Chapter 8

People looked at us. I guess that they couldn't help themselves, and you could almost guess what was going through their minds: here was a tall, well-built young man (handsome enough, I have to say so myself), with a beautiful, well-built young woman on each arm. But more than that, the two women looked like twins. You could see the questioning in each pair of eyes, especially after we got to the restaurant. In many I saw the simple question: Is he fucking them both?

Under other circumstances it might have been amusing-especially if I had been able to say to them, "No, because one is my sister. The other is my wife!"

It might even have been amusing, at least from a shock value standpoint, if I had been able to say to them, "I used to fuck this one, my dear sister, but now that I'm older and married, I fuck this one, my dear wife!"

As it was, with my own turbulent indecision, it wasn't the least bit amusing-nor were we an amusing or amused threesome. Quite the contrary. Despite many feeble attempts at small talk we found ourselves drifting into silences, each of us concentrating on our thoughts.

At one point I found myself remembering the night I had gone home with the two blondes, to have the stacked redhead join in on the fun and games. We had one hell of a pre-play session, with bodies intertwining and mouths going every and anywhere they wanted. Each girl had taken her turn sucking my cock, playing with my balls, and I had handled and mouthed all three twats, all three sets of boobs. We'd gone at it hot and heavy, then they had suddenly broken it up, played the pea game to see who won the prize. I wished that it could be that simple now, that someone or thing other than I would make the decision.

I remembered my conversation with Karl, in the kitchen as the girls dressed. That changed things; that snapped me back to a paraphrase of Shakespeare: To fuck or not to fuck, that is the question...!

It had been easier to say that I wouldn't when they were out of the room. Sitting with them now, it wasn't that easy. I could look at either one and feel desire, and as a result old Junior stayed in a rigid state throughout the meal. Marge, in her simple elegance, was so damned desirable it hurt. Cindy, not so expensively dressed but still beautiful, was equally desirable. And, of course, there was the reminder that each knew how to give and receive pleasure, that each was a master at sex because of their own freedom and thorough enjoyment of it. I toyed around again with the idea of the three of us getting together ... but a look at either one reaffirmed the improbability of that. Neither wanted to share, that I knew; each, because of her own thoughts and feelings, wanted me for herself. Old cock-heavy Davie had gotten himself into one hell of a position!

Hard-on or not, before the meal was over I had to go to the rest room. I hoped that taking a leak might relieve some of the pressure. Leaving the girls alone and walking with my hands concealing my condition, I wove my way between the tables and into the John. I was standing at the urinal when the door swung open; looking up, as people seemed to automatically do at such times, I saw a young fellow coming toward me. There was a whole row of urinals, but he had to come to the one next to where I was standing. Opening his fly, he reeled out about six inches of limp cock (yes, I'll have to admit it; I had never outgrown the tendency to look at other guy's cocks and measure them against my own!).

"Say, fella," he said cheerfully (and nicely not looking at the hard-on I was still trying to keep hidden), "that's nice stuff you're with. You wouldn't be interested in sharing the wealth, would you?"

Jesus, if he only knew! But forcing a smile, I answered, "I believe in Democracy, friend, not Socialism!"

He raised an eyebrow (and at the same time unconsciously shook the hunk of meat in his hand. I'll have to admit, again, that I could imagine it at full stature, the pleasure it could give women-especially women like Marge and Cindy who frankly like cock).

"Well, hell, man," he said, "I don't doubt you could have a helluva ball and give 'em both a good time, but don't you think they ought to both get cock?"

Yes, I answered silently, my cock. Outwardly and feelinglessly, I said, "Sorry, fella!"

He shook his damned cock again, so slowly it was like a piece of rubber tubing bouncing up and down.

"Ah, come on, at least give me a chance! Why not introduce me to 'em and leave it up to them?"

Hard as I was, and with his adding to the problem, I still hadn't been able to get out even a trickle. I gave up on it. Tucking myself away as I stepped back, I said, "Can't tell you the reasons, but no chance!"

"Bastard!" he said, but there was at least a touch of a laugh in it. "Shit, you with two of 'em and I'll probably end up going home and beating myself off!"

"It does seem unfair, doesn't it?" I answered (meaning it!), turned and went out.

When I got back to the table I saw immediately that Marge's face was almost ashen and Cindy was visibly disturbed. Warning signals went off in my brain, but I decided to play it by ear. Sitting down, I looked from one to the other. Finally Marge said, her voice almost a whisper, "Cindy just told me about ... Karl."

I knew in that moment, if I hadn't known it before, that all these years Cindy had been blaming herself for Karl's death. But why, I begged silently, had she had to bring it out now?

Or had Marge pumped her?

"Jesus!" I spat quietly, pulling out my wallet. I took a big enough bill and threw it down on the table. "I've got to get out of here."

I didn't hear what either of them said as I almost lunged through the half-crowded room.

Mr. Big-cock was on the sidewalk in front of the place. He grabbed me by the arm and looked into my face. "Hey, buddy, what's up? You look like ... "

I stared hard into his eyes, then said, "Look, fella, how about you and me finding a whorehouse and fucking ourselves blind?"

He laughed, but then he said, "Lead on, pal!"

It had been a figure of speech, of course. Within a matter of minutes we had compared notes, discovered that neither had ever paid for a piece of ass and decided that now wasn't the time to begin! We'd find our pussy on the hoof and make them willing to flop into bed for the pure fun of it!

"Not only willing," he laughed again, "but eager! I've yet to find a gal who'll feel a good hard-on and not be willing to drop her pants on the spot!"

Using his car (because I had left mine for Cindy and Marge), we drove several blocks looking for a likely bar. Finding one, we parked and went in, craning our necks at photos stuck up by the door of go-go dancers with skimpy panties and big tits. Music blared out as the door swung open; the floor-show was on, so as we stepped into the half-darkened, smoke-filled room we got our first look at female semi-nakedness. The gals up on the stage weren't as pretty as the ones in the photos (or else life and photographs didn't match!) but their panties were just as flimsy and their boobs just as big and swaying and flopping around for all they were worth.

"Jesus!" my new-found friend spat, "you almost get a mouthful the minute you step in the door."

We struggled our way up to the bar and ordered drinks, then turned back toward the stage and watched the action as we sipped them. The girls obviously weren't dancers, but nobody gave a damn; the dance they were trying to do was plenty in itself. Tits flopped around, cunts were pushed forward with pussy-hair showing from under g-string panties. One girl was giving a fuck-motion that brought cat-calls from the audience, loud offers of six, eight and ten inches. The music made up in noise for what it lacked in quality, a combo that sounded as if they had never rehearsed together. But I didn't give a damn; this was escape, and escape was what I wanted. I picked out the cutest face, a set of titties I liked, and concentrated on it.

"Go, baby, go!" I cried out soundlessly, watching her almost uncoordinated gyrations and trying to imagine what it would be like to be in bed with her. I elbowed my buddy and whispered, "If you like cork-screw fuckin', take a look at that little blonde, second from the end!"

"Um-um!" he responded, smacking his lips, "I could show that little number the right kind of movements! But look at that redhead. You wouldn't have to teach her a thing! Jesus, I've got a hard-on just watching her hump!"

A moment or two later he elbowed me and nodded toward a nearby table. I glanced over and there was no mistaking it; he was trying to hide it, but a guy had his whang out and was beating himself off as, mouth agape and eyes glazed, he watched the girl who was using the fuck-movement. As I watched he started gasping and squirming; the cum spewed out of his cock, ran down over his hand. I laughed, but at the same time it wasn't really funny. A guy had to be pretty hard up to get his kicks like that!

The show ended despite cries of "More! More!" Stage lights went down, the lights in the bar rose a little. We looked around; unless the girls came out between shows this was going to be a bummer. Nothing but men and a couple here and there. The girls didn't come out.

We drove up and down several blocks just in case there was anyone walking the streets.

"I used to have pretty good luck this way when I was a kid," Peter said (we had introduced ourselves by that time; his name was Peter Levering, age twenty-five, an insurance salesman). "In my late teens, that is. Found a lot of pussy just walkin' along waiting to be plucked. Or fucked," he laughed.

We didn't have the same kind of luck; the streets were deserted except for an occasional couple or a man. We headed for another bar. It was another bummer, but we ordered a drink, anyway; while we sipped it Peter asked, "Care to tell me what happened back there?"

I was feeling the drinks a little, but not that much. "I'd rather not even think about it!"

"Fair enough," he answered, shrugging his shoulders.

But I did think about it for a few moments, wondering what Cindy and Marge were doing. They were probably back at the apartment by this time, maybe comparing notes...

Peter interrupted my thoughts. "I don't know how you feel about it, but if we don't get at least a nibble pretty soon, well, there are a couple of gay bars..."

'Thanks, but no thanks," I answered. "I don't mind a blow-job now and then, but tonight I want cunt!"

"Well, we aren't going to get it sitting here!" We drained our glasses and left. Went to another bar and zeroed out. Went to still another, and there was one girl sitting all by herself. A blonde-haired number with an almost cherubic face, bulbous tits straining against a tight, low-cut dress. Her nicely rounded little ass seemed to barely touch the bar-stool.

"Um-um," Peter elbowed me, "I can almost smell that pussy from here! How's that for a starter?"

She wasn't only a starter, she was a finisher. We took her along to a couple of other bars, but it obviously wasn't a night for women to be soloing. That being the case (and by this time, both in the car and in the bars, she had gotten both hands full of cock and seemed to like what she felt), we headed for Peter's apartment. The door had hardly closed before we were undressing, and while she got her eyes full of two strong young bodies, two lusty hard-ons, we feasted our eyes on her voluptuous, big-titted body. I was drunk enough by now that it didn't bother me to be in on a threesome; I didn't even think about it. I just looked at those titties and wanted to suck them, at the slightly gaping pussy that showed pink-lipped through the blonde hair and wanted to plug it!

We tumbled onto the bed, the blonde between us, and went at it. Arms and legs all mixed up, hands brushing, Peter and I groped her from stem to stern, mouthing almost every part of her body. We took turns with our faces in pussy-land, at her tits, on her mouth, loving her up as she wildly grasped a cock in each hand and did a combination feel-and-stroke. It got so wild that Peter and I both left sticky strands of cum across just about every part of her body. We were groping and fooling around like teen-agers getting their first chance to feel and play with a luscious female body! All else was forgotten.

Who made the move, who made the decision, I don't know, but all of a sudden Peter was straddling the blonde's tits and she was sucking away on his cock. I could see his ass and low-hanging balls as I maneuvered into place, straddling her hips. I grasped my whang and ran it up and down her cooze, and while it felt good (as any cock-tickling does!) it didn't feel as good as it did with a tighter cunt. I finally gave up on it and merely drove my way in, not using any finesse, any technique. I just buried it to the balls with one long thrust, then started fucking my heart out as I held onto Peter's hips for support. It felt good; it was a helluva lot better than jacking off!

We went at it for several minutes, then Peter seemed to suddenly fall away. He went over onto his back, pulling the blonde with him (she obviously didn't lose a stroke with her well-trained mouth). It twisted her body to a strange angle, so I pulled my cock out, grabbed her buttocks and rolled her the rest of the way over. Now she was on her belly, still sucking on his prick; I took hold of her hips, pulled her up onto her knees and slid my whang between her legs. It ran along the moist, hot lips, slidback, then went in. I started giving her lusty thrusts, and this time we kept at it until the three of us were gasping and panting and thrashing around. The cum flowed like wine! You could almost smell it, even over the sweaty odor of our now-exhausted bodies.

After we had recuperated a little we stumbled back into the living room and Peter poured drinks.

The blonde sat between us on the divan, playing with first one and then another limp cock (marveling at their size, even while limp), and we did whatever playing around we wanted to do. Her tits were red from being groped and sucked on so much, the insides of her legs looked almost sunburned, her pussy seemed to have been stretched even wider than it was (and was stretched even more at one point when Peter went finger by finger to see if he could eventually get his whole fist in it). He kept refilling the glasses ... and the last thing I remember is falling back, then feeling someone suck on my limp cock as I seemed to be drifting off into darkness.

I woke up to two distinct feelings. First, my head felt like I'd been hit by a steam-roller. Second, I had a hard-on (which wasn't unusual), and it was pressed up against something firm and warm (not unusual, either, but still not the usual feeling). I blinked my eyes and realized it was morning; I stumbled back to what had happened and realized where I was. It was Peter's ass I was pressed against. I groaningly raised my head, but the blonde was gone. For all I knew at that moment she might even have been a figment of my imagination! The way his ass had just felt, I could have used it and dreamed it was a broad! We ivere in the same bed and I couldn't divorce fact from fiction from the night that had just passed.

I was surprised that I could even remember that his name was Peter, but I did. Peter Mr. Big-cock, but what the hell did I care what kind of a cock he had. I groaned again. I said to myself, "Peter's a real buddy, and the blonde sucked his cock while you screwed her." It didn't even make a helluva lot of sense. My head just felt like a steam-roller had run over it!

Hell, I mumbled, all I've got now is a piss hard-on, nothing to write home about. Anyone can get a hard-on when they have to piss. Even a nel-lie faggot.

Fuck!

I got up and stumbled to the bathroom, relieved myself and then found and took some aspirin. I brushed my teeth, using a finger for a toothbrush, and then took a shower. When I got out Peter was standing in front of the pullman brushing his teeth; he nodded toward a couple of glasses sitting nearby. They were bloody marys; the cool juice sliding down my throat and landing in my belly helped to steady the rocking boat!

"I don't know if you fucked yourself blind the way you wanted or just passed out!" Peter half-laughed once he'd gotten the brush out of his mouth. "Or was it a combination of both?"

"Armph!" was the best answer I could manage, but it was some consolation to know that I hadn't dreamed up the blonde. She had been real and I had fucked her.

"Waste of damn talent on your part, though, old buddy," he went on cheerfully, combing his hair. "I bet you don't even remember the blow-job she gave you while I poured it into her on the living-room floor!"

We headed for the kitchen and coffee. Sitting across from me at the little table, he suddenly went serious and asked, "Well, did it help any?"

I nodded my head, fingering the cup. "Not a damned bit," I answered, because it hadn't. Cindy and Marge were in the apartment part way across town, the whole situation still waiting to be faced. I had postponed it, perhaps, but not settled it. I had escaped it for the night, but it wasn't the kind of thing you could keep running away from.

"If there's anything I can do..." Peter offered.

I looked up at him, at his handsome face and strong chest. It wasn't hard to remember the rest, the slim hips, strong legs, and the ample equipment hanging between his legs. For a moment I remembered the action of the night before and could imagine the four of us-Cindy and Marge, Peter and me,-on a bed going at it. Maybe four people as well-endowed as we were, four people who so thoroughly enjoyed sexual activity, could forget about emotions and have a ball for the sheer pleasure of it. But then I immediately remembered Marge correcting me when I had mentioned her taste for cock. "Your cock, Davie," she had said after eight years of well-hung Rod MacIvers. I shook my head; no, it wouldn't work. Neither Cindy nor Marge merely wanted cock, especially now. Nor was I merely dealing with pussy; I was being tossed betwixt particular pussies and the personalities that went with them. I was dealing with love-fucking! With love as expressed through fucking.

"Thanks," I finally answered him, "but I'm afraid there isn't anything you or anything you or anyone else could do." And then, because he was a nice guy and we had shared, I slowly told him the whole story. He got up a couple of times to refill our cups but otherwise didn't interrupt me. When I was through, with the understanding that I had obviously expected he said, "Jesus, that's a helluva bind to be in! Especially ... well, especially with both of them being as great as they seem to be." He shook his head worriedly.

A moment later he said, "Couldn't you somehow get your sister alone? You could give her the screwing she wants and maybe find out your own feelings for sure at the same .time."

"Cindy would know," I answered, because I knew that to be true. She would sense it, especially being tuned in as she was to the entire situation.

He shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe she ought to know. I mean, it seems to me that you have to know one way or another, so maybe Cindy ought to know and be given the chance to gamble. Hell, it looks to me like she'll either only half have you if you don't find out for sure how you feel ... or either have you all to herself or lose you."

It made sense, of course-I guess it was what I had actually been trying to tell myself. But saying it and putting it into action were two different things. I could imagine Cindy's reaction if I said to her, "Honey, I've just got to fuck Marge to find out how I really feel. When we get through I'll either come back to you or..."

I groaned a little. Jesus, how much better off we all would have been if Marge had not decided to come back into my life!

Peter said, "Look, if you want to be broad-minded about it ... Well, I couldn't help but notice, we're both pretty well hung. Maybe if Cindy and I ... "

"No," I shook my head. "I thought about that, but it wouldn't work. Cindy wouldn't go for it, not all wound up like she is."

He got up to refill our cups again, and I couldn't help but notice that-intense as it had been-our conversation had not failed to have an effect on him. He was sporting half a hard-on. I found myself staring at it and it was like looking into a mirror; it was like looking at my own, and the question was whether it would wilt again or grow to full hardness. "Christ," J mumbled, "I ought to get some saltpeter. Maybe if I couldn't get a hard-on the whole problem would be settled!"

He laughed and started to answer, but the telephone rang in the other room, cutting him off. He went to answer it and I could hear a mumbling, then he yelled out, "Davie, it's the little blonde bomb-shell from last night. She and a friend would like to come over, whatd'ya say?"

The two forces pulled against each other. I knew that I should go on home, see what had happened and go on from there. At the same time, the idea of escaping again through a wild sex-capade had definite appeal. Especially knowing the blonde! She was a hot, eager-to-fuck little number, willing to play all kinds of games; certainly any friend of hers, if she were to bring her along, would be of the same mind. I was still arguing with myself when he came back, rubbing his meat and smiling. "I made up your mind for you, old buddy! They're on the way over."

He mixed bloody marys. Leaving the coffee cups behind, we carried our drinks into the living room. He was at least three-quarters hard now, and playfully working his prick he laughed and said, "That's a real compliment, y'know. When a chick wants a repeat for breakfast, you know you gave her a good screwing!"

I snorted and watched as if fascinated as my prick began to stretch out and swell. You'd have thought it was the first time I had ever seen it happen! Peter watched it, too, a smile on his face and a twinkling in his eyes.

"We ought to measure," he said, his own fully hard now. "Looks like a tie, but we ought to measure to be sure!"

Acting like a couple of teen-agers, we stood up, each shoving our cock down and straight out. Getting them side by side, the pliant heads touching each other, we agreed that it was, in fact, a tie. 'That's eighteen inches of hard cock, old buddy!" he laughed. "And, I guess you'd say, proof that birds of a feather flock together! Even our balls seem to match."

He put his hand around both our cocks and stroked a little. Coming from him, there was nothing queer about it; it simply felt good, a bit of playing around!

We were sprawled out again, Peter in a chair and me on the divan, when the doorbell rang. He hollered out that the door was unlocked and the blonde stepped in first, as luscious as she had looked the night before. Maybe even a little more so, because her light coat fell open and under it she was wearing a skimpy play-suit type of thing that consisted of a mere strip around her waist (barely covering her pussy) and another covering very little of her big-nippled tits. Her eyes widened as she saw us sitting there with hard-ons; eagerness sparkled in them. The second girl, a brunette, followed her in and stopped, gulping. She was alright, too; not the most beautiful woman in the world, tits not as big as the blonde's but still alright.

"Wow!" she gasped.

"Didn't I tell you?" the blonde demanded, throwing her purse aside and shrugging out of her coat. "Heavens to betsy, you both have such lovely dongs I just don't know what to do!"

"I can tell you what to do, honey," Peter answered, rubbing his cock. "Get those rags off and come to daddy!"

"Oh, but Davie's got such a nice one, too!" she half-joked.

"Fear naught, my little chick, you'll have them both! We'll take turns, switch partners."

And that was exactly what we did. The blonde let the "rags" fall off, completely exposing her curvaceous body, and undulated across the room to sit on Peter's lap, her arms around him and his cock stuck up between her legs. The brunette stripped and she was even better than I had hoped for. Her tits, as I said, weren't too big, but they were nice; they were like a bowl cut in half and glued to her chest, a pretty little ornament attached to each. She had curves and mounds in the right place, and it was obvious that under the dark-haired muff there was a nice pussy-nicer, even, than the blonde's; tighter. I opened my arms for her and felt her warmth as she slid onto my lap, pressing a tit against my chest and reaching down to pull my cock up between her legs as the blonde had done with Peter. "Ummm," she murmured, smiling, "that is a nice cock!"

We did a little necking and one helluva lot of groping, then Peter took the blonde and headed for the bedroom. I got the brunette stretched out on her back on the divan and straddled her. Mouthing her tits, I reached down and ran my cock up and down through her pussy-hair, pressing the head deeper and deeper into her valley. Finally she couldn't take it any more; she spread her legs, getting them out from around me, and lifted her hips, telling me without words that she wanted to be fucked. Far be it from me to disappoint her! I positioned it, then I started giving it to her. It was tight and nice; she groaned a little at first, then showed her pleasure as I donated inch after inch. Moving my mouth up to hers, sending my tongue into her mouth, we went at it hot and heavy. She was really enthusiastic about it, throwing herself up to swallow my cock every time T plunged it down to her, withdrawing until just the head was caught between the tight, moist lips, rising up to take it again. My balls smashed between her legs with each stroke, slapping against her buttocks. Finally we were going at full speed, then I sent it home and left it, my body quivering as my load spurted out.

"So, mother!" she gasped. "Oh, fuck! Oh, sweet-mother-fuck!" We could hear similar sounds from the bedroom.

We rested up, the four of us having drinks as we talked-the kind of talk that was appropriate. Sex talk. When the time was right we switched partners; the blonde joined me on the divan and the brunette went into the bedroom with Peter. This time it was different, but it was still good; she was so loose that my cock felt almost as if it were working in a vacuum, but on each withdrawal she'd tighten her pussy muscles around it and almost drive me out of my mind. Her tits being what they were, I concentrated on them, bending my neck, as I methodically poured the meat to her. We worked ourselves up to a climax and it was good, good!

Another recuperation period with drinks and talk, this time giving consideration to what Act III would be like. Both girls admitted a desire to swing on us, and neither Peter nor I were adverse to a little pussy-munching. But the blonde, being a swinger, decided that it would be much more fun if we did it together. "Group therapy," she laughingly called it. So, finally, we stretched out on the floor in a sort of circle; Peter had his face buried in the blonde's snatch, she took my cock into her mouth. The brunette positioned herself so that she could take Peter's cock, and I went after her snatch. We all had ourselves a fine meal, the climax being the milky liqueur that shot and poured out as we each made our own special kind of noises. Exhausted, the taste of cum still in our mouths, all four of us rolled over onto our backs, breathing heavily for long minutes. The blonde expressed it well. "Man, that was one helluva good bit!"

Peter laughed. "Jesus, I won't be able to get a hard-on for a week after this!"

"Hah!" the blonde answered, reaching out for his limp cock. "Honey, I'll get that for you just as soon as I regain my own strength!"

And, licking his nipples, his stomach, working on cock and balls as her tits flopped against him, she did. The brunette, seeing her success, obviously didn't want to be outdone. She rolled over and started in on me, licking my nipples and chest, licking down over my stomach. She mouthed my cock, sucked my balls, rubbed her tits all over my belly and legs, then swung around so that her pussy was in my face. As I sent my tongue into her I felt her diligence paying off; inch by inch my pecker slowly stretched out. We were finally going at it with full intensity, and eventually I felt her juices seeping down over my tongue as I spurted out at least a medium-sized load into her eager mouth. We gave and received.

But that was it! Time had passed and the afternoon was fading; Peter and I both confessed that as much as we liked it, we had to call it quits.

"Honest to God," he said. "You've got one hell of an educated mouth, one nice pussy, but I couldn't get another hard-on if my life depended on it!"

The brunette giggled. "I'll have to admit that I feel a little all-fucked-out, too, but I loved every minute of it!"

They finally dressed and left, leaving Peter and me sprawled in the living room. I looked across at him and smiled, shook my head, then closed my eyes. It had been a joyful afternoon, an afternoon of fun and games, but there was still one thing that I couldn't forget. I would have to, eventually, go back to the apartment and face whatever was there.