Gus Stevens - Love Me, Love My Dog

“All right, let's go peek.”

Still naked as the legendary jaybird who goes around without even feathers to cover his body, we clasped hands and crept out of the living room, headed for the rear patio and the swimming pool.

Slipping through the sliding doors, we stepped out on the patio, pausing behind a thin screen of foliage, some large-leafed stuff that hid our white bodies well enough in the darkness. The pool was beautiful, the blue-green glow from its depths providing the only light in the back.

We strained our eyes for a minute until they became accustomed to the darkness. Then I could see Amy sitting on the pool apron, wearing her brassiere and pants, which were damp. Her hair was streaming down the back of her neck, but her body looked beautiful, even if her ten-dollar coiffure was shot to hell. The glow behind her placed her in soft silhouette, so that every curve showed up in exciting relief.

Buddy was kneeling by her side, also dripping, and he wore a pair of bathing trunks. He was a tall kid, thin as a rail, but as he half turned his body, I saw a pouch between his legs that looked like a bucket of chicken parts under cloth. Christ, I mused, no wonder she'd been mesmerized as he stood at our front door earlier that evening.

Trudy looked up at me. “Let's not interrupt them.”

“Why not?” I whispered, my voice almost as soft as hers.

“I have an idea they haven't done anything but swim. Can you imagine? Give them a few minutes. It looks like the action may be warming up.”

I didn't like what she was saying, but I followed her suggestion, crouching lower behind the foliage and finding a new hole to look through. Trudy curled up at my feet like a puppy, which reminded me of Alexander. I glanced around and there he was, on the far side of the pool, out like a drunk on the morning after.

As we watched, Buddy waddled closer to Amy, still on his knees. He said something very low and I heard Amy laugh, her chin lifting. It was a familiar gesture, one she used on me before we were married, when she was showing me that I was the greatest guy in the world. Something in me sat up in anger, but I forced it back. Pretend they're two strangers, I reminded myself. This doesn't mean a thing.

Amy was waiting for him to make his move, all right, still seated quietly, leaning back on her hands so that her well-stuffed brassiere shot forward like naval cannon looking for targets of opportunity. She left her head high, her eyes on the distant stars, so that her long, white throat was exposed and inviting as hell. If Buddy had the desire to use that equipment between his legs, now was the time.

He must have heard me, for he leaned over her, still balancing himself, planting his mouth on her throat. Even from where we were, maybe thirty feet away, Trudy and I could see the shudder go through her. Amy had been torpedoed below the water line and she was taking water fast.

I sat down hard, rustling the shrubbery, but those two were beyond hearing. Trudy turned to stare at me, her eyes wide, her lips curved with vicarious delight. “What's the matter, Daddy?”

“I can't stand the idea of that brother of yours throwing the blocks to my wife, if you must know.” I made a face. “Call me an old-fashioned guy.”

She shook her golden head. “Don't worry about Buddy. He always gives them something special the first time around, and it doesn't include fucking.”

“Always?” I breathed.

“He's not without experience, Mr. B.”

I settled back to watch the action resume, hoping that her report had been accurate. If I saw him actually trying to stick his… well, I'd leap up and pop him in the mouth. Buddy was shifting his mouth down to Amy's breasts, his face half hidden in the deep valley as her mounds shot skyward. Then he was opening the clasp, managing it far more easily than I'd ever been able to do, and tossing her brassiere into the pool. It floated forlornly, like a friend who had been forgotten.

I heard Trudy's small sound as Amy's breasts surged into view. “Why, she's wonderful. I never saw such a pair.” Her whisper was urgent.

“I know,” I said, my voice dry. “I've been aware of them for some years.”

“Lucky dog.” Impulsively, the little blonde seized my hand and pulled it to her bosom, cupping my fingers over a breast, imploring me to sink them deeply. I obliged.

At the same time, Buddy was lapping Amy's right mound like a hungry pup, his tongue darting out in the half light, and we could even hear his faint slurping. Amy was loving it, her head bobbing, but still pointed toward the heavens. Once or twice she lifted a hand to pat the back of his head in thanks for his services. Her lips opened and I thought I could hear a moan as she wiggled her breast, causing the nipple to twist between his teeth.

He moved to the twin hill and she wiggled this one in anticipation, the pink knob rasping across the faint chin stubble of her partner. This time her cry was distinct and even I could feel the jolting sensation tear through my chest and straight down into my balls.

“Good for you,” my blonde pal whispered and I followed her eyes.

My penis was half erect, making a comeback after its very recent exertion. I was proud of it but, turning to my hand, I realized that it was due to more than mental stimulation. My fingers were still pumping the high hard breasts of my partner and the effect was not only noticeable in my body. She was beginning to breathe harder, her lips parting as she hauled extra air into her lungs. Her breasts added to the fun by starting their fresh swelling and I immediately began to look forward to further adventures.

Our glances went back to the pool apron, where Buddy was down to my wife's belly, which was jumping in and out like a bellows. She'd always had a nervous stomach. Any little thing would set it to trembling, and now it was going crazy. He tried to kiss the navel, but the thing kept hitting him in the face.

He moved still lower and I could see his pursed lips blowing into her pubic brush, making the hairs stir in the breeze. Amy's “oh” of pleasure was clear in the night. He kept on blowing, apparently in no hurry. He was going to have her reduced to a pile of melted gelatin before he moved in for the kill. I glanced down at Trudy.

Her head had come back against my legs and, as she sat a bit straighter, her hair was pushing up under my balls and my semi-rigid staff was lying quietly atop her head. If she felt the heat or the weight, she gave no sign, so I draped my arm over her shoulder and found the breast I'd been neglecting. It greeted me eagerly.

She tried to look up into my face, but the head of my cock slid across her forehead and stabbed her in the eye. Blinking, her eyes running, she said nothing and we returned our interest to the arena on the other side of the bush.

Buddy was still blowing across the rippling field of wheat, making Amy begin to steam, Her hips were wiggling, slipping from side to side on the concrete, slowly easing the elastic of her pants lower on her bottom until the things were barely clinging to her pussy. Buddy ended the agony by gently taking the pants and easing them over her thighs and down her legs. In a second they joined the floating bra in the pool.

He was whispering his lips into my wife's foliage by now, hardly an inch above the place where the tops of her folds were joined. Amy's knees were slipping farther apart and, leaning back on her hands and digging in her heels, she was raising her hips from the apron, shoving her crotch closer to his mouth.

Buddy shifted his attack, moving from the side around to where he was crouched between Amy's knees. He leaned on them, pushing them wide as he crawled in between, moving up to her thighs. He was poised, staring directly into her box, his eyes wide, his lips still pursed for action.