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During the daytime the streets were like that of a ghost town, as
everybody remained inside with shades closed to beat the heat.
Air-conditioners became the number one most stolen item in the city,
beating out televisions by a wide margin. It made sense of a sort, after
all, you don’t even need to get inside the house to steal one. Many a
homeowner returned from work in the evening to find a large hole in the
wall where the family’s most cherished appliance once rested and
subsequently broke down in tears. However, the chief of police had a sudden
brainstorm that guaranteed a quick end to this new and despicable crime
wave. He promptly instructed all four hospitals in the Willyville area to
inform the police of any emergency room cases involving hernias or slipped
discs. When the anxious media questoned the chief of police on this new
tactic, he simply replied that the results so far were “interesting”.

In other news, weather forcaster Bob Katt had been suspended for
appearing on his show wearing boxer shorts, a tie, and nothing else. It
seems the building’s air-conditioning system had been stolen the previous
night (an impressive feat in itself, considering that the compressor alone
weighed half a ton) and Bob had refused to work in a suit in the stifling
heat. So he had walked into the studio, dressed only in his skivvies, and
up in front of the camera before any of the stunned studio crew could even
think of stopping him. Of course, it would have been very bad form to yank
him off the camera, so they simply let him do his broadcast. Once he was
finished he was greeted by a purple faced station manager. Despite the
indian pressure groups, Bob was still very popular in Willyville, so he was
not fired on the spot.

Instead, the station manager sent him on a long overdue vacation…

Saturday dawned bright, clear, and warm (surprise, surprise!). Harold
was up with the sun, mostly because he hadn’t slept at all the previous
night. His stomach was a tight little knot and his heart would not stop
pounding. He was having second thoughts about the party. Harold Sykes had
never been a party animal, and recent… events… had convinced him that
he would be very wise to stay away from certain segments of the human race
(read: female) for a long time to come. In fact, now that he thought about
it, he was rather frightened of them. After all, if he couldn’t keep Cindi
happy, would he be able to keep any woman happy? And there would be lots of
girls there, probably all laughing at him. Why go?

Then he thought about his depression of the last couple weeks. Tom had
a point: right or wrong, he had to do something.

Tom came by at 2:30 and picked Harold up. As they drove over to
Squirrel Heights, Tom did most of the talking. Harold had lapsed into a
moody silence, soaking up Tom’s words and saying almost something in
return. If Tom noticed, he didn’t show it as he kept up a steady monologue
all the way to the house.

The Squirrel Heights Boarding house was a dumpy three story affair
sitting in front of about two acres of worn out farmland. The place was run
by an aging ex-stockbroker named Michael Wilburn, who believed in free
expression of everything and threw wild parties as often as the house’s
budget would allow. Some of the parties were solely for the house’s
inhabitants, but most of them were for whoever wanted to come. Booze and
most kinds of drugs generally circulated freely, and Harold had heard
rumors even more outrageous than that. All in all, it was pretty
intimidating to an introvert like Harold, and as he stepped out of Tom’s
car and looked at the peeling gray mass of the boarding house looming over
him, and the virtual sea of cars surrounding it, he knew he had made a
mistake. He as much as said so to Tom, who ignored him completely.

The affair was already in progress, as he discovered when Tom led him
around the back of the house. There must have been almost a hundred people
there, engaged in all manner of outdoor activities. People everywhere,
talking, yelling, running, horsing around, just generally having a good
time. A table had been set up by the back door, and there was somebody
serving booze and food to an endlessly regenerating queue.

Harold looked around and noticed that Tom had abandoned him and was
nowhere in sight. For an instant he almost panicked and yelled for Tom,
then his rational mind took over. What’s your problem? it said. You’re an
adult, you don’t need a keeper.

So Harold decided to walk around and see what he could see.

In one corner a net had been set up for a vollyball game. There was a
team on each side, if a pushing, laughing, staggering group of people could
be called a team. Harold stood off to one side with a small group of
spectators and watched. All of a sudden his attention had been captured by
one particular member of one team.

She wasn’t tall, maybe five seven or so, buxom, and maybe a few pounds
overweight. Which, as far as Harold was concerned, made her all the more
nicely rounded. Her hair was blonde and fell down past her shoulders. Her
face was pretty, but not spectacularly so. What had really caught Harold’s
attention was what she was wearing, or, more to the point, not wearing. She
was dressed in frayed cutoff jeans that were so tight they had split along
the sides halfway up her hips, and a string bikini top that struggled
valiantly to hold up under the weight of enormous breasts. Harold glanced
around and saw that she had the attention of pretty much every man in the
crowd.

His heart fluttered as he watched her move, and he couldn’t help but
wonder what it would be like to take her to bed. He imagined her long hair
spread out over the pillow, glimmering faintly in the moonlight, those
magnificent breasts moving in slow liquid motion as she arched her back in
sheer pleasure, her frenzied gasps as she reached a sudden and powerful
orgasm…

Harold shook his head to clear it. Get real, he told himself. Someone
like that certainly already has a boyfriend, and even if she didn’t, why
should she be interested in somebody like him? He turned around and began
to make his way back towards the house.

Sudden catcalls and whistles made him turn around again. She was
sitting on the grass, apparently having just fallen. When she landed, the
overburdened top string of her bikini had given way, exposing her for all
the world to see.

He could not help but stare. Her nipples stood out hard, the aurioles
colored light rose pink. He ached to take them in his mouth, to feel their
soft but firm weight in his hands. Then he looked up and saw she was
staring directly at him.

He locked eyes with her and suddenly his face turned beet red. Why, he
didn’t know, because surely every other male here was staring and thinking
the same thoughts. She made no move to cover herself, she just sat there,
challenging him with her gaze.

Finally, Harold turned and pushed his way through the crowd. His heart
was pounding in his ears and his balls, denied their release, ached
miserably. He still had a raging hard-on and kept his hands in his pockets
to conceal it. He felt sick, and ashamed. And he wanted to leave this
instant.

But that stare kept coming back to him. On reflection, he felt there
was more than just a challenge in her eyes. What, he didn’t know, but he
somehow knew it. It was almost as if a spark had passed between them.
Undoubtedly it was just his overworked imagination, but…

He felt as if she wanted him, too.

Day gave way to night, as days usually do, and slowly Willyville began
to cool off. People moved out of their stifling houses (except for those
who hadn’t had their air-conditioning stolen yet) and into their back
yards. They brought TV trays, TV’s, barbecues, bedrolls, and just generally
prepared to enjoy the night in relative coolness.

All over Willyville the night was alive with the sound of voices,
televisions, stereos, lustful moans and the other noises of humans enjoying
themselves outdoors. With one exception. In Squirrel Heights, all was
quiet. The place seemed deserted, in fact. Virtually all human life in the
area had gravitated to one spot. At the Squirrel Heights boarding house,
when night fell, the real party began…

Harold Sykes hadn’t left the party like he planned, although he came
awful damn close to doing so when he spotted Cindi in the crowd. But, in
the end, the thought of going back to his lonely, empty, stuffy house was
just too much. So instead he wandered around the yard, just watching the
extraordinary panorama of human activity taking place before him.

Eventually he found a peaceful spot on the back porch where he just
sat and watched the sun set. Tom came by and asked him how he was doing.

“Better.” sighed Harold, “I really feel better.”

Tom gave him a wink. “You may be feeling better than that before the
night’s over, old buddy.” and sauntered off before Harold could say
anything.

Now what was that supposed to mean?

As it got dark, the party outside thinned out. A few left, spinning
their wheels in the gravel lot out front, but most just went inside the
house. Probably gonna booze it up good, Harold thought, Although it looked
to him like they had been boozing more than adequetely already. Harold
didn’t feel like drinking very much, especially after his binge the other
day. Drugs didn’t hold much of an attraction for him, either. Just sitting
there, alone with his thoughts, seemed to do quite a bit for him.

Eventually he awoke from his musings and was startled to find he was
alone. With a sigh he got up and went in through the back door.

The back hallway was unlit. There was the low murmur of voices and
music coming from somewhere ahead. He could make out dim light from around
a corner in the distance. Cautiously he made his way down the hallway,
hoping nothing solid was in the way of his shins.

Eventually he made his way to the light, and when he turned the corner
he recieved the shock of his life.

The front room was spacious and poorly lit. But the light was more
than adequete for Harold to see what was going on. There was about twenty
to thirty people sprawled about the room, all naked, contorted in every
kind of sexual position imaginable. And a couple that weren’t imaginable.

Harold could only stare dumbly. The floor was almost lost amongst the
moving, writhing bodies. There were six people on the couch, in some
bizarre group contortion that made them look like something from another
planet. One man sat moaning softly in an easy chair with a hard-on that
Harold would have sworn was twelve inches long, at least. He watched in
total amazement as all twelve inches dissappeared into the mouth of the
co-ed sitting on the floor between the man’s feet.

The blonde he had seen earlier was conspicuously absent.

He heard creaking above him, and he looked up. In the rafters, some
twelve feet above, a rope and pully setup had been arranged with a large
wicker basket. Three people were in the basket, which swung back and forth
alarmingly. Harold quickly moved several feet over, out from under the
setup.

His head was spinning. His experience with sex had always been
limited, and now he was confronted with a full-fledged orgy. It was too
much. He didn’t want any part of this. All he wanted was out.
Watching his step carefully, he made his way for the nearest door. He
was almost there when he saw the one thing he *knew* he didn’t want to
see.

There was a clear spot at the far end of the room. Only two people
were there, a man flat on his back with a woman sitting astride his hips,
moving up and down in sensuous rhythem. He didn’t know who the guy was but
he knew the girl. Cindi. Pain that had been mercifully submerged now rose
to stab arrowlike into his guts. Cindi turned her head at that instant and
their eyes met. Instant recognition and something spiteful and unpleasant
glittered in her eyes for a brief second, and then she turned her attention
back to what she was doing. Her movements became more frantic, and her
moans much louder, exaggerating as much as possible.

Her parting words rang in his mind: “I want a man, dammit!” Well,
fine. All Harold wanted was out. He averted his eyes and ran blindly
towards the closest exit. He stumbled over one couple on the way (startling
them into a premature orgasm) and mumbled apologies as he kept going.

Then he was in a hallway, but not the one he had come from. Doors
lined the hall on both sides. He grabbed one and pulled it open, only to be
rewarded with several outraged yells. Redfaced and near tears from
embarassment, he pulled the door shut and looked around desperately. And
empty room, anything, just so he could get out of sight and get his
thoughts together. If he didn’t do it quick, he feared he might lost his
mind. He had to get away, somehow!

There, at the end of the hall. An open door, the room dark within. He
paused at the doorway for a second, but could detect no movement within.
Empty, thank God! He slammed the door shut behind him and let the blackness
envelop him as he sank to the floor with a hoarse sob. He lay in a heap for
who knew how long before he finally calmed down.

His heart gave a sudden leap as he somehow realized, in the total
darkness, that that the room wasn’t empty after all. After a long moment,
he finally summoned up a weak voice. “Who’s there?”

There was a longer silence, and he almost began to hope he was alone
after all, when a soft voice answered “Are you all right?”

Fuck NO! I ain’t all right, you stupid… But Harold controlled
himself before replying, “I will be, eventually. In about fifty years or
so.” He hesitated before the next question, “Are you, um, alone?”

“Yeah.” she replied, “I just wanted to be by myself. I kinda outgrew
the scene out front a long time ago. All the interesting guys already have
somebody. There was one guy, but I think he went home or something.”

Harold got up, a little unsteadily “I’m sorry. Sorry I barged in on
you. I’ll leave now.”

“Please, don’t.” she said, “Unless you really need to. I think we
could both use someone to talk to.”

Harold sat back down against the wall with a weary sigh. “Sure, why
not?” After a silent moment, he continued, “Would you mind turning on a
light? I’d like to see who I’m talking to.”

“Well,” she began doubtfully, “you may feel more comfortable without
the light, but if you insist…” There was a click and a flare of light
exploded into his eyes, blinding him momentarily. When he could open his
eyes, he recieved the last shock of a very long day.

Standing by a lamp on the dresser was the blonde from the vollyball
game, still dressed in the frayed shorts but minus the bikini top, which
lay discarded on the bed. She had her eyes screwed shut against the light,
opening them a moment later.

“Oh! It’s you!”

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forests whose wildlife, I had no doubt, was far more daring and

vigorous than that on campus. It was a conservative school in a

sleepy, often cold environment conducive to huddling and conserving

energy. The academic tone was one of intellectual diffidence,

cultural muting, religious mainstreaming. Students gazed somberly out

library windows, rested their heads on their desks, gathered

in the cafeteria to consume starches. The surrounding roads disappeared

into dense woods, vanished under snowdrifts, and probably didn’t lead

anywhere anyway.

When Jeanine graduated high school at the precocious age of

sixteen and began attending the university, rather than finding it

stimulating she found it insufferably dull. But at least she was

away from her parents, and, after pursuing her studies with such

commendable diligence, she was now determined to spend her time in

pursuit of nearly life-threatening debauchery: to finally cave in to

her roaring lust, to shatter her disciplined mind with a dizzying

variety of controlled substances, to betray friends, to tear couples

apart in torrid trists, to…well, to really live.

This was a lot harder than she imagined; this was the

University of Montana. One of the most popular majors was agriculture,

and Jeanine soon concluded that the future farmers of America had

as much of a capacity for hedonism as the vegetables they harvested.

“You look at these torpid bastards and you get the sense that

all they fantasize about is planting row after row of goddam corn.

These are people whose livelihood depends on fertility, for chrissake,

but do you think that even suggests sexuality to them? Hell, no. I’d

like to run the fuckers over with their goddam tractors.”

Jeanine began buying stacks of pornographic magazines in

convenience stores, tearing out photographs of nude women, then

inserting these in library books in hopes of stimulating a massive

outbreak of libido.

But it didn’t work. In her first semester, Jeanine was asked

out once: to a country music festival benefitting farmers.

“The guy wears nothing but flannel. Imagining him in leather

is like imagining a cow riding a motorcycle.”

“You’re too young,” her friend Peggy assured her. “They’re

afraid of being charged with statutory rape, or something. Once you

get older you’ll get more action.”

“Yeah?”

“Definitely.”

“How many guys have asked you out this semester?”

Peggy was silent for a moment. “Well, everyone knows that

I’m looking for a husband, not a roll in the hay.”

“Bobby,” she turned to me, “How many girls have you asked

out this semester?”

“I’m too busy planting mental corn to bother with girls,” I

said. She shook her head disgustedly, then grabbed a copy of Penthouse

from her backpack and handed it to me.

I surmised the problem was that Jeanine came off as haughty. She

seemed to disdain all of the guys in school: men destined to spend a

substantial part of their lives shovelling manure, driving tractors.

Her arrogance, partly based on her stellar academic record, came

across as strongly as the Channel perfume she seemed to marinade

herself in. She reminded me of a slab of luminescent flesh yearning

to be ripped apart in someone’s teeth, but which everyone assumed was

lethally poisonous.

* * *

“Ted, can I ask you something?”

“Sure, Bob, what’s up?”

I stepped closer to him, turning away discreetly, my gaze

settling on the window. Outside, snow swirled through the cone-shaped

orange beams of the parking lot floodlights.

“You know Jeanine?”

“Not really.”

“Do you think she’s pretty?”

He hesitated, as if somehow puzzled.

“Pretty what?”

“Pretty looking.”

“Well, sure.”

…End of the part1. To be continued..

things, don’t they?

These days a mixed marriage elicits very little response from others;

people are more tolerant, more carefree, I guess just more apathetic.

But thirty odd years ago things were very different.

Since Corina and I grew up together in the same small town, neither of

us had any concern for the colour of the other’s skin – she was black,

I was white. That was all we knew and all we cared about. But,

unfortunately, our liberal views were not shared by the whole town.

We matured and I began to see Corina as more than just a childhood

playmate. Her lithe, black body as it undulated under the loose

fitting tops and skirts that she would wear had me experiencing

sensations that I had never previously felt. Corina’s feelings towards

me were also changing; the way that she looked at me with her sexy,

crooked smile and the way that she would brush up against me or touch

my hand or arm sensuously during a conversation made me realise that

she was experiencing the same feelings of young lust that I was.

Whispers were rife all over town – a white man and a black woman

getting together? It was practically unheard of and we were looked

upon with distrust and uncertainty by a lot of the townsfolk.

But Corina and I didn’t concern ourselves with what others thought. We

kept ourselves private and in a world known only to us. Long,

meandering walks out into the countryside became our favourite

pastimes. The clear, blue sky, the sounds of wildlife all around us,

the rich, fragrant scent of the pine forests and the joy of being

together – we felt we had it all!

I never even asked her to marry me; it was something that we both just

expected to happen – as if some unspoken telepathy existed between us.

The ceremony was small and informal. We knew that many of our

neighbours were not impressed by our mixed creed relationship, but

what did we need them for anyway, we had each other.

But feelings surrounding our marriage were intensifying. It seemed

that Corina and I had underestimated the attitude of the townsfolk

towards us and we were about to discover exactly how strongly some of

them felt.

We had moved into a small house on the outskirts of town. The land

surrounding us gave us good crops of fruit and vegetables that

supplemented the meagre rations that my work as a furniture maker was

able to provide. We had few luxuries but were happy spending our

evenings sitting on the porch, watching the stars and planning our

future.

Our sex life was wonderful. Apart from a little touching and fondling

before we married, we had virtually saved ourselves. But now we were

free to enjoy the fruit that we had for so long forbidden each other.

And enjoy we did. I discovered that Corina was extremely sexual. She

would use her body while we made love, twisting and turning her

slender frame to maximise the pleasure for both of us. There seemed

little that she wouldn’t try and I remember the exquisite sensations

that I experienced when she took my dick into her pretty mouth for the

first time.

We were sitting out on the porch as usual that evening. The air was

cool and fragrant and we cuddled up as we watched the sun go down and

the stars begin to pin-prick the darkening sky. The sound of the

vehicle seemed a long was off and I gave it little thought as I buried

my face in my wife’s thick black hair and let my fingers wander over

the dark, smooth skin of her thigh below the hem of her loose dress.

“I think that car’s getting closer, baby.” Corina said with a giggle

as I tickled the inside of her thigh. “Maybe you better stop that

before you go too far. We might be getting visitors!”

“You really want me to stop?” I whispered into her ear.

…End of the part1. To be continued..

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At the time of this story my Dena was 29 years old, about 5′ 5″
with stylish blond hair. She’s trim and without doubt her face and
ass are her best assets. She is a former state beauty pageant
winner and her features are smooth and defined, like her
personality. She’s a knock out in a bikini and enjoys the attention
she gets form other men.

We had heard of men who encourage and enjoy watching their spouse
have sex with other men. We were fascinated and aroused by reading
such stories in magazines about swinging and mate sharing and I
often fantasized about seeing my wife screw another man. Dena and
I had talked about a threesome but I never really thought it would
happen. That was until four years ago.

Shortly after accepting a new sales position that required
extensive travel I began to suspect Dena of having an affair. The
idea of her falling in love with another man didn’t enter into my
thoughts but I was convinced that she was seeing someone. I
secretly hoped my suspicions were true and often made excuses that
I had to stay out of town overnight when it wasn’t really required.

Many times I would lay awake fantasizing about Dena with another
man as I lay alone in my motel room. I imagined her rushing off to
meet her lover as soon as our nightly phone conversation ended. On
several occasions I waited ten or fifteen minutes and called home
again only to hear up to five minutes of unanswered ringing. I
would do this every half hour or so until around one or two in the
morning she would answer the phone. I always hung up without saying
anything. I never told Dena that I had called back and she never
said anything about going out anywhere.

This behavior continued for about two or three weeks and just when
I had made plans to try and catch her she started answering each
time I called home. Dena began to complain that someone was calling
and hanging up the phone when she answered so I waited much longer
between calls.

I became disappointed because now it seemed that my suspicions were
unfounded or the affair had ended. I began fantasizing about ways
of having her seduced when another set of events began occurring.

I was at our local club having a drink at the bar when a neighbor
I knew only slightly came in and took the stool next to mine. Our
conversation was casual but he asked a question that caused me to
rethink my doubts about Dena and a possible affair.

During our conversation our neighbor asked how I liked my new car.
At first I thought he was talking about my new company car which is
a Buick. I told him that I really liked the car and that I was very
satisfied with the gas milage. It wasn’t until he said how he too
would like to have such a car but that he certainly couldn’t afford
anything so expensive. I knew a Buick was well within his means so
he A) Had me confused with someone else. Or B) Someone driving an
expensive automobile was visiting my house.

Without acting surprised I told my neighbor that I had gotten a
very good deal and that it really hadn’t cost as much as he might
think. This seemed to satisfy him and our conversation moved to
other subjects, although I’m not sure what we talked about because
I was thinking about the strange automobile parking in my drive. I
revived my plans to see if Dena was having an affair.

The following Monday I told Dena that my duties would require me to
be out of town until Friday night. As always she seemed
disappointed but accepted that it had to be. I on the other hand
imagined that she was already preparing to invite her lover into
our bed.

I drove to a local hotel and checked in for four nights. I parked
my car in the hotel’s indoor lot so it couldn’t be easily seen. I
then called Avis and rented a completely different car making sure
it was of a completely different color.

I made the necessary business phone calls from my hotel room but
remained in the room and out of view until darkness. Around 7pm I
called home as I had always done when away. After my brief
conversation with Dena I called room service for dinner and watched
TV. By 9pm I had waited as long as I could.

Driving the rental car past my house I was mildly disappointed to
see only the normal house lights and only Dena’s car in our drive.
I drove around town until I made another pass by our house around
9:30pm. Even more disappointment when I saw only Dena’s car in our
drive. I continued to drive around until I made a third pass by the
house around 9:45pm. Nothing had changed and I was now really
disappointed. I wanted to catch my wife with another man but it
seemed it wouldn’t happen tonight.

I had driven about half way down one of the two main entrance roads
leading to our subdivision when a 530 Mersadies sports car passed
going in the direction of my house. I quickly took the next turn
and turned my car around. The Mersadies tail lights were still
visible and about a quarter of a mile ahead. I closed the distance
between us slightly but made sure to remain well back.

My heart was racing and I was wondering. Was this the car my
neighbor had been talking about? The Merrsadies made a left turn
onto the street our house was on. This had to be the car that had
been parking in my drive I thought. “Please be the car.” I said
aloud to myself. I passed the street leading to my house knowing
that I could see our drive clearly only a few hundred yards ahead.

As I slowed and looked in the direction of my house I saw the
Mersadies head lights as it pulled into my drive. I almost shouted
knowing this had to be my wife’s lover. I turned my car into the
street that ran behind our house. Knowing the house directly behind
ours was vacant I pulled into the drive and killed the lights.

I waited a few minutes then got out of the rental and keeping to
the shadows I slowly jogged into my back yard. Remaining in the
shadows I approached the side of my house and made my way to the
den window. I knew there was little chance that I would be seen but
I had worn dark clothing and was being a quite as possible as I
looked into the window.

There on my sofa sat a man of about 45 years I had never seen. He
was certainly well dressed and clean looking. “So this was Dena’s
lover and I approve.” I thought to myself. Then found myself
wondering how large his cock was and did Dena give this man head as
she had often done for me. If she did give him head did she allow
him to cum in her mouth or did they only fuck straight? Did they
use protection? I hoped they didn’t. For some reason I hoped he
would cum inside Dena.

Dena entered the den carrying drinks. She handed her friend a glass
and sat down beside him. Before taking a drink both my wife and her
friend placed their drinks on the sofa table and locked themselves
in a very passionate embrace. As the kissed I noticed this man was
unbuttoning Dena’s blouse. Dena’s hand was on his crotch and I knew
she was massaging his cock and balls. “I hope he’s hung like a
horse.” I thought.

My own cock was rock hard as I watched the couple before me undress
each other. When the gentleman stood Dena unbuckled his belt. She
unzipped his trousers and tugged them down. As this man stood
before my wife his trousers fell around his ankles as Dena pulled
his jockey shorts down.

I couldn’t see the man’s cock because he was quarter turned away
from me but I could clearly see Dena had his cock in her mouth.
Dena’s hands were slowly stroking this man’s ass and upper legs as
she took him into her mouth. This continued for about a minute when
Dena’s lover turned to sit down on the sofa.

Dena released her mouth hold on his cock and as the man sat down
she got on her knees before him. Clearly she planned to continue
sucking his cock. It was at this time that I saw the man’s cock for
the first time. It was much larger than my seven and one half
inches. I would guess at least 10 or 11 inches in length and very
thick. It was so thick that the head of his cock seemed small.
Almost as if it belonged to a 7 inch cock but was attached to this
massive sausage.

Dena took this stranger’s cock in both hands and began jacking it
as she took as much as she could in her mouth. To me Dena looked
beautiful as she knelt before the man sucking his monster tool. I
was slowly massaging my own cock through my trousers as I hoped
they would continue until he shot his load in Dena’s mouth.

Within a few minutes I had my wish. The man laid his head back and
closed his eyes. I knew he was about to cum and so did Dena. She
was jacking his cock faster now and sucking him as deep as she
could. The man stiffened and Dena slowed her hand and head motion.
I knew he was shooting his load into my wife’s mouth and she
appeared to love it. “Please swallow his cum.” I was thinking as I
shot my own load into my shorts.

Dena did as I had hoped because when the man had finished climaxing
she got up to sit beside him. She said something to him and they
both laughed and took a sip of their drinks. There was no trace of
cum on Dena’s face so I knew she had done as I had hoped and had
swallowed his load. I hoped his cum had been thick and plentiful
but I had no way of knowing.

Dena and her lover sat on the sofa talking, kissing and fondling
each other until I saw the man’s cock begin to come alive again.
Dena bent over a sucked his cock until it was fully erect again
then she stood up. Although her blouse and bra had been removed
earlier she now let her skirt fall to the floor and removed her
bikini panties.

The man pulled my wife to him and began to eat her pussy as she
stood wide legged before him. I sure he couldn’t get to her pussy
very well and he said something to her. Dena laid back on the sofa
and with one foot on the floor and one on the back of the sofa she
offered herself to her lover.

I watched as the man began to eat my wife and slowly jack his own
cock. Since my cock had remained hard the entire time I unzipped my
trousers, now very wet from the load I had shot earlier. Taking my
cock out I began to jack off as I watched the scene before me.

The man continued to eat Dena pussy until I could tell she was
about to cum. He then made his way on top of her and I could
clearly see his cock as it entered Dena’s now very wet pussy. At
first he pushed only the head and perhaps two inches in. Dena’s ass
was moving up to him, urging him deeper into her. The man was
fucking her with only a few inches of his cock when he suddenly
plunged his entire cock into my wife. His balls, again much larger
than mine, slapped against Dena’s ass as he began to fuck her
harder.

Even above the air-conditioning and through closed windows I could
hear Dena. “Oh God! Oh God! Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me! Oh God Fuck
me!” I felt my balls tighten and my own cum began to shoot as I
watched the couple before me. It was truly beautiful watching my
wife enjoy being power fucked by this stranger. I wanted them to
continue but the man’s body stiffened and he pushed himself as deep
as he could into Dena. I knew he was depositing another load in
places much deeper that I ever had.

It was clear that Dena was enjoying being fucked by this man
because she was having one orgasism after the other. I saw their
combined juices, thick and white, on the shaft of the man’s cock as
he fucked in-an-out. It was slowly running out of Dena’s pussy and
down her ass. So that’s what those stains were on the sofa. I
continued to jack myself as the lovers continued to fuck each other
on the sofa.

I must have jacked myself as they fucked for five minutes or more
when the man’s body stiffened again. Plunging himself deep into
Dena’s pussy he began to shoot another hot load of his semen. I too
shot another load and gave a silent prayer of thanks for allowing
me to witness my wife being so thoroughly fucked.

A young girl asked her mother “Mommy, do you get into heaven feet first?”

“I don’t know, why do you ask?”

“Because the maid’s upstairs with her feet in the air, shouting `God, I’m
coming, God, I’m coming,’ but dad’s on top and won’t let her go.”

–

I’d been mulling over the physical evidence we had… and it
wasn’t much.

My attention had shifted to the booze as it made oily swirls
through the smoky amber, just like it always did. I’d heard the
tap of high-heels, and unconsciously glanced up and smiled as
Janine carried a tray of fresh drinks to the table in the corner.
Somehow, she always drew my attention. It was her long tapered
legs I suppose, or maybe the way she filled out her blouse.

I’d been stopping in to have a drink a few times a week ever
since I moved into the neighborhood. A nice enough place, but
nothing special. I suppose it was a combination of their chili
and Janine’s muscular calves that kept me coming back. It’s
unbelievable when you think how fast a year can pass. One day
blending into the next, on and on. ‘Maybe your booze consumption
has something to do with the way the days run together,’ I
thought, as I sipped my drink.

I was always coming up with brilliant ideas like that. “Stop
smoking. Stop drinking. Start exercising. Win the Lottery.
Write a book about some interesting case and make a million.” I
was a real fountain of great ideas.

So far tonight, Janine had been to my table twice. The first
time to deliver a glass of my usual, and the second when I waved
her over to pay the check. Both times we played eye games, and
flirted, like always.

I’d gathered up my raincoat, from the empty chair across the
table, where I’d tossed it in a sodden heap. I said my goodbyes
and gave Janine a wink, . I was in the process of shrugging on
the soggy coat, and trying to open the front door at the same
time, when it crashed open…. And everything changed.

Like I said, I was leaning forward, shrugging on my beat-up
London Fog, so the door smashed into my forehead, and I fell flat
on my ass. I knew what had happened, so I looked up to see what
kind of ill-mannered son-of-a-bitch had whacked my melon. Little
did I know…

From my vantage point on the floor, my eyes flicked up and saw
what looked like a full acre of firm, tapered, nylon encased
inner thigh that went up and up until it disappeared in the
darkness under a short navy blue skirt.

“I’m so sorry,” were the first words she said, as I scrambled to
my feet.

“Forget it,” I growled, as the adrenalin rush started to pass,
and a whole different set of hormones kicked in. I brushed
myself off, with a little help from the lady, and mumbled
something about getting another drink.

“Oh, let me buy,” she said. “It’s all my fault!”

“Okay, okay,” I grumbled. “That was my table over there,” I
added pointing.

She set out walking toward our objective, and I followed. About
this time it struck me that this lady didn’t walk. She
“moved”… What I had taken for a navy blue skit was really the
bottom half of a knit dress that hugged her body like the skin
fits a grape. And the skirt wasn’t a typical knit. It was split
up the side, nearly to the hip.

I suppose my mouth dropped open, because when I checked out the
guys at the bar, that’s what had happened to them… We all
looked like frogs catching flies.

My attention quickly shifted back to the lady’s back, or rather
her backside that shifted alluringly with every step. Her skirt
ended above mid-thigh, and her trim ankles, sculptured calves,
and trim tapered thighs flashed, as the split displayed nearly
their full length, in the subdued lighting, as that tight knit
bun-hugging, ass-emphasizing skirt showcased her tight, rounded,
undulating butt; that moved like two well-oiled footballs.

She turned, as she reached ‘my table’, pointed at a chair, and
raised her eyebrow, asking if her choice of a seat was
acceptable. I nodded. She sat, as I approached, and crossed her
long thoroughbred legs, as her skirt rode even higher on her
thighs.

I sat, and I guess I stared, because she asked if I was all
right.

All right was hardly the term to describe my condition. If you
placed your emphasis on HARD, it would been much more accurate.

I waved to Janine, who by now was glaring daggers at me, and as
she made her way to ‘our table’, I asked my companion what she
would like.

“Black Jack… And have her bring the bottle.”

As we waited for a now surly Janine to return with our drinks, I
introduced myself… “By the way, I’m Eric… Eric Thornquist.”
I always was real smooth with the ladies.

“Nice to bump into you, Eric,” she laughed. “I’m Candice.”

“I’d enjoy bumping into you too, Candice… repeatedly, but next
time I’d use something other than my head.”

She laughed, at my attempt at humor. Little did she know how
honest I was being. Shit, I’d been checking her out, during our
stroll to the table (which I thoroughly enjoyed), and again as
we faced each other across the expanse of ‘our’ heavy oak table.

She was about 5′-7″ and probably weighed 125-130 soaking wet.
(Was that a Freudian slip?). Her hair was long and blonde,
falling in soft waves until it ended, below her shoulders. Her
complexion was flawless, and her lips were full and friendly.
The top of the dress accentuated the rich fullness of her
breasts, and maybe it was the chill, but just saw a hint of her
nipples, when the light was just right. And her face was as
perfect as the rest. Open, and honest, with sparkling green eyes,
there wasn’t even a hint of pinched meanness. Maybe my luck was
finally changing.

“So, Mr. Eric Thornquist. What are you doing here tonight?” she
queried.

“Just stopped for a drop of the usual,” I answered. “And you?”

“I saw this place written up in the Arts and Entertainment
Section a while ago, and thought I’d give it a try. I thought it
had a cute name…”

“You mean, The Broken Drum?”

“Yes, but that’s not the cute part. The cute part is the
rest..’You Can’t Beat it’. That’s what the article said too.
That you couldn’t beat their steaks.”

“They are pretty good,” I answered lamely, and then plunged on,
with what I thought was a suave segue. “But, by yourself? What
about your significant other?”
…End of the part1. To be continued..

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15) A job interview boom! Matures seem to have gone wild trying to get nice jobs! Or is it the interviews they love so much?

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