Chapter 4
Janet complained all through dinner that night about the food, and Marci's flirting with the waiter, a middle-aged Hungarian with only one eye who looked a bit like Bela Lugosi—in fact a lot like Bela Lugosi-irritated her even more than usual.
"Don't you ever stop?" she hissed, in between the vichyssoise and the filet mignon. "First pimples, now glass eyes. What's next?"
"If only I knew," Marci giggled. And if only she did.
After bolting down her peach melba and a cup of espresso, Janet insisted that they head for the bar, the one with the fireplace that she'd been dying to get to all day long. Marci followed obediently.
Following the signs to the far end of the main building of the ski resort, the pair received a definite shock on entering the Leather Lounge. Indeed there was a blazing fireplace at one end of the room, but the rest of the decor was nothing like anything the women had ever seen in any swinging singles bar or resort they'd ever been to—even in New York City.
The room was dark and smoky, and instead of friendly cocktail candles the atmospheric lighting was set by crude kerosene lamps. The wood furniture was rough and unfinished, and there were objects everywhere that looked like they belonged in a barn or stable, but not a nice laid-back ski resort cocktail lounge. What were wagon wheels, saddles and bridles, harnesses and stirrups doing here in a pick-up bar?
"Gee, this is kind of creepy," Marci shivered.
Janet was just on the verge of agreeing when she noticed the hunk of man behind the bar, shaking up a batch of margaritas for a tipsy old couple that they'd noticed in the restaurant earlier.
"Mama mia, would you get a load of that!" she exclaimed through her teeth. "Creepy or not, sweetie, we are staying!"
As they made their way across the floor, James turned to face his new customers. Janet's red hair caught the light from one of the kerosene lamps as she moved across the floor, and James burst in a wide, condescending smile.
"Hi, baby," he said to Janet, ignoring Marci completely. "I've been waiting all evening for you. What kept you so long?"
Janet's insides turned to jelly at the sound of the man's strong, harsh voice. For a split second the image of that first giant Hispanic cock which had burst her cherry and left her limp and broken flicked her memory, but she shrugged it off, confused.
"Fuck off, smart ass," she hissed at the bartender. "Your pickings may be pretty slim tonight, but don't think you can take it out on us. We're good Christian girls, just down from a little rest and relaxation."
"Stewardesses?" James pretended to ask. "I'll bet you two are stewardesses. The old coffee-tea-or-me game. Well, honey, I don't dig caffeine myself. At least not after sundown."
Janet felt a strong stirring in her groins. This rude bastard was making her hot, very hot. She hated him for his cockiness, his egotistical come-on, but no one had turned her on even half as much lately, certainly not since Rodney.
"Tell me, sugar," James said, leaning across the bar and cupping one of Janet's firm young tits in his big palm. "What's it like to come at 30,000 feet in the air. Does it make you come quicker or slower? Can you get over the hump more or less often in the same amount of time?"
Janet's mouth flew open in absolute amazement. James hand squeezed her breast roughly, painfully.
"You son-of-a-bitch!" she screamed, slapping him hard across his hard, tanned jaw, sending him into gales of laughter. He let loose of her tit slowly, giving the nipple of quick flick with his thumb.
"Nice tits, honey," he laughed. "Very nice tits. I'd like to see more of them. Want to go down to the storage room now or wait until I'm off at one?"
From behind Marci came a loud volley of cackling and hawing. "Oh, James, you're such a card," said a tall skinny woman with far too much turquoise eye-shadow. "It's a wonder you don't scare every single customer away from this resort. I swear to god, if Abie and me had any sense at all, we'd fire your ass and get some sort of normal bartender. But that wouldn't be half as much fun. Not even a quarter as much fun. Holy apeshit, you're such a card."
Huffing and puffing, the woman's husband, clearly a full twenty or thirty years older than her, hobbled up to Marci and Janet. "My apologies, Miss," he wheezed, barely able to keep from breaking into a guffaw. "Our boy here gets a bit rough with the customers sometimes. Only some of the customers, of course. Only the very-uh-loveliest and most-uh-unique. My dear, you should be flattered, absolutely flattered. I haven't seen him twist a tit like that in over two years." Unable to contain himself any longer, the old man burst into uncontrollable laughter, so violent in fact that his wife became concerned and rushed to his side.
"Now, Abie, don't forget your heart. Got a bad ticker, he does, this silly old lecher. Doc Applegate says he could go any day now, and leave me a rich, rich widow. Besides, Miss," she leered down at Janet, trying so hard to smile that Marci felt sure her whole pancaked face was about to crack wide open, "what Abie says ain't true at all. Why, Big John tweaked my tittie just like that only last week. Twice."
It was James turn to laugh again. "Here, Abie," he smiled handing the old man a shot of scotch across the counter. "Take your medicine like a good miser."
"Miser," the old man chortled, "who in holy hell do you think you're calling miser? When your old lady owns half this mountain and three quarters of the next one! Miser indeed."
Marci giggled. "Goodness gracious," she cooed. "Do you people always have this much fun?"
Janet sat down weakly on one of the black leather stools. Was all this really happening or was it some sort of weird dream?
As the bar filled up with people, the ambience began to seem a little less weird. But Janet still didn't feel comfortable, particularly each time the blond man with the closely trimmed beard looked her up and down. Never before had she met anyone with such penetrating eyes. It was if, just by looking at her he was penetrating her with his body as well. Ramming it up her, into her, through her, harder and harder and harder ...
"Another drink, hot stuff?" James said, penetrating her reverie once again. "You still haven't told me what it's like to fuck in the air."
"Why don't you buy a ticket and find out?" Janet creamed, fleeing from the bar in tears All the way to the elevators, she could hear James's laughter echoing behind her.
When Marci wasn't back by four o'clock in the morning, Janet began to worry. At five she was ready to call the police, but decided to take a look around the premises instead. Marci certainly hadn't been talking to anyone in the bar before Janet left, and Janet had never known her to trick out overnight without at least calling to explain that she wouldn't be home.
She dressed quickly pulling on a pair of loose-fitting jeans and an old Indiana University sweatshirt. Barely stopping to bother with her hair, she let herself out into the dimly lit hallway and headed for the elevators.
The elevator car moved eerily down to the main lobby. An old woman with a pinc-nez was nodding at the main desk, and no one else was visible in the lobby area at all. Janet stopped for a second to peer behind the gate at the concession stand, thinking maybe Marci and the pimply faced boy were going at it behind the counter. No such luck.
The Leather Lounge was locked up tight as well, and Janet could see through the window that each and every kerosene lamp had been snuffed out. She tried both entrance doors and found them quite securely bolted.
Walking back the other way through the lobby, Janet found everything as dead as before. The old woman behind the desk was now out cold, a glass of gin half-finished beside her.
Past the desk, she took the hall that led down to the restaurant where she and Marci had had such a horrid dinner. Maybe Marci had gotten food poisoning, Janet suddenly though, clutching at straws. Maybe she passed out in the bar and was rushed to the hospital,-and—
A heavy footstep from behind her and to the left made Janet jump a mile.
"Who's there?" she whispered weakly, just as the security guard's flashlight flicked on, striking her full in the face.
"Security, ma'am," a kindly voice said.
Janet breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank goodness. I mean you frightened me. I mean, have you seen my friend? Marci? She's disappeared."
"Hey, lady," the man said, stepping closer. "Just take it easy, huh?" As he walked up to her, Janet could see that he was about thirty, well-built, sandy-haired. Very secure looking.
"Marci," she said. "Marci Parker. The friend I came here with. Just this afternoon. She hasn't come in. Or called. Or anything."
"I see," the guard said slowly, sounding very willing to help."And where was she last?"
"In that-that-that awful bar down there!" Janet said, pointing to the other end of the resort lobby.
"Oh, indeed," the guard said smiling. "Was she there alone?"
"Yes," said Janet. "Why do you ask?"
"Well, Miss," the guard said kindly. "Begging your pardon, of course, and hers, but if this Miss Marci Malone was an attractive young lady in that bar alone at closing time, I've got a pretty damn good idea of where she might be. I wouldn't worry if I were you. She's like those little lost sheep in the nursery rhyme. Leave her alone, and she'll come home, wagging her tail behind her. Along about tomorrow afternoon, I would suppose."
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm just saying five'll get you ten Marci went to the other side of the mountain."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"Just that the bartender probably got her. Not the boogey-man, or some crazy rapist. Just old Big John the bartender."
"What?" Janet hissed out angrily. "But he didn't even look at her when I was there!"
"Yeah, lady," the security guard smiled. "But evidently you left."
"Thanks again," Janet smiled to the guard after he had seen her to her door. "I really am grateful to you. Do you know I don't even know your name?"
The man smiled strongly. "Jake," he said softly.
"Well, thank you, Jake." Janet paused a split-second. "Would you like to come in for a night-cap?"
The man paused and smiled again. "Shouldn't do it, Miss. Not while I'm on duty and all."
"But what could happen at this hour?" Janet asked, with just the right hint of breathiness.
Jake didn't budge from the door. "Not much I guess. Never does, either. In fact, this is usually about the time I lie down in the lobby and get forty winks."
Another pregnant pause. "Why don't you get forty winks up here then," Janet said, her voice trembling.
Jake looked at her again, wondering what she would look like under those baggy jeans and that sweatshirt. Sensing what was going through his mind, Janet pressed herself to him, her nipples going hot and erect on contact with his tall, lanky frame.
"Holy shit, lady," Jake replied, his breath now coming fast, "you drive a hard bargain."
"Let's just see if you can drive a hard something, too," Janet said, dragging him into the room and back toward the over-sized bed.
"Oh, sugar, take it easy, hold on now," Jake said, but it was too late. Janet's hands were all over him, stripping his uniform from his body, reaching for his cock and balls, stroking his neck, shoving her tongue deep into his throat. "Hold on, sugar, please," he begged, working her sweatshirt up above her head and fumbling at zipper of her jeans.
Fully naked now, Janet threw herself back upon the bed. "Now," she squealed, "now, Jake, now. Take me, fuck me. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!"
Janet closed her eyes tight, waiting for Jake to ravish her, to enter her, to ram his big throbbing cock deep inside her. When nothing happened, she opened one eye. Jake was standing sheepishly at the end of the bed, a stream of fresh come dribbling from the end of his semi-erect dick. "I'm sorry, sugar," he said, blushing slightly. "I told you to take it easy, baby. I begged you to."
Janet groaned and turned her face to the wall. Christ, she mumbled to herself. This is just not my week.
Janet was still sleeping soundly when Marci came in at eleven o'clock the next morning. Marci tiptoed across the room, slipped out of her clothes, and crawled under the covers before Janet said anything.
"Well?" the red-head's voice boomed out from the other double bed.
"Oh, hi, Janet," Marci said innocently. "How you doin' this morning?"
"How am I doing this morning? What's that supposed to mean, you little slut? You spend the whole fucking night out without even calling me to tell me where you were, and you ask me how I am? How do you get your fucking nerve?"
"Oh, my goodness," Marci sat bolt upright in the bed. "Didn't you get the message I left with that nice little old lady at the front desk?"
"No," muttered Janet sleepily, convinced by this time that she didn't really want to know anyway, even if Marci had been willing to tell her, which she obviously wasn't. After a few seconds, though, Janet had to ask.
"Marci?"
No answer.
"Listen, tell me just one thing. How big is it?"
Whether Marci was really asleep or just pretending, the size of James's cock was going to remain a mystery to Janet for a little while longer.
A very little while.
Janet awoke an hour and a half later, flushed and feverish from the absurd nightmare she had just been through. It was all about Rodney, but this time they weren't alone in the dark—they were in a large, public place (Janet could swear it was a church) and Rodney was joined by six other men, all wearing masks and wielding the same kind of black leather whip which she had felt, but had never seen, in their trysts in the darkened bedroom.
In the dream, the men had stood around her in a semi-circle, closing in on her so that she was pushed up against something hard and metallic. The masks covered only half of their faces, and Janet could tell that they were all young and extremely good-looking—at least it certainly seemed that way just judging from the lower halves of their faces. Two of them were bearded, one blond, one brunette, and two more had tightly-cropped mustaches. Bodywise, they were all the very stuff that dreams—and wet-dreams at that—were made of: perfectly proportioned, with large biceps, tapering torsos, tight midriffs, and crotches that just would not stop.
All seven men (including Rodney, whose build was leaner, meaner somehow than those of the other six) were identically dressed: half-mask, no shirt, leather pants tucked into heavy motorcycle boots. And all seven grasped identical whips snaking out from hard leather handles to thin, threadlike tips that looked as if they could bite right through a girl's leg (or any other part of her anatomy) severing it cleanly with one blow.
What amazed Janet (and made her awake, at last, flushed and feverish) was that she found all this an incredible turn-on. Nothing happened in the dream—the men just kept drawing closer and closer to her, never touching her, never speaking a work to her—but the mere presence of the studs' threatening presence sent chills and thrills through her cunt like nothing she had known since her last time with Rodney. She awoke, she was now sure, on the verge of begging them to attack her, but even now she couldn't admit to herself what she imagined that attack might taste like.
Marci was still sound asleep. Janet tried to shake her, but she only shifted in the double bed and moaned slightly.
Janet lit a cigarette and walked to the window overlooking the ski-slope. Only a handful of guests appeared to be out today, and Janet wondered once more if the whole place wasn't actually deserted, even on what she would assume would have been a busy holiday week-end. But maybe she'd go out and try her luck anyway, she thought, after a bit of breakfast.
The doorbell sounded just as Janet stepped out of the shower. Draping a towel seductively over her wet, tight body, she approached the door, hoping it was the same bellboy she had almost sucked off the day before. No such luck. Through the peephole she spied a fiftyish spinster, huffing and puffing with her tray of eggs benedict. Janet tipped her quickly and hurried her out of the room.
The eggs were cold, the ham tough, and the green pepper not exactly garden fresh. She finished about half of them, then proceeded to don a ski outfit that clung tellingly to her curves. Surveying herself in the full-length mirror on the bathroom door, she decided she approved of what she saw.
"Irresistible, baby, absolutely irresistible," she said aloud.
Marci stirred and moaned softly once more. Janet approached her bed and noticed her friend had kicked the covers back off her plump but nonetheless very sexy little body. Janet was shocked to see Marci's buttocks covered with red welts, as if she'd been spanked.
"Well, I'll be damned!" she exclaimed. "I wondered if you were kinky, sweetheart, and now I know. It's always the quiet ones you have to watch out for." She felt a little guilty about her last remark, for Marci wasn't exactly quiet-she just wouldn't describe her escapades to Janet in detail, even though Janet was perfectly willing to reveal all her most private secrets in return. She'd always worried about that a bit, too. Maybe Marci's secrets were better than hers. Not a pleasant prospect, that.
Janet stood over Marci's bed staring down at the welts for several long minutes. She realized that the sight of the reddened buns was turning her on-slowly but surely, but then more and more. She fumbled at the zipper of her tight ski outfit and slipped her hand inside her moist panties. Closing her eyes tightly, she began to buck back and forth as she stood there by Marci's bed. As she toyed with her clitoris and slipped another two fingers deeper and deeper inside her moist, incredibly hot cunt, the hotel room disappeared and she saw herself again in the church Of her recent dream-, being pushed back against the hard metal piece of furniture behind her as the superstuds in black leather came closer and closer. Suddenly, all in unison their hands went to their crotches and they began rubbing their huge cocks and balls slowly, sensually, through the leather pants in a steady counter-clockwise direction. Janet could see the huge penises growing inside their confining leather, and she squealed aloud as she saw the men all reach at once and jerk their zippers down brutally.
"Oh, yes, oh yes, yes, yes, yes!" she screamed out pantingly.
All seven cocks stood out magnificently in the leather jock-straps after the dream-phantoms dropped their black leather trousers to their knees. As Janet moved her eyes from one to another of the men, each cock seemed to grow in size, until they were all so gigantic that the leather jock-straps could no longer contain them. One by one, the straps all snapped and fell from the men's crotches onto the floor.
"Holy Christ!" Janet cried out, falling to her knees trembling, still fumbling frantically with her own cunt trying to make herself come.
Then the seven men all took their enormous tools in their hands and began to pump them. They pumped harder and harder and again began to close in on Janet.
"Oh, no. No, no, no!" she screamed, meaning yes, yes, yes, with all her heart.
The men were now only about a foot or two away. She could hear their breathing, their panting. Frantically she tugged at her own clitoris, but it was no good. She wasn't working fast enough. The seven men all climaxed simultaneously, pouring load after load of come all over her body, staining, spotting, ruining her ski outfit forever.
Janet lay exhausted in a pool of sweat and tears. After all that she hadn't been able to come, not even once.
Marci turned over again, emitting a low groan that was somewhere between pain and delight.
Having changed her outfit, Janet headed for the elevator. Walking quickly past the fag on duty at the front desk, she approached the ski shop. A young high school kid, obviously high on grass and more than a little unfriendly, rented her a set of skis and pointed her the direction to the slope.
There seemed to be only half a dozen people out, just as Janet had noticed earlier. Two of them were couples of one sort or another, in what seemed to be their mid-thirties. The other two were young women, out to the lodge, it appeared to Janet, like Marci and herself, which is to say not primarily to ski.
There were no available men on the slopes, in other words, even counting the two that were coupled. Janet would have to be a lot hornier than she actually was to even think of trying to go after them.
Not a bad skier herself, Janet took the lift up to the top of the hardest intermediate slope, hoping that sooner or later a man would arrive.
It was almost an hour later when that happened. Jeff Parker was no Greek god—a bit paunchy and balding, in fact—but he did have a sexy attractiveness about him that Janet rather liked in a way. Never having had a father or father-figure that she could remember (her own dad having died, like her mom, in an auto accident when she was two years old), Janet had always been a bit turned on by older men and men who gave off a certain aura of authority.
Jeff was down for the week-end, he said, from Nashville, where he was a record producer. "Not big-time," he smiled engagingly. "Just a little fart of a company. But I have a good time."
Janet liked a good time herself, and she started hoping that this producer could deliver—since no one else in this godforsaken out-of-the-way joint seemed able to.
After they'd skied down the slopes together about four times, Janet felt Jeff's hand on her thigh as they rode the cable car back up to the top again.
"Hope you don't mind," he smiled.
In reply, Janet snuggled closer to him so that his hand slipped easily down between her thighs.
"Lordy Moses!" Jeff exclaimed. "I'm not sure I can make it down the slope with a boner like this!"
When they stood up and started walking to approach the ramp, Janet could see exactly what Jeff meant. His cock stood out his pants like the proverbial beanpole, and the looseness of his woolen trousers only made it that much more apparent.
Janet looked around quickly and, noticing a large tree at the top of the slope, tugged Jeff's hand, urging him toward the hiding place. "Maybe if I give you a little preview before we glide down, you'll feel better." the horny young woman giggled.
Jeff, by this time, was almost beyond being ready to speak, so he readily complied.
First Janet unzipped her ski suit, so that her tightly sweater tits fell out enticingly. Jeff's hands rushed for the warm, fleshing boobs and had the sweater up around Janet's neck in next to no time. As usual, she had not worn a bra, and Jeff fumbled to remove his gloves so that his rough, manly hands could caress and stroke the firming nipples.
"You like those tits, baby?" Janet whispered. "You like rubbing those hot young titties?"
"Oh, yes, yes, yes, yes," Jeff squirmed in delight. "Oh, yes. Christ, they're terrific tits! They're the best tits I've ever touched."
"Rub them hard then, big boy," she cooed roughly. "Harder, damnit. Rub those tits like you really care!"
A glow dawned in Jeff's eyes. Aha, he thought to himself. Another one! One of his singers-a country rocker who was only fifteen and a half years old-was just like this. Kinky. She loved the rough stuff. The rougher the better.
"Oh," Jeff laughed aloud. "You mean, like this?" His right hand reached down and twisted Janet's left nipple roughly, so that she squealed in pain.
"Oh, yeah, big boy," she begged. "Harder, harder!" His tugging at her tits made Janet hotter and hotter. Once more, she was amazed at how turned on she was getting by this rough play-acting. She had never talked like this before, never really done anything quite like this, even with Rodney. But it felt so good, so natural. As if she had been doing it all her life. "I said, harder, harder," she squealed again, getting more and more excited.
Jeff brought his right hand down hard across her face. "Take that and that and that, you fucking bitch!" he screamed, loud enough to be heard, not only by anyone passing, but down to the bottom of the slope. "Take that, you cunt, you miserable little piece of shit."
Janet's face stung and smarted in the brisk mountain air. No man had ever treated her like this before, and yet she didn't feel foolish or embarrassed. Her cunt began to sting and she started to want him to take her here, right in the snow. She'd even chance frostbite, she laughed to herself.
Almost frantically, she reached for Jeff's cock, which was still standing out stiff and erect in his loose ski pants.
"Oooooooohhhh," he moaned, standing up tall, towering above her. "You want at that, baby? You want a good look? A real good look?"
With that, he tugged at the trousers so that they slipped easily down to reveal his trembling, aching pole of manhood. Janet noted with particular delight that he wasn't circumcised-just like her first two men. Her mouth watered as she rushed it forward to gobble up the long, quivering animal.
"Oh, suck that dick, baby!" bucking hard into her mouth, so hard that Janet began to fear he'd rupture the tissues at the back of her throat. But the cock was salty and delicious, and she began working it with her tongue and the deep membranes of her throat.
"My goodness, Jeffy, what in the world are you doing?"
Janet looked up from where she knelt as the cock slipped hurriedly out of her mouth. Peering around the edge of the tree was a white-haired old woman of about seventy, wearing a powder blue ski-suit.
"Mother," the small-time country record producer said in sheepish embarrassment. "I thought you were in the sauna."
"Oh, I got bored," the little old lady said. "So I thought I'd come looking for you. And obviously just in time, too." She sneered down at Janet, who was struggling to get to her feet and pull her sweater down over her now aching tits, with no help of course from Jeff. "Don't you know," the old woman continued, turning her back on Janet completely, "that you could get frostbitten doing something like that? Or worse?"
Janet had had all she could take for one afternoon. She pushed off and skied swiftly down the slope, burning fast tracks with her hot anger-and an even hotter unsatisfied yearning between her legs.
Marci was waiting when Janet got back to the room.
"Oh, hi," her friend said innocently. "What you been up to this afternoon?"
"Oh, not much," Janet lied. Marci never told her anything about her conquests, so why should she tell about her almost-conquests? "Just a bit of skiing."
"Oh, yeah?" Marci said, stifling a yawn, then trying to cover for it by being super-friendly. "How are the slopes."
"Not bad," Janet shrugged.
"Any men out?"
Janet could only think of Jeff pulling out, right at the last minute, and found herself unable to deal with the question. "No," she said curtly. "Hey, I'm famished. Couldn't we go and get something to eat?"
"Sure," Marci replied warmly. Convincing her to go eat was never a big problem.
The two of them took a cab halfway to town, having heard from the fag desk clerk that there was "such a charming little Italian restaurant" just at the foot of the mountain. Anything would certainly be better than the resort's own restaurant, where they had eaten the night before.
The taxi driver was younger, but equally as taciturn and as ambiguous as the strange guy who had originally driven them up to the ski lodge. When asked where a couple of girls might go to have a good time, he merely yawned. Janet evilly plotted fixing him up with the desk clerk. They deserved each other.
The restaurant itself was at least warm and atmospheric. And one of the waiters—Janet made sure the maitre d' seated them at his table—was one hunk of a man: tall, broad-shouldered, with jet black hair and a cute mustache above the most sensuous pair of lips either woman had seen since arriving at the resort town.
His name turned out to be Vito, and Janet was quick to notice that he wasn't wearing a wedding ring. Hearing his lilting, sexy accent was such a delight that Janet and Marci made him translate practically every item on the menu before ordering veal scaloppini (Janet) and spaghetti and meatballs (Marci). They also followed his suggestion for wine, and ended up drinking two whole bottles.
It was well past ten o'clock when they finished their coffee, and the small but surprisingly busy restaurant was almost deserted. Janet had started flirting shamelessly with Vito after the first half-bottle of wine, and he flirted politely—but no more than politely—back. Finally, unable to contain herself no longer, she boldly asked him back to their room.
Looking around the room cautiously, Vito said, no, he couldn't really do that because he had to be home soon to take care of his sick mother (a lie which Janet spotted easily, even in her advanced state of inebriation). But maybe the ladies would like to stay on for one more drink after he closed the front door?
Janet and Marci looked around and found that the place was now completely deserted. Even the other two waiters and the maitre d' had gone home. With a sexy twinkle in his eye, Vito moved agilely to the door, locked it, and pulled down the shade. He motioned for Janet and Marci to come over to be in front of the large stone fireplace, where a roaring fire still burned. There were two overstuffed sofas in front of the fire, plus a large polar bear rug, and Vito motioned for the women to make themselves comfortable while he fetched a bottle of brandy.
Janet and Marci seated themselves at either end of one of the couches, so that there was plenty of obvious room for Vito in between them. When he came with the brandy and three glasses, he had removed his waiter's jacket, and the two women were more turned on than ever by his brawny chest and darkly flashing Latin eyes.
"Drinks for two lovely ladies," he whispered sexily, handing each of them a drink. He was still standing on the polar bear rug in front of the sofa, but taking her drink Janet pulled him firmly down onto the couch between them. Vito laughed low in his throat.
In the moments that followed, Janet was definitely the aggressor, and Vito let himself be manhandled like an affectionate puppy. Marci sat watching, a warm but somewhat silly smile on her face the whole time.
Janet struggled with the buttons and cuff-links of Vito's shirt, then tugged roughly at his T-shirt. Soon he was naked from the waist up. Janet reached for his cock, finding it firm and hot, even through the heavy black material of the pants he wore. He also obviously was wearing underpants.
Grinning broadly, Vito stood, so that Janet could get to his meat more easily. At last it leapt magnificently into view, and he stood quietly, his large, thick cock bobbing happily in the light from the fire. Reaching out his hands, he motioned for both women to approach him. Janet and Marci did so quickly, totally without embarrassment, even about being seen by each other.
Janet's lips were ready to hungrily envelope the waiter's meat, but Vito held a palm up, motioning instead for both her and Marci to strip themselves. As they did so, he dropped down, first to a squatting position, then lay back, stretching out on the soft fur of the polar bear rug, his head just a foot from the fire itself.
Marci stripped slowly, sexily, and realizing how much the man was grooving on that, Janet followed suit. When they were both completely naked, Marci began to rub her own body, to caress her nipples, to invade her own cunt with her fingers, moaning and wriggling. This seemed to make the man on the rug exceedingly hot, and he began to pull slowly on his massive pole.
After a few minutes of this, he motioned for Marci to come toward him. She approached hesitantly, like a young virgin who didn't know what to do next. He grinned, gesturing her closer and closer. When she hesitated once more and looked down fleetingly at his cock, Vito nodded no, gesticulating for her to come even closer to his head. When she got within inches of his face, Vito told her in sign language to straddle his face and to squat down.
His long tongue leapt out to invade her honey lips without warning. Marci bucked upwards in extreme pleasure, then settled down slowly as Vito began to eat her out in earnest.
With his other hand, Vito urged Janet towards his red, glowing cock. As she knelt to take the tip between her lips, he removed his face from Marci's cunt long enough to nod negatively to Janet. No, sit on it, he gestured.
And she did. The huge cock slid easily into Janet's well-lubricated cunt, but her intense pleasure at the long-awaited contact was greatly diminished by the sound of Marci squealing into her first come.
Marci wriggled and writhed and Vito still lapped hungrily at her cunt. Janet began humping herself up and down on the large, throbbing piece of meat, but nothing she could do could make Vito—or herself—come.
Meanwhile, she heard Marci shoot off into paradise again—twice, three, four, five times. That did it.
She pulled angrily off of Vito's hard cock and collapsed in acute frustration beside him on the rug, fully expecting the hunk of Italian man to then turn over and fuck her properly, ramming it into her like no man had ever done until she, like Marci, began to come like fireworks.
Instead, Vito pulled Marci's dripping cunt down and skewered it on his big dick. Placing his strong hands on her waist, he began to buck the little butterball up and down on his giant piece of meat. Soon Marci was squealing and climaxing all over again, and the last thing Janet noticed was Vito's whole body convulsing in one gigantic climax into the depths of the bouncing ball.