didn’t know how to eat a
pussy properly, I moved north and began licking the boatman with firm
strokes. She let out a squeal that was almost bovine in nature,
mashing herself into my face. I lost target for a moment but quickly
re-acquired it by feel. When I started to gently suck on her clit I
thought she was going to lose her mind. She actually screamed loud
enough for me to worry about the neighbors calling the cops (that
would’ve been interesting, they undoubtedly would have been someone we
knew). Her pelvis began to move up and down, left and right, in and
out, making it difficult to keep my mouth where it belonged. When I
DID lose contact with her clit she groaned in frustration that sounded
downright angry until I locked back on. I grasped her legs firmly to
keep myself in position. When she came, she damn near choked me out.
Her legs tightened around my neck, cutting off my air supply. Her
heels dug forcefully into my upper back. Her hands pulled my hair so
hard that I actually felt some of the strands being ripped free.
Finally the bucking and thrusting and screaming and pulling eased up
and her body relaxed. I was in shock. I’d never experienced anyone
come that violently before. Did Mark find it necessary to put on his
body armor before he did this to her?
I raised my head out of her crotch, wiping her generous secretions off
of my face with the back of my arm. She was panting, licking her lips,
and had a mad glint in her eye. I glanced to my right and saw that
Steph and Mark were now busily fucking. His butt slammed in and out,
Steph’s legs wrapped around his back while he sucked her tits.
“Get your ass up here and FUCK me, you bastard!” Michelle commanded.
My eyes widened in shock and arousal. It was the same voice, you see,
that she would have used when ordering some dirtbag out of a stolen car
at gunpoint. It was a stark contrast to Stephanie, who preferred to be
dainty and feminine at home, offsetting the hard-ass bitch she was
capable of being on the job.
I climbed frantically aboard her body, nearly throwing her legs apart.
She grabbed me by the ears, pulling my face down to hers and thrusting
her tongue so deep into my mouth I almost gagged. I positioned my cock
against her slimy vaginal lips and sank into her, making both of us
gasp. I started fucking her, not bothering with a slow build-up.
Again it was an experience of near-violence. She moaned and cussed,
scratched and pounded me as I banged in and out of her. She grabbed my
ass cheeks and squeezed them together. She slapped them loudly with
her hands. She slammed her finger into my asshole, which really gave
me a start. She sucked and bit my neck and shoulders. When she came,
she scratched me so hard with her fingernails that I thought I might be
bleeding. Not that all of this was unpleasant; don’t let me give you
that impression. It was very exciting and very different from what I
was used to, though I can’t say that I’d want this treatment every
night.
Finally I felt orgasm approaching. I groaned this out to her and she
became even more frantic. She began sucking my neck again and biting
it. Her fingers went to my asshole once again, plunging not just one,
but two of them in all the way past the second knuckle. This pushed me
over the edge. Following her lead, I screamed into the living room and
poured myself out into her body. Once my thrusting stopped, her
demeanor changed back to soft and gentle. She kissed me with a
feathery touch of lips and tongue, licking at my lip. She withdrew her
fingers from my ass and I wondered if IT was bleeding as well as my
back. A memory of the days when Mark and I used to work the same
station came to me. Most of the time he changed like everyone else in
the locker room, stripping down to underwear before putting on his
uniform. But sometimes he would come in wearing a work T-shirt
already. It was nothing that seemed important or noteworthy at the
time but I understood the ramifications of it now. Those were the days
after he’d had sex with Michelle. His back at those times, must’ve
been a mess. I wondered if he had any permanent scars.
I raised my head up and looked to my right once again. Mark and Steph
were both naked, unmoving, cuddled up with each other. They were
looking at us, smiling softly. I wondered what would happen now.
Could our relationship ever be the same?
“You owe me a buck,” Mark said matter-of-factly. “Don’t make me have
to send you to collections.”
We all had a laugh at this and then disentangled ourselves. Nobody
seemed to have a problem with what had just occurred, at least not at
the moment. We put our clothes back on and made another pitcher of
margaritas. Soon the New Year announced itself by the crackle of
firecrackers, M-80s, and the occasional pistol shot from outside. We
went to bed soon after that.
There was no discussion about it but Michelle followed me to our
bedroom while Steph followed Mark to our guest bedroom. I found out
that Michelle is fond of anal sex that night, as well as giving rim
jobs. We fell asleep together, naked in each other’s arms. My last
thought before drifting off into a drunken stupor was what tomorrow was
going to bring.
THE END
Send comments to al_steiner@hotmail.com
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