Double Your Fun

Author's note: This willing-wimp tale is probably fictional. Nobody under 30 has sex. Views expressed are not necessarily the author's. Enjoy

***** Double Your Pleasure, Double Your Fun *****

-- Late 1995 --

I'm Randy. That is both my name and my condition. Pretty funny, hey?

My consulting business (details of which do not matter here) lets me control my itineraries. I am based in Portland, Oregon; my clients are strung from Seattle to San Diego and beyond. I like to drive and sight-see so I try to plan my in-person client consultations as stops in long road trips.

My clients are mostly in larger cities which I see as necessary evils. I personally prefer smaller, more individual places, especially university towns, especially those on the coast.

Why uni towns? For the culture, of course. And good places for jogging and fitness training - I keep in damn good shape. And for the sex. Interesting sex.

Scoring in college towns is easy. Go to an older bar near the campus, any older bar with older patrons and an older bartender. Ask the barkeep when and where younger faculty wives go to get laid. If the answer is, "Right here, right now," then great! Or the answer may be elsewhere. A good answer deserves a good tip. If barkeeps will not answer, ask taxi drivers. Maybe ask cops if you are brave.

(You may wonder why I don't suggest googling for this information. Because it is 1995, that is why, and Google does not yet exist. Duh.)

Anyway, be at the designated place and time. Mingle. Talk. Be personable. Score. And always use condoms. ALWAYS!

I remind myself to be tested for STDs and whatever as often as possible.

I could give a spiel here about wives of younger faculty as especially good targets. Their husbands are overworked. They are under-appreciated but not stupid, usually. If they have time to be out in public, they have time to be bored. Yeah, I could tell you that, and more. It might even be true.

Whatever the truth is, I played the Who's-Hunting-Who game with pleasure.

I won't bore you with details. Most pickups are pretty similar depending on time of day. Afternoon fucks are fast; evening fucks, discreet. Overnight fucks are rare but tiring. And a few are strange.

---

It was a university town on the coast; try to guess which. The evening pickup 'scene' as usual was in a generic corporate bar in a generic corporate chain hotel somewhere between downtown and the freeway on-ramp. The woman was maybe late-30's, sexy without being all "fuck me". No, make that 'sensual'.

She stood beside a swivel barstool when I walked in. Our eyes met. We both smiled. She nodded. I walked to her. We sat.

The tall black woman wore a color-shifted variant of the Little Black Dress and Heels theme - not inky, but a soft mauve highlighting her ebony skin without glaring. Very elegant. Very taut and curvy. Her light northeast-accented voice told me she was Sara.

She drank light bubbly stuff. We made light bubbly talk. She slipped me a card printed with only an address and sketchy map.

"Wait ten minutes," she said, and walked out the generic corporate door.

I waited. I drove, tracing the little map. A classy, well-treed neighborhood housed the very substantial home, an ancestral McMansion. This was a place of money and position. Should I have been nervous?

The house front was dark; a lone light marked a side door next to a grass-and-rock driveway. I parked beyond the door and knocked. It opened into a kitchen entry.

Sara had ditched the slinky clothes and wrapped herself in a thin soft rose-red robe. Even without heels she stood up to my eyes. I like tall women.

She stood beside a high counter next to a champagne bottle and tall flutes on a round French tray.

"Still thirsty, Randy?" I heard a quality Boston education in her voice.

"For sparkling wine, a little, as much as you are. For touch and love, a lot - same as you are." Oh, I was being the clever one!

"Right answer," she smiled. She picked up the tray. "Follow me."

With bubbly drinks, her bubbly ass bounced before me. I gladly followed.

She led me to a small but striking bedroom. The outer wall was glass bricks. Mirrored doors closed a full-wall closet - wow, the visuals would be wild! A wide portal revealed an en-suite bath with big open shower. The last wall held abstract paintings between closed mirrored doors. A king-size bed backed against the glass-brick wall. A small round table and two simple padded chairs were in a corner. Sara set the tray on the table.

"Grab a seat, have a glass, and then we'll shower. Can you handle that?"

"No problem," I said. She poured we sat. We sipped and chatted.

The room was warm. I tugged at my collar. "Mind if I...?"

"That's what we're here for," she chuckled. "But let me..."

Sata stood and held my chin. I rose with her. She unbuttoned my shirt. I reached for her robe.

"Uh-uh. You first." She finished with my shirt buttons and unbuckled my trousers.

"One moment," I said, kicking off my loafers. Yeah, I wore leather loafers and argyle socks. Call me a perv. But they beat lacing and unlacing.

My trousers slipped down, then my boxers. My shirt was already off. I stood naked with pants puddled around my ankles. I stepped out of them and peeled off the socks.

"Now you," I said, reaching toward her.

"Now me," she agreed, untying her flimsy robe's sash. I moved close to unwrap her.

The robe fell. I stood before a perfect living statue gracefully carved from purest obsidian. I noted wonderful muscle definition, zero body fat, and a face like Benin carvings in museums but framed by a tight afro. Her gleaming white teeth and eyes, copper overtones on catenary-curve breasts and blueberry nipples, lovely inny navel, and close-woven pubic curls entranced me. She was among the most spectacularly beautiful women I had ever seen.

"You can take a breath now," she advised me. I stopped to breathe.

"Follow me again," she said, tugging on my involuntarily-straining cock.

She easily led me across the room through the wide arch into the bath and its big open shower.

A twist of dials engulfed us in a warm soft spray.

"No fucking in the shower," she said. "Let's get real clean. Here, start with this." She handed me a squeeze bottle. "Right here," she said, pointing at her hair.

I squirted goo on her tight curls and gave her a slow, deep scalp massage.

"Oh fuck, that's nice," she breathed. Her hands were actively sudsing my ass and back and chest and belly and cock and steaming scrotum during this. I do not know why I did not cum at that very instant.

"Now the rest of me," she said. I happily complied. I ran soapy hands over those strong shoulders and arms, down her firm back and tight buns, across and around handfuls of breasts, down her flat stomach and inset navel and soft-Brillo pubes. I knelt to soap her taut thighs and calves, down to her almost prehensile feet. She twitched and giggled when I rubbed her soles.

Sara gasped when, still kneeling, I kissed my way up her spread thighs and tongued her navel and teased her mons.

"Oh damn, boy, oh damn..." She gripped my scalp hair and pulled me up. "You are DAMN good, boy. But enough of that. Let's rinse and dry and fuck, okay?"

We rinsed. We dried. We embraced tightly and kissed. Our hands moved. My cock stood out, exuberant. Her pussy dripped. I could smell her.

"That's a damn good start," she croaked. "Come here."

Again my cock in her hand. Again leading me, to bed this time. She lay back in the middle of the bed with her legs spread open.

"I am the horniest woman you have ever seen. I want sex. I want to cum like a monster. Eat me. Eat me damn good like I know you can. Eat me now."

That sounded like a decent invitation. I dove in.

But not too fast. I started low, at the bottoms of her writhing feet, toes and tendons twisting and arching as I massaged the surfaces and tongued the interstices and hollows. I sucked toes on one foot, then the other, as my hands moved up to stroke and rub her straining calf muscles.

"Oh fuck," she murmured. I took this as a good sign.

I crawled between her legs and kissed one knee, then the other, my hands sliding up from shins over and under knees to inner and outer thighs, and returning inside, preparing a path for my lips. I kissed past her pussy on the right, over her mons, down the left side.

"Oh damn," she sighed. Yes indeed, another good sign.

I moved further up to kiss her navel. My hands reached to her amazing breasts. I gently stroked areolae and nipples, not too hard, not too fast. I pulled myself up further and locked my lips on the tip of one tit. I suckled briefly but not too briefly, and moved to the other but not too fast, then back to the first but without haste.

Fingers on one hand worked the nipple unoccupied by my mouth. My other fingers probed between her legs, softly, insistently, around and into her luscious labia, teasing cuntal juices and responses, lightly pushing deeper, and finally into her depths, stroking the soft wet velvet birth canal. I nibbled a nipple harder.

"Damn you, boy," she breathed. Another auspicious signal.

"But quit fucking around." Just barely whispered. Not annoyance. Good.

I gave both straining nipples good sucks and then moved south, tracing a line of kisses between her heaving breasts, across her pulsing belly, into her gyrating navel, down across that patch of hair, and back to her inner thighs. A kiss on one side. A whoosh of air directed at her pussy. A kiss on the other side.

And then a slow lapping-up from bottom to top, from taint to clit and return with my tongue wagging across her outer and inner labia, back and forth, in and around, before plunging deeply for a firm penetration.

"Oh yeah, oh yeah, uh huh, uh huh," she grunted. I was happy.

But not quite happy enough. I was royally stimulated. I was ready to jump up and fuck this immaculate creature, fuck her like a rag doll, wrap her legs around me and piston like a mad machine. But that would spoil it all. No, I needed to savor her more, much more, while she also pleasured me.

I reached forward and pulled her upright.

"It's not just me. We've got to do this together. Yeah?"

I lay beside her on my back, my head midway down the bed. She got the idea. She rolled on top of me, planted her open pussy on my mouth, and took my throbbing cock between her mulberry lips.

I prodded and licked. She sucked and prodded. We slurped and drank. And moaned. And writhed. Her fingers squeezed my balls. Mine probed into her passage. Hers pumped my shaft. Mine moved to cup her clenched buttocks and then to her breasts. I squeezed and pinched just enough. I felt her shaking above me.

That was my cue for a final attack on her throbbing clitoris. Round and round, up and down and around again, while sucking carefully and sweetly and intently. And I maintained careful attention to her sensitive nipples.

The reward: she stopped sucking. Stopped because she was contorting. Stopped because she was screaming onto my fattened cock. Stopped because she came so hard, so fully, so completely.

And she nearly drowned me. I lapped her up to stay afloat. Slurp slurp.

She rolled her glistening ebony masterpiece of a body off me. She panted like a two-mile runner. She swirled around and planted her mouth on mine. She drained her own vaginal juices from my lips.

"Fuck, boy, you are so going to be happy you did that. You just stay right there. I'll take care of everything."

I stayed on my back with my dick in the air like a flagstaff. She slipped a condom on me, straddled me, guided me, impaled herself on me, and drove me deep inside her.

"Oh fuck," we both exhaled.

She rode me with skill and determination. It was not a tedious, long-drawn-out exercise. I was already near my breaking point. She rocked and rolled, back and forth, side to side, around and up and down, her vaginal muscles squeezing me, her breasts swaying above my face, oh so enticingly.

I leaned my head forward and sucked. Oh damn, this was heaven!

My genitals decided they'd had just about enough, thank you. I felt the primeval mechanisms loosen and tighten, boil and flash, and explode.

Just the average infinite hot cum. Just the endless stream, endless spurts, endless pleasure, that nevertheless trails off and ends. But it was damn good while it lasted.

Sara's cunt still pumped me, squeezed me like a gripping hand, drained me like a milkmaid, and would not release me. She continued to grind and groan.

I thought to help her plight. I synchronized raising my pelvis to meet her thrusts. Fingers replaced mouth on that well-sucked nipple; my lips traversed to the other.

She grunted and ground away endlessly atop me, and then stopped. She groaned.

Her groan frightened me. It started high in her throat and moved down her chest into her belly and then her intestines. The groan was not only from her lungs. Every muscle and vein and organ in her body groaned.

She collapsed on me. Her body went limp. Her face was slack on my cheek. Her lips loosened. She drooled on me. I think she briefly lost consciousness.

My latex-encased drained cock slipped from inside her. She woke and looked into my eyes. She looked dazed.

"You okay?" I asked, concerned.

"Damn, boy," she wheezed, "you are good. Too good. I wish I could keep you."

She lay atop me. Her fine breasts pressed me. Her thighs and arms held me. She kissed me, licked inside my mouth, swallowed my tongue, made me swallow hers. Her hands framed my skull. I could not escape.

She freed me, sort of. She rolled off me, lay beside me, threw her leg over mine, reached down to fondle my sheathed limp cock, stretched her other arm to grab my ear and force my mouth back to hers. We swapped more slobber.

She rolled back and almost released me; her leg still trapped mine. She disposed of the full condom and turned her face back to mine.

"You're one of those strong silent types, hey boy? Don't talk much."

"Only when I must. Took me a long time to learn to shut up. Yeah, I learn."

The hand not fondling my spent cock touched my cheek, my nose, my chin, my lips. Her fingers brailled my face, exploring, memorizing.

"I wish we could do this again... ah fuck, yeah. How fast can you recover?"

I smiled. "Suck me awhile and find out. 69 me again and find out faster."

Sara needed no further encouragement. A little off-side slurping encouraged me immensely. Dropping her wet and worn pussy into my face encouraged me even more. When I was suitable encouraged I rolled her off me and onto her elbows and knees. I moved up behind her and aimed.

"Woof," I said, and drove in.

"Aarrfff," she howled, and pushed back against me.

I was no longer a kid. My balls did not quickly recharge. No more fast, easy orgasms. I was going to have to work at this for some time. It was a lot of work for me. And it was a lot of fun for Sara. Extended fun.

She pushed me away after an hour or so.

"I do wish we could keep going. I wish we could do this all night. But I've got a husband, and, well, y'know..."

"Yeah, I know." I sat up. "I want to tell you this was one of my best times ever. I won't-"

"Wait, wait, there's more. Are you in town for just tonight or are you maybe longer-term? 'Cause if you're no flier, I'll invite you back here tomorrow, same time, more excitement, I can promise you that. What do you say?"

I acted as though pondering deeply. "Let me see. Drive to Oregon tomorrow so I can sit in the rain and count tadpoles, or stay over for more of the most glorious vanilla sex in my life. That's a hard one."

She slapped my cheek and squeezed my cock almost too hard. "Vanilla, huh? Hard one, huh?"

I capitulated. "Yes ma'am, I can be back here as requested. More excitement, huh? You're going to maybe bring a girlfriend or something?"

Some black women blushing are not noticeable. Sara's ebony shaded to rich ox-blood. Oho, this was promising!

"I'll just say that you may be pleasantly surprised."

Our post-coital chat spun briefly and tapered off. We rose and returned to the shower. Much kissing and careful cleaning and taste-testing, yes indeed. We rinsed and hugged and dried and hugged and dressed and hugged and kissed. We swapped yet more slobber and embraces before she showed me out.

I slept quite well that night at the Holiday Inn. Or maybe it was a Marriott. I don't recall. Doesn't matter. Fuck the details.

---

I can hear your protests now. "Hey, you said it would be strange. Nothing strange or weird about that fuck, except maybe the room. You cheated us!"

No, that was not the strange night. Weirdness came next.

---

Same time, same light, same parking space. Sara opened the door wearing the same robe and nothing else. But the small bedroom table now held three wine flutes, graced by three chairs. The third person sat on the edge of the bed.

Her soft Southern accent said, "Hi, you're Randy? I'm Tara. Sara speaks highly of you." She stood. I bowed over her hand.

Tara was not dissimilar to Sara except for coloring. Similar height, head size, body shape - athletically sculpted. Another tennis body. Likely a similar age, too. Unsurprisingly different facial features. But contrasting sharply from noir Sara, the ethereal Tara's hair was fiery red, her skin a soft pale peach sprinkled with constellations of freckles barely hidden by a sheer black wrap, her eyes a glowing green. "Celtic goddess" came to mind. I gulped.

Were their names really Sara and Tara? I did not ask for I.D.

We sipped champagne and chatted. We dropped our coverings and showered. We were playful in the shower. Tara was witty and seemed unafraid. We lathered and hugged and scrubbed and tickled and embraced and rinsed and kissed and dried. We headed toward the big bed.

"Wait," Tara said. "Tonight we'll play a sort of game. We'll all suck and stroke a lot, and you can bone us pretty good - Sara says you're pretty impressive - but you will NOT cum, not until we tell you to, understand? Anytime you feel about to cum just say so and we'll slow down. We'll make it worth your while. What d'ya say, Randy?"

I'd be a cunt to say no, I thought. "Be happy to, ma'am," I said.

These women had been together before. They had likely shared men before.

We had varied amusements. We 69'd in the possible combinations. Sara's pussy tasted of apple; Sara's was peach. We ran triad daisychains both ways. Sara sat on Tara's face and kissed me while I fucked Tara's red-rimmed portal; they swapped places for more of the same. I lay supine while Tara rode my cock and Sara rode my busy tongue; then they switched. I doggy-fucked Tara while she licked Sara's blackness; then we changed the sandwich filling. My condom was well-worn.

Both women screamed many times. I managed not to boil over. It was torture.

Time-out was called. More champagne was drunk. We showered playfully again. My unfulfilled erection remained vivid. It was torture.

Okay, you wanted strangeness? Here it comes.

After drying me, Sara and Tara each took an arm and led me into the bedroom.

"We have a special favor to ask of you, Randy. You see, we do this thing..."

A thing. Hmmm. A thing. What was coming up?

They led me to a mirrored door set between two Mondrian-looking paintings. Too modern for my taste - they look like floor tiles. Tara's hand cupping my scrotum distracted me.

"You see, this thing is... well, it's about our husbands. Here."

Sara slid open the mirrored door - a one-way mirror. Behind was a walk-in closet space lacking clothes or shelves; the walls seemed soundproofed. The space held two oak railback chairs. Each chair held a man - men tied firmly to their chairs, arms bound behind backs, human legs roped to chair legs.