Message-ID: <24993asstr$962755806@assm.asstr-mirror.org> From: kellis X-Original-Message-ID: MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: TEXT/PLAIN; charset=US-ASCII Subject: {ASSM} Deferred Pleasure (MF FMF MFM Oral Anal) {Kellis} [5/7] Date: Tue, 4 Jul 2000 20:10:06 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: newsman, dennyw Deferred Pleasure a Novelette by Kellis June, 2000 Chapter 5: The Pistol He awoke suddenly and was startled at first by the mound of light brown curls on the next pillow. Sunlight filtering through the blinds was bright enough for his next glance to remind him that his days of waking to green cinder block were over. He lay still, marveling at the incredible events in his life of the last 16 hours, until a full bladder nagged him out of the bed. He got up quietly, meaning not to waken Holly. But when he returned from the bathroom, she was sitting up on the side of the bed, watching him. She smiled. "I'm so glad you're the first person I see." He grunted. "Not half as glad as I!" "You don't miss your ... prison mate?" "What prison mate? Mostly I lived alone." "Did you! How lonely! Gerry, I can only say again how sorry I am." He suggested with a grin, "Maybe you need to do some more penance." He had crossed the room to her. At his words she came off the bed and sank to her knees. One hand grasped his testicles gently; the other turned his penis up between her lips. He flinched. "Holly, I was only kidding." Evidently she was not. He could feel her tongue swirling around the rising head. He sighed. "All right, if you insist, but I fancy a taste of cunt. Let me do you, too." She raised her head. "I have to pee." "Do it." He grinned. "I'm not going anywhere." But when she returned from the bathroom, she stood beside the bed where he lay on his back with knees raised. She asked, "When is your job appointment?" "One o'clock this afternoon." "We have to buy you some clothes. You ought to wear a suit to your interview." "Cheap Horrypine didn't give me enough money for that." "We don't have time to get a suit fitted anyway. I should have taken you last night. I'm sorry, Gerry. I was greedy of your time." "I figured I'd get a white shirt and a tie. Not many men wear suits to work these days." "Oh, it's coming back. But you'll probably be all right. They understand your circumstances. Will you let me be your taxi?" His eyebrows rose. "You really mean to stay with me today?" "As long as you'll have me, Gerry." She fluffed a pillow, raised his head with her hand and tucked the pillow behind it. She went to the window and opened the blinds, freeing a low angle bar of morning sunlight to fall across his body. She crawled over the bed and crouched between his raised legs. She had run a brush through her hair. It glistened in the bright light. Wet lips glittered. Her brown eyes were deep pools. "I want to finish what I started. You'll like it, Gerry. Let me go all the way." "Doing what?" "Did you ever really see yourself get a blowjob?" "I guess not like this." "Then watch." She separated his legs farther and stretched out between them towards the foot of the bed, letting her elbows bear her weight. She cupped his genitals in a hand on either side and used her fingertips to raise the deflated manhood to her lips. They parted as she sucked it into her mouth. Her eyes never left his. The scene before him was crystal clear in the flood of light. She lifted his testicles until their upper curve was visible on either side of the shaft. Her mouth sank over it until her nose disappeared in his pubic hair. He felt her teeth close gently around the base. She held that position until the organ lengthened enough for him to feel the back of her throat. He knew it must soon choke her, but she raised her head slowly until only the glans was concealed. Her cheeks collapsed with suction and her tongue swirled on sensitive membranes. Again she was watching him solemnly. Her nostrils flared with her breath. "God, Holly!" he breathed. One hand squeezed his testicles, the other pumped the skin on the shaft below the captured glans. The organ pulsed with the approaching climax. Her face was becoming flushed, which struck him as a curious development, but her eyes never left his. "I'm about there, Holly," he warned, gasping in tension. Apparently it made no difference to her. He groaned and stiffened. At the taste of his initial spurt she backed away slightly and extended her tongue past wide lips, laying his glans upon it with her head tilted back so that the sunlight glittered on her teeth and lit up the crimson interior of her mouth. His next, more powerful spurt shot clearly into the back of her throat. He could see it drip from the uvula. Her hands continued to pump the shaft while her tongue trembled under the glans. A less forceful dollop spread on the back of her tongue like buttermilk. Another squirt went into her throat. When he had finished, she closed her mouth over him, not unbearably. He felt her tongue tip lick away the last droplets. Slowly he relaxed, breathing, "Holy shit!" She backed away, releasing a clean penis. Her mouth worked. Eyes twinkling, she parted her lips slightly and ... blew a short-lived translucent white bubble. She managed another by opening her lips farther. "I wish I had a camera!" he declared passionately. She laughed, which popped the bubble, then swallowed ostentatiously as she had in the woods. "I'll do it again anytime." She cocked an eyebrow. "While you have this light, is there anything else you'd like to see?" He took a breath. "Turn your pussy up here." She laughed. Getting out of bed, she went to the dresser and returned with a small jar of cold cream. "What's that for?" he asked. "We might have a use for it. You need to sit up." As he rearranged himself, she lay on her back, head towards the foot of the bed, raised her buttocks and jammed a pillow beneath them. Her heels went back over her shoulders and behind her head. She raised her elbows over her thighs. "Good god!" he declared, staring. "That ought to give you a good view." He took a breath. "That makes me hungry." She chuckled. "Funny you should mention that. This pose is called a 'Viennese Oyster.'" "No shit! 'Oyster,' eh? Ah! I get it." "You can taste the oyster when you've seen enough." "Good god in heaven, Holly!" She laughed. "Don't go getting religion on me, Gerry!" "Why not? This is something to worship, all right. Wow! I can see right into your cunt." "Here. I'll hold it open for you. Now what do you see?" "My god! Not just the Chinese, eh?" "The Chinese?" "I always heard Chinese had horizontal cunts, but the inside width of yours is a lot more than the height." "The better to milk you, my lad." "I guess so. So many folds ..." "More after a baby." "Why is that?" "You had the answer last night. Can you imagine how a baby's head stretches it?" "Oh. Oh, yeah! It's hard to believe it could ever open up so much." "Want to try it?" "Huh?" "Can you reach that jar?" He brought up the cold cream and opened it. "Let me dip my fingers. Give me your other hand. Good! Your fingernails are nice and short. Long fingernails on a man can hurt." An idea of her purpose was taking shape in his mind. Fascinated, he let her coat his right hand with the white cream. "Now form your hand like this, with the thumb tucked in among your fingers. That's right, keep the fingers straight. Now start to put them in me. Back and forth sideways. Twist it back and forth, too... Ooo! That was your knuckles." "Holly ... I don't know what to say. Doesn't it hurt?" "No. Is your thing hard?" "As a rock." "Good! Keep going." "You mean --" "I mean up to your wrist." His hand was encased in wet heat. He stared at her in disbelief. His entire hand was inside her. The lips of her vagina stretched around his arm. She laughed. "I wish you could see your face. Did you feel that?" "Oh, yes! You just squeezed my hand. Funny! It feels tighter on my dick." "Does it? That's interesting. But I can tell you're right. Do you like this?" "I ... I don't know. I can't believe it doesn't hurt you. A baby's head can't be much bigger." "Ah, but the baby comes through something that starts out even smaller. I think that must be what hurts so much." "You mean you don't know?" "Are you kidding? I couldn't feel a thing below the waist." "I ..." "What's the matter?" He shook his head. "It seems ... disrespectful to ... Should I take it out now?" "Don't you like the insides of a woman?" He smiled after a deep breath. "I dreamed once of crawling back up into a womb head-first." She laughed. "To be done right, it would have to be feet-first." "This lump is your womb, isn't it?" "Whoo, that feels strange! Are you squeezing?" "Between finger and thumb." "You've got the mouth of it. When your penis bumps that, it drives me wild, but it has to do it a certain way." "What way is that?" "It's hard to describe. It has to bump, then push below it. Over and over. I think that's what the flaring part of the head is for, to tease the cervix into a receptive mood." "Well, I want to tease yours, but first ..." "Slowly! Pull out slowly. Be sure to let the air in." He held the wet hand up, made a fist and looked from it to her upturned vulva, shrinking to its normal size as he watched. "I can't believe where it just came from." She was grinning. "Anytime you want to warm your hand, Gerry ..." "I want to taste my oyster." "You'll taste cold cream." "That's not all!" He sank over her, holding her hips in his hands, and dug her with his tongue, long swipes from perineum to clitoris. She groaned and stiffened until her bones creaked. Soon she cried out in orgasm and her legs came down around him. He crawled higher and plunged his painfully hard penis into the sopping, soft center. Her screams continued as her legs and arms enwrapped him. She convulsed beneath him, screaming his name. He let his whole weight sag upon her and pistoned into her as fast as he could move his hips. Her screams faded. Both were gasping for breath. It seemed to him that she had almost turned to liquid before he finally climaxed and spun to his side. When her breathing had eased, she rolled partly on him with breast and belly and kissed his neck. "Oh, Gerry, I don't have the words!" He sighed. "I was just thinking the same." She hugged him. "Can I stay with you all weekend?" He chuckled. "Go ahead. You'll wear it down to a nub. When does Jerry come home?" "Next weekend. I'll bring her to see you." "I'm looking forward to it. I hope she doesn't hate me." "She'll love you. She's just started being curious why she has no daddy like other children. She'll be happy to find out she does have one after all." "I hope so. Hungry?" She nodded. "We should have worked up an appetite." "You know it!" Her eyes brightened. She leaped out of bed with a rush of new energy. "Just you wait until you see what I can do for breakfast!" * * * * His new boss, Mr. Greene, explained with a grin that people were still easier to program than computers. Gerry's task would be to perform final assembly and test on short-run devices manufactured for specialty markets. He was shown the production area where he would work. "If you've got a run of 10,000, you use a robot. But a few thousand, like this tip jacker, get finished up by humans, although we do use a robot to package them." To his fascination, the "tip jacker" turned out to be well named. It consisted of a pair of small eccentrically weighted disks, worm-driven by a battery-powered motor, with clamps, all made of or at least coated with soft plastic, the business part being about as large as his fist. The motor speed could be adjusted by a rheostat on the separate battery case. In use the clamps were fitted over a penis, the motor was turned on and the owner thereafter regulated the vibrational speed until satisfied. The clamps were spring-loaded to expand. Everything was water-proof. Gerry's task would be to assemble the several parts and fasten them at a rivet press, then test the result clamped to two fingers, and finally deposit the assembly on a slow moving conveyor belt, properly aligned, for the distant robot to package. He would have three minutes per copy. "Although when you report to work Monday, it'll likely be something else. I think the vacuum doll is next, or maybe it's the vibrating speculum." The pay was two dollars above the legal minimum wage. "Two 15-minute breaks and a half-hour for lunch. You'll be here nine hours with pay for eight. Do you have transportation?" "The city bus." "Good. And leave off the necktie." The man laughed. "You might rivet it into a fake cunt." He added as an afterthought, "By the way, you get a 40 per-cent discount if you want to buy any of our products." In the car on the way home Gerry described his interview for Holly. Her eyebrows rose and she grinned around at him. "I don't think you need the tip jacker. Do you?" "Well, not *this* weekend!" "Still, that vibrating speculum sounds interesting." * * * * He sat at his kitchen table to work out a budget. Assuming the various governments only confiscated half his salary, he would take home $180 per week. "Good god!" he exclaimed, sobered. "That's less than 800 a month. What's the rental on this place?" "900 a month. Two months are paid in advance." "B-but, Holly, that's more than I *make*!" She nodded. "After taxes. But that's all right. I'll pay the rent. You buy the groceries." He stared at her. His expression gradually became a frown. "It's the man that puts the roof over his family." She shook her head. "Please, Gerry. Don't be old-fashioned." He leaned back in his chair. "A kept man. Is that what you want?" "God, you *are* old fashioned!" She stared at him in wonder. "While you pay for two places. Where do *you* live?" "In a three bedroom house that's almost paid for. Gerry, don't you understand? This is temporary, just a couple months. You'll move in with me as soon as we can square it for your parole officer." She stood up suddenly, fists clenched at her sides. "That's assuming you want us to ... to be together. But so far you haven't said 'Poo!' on that subject." Her eyes were suddenly very bright. He looked up at her grimly. Gradually his face softened. "More penance, Holly?" "Not really. Just being practical. Your income ... has to be low just now. Are you surprised I'll spend money on you? I told you the reason: I *want* you, Gerald Ballard!" She sank to her knees, head in his lap, and hugged his hips. "My income will always be low," he said lugubriously, but he stroked her hair. "How much do *you* make?" "$25 per hour. Will you forgive me for that, too?" He slipped his hands into her armpits and exerting himself, lifted her up until she was seated in his lap. When she was secure, he cupped her wet cheeks in his palms. "I'm going to quit this, Holly." "Quit what?" she snapped. "Quit looking my gift horse in the mouth. I'm a pretty sorry specimen, but if you are foolish enough and determined to have me, then ..." He released her, spreading his hands. "What can I do but accept?" She stared through her film of tears and asked hesitantly, "D-do you m-mean ..." "I mean, whatever you want. You want to marry me, we'll get married." "Oh, Gerry!" she breathed. "I promise you won't be sorry." She leaned against him and began to kiss all over his face and neck. * * * * She lived with him the entire weekend, except for two brief trips home, she said, to feed her cat and empty its litter box. She cooked delicious gourmet meals despite his assistance. They watched television, read the Sunday paper and enjoyed each other's body several times. Between bouts they rested in bed, usually in close contact, and listened to the other's history. He learned of her childhood, school and marriage, deliriously happy at first but increasingly spoiled by her husband's love of unsound risk-taking. He expected her to find his past as boring as he did and was surprised by the quantity and depth of her questions about life in the orphanage, school and prison. She mused, "I thought Periwinkle admits girls as well as boys." "It does, though not as many boys stay. They're adopted faster than girls." "Really? Why is that?" He shrugged. "Maybe because adoptions are mainly by childless couples who seem to want a boy for their first one." "I think I see. I wouldn't want a girl who wasn't mine. But you were a boy and probably a pretty one. Why didn't you get adopted?" He grinned. "Maybe I wasn't so pretty as a kid." "I don't believe that!" He shrugged. "I've thought about it some since I left the orphanage. I was never the outgoing, hug-'em and kiss-'em type. I don't think I smiled very much as a kid." She nodded. "You don't now." He immediately grinned. "I do with your tit in my hand." "Did you handle many in the orphanage?" "A few. Some girls want them handled." "I can just imagine!" "I doubt it. The floor mothers were very strict, especially at night. I won't say it didn't happen, but *I* never managed to get laid until I left there." "Poor Gerry! And then I made you go six years with only your fist." "Ha, small potatoes! The floor mothers in the orphanage made me go 18." "Well, you have other places to put it now." "And it's sure been put! Just look at it. It's about half as big as it was yesterday!" She leered at him. "Should I make it grow again?" He drew back in mock alarm. "Do you suppose the floor mothers had the right idea?" * * * * He didn't have to ride the bus after all. Coincidentally, she said, his route to work was parallel to hers, even on the rare day that she started her trip at her own house. So she provided his transportation after carefully pointing out the bus stops and furnishing him a schedule -- so that he could be independent of her if he wished. He groused, "I need to buy a car." "We'll do that as soon as you can move into my house. I've decided not to wait a month, Gerry. I'll write your parole officer next week." When he left the factory Thursday afternoon, he found another woman in the car with Holly. She got out and transferred to the back seat. She was slimmer than Holly and a bit taller, with black hair and twinkling blue eyes in a heart-shaped face. By the slight wrinkles in the corners of her eyes she was also older, but they were dressed alike in sleeveless blouses and Bermuda shorts. She wore emerald studs in her ears and emerald bracelets on her arms. "Gerry, this is Myrtle," Holly intoned. "Myrtle, Gerry." "Pleased to meet you," he responded, glancing curiously at Holly. "Hi," said the woman simply, adding with a grin, "Holly said you were pretty, and you are." "Pretty!" he repeated in a scoffing tone. "I'm not sure she ought to drive if her eyes are that bad." The woman laughed politely. Holly said as she pulled away from the curb, "Myrtle knows it's the first weekly anniversary of your freedom and wants to help us celebrate." "'Weekly anniversary!'" He shook his head. "It's a good excuse," she said, glancing at him intently. He turned around in the seat to look more closely at the woman, who smiled at him and winked. "I love to celebrate," she informed him. "So do I. I take it you and Holly are friends." "Oh, yes. We've been to lots of parties together." She laughed gaily. Faintly he smelled gin. "Lots of celebrating, eh, Holly?" "Lots," Holly agreed. "Not so many any more," the woman added. Again she winked at him. "Holly's been getting prim and proper lately." "But not you?" he asked, returning the wink. Her eyes widened comically. "Oh, I've *always* been proper! Haven't I, Holly?" "A proper pushover," Holly agreed. Myrtle leered. "It's a natural talent." She cocked her head. "Are you proper Gerry?" "Only when I have to be. Holly, I gather we're going to a party tonight?" "Just for us. We'll go home and change. I picked up your new suit. Then you can take us out to dinner. How does that sound?" "Sounds like it takes us up to about nine o'clock." She flashed him a grin. "After that we'll go home and talk. Myrtle wants to tell you about her adventures." He looked inquiringly at the woman. "Good stories?" She smiled and leaned forward, supporting herself with elbows on his seat back. "I ran away from home when I was 16. The way it happened was rather odd. I walked out of MacDonalds one afternoon. An army truck, one of those with the canvas tops, was idling, waiting for a break in traffic to pull out on the road. It was full of soldiers who had stopped for sandwiches. I walked up behind it and asked them where they were going. They said to a parade for Memorial Day. I said, 'Take me with you.' They looked at each other. Two of them leaned down and hauled me up. I threw my schoolbooks out a mile down the road. When the truck stopped, they put me out. That was 90 miles away in the state capitol." His eyebrows rose. "Military trucks are pretty slow. You must've been riding a couple hours." "Sure, maybe three." "Great conversation, was it?" "Those army trucks are noisy, you know." "So there you were, 16 and penniless in the capitol city --" "Who said I was penniless? I really drained those guys' liquid assets." "I'll bet! What did your folks have to say about it?" "Who knows? I never went back." "Interesting. That's how you got started, was it?" "Only in the big city... Holly says you were raised in an orphanage." "Right. But with nothing like your adventures." "Adventure is being there when interesting things happen. Like the time the bus taking us to prison got hit by a train. I got killed." "You've been to pr-- What did you say?" "That train killed me. You can look up the record of it." He stared at her twinkling eyes, then said to Holly, "We have a ghost in the back seat." "A lively one, as you'll find out. Save the details for dinner, Myrtle. Here we are. Gerry, can you stand to take a shower with *two* women?" Indeed he could! Myrtle had cellulite in her thighs, breasts and belly, and showed faint stretch marks of childbirth. Her figure was less full than Holly's but still most attractively feminine. She had a soft, pouchy belly with enough slack to enclose his soapy upstanding penis when compressed around it by her hands. "See? You *can* fuck a bellybutton sometimes!" She shrieked with laughter. Holly laughed, too, and washed both backs while they stood together. He insisted on gathering both women into his arms and scrubbing their breasts with soapy hands, enjoying the contrasts but relishing the similarity of erect nipples. They attacked his genitals with such soapy slipperiness that he had to warn them. "Another ten seconds of that and I'll come all over you both." "Not yet!" Holly cried, withdrawing. Myrtle also released him. "But we want you to keep your enthusiasm up," she advised and stuck her tongue into his ear. The women clearly enjoyed fussing over him while dressing themselves. While they helped him don his undershirt, somehow it became stuck over his face long enough for a warm, wet mouth to enclose most of his still erect penis. When his face was clear neither would admit culpability. Myrtle declared, "Any good valet knows you have to keep the 'handle' moist." "The *handle*?" he inquired. Her eyebrows rose. "Isn't that your handle?" Her fingers clasped him gently. "Nothing fits a woman's hand better." Myrtle transferred her grip to his testicles, to "balance" him, she said, while Holly encouraged him to raise first one foot, then the other, as she held his undershorts. She needed Myrtle's help in tucking in the swollen "handle," but they could not agree upon the best angle for it until Myrtle proposed letting it protrude through the flap. "Be careful it doesn't dry out," advised Myrtle, who promptly bent down and remoistened it. His white shirt went on without incident aside from the long enameled fingernails that tickled his sides while smoothing out wrinkles, but his suit pants were a challenge. He must lie on the bed with legs dangling off for Myrtle to start the pants legs while Holly, changing roles, kept the handle moist. When he stood up, again the best position became debatable. He was not surprised to discover the solution was for it to protrude through his unzipped fly. "Actually," Myrtle mused, "that's a good fashion idea. They could make a 'pasty' for it like the strippers used to wear, just to cover the business end so that girls wouldn't drool so much." She dropped to her knees. "Now, if I was a pasty ..." Her head thrust forward and demonstrated how she might simulate one. Holly sniffed. "Gerry could ride you ahead of him in a wheelbarrow." He took a deep breath. "If you keep that up, it'll be a wet pasty." Myrtle stood reluctantly and shook her head. "Too bad I don't design men's clothes." They left him alone and finished their own toilets while he tied his necktie and pulled the tags off his new suit coat. Finally he could tuck in the "handle" and zip up. Fully dressed, he sat in the dresser chair and listened to the women chatter before the bathroom mirror while arranging hair and applying makeup. Myrtle's raucous voice penetrated better. He gathered that she worked as a gynecologist's receptionist. "Of course he gives me a free examination!" she told Holly. "Oh, you mean I ought to charge *him*? Well, I do, in a way. When he puts the speculum in one place, I make him put his cock in the other... What nurse! When he examines *me* that old bitch has gone home! ... Every week, and I'm always in perfect health. I think the reason so many women have twat problems is they don't exercise it enough." Holly had made reservations at the Double Tex Steak House. The man in the conservative blue suit escorting two full-figured women in high-heels, skirts and low-cut blouses caused dining conversations to falter as they entered, then resume in speculation. Gerry enjoyed the stares of male patrons and surreptitious glances of the women as his sleekly groomed ladies pressed close to follow the hostess to their table. Myrtle grinned at him as he slid her chair under her. "Enjoying yourself, pal?" He nodded, turning to Holly's chair. "It's fun to have the two best looking women in the place." "Says the best looking man," Myrtle riposted. "But he doesn't believe me. Holly, haven't you told him how pretty he is?" Holly smiled. "I've told him. Poor Gerry! Is your face hot?" "You two would heat a corpse!" Over dinner he asked Myrtle to elaborate on her mention of the prison bus. With a smile he asked, "Are you an ex-con, too?" "Well, yes and no. I was convicted of PWID and given a year --" "'Pwid?'" Holly inquired. "Possession With Intent to Distribute," Gerry answered for her. "Right," Myrtle continued. "They rounded up a bunch of us on that raid, 18 girls, enough to fill up a special bus from the county jail to the state prison. The black girls got to singing some mournful tune. Maybe they distracted the driver. An awful fast train whacked us at a grade crossing, tore the bus in half and set both halves on fire. It killed everybody: the girls, two guards and the driver. Except me. I remember this horrible crash, the noisiest thing I ever heard, being whirled all around and then a lot of pins and needles. I was thrown through the air and landed butt-first in this huge Leland Cypress. But I wasn't hurt much, aside from a sprained wrist where my handcuff came off -- we were handcuffed to our seats -- and a lot of scratches from the Cypress stickers. "When I fell out of the tree, I don't know how long I laid there dazed, listening to sirens and cars down the road, until this old man stepped out of the woods, looked at my orange jump suit and the burning bus, asked me if I could walk. 'I don't know,' I said. 'Try it,' he said, taking my good hand. He led me stumbling down a long path to a pickup truck, made me take off the orange suit and wrap up in a smelly old blanket. He gave me a coke to drink and away we went. "'Where you taking me?' I wanted to know. "'Someplace a lot better than the women's prison.' "'They'll have a manhunt,' I warned him. "'With any luck, they'll think you're dead.' "'They'll count the bodies.' "'Maybe they can't. That was a damn bad wreck and a hot fire. Diesel from the train mixed with the bus's gas. You do what I say and I think you'll be rid of 'em.' "'My skin is burning.' "'We'll fix that soon as I get to my place.' "'What's your wife gonna say?' "'No wife.' "He was lying about the wife, I found out later. But he took me to the fishing shack on his property where he spent most of his time, and cleaned up my scratches. Then he fed me, put me in the bunk and let me show how grateful I was -- which was a lot, you bet! "A couple days later he brought me a newspaper. It listed all the dead girls. There was my name, big as life. So I needed a new name. He named me 'Myrtle' after a Lab bitch he had as a boy, he said, who would also lick his cock. I rather liked it." "The name?" asked Gerry. She leered. "The cock-licking, too." Holly asked, "What happened to him?" "After a month or so I was getting bored listening to birds, bees and fish jumping. I told him I was leaving. He said he knew he couldn't keep me. We had a really good last hump and he took me to the bus station." She smiled. "He offered to set me up in a place in town. He was a sweet old boy, gave me some clothes and $200 for a stake. I had come to like him a lot. He complained of chest pains. I was afraid I would kill him, even though he swore he'd die happy." "Did you ever see him again?" "No. I read he had a heart attack about a month later. He really was a sweet old boy. And rich, too. As a young man, he invented some kind of carburetor that went into half this country's cars." She chuckled. "When he offered to put me up in town, I thought he was just kidding. 80 year-old men don't joke about things like that, but what did I know? I was only 19." "80!" exclaimed Gerry. "A spry 80. And I think his cock was a teenager." "What are you now," asked Holly, "about 35?" "I wish!" Holly's eyebrows rose. "You can't be much older than that. You've seen her, Gerry. What's your opinion?" He laughed. "I'm only 26. What do I know? But, no, I agree with Holly." "I thank you both," said Myrtle. "I'm lucky with my skin, I guess, but the bloom is definitely off the rose." She straightened up. "How's your steak, Gerry? Does it taste as good as Holly?" He grunted. "Now that you mention it ... I love sweaty women. They smell like meat cooking." "They *are*!" Myrtle declared with a leer. After the meal they returned to his apartment and left a mixed-gender trail of clothing from the front door to the bed. Myrtle demonstrated that her throat was at least as deep as the length of his penis and at Holly's suggestion, blew an even larger bubble with the fluid he left there. In fact Holly acted mainly as a mistress of ceremonies, guiding his coupling with Myrtle. He penetrated Holly vaginally and only as the final act, but even then discharged into Myrtle's mouth as she lay reversed atop the younger woman. She rose up shortly thereafter and expressed dismay at the hour. They agreed that all three needed to be at work the following morning and delivered Myrtle to her apartment about 10:30. In their bed again Holly snuggled to him and asked, "What did you think of her?" He laughed. "I think she's what they call a 'pistol.'" "She's brash, but it makes her a lot of fun. All the men say so." "Yeah, I guess. I didn't know you liked women." "What do you mean?" "Weren't you licking her there at the last?" She hesitated. "Doesn't it turn on a man to see women stimulate each other?" "You claim you did it for my benefit?" She kissed his chin. "Gerry, everything tonight was for your benefit." "*My* benefit?" "Yes. I told you that I could fix you up with other women. Pretty good quality, don't you think?" He grunted. "No doubt about that." "Would you like a younger one, maybe?" "I'm not complaining, Holly." "I can be everything you ever wanted in a love partner, Gerry." He took a deep breath as if he meant to speak but remained silent. After a bit she added, "I asked Myrtle if she wanted to meet a fun guy. I knew she would. And I was pretty confident you two would get along." "You were right about that. But let me ask you, Holly: what if it turns out that I get along *better* with her?" "But ... Did you?" "No, but putting other women into our bed runs that risk." He felt her smile. "I'll take it to please you. You'll understand eventually that *no* one can ever be more loyal to you than I." *Or more indifferent*, he mused silently, but with her hand enclosing his penis he could hardly sustain such a thought. [Next: Chapter 6: The Swinger] -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+