Chris Simon - A real hot number

I slipped my head from between Gail's legs. I could see the two women embracing each other. They were kissing with open mouths. Sandi was touching Gail's tits, playing with her nipples as she buried her tongue in Gail's mouth. Gail had slipped her hand down between Sandi's legs and started to manipulate Sandi's clitoris. I felt Gail's hand push between our bellies, almost touching my cock, and moving around in the wet forest of Sandi's cunt. I pushed up into Sandi and caught Gail's hand between us.

I heard moaning; whose I couldn't be sure. It might have been mine, for I felt my orgasm brimming near the tip of my cock. I pushed up hard into Sandi, and she returned my energy with several, short, rapid hunches of her body. I felt her cunt tightening around my rod, and I began to cum.

My sperm shot up into Sandi's cunt like lava spewing out of a volcano; certainly it must have been as hot. The cum pumped upward like thick water, and rolled from the tip of my cock into Sandi's body with such profusion that I couldn't tell her wetness from my own.

Suddenly Gail dropped her whole weight on my face. She ground her wet cunt against my open mouth, almost smothering me. My tongue slithered up inside of her, and I felt the clutching, trembling convulsions of her orgasm with my face.

Sandi, I knew, was cuming also. She had to be: no cunt could grasp a cock so firmly and not be cuming. Her cunt felt like a hot wet hand wrapped around my cock. It squeezed my cock as though it were trying to wring from me every last ounce of sperm. She was successful, for the whole load of my balls was deposited into the clutching grasp of her cuming cunt.

I continued to lick at Gail's cunt even though my cock was aching now, and I could no longer breathe. I felt a wet discharge spreading over my face as it ran from her cunt. My nose was crushed sidewise, and my whole mouth was breathing cunt. Her wet pussy hair was spread all across my chin, feeling like some strange sexual beard. Finally, when I could no longer breathe, I lifted Gail bodily from me and threw her off me. She was still holding Sandi in her arms, and they fell together, off to the side of the bed.

I looked up across at them, wiping my face of the smell of sex, and I saw that Gail was still holding onto Sandi's cunt. She had slipped her finger into her girl friend's box, and I could see the white flow of my sperm running down her fingers, making a puddle in her cupped hand.

I smiled at the sight of the two satisfied cunts facing me. Each was wet with perspiration and sexual liquid. Their legs were intertwined, cunt facing cunt, breasts pressed flat against breasts.

My body was drained, but I felt a warm glow spreading across my crotch and oozing up my spine. I closed my eyes and felt the exhaustion smothering me.

"How was it, girls?" I asked.

Gail moaned and Sandi giggled.

It was the answer that I'd hoped for.

The following evening, about eight o'clock, the door bell rang.

I was sitting down on my bed, watching my portable television. The Mets were playing L.A., and I was watching the pre-game interviews.

My mind, though, wasn't on the game. I was thinking back to yesterday, with Sandi and Gail. I had enjoyed being with them and making love to them. It had been the first time in my life that I had two women together. We had spent the entire afternoon together, varying the positions, and ended the afternoon by my watching the two women making love to each other. They were sixty-nining each other to orgasm and I was standing above them masturbating. When they began to cum, I shot my cum against their writhing, naked bodies, splashing them with the final deposit of my aching balls.

We lay together on the bed, mutually exhausted, and slept for perhaps an hour. Then Gail awoke abruptly and ushered both Sandi and I out. Bob, her husband, would be home soon, she had said. Sandi was in a hurry also, for her husband would be expecting dinner, and she hadn't prepared his meal.

We said our goodbyes, promised to get together again soon, and the two wives went back to their normal routine. I drove home alone.

I thought of Patti on my way home. In a strange way the two women reminded me of her. She, too, was a housewife estranged from her husband. I wondered whether Patti might also be like them: seeking men out for sex and orgies. Not that I would have minded; I wouldn't. It's just it was a strange thought. I couldn't help wondering.

I was still thinking of the two women and Patti, half-concentrating on the ball game, when the bell rang and interrupted my thoughts.

I lowered the volume on the television.

"Who's there?" I called out.

I heard a muffled reply, but I didn't recognize either the voice or the words.

"Coming!" I said.

I slipped on a shirt to cover my bare chest and walked to the door without my slippers. I opened the door and peered out into the hallway.

There was a tall blond woman standing there. She wore straight blond hair down past her shoulders, and had sharp, angular features. I judged that she was about twenty-three or four.

"Are you Allen Dawson?" she asked. Her voice was oddly soft and lush compared to the severity of her looks.

"Yes," I answered, puzzled.

"Oh, good!" she said. "Am I late?"

I thought for a moment. A memory was spinning about in the back of my mind.

"I'm Ellen Marshall," she offered. "I called you last week about your ad…"

Oh my God! I thought. I remembered now. She had called! She had been one of the first women to answer. I had forgotten about her because she had insisted that she come to my apartment. Over the telephone she wouldn't even give me her number or address. We had made the appointment – for tonight – and I had forgotten completely about it, believing that she would never meet the date.

But here she was.

"Come in! Come in!" I said. "I'm sorry if I seemed rude. It's just that I had pictured you differently in my mind. The telephone sometimes does that…"

I tried lying: it seemed the only way out without completely shattering her ego.

"I hope I didn't disappoint you…" she began.

"NO! No!" I said quickly. I was sure my voice dripped with insincerity. "Actually," I added, "I'm quite pleased. Quite pleased, indeed."

She smiled at me, shifting the lines and angles of her face. The smile was warm enough, but there was something cold and distant about her. Hard almost.

I offered to take her coat and bag, but she gave me the coat only. She carried her pocketbook with her into the living room. It was a big white, square thing, and she placed it on her lap when she sat down.

"Would you like a drink?" I asked.

She said she would, and I hurried to make one for her. She looked about the living room while I was making the drink, and she seemed quite at ease. I remembered my first time in a strange house, with a strange woman. But she didn't seem nervous at all. Perhaps it wasn't her first time.

She was looking at the ball game on the television when I returned with the drinks. I had made myself a large, stiff drink too, preparing myself to get into the swing of the night. I shut the television off and sat across from her in an arm chair.

We saluted each other's health, and sipped our drinks. I tried making small talk with her, but the conversation died in my mouth. Not that she seemed quiet or self-conscious. It was just the opposite. She was cool and calm; cold even. She stared at me with her icy blue eyes and her dispassionate long, blond hair and sipped her drink. She was beginning to make me feel uncomfortable.

"Shall we begin?" she asked.

"Sure," I answered. She was giving me the feeling that she was used to running things. She reminded me of several women supervisors I had had in the past: hard, cold bitches. Besides, it was strangely disquieting for me to have the woman initiate the first move. I didn't know whether I liked the idea or not, although I had always had a preference for aggressive women.