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Bill's addiction(s)

1/15/2007

DrabJuggler


Please note that this text contains one or more repetitions
of a specific BLUE WORD . It is
marked thus to draw your attention to it’s placement and
useage in an erotic environment. Enjoy........


























Although Bill objects to the word, "addicted, "
that's the best term I can think of to describe his attachment
to card games.


At the peak of our experiment with open marriage, bi-weekly
Friday night poker had become a ritual with him and his friends,
held at our home. Like young boys, they called themselves
the Nautilus Pack because of their membership in a health
club.




"The game at Pier Point" was what the players
called it, referring to our home's wooden pier that
stretches out over the lake behind our house to the land's
edge.


Each evening the pier looks like a walkway to the sun that
sets across the water.




When they held poker night, I would go out with a divorced
friend, Christine.




Last May, Christine confided that each of these pack members
had occasional flings, adding, "except, of course,
for your husband, Bill."


She'd learned this from our friend, Paul, with whom
she had recently been involved for some three months. I
was stunned only by her mention of Tom, a one-time seminary
student who'd been a friend of Bill's since their
days as Reconnaissance Marines. I couldn't have imagined
Tom playing around!




Over the next two weeks, I found myself awakening after
wild dreams about sex with faceless men who - I somehow realised
- played poker every other Friday. So I begged off one night
out with Chris and laid a plan. I would be staying home during
the poker game.




BILL'S STORY:




Because I'd encouraged Ellen over the past two years
to dress provocatively, I couldn't complain about
her outfit the night she offered to stay home and help serve
snacks at the poker game. She was wearing a loose red blouse
and red skirt that was slit along her sides to the waist.
Her black hair hung loosely over her shoulders. She wore
her highest heels, which made her taller than two of the
players.




Each man arriving was surprised to see Ellen. Sitting across
the gaming table from them, I grinned, noticing them glancing
at her from the corners of their eyes as she walked to and
from the kitchen. Ellen was serving short drinks and small
snacks to make sure she'd be coming and going frequently.




When the demand slowed, she relaxed on the sofa in the living
room and inserted a CD into the stereo. We could observe
her through the high arched door separating the rooms.
She lay back, her legs crossed as she leafed through a magazine.
Because her skin was slightly burned from sunning alongside
the pool and lake the day before, her long legs glowed red
beneath the lamp behind her. She seemed detached and unconcerned,
but I think even at that time, I was catching onto her plan.
She looked toward us occasionally, noticing one - then
another - glancing away from his cards toward her.




Leo's luck was sagging. His head was down so far, staring
at a sad hand that all I could see was his brown hair, like
he had no face. He grumbled, "Tough game! Want to watch
ESPN instead?" he was hooted down, called a "wussy."


So he laughed, "You guys have no sympathy at all! What
if we just ask Ellen to dance for us instead of playing this
damn game?"


Tom grinned, "NOW you're talking!"


He wasn't serious when he turned to Ellen and asked,
"How about it? Think you could liven up Leo?"


Ellen surprised them, eagerly responding, "Sure!
I'm only here to serve your bidding!"


She turned up the stereo, dimmed the living room light,
and walked to the centre of the room. The three players across
the table looked at each other with eyebrows raised. Paul
squinted his blue eyes and muttered, "She isn't
kidding. IS she?"


The last half of a heavy metal French song was underway.
Maybe because I'm ten years older than Ellen, I don't
like rock music; but Ellen likes it, so I don't object.




Her legs flashed through the open slits in the skirt as she
twirled. Ellen's an excellent dancer, and she was
showing off her athletic ability. Her hips thrust forward
savagely, her eyes taking in their mutual appreciation.
Two of them were wide-eyed and grinning broadly. Paul was
staring intently, his mouth opened like he was watching
a nude dancer at on of the topless clubs he frequents. Maybe
I should've known how well she could dance, but I didn't,
and her performance surprised me. Except during her modelling
eight or more years before, she'd never danced alone
before others. So I was a bit taken back, realising just
how good she really was. She threw everything erotic she
knew into the dance. I grinned at the guys' pleasure
they were enjoying.




Then, as she swirled, thrusting her hips, Ellen loosened
three buttons from her blouse, exposing a generous portion
of her ample breasts. Until that moment, I hadn't realised
she had been sunbathing in the nude; but no one could have
failed to notice that the sunburn covered her breasts.




When it was over, Leo shook his head in disbelief, muttering,
"Hot Damn!"


And when Ellen walked to the kitchen for more beer and chips,
Leo added, "Best poker party we ever had!"


A half hour later, we called a break. Paul walked away while
Tom, Leo, and I were talking about pro football, which bores
him. Paul strode into the kitchen where Ellen was tidying
up.




ELLEN'S STORY:




Paul is lean, his hair as red as my sunburned skin. At six-three,
he's the only player taller than Bill. He walked past
me to the sink. Watching him as he towelled a splash of picante
sauce on his aloha shirt, I said to his back, "Hope
you don't mind my staying around tonight."


He turned off the water, pulled on his sixth beer, and turned,
grinning, "Glad you're here. Adds class to this
crowd."


Paul had had one beer too many. His eyes were on the portion
of my breasts that were still displayed beneath the half-unbuttoned
blouse. I'd crossed a leg over the other as I leaned
against the counter and sipped a tumbler of wine. One leg
was bared. He gazed over my body, then glanced toward the
closed door as if someone might walk in. He turned again
to me and inquired, "Want to join us on the next hand?"


I told him, "I'd be in the way. I stroked my sunburned
leg, turned to the cabinet behind me, and pulled out a bottle
of lotion. Spreading the cream over my shoulders, I said,
"This burn isn't as bad as it looks. I'm a
little warm, but comfortable."


The intimacy of the enclosed kitchen excited him. Glancing
at the lotion bottle, he gulped, "Can I help with your
back?"


"Sure, " I smiled, offering him the bottle.


As I turned, he splashed the lotion on his hand, smoothing
it over my neck. His touch was electric. He stroked my shoulders
erotically. I sighed, "How about the backs of my legs?"


I looked behind me. His manhood was surging beneath his
white slacks. The broad head of his member was bulging flat
against his stomach, pointing to his belt. His face reddened
as he saw me staring down at it. He mumbled, "Uh, sure,
no problem."


He squirted cream into his hand, then reached beneath the
skirt, massaging it over my calves in slow circles.




His hand touched the back of my thigh. I turned until his
broad fingers were brushing the smoothness of my shaved
mound. I shuddered as his fingers stroked my clitoris.
Had anyone walked in, his throbbing member would have been
obvious.




Glaring like I was warning him, I held out my leg to rest in
his hand. He reluctantly moved away from my groin to my leg.




Knowing he shouldn't be doing this and pretending
he wasn't, Paul tried to appear unaffected. I glanced
at the clock. Five minutes had passed. He was holding my
foot, my leg straight toward him. I wriggled my toes, brushing
his bulging member, and reminded him, "Don't
you think it might be time for the game to start over?"


He murmured, "Yeah, " s wallowing.


He lowered his hand, allowing my foot to linger against
his hardness. His brown eyes searched my face as he said,
"Hope that helped."


He turned for the bathroom. I heard water running for two
minutes.




An hour later, I was walking down the hall from the bedroom.
I heard Tom push away from the table and say, "I'm
out. Sorry it was so early, but you guys keep dealing me lousy
hands."


I ducked into the bath. Tom's long shadow turned down
the hallway's corner. I walked out, bumping into him.
I asked if he'd like to see the rest of the house.




I walked to the kitchen, picked a bottle of wine and two glasses,
then escorted him through the rooms. Upstairs, our arms
brushed against the other's. I didn't move away.
Tom was slightly intoxicated by the time we walked through
the bedroom toward the hot tub. He hadn't seen our waterbed
before and was staring down at it for a half minute. I took
his hand and led him to the hot tub room. The room was lit by
a dim red bulb.




Tom muttered, "Looks like fun."


I agreed, "Sure. With an agreeable tub partner."


Tilting his glass, he peered over its rim, his gaze roaming
my body as he said, "Any time."


I was a little drunk as I nodded affirmatively and acknowledged,
"Well, ALMOST any time."


Turning, I brushed past him in the doorway.




His fist curled around my arm. Pulling me to him, he kissed
me deeply. I responded eagerly, my groin rotating against
his. His burgeoning tool awakened. He fondled my breasts.
Taking a firm nipple in his lips, he slithered his hand through
the slit in my dress. His fingers were stroking my clitoris.
I gasped at the contact, shoving my hips against pressure
of his hand. I moaned.




Moments later, I whispered, "We'd better go
back."


As we walked into the game room, Leo dejectedly flipped
his cards on the table and complained, "O-kay, I'm
out too. My luck's not holding."


It was time!
I blurted, "Don't quit, Leo! Why don't you
use ME as your prize chip?"


When they asked what I meant, I smiled, "If Leo's
beaten, the winner can go to bed with me."


I said it like it was a joke, so that Bill could disapprove.
Then, I could have backed out gracefully, without seeming
to mean it.




I'm not sure it came across that way, though. The men
were in a hilarious uproar, with hoots and shouts of "Whoa!"
and "All RIGHT!"


I trembled a moment, wondering if I hadn't gone too
far. I watched Bill carefully; he pursed his lips thoughtfully,
then smiled, nodding his assent.




I'd sobered, adding, "I really mean it. The winner
gets ME!"


Tom was standing beside me, at first in disbelief. He turned
and and strode to the table, saying, "Deal me back
in!"


BILL'S STORY:




Tom looked away from Ellen, then at me and smirked, "Is
this for real, Bill?"


I looked at each player and asked, "You guys really
WANT it to be for real?"


They looked at each other, nodding affirmatively, as Tom
spoke for all and grunted, "Yeah, we do."


Turning to them, he asked, "Right?"


Paul said, slowly, "Absolutely."


Leo added, "Right."


I grinned, "Then it's for real."


I turned to Tom and inquired, "Think you've known
me long enough to trust my word?




Tom knew. He was the only other man besides myself who was
still living from the goon patrol. He works for me as a client
liaison, and he'd worked for me when we first met in
the marines.




It was thirteen years ago this month when Tom was pointing
out that we'd seen more men die than either of us could
ever know as friends. It was our third day back in the States.
We were sitting in a dimly lit San Francisco bar in neatly
pressed uniforms talking about Mojo, Franklin, and Reid
who were the best memories we'd have from the hell ground
we'd kissed good-bye the week before.




A dark haired, bearded young man was sitting two stools
away and talking to another hippie between him and us. The
man glanced around his friend's shoulder toward us
and said to his clone, "Fucking soldiers are running
down the neighbourhood."


His clone turned to look at us, adjusted his purple glasses,
lit up a joint, and told him, "Lay off, Louie."


Figuring his friend was offering him good advice, I ignored
them; but Tom turned to the clone, who seemed the most reasonable,
and asked, "You a conscientious objector?"


He responded, as if with sadness, "Yes."


Tom nodded sympathetically, "I understand."


Tom wasn't lying; he'd left seminary school from
where he'd hoped one day to be a Catholic priest. He'd
joined the marines and spent the next four years worrying
about losing his soul. Tom turned to the other man and asked,
"And you?"


The surlier hippie clanked his beer against the counter
in a show of irritation. Wiping his heavy paws across a bright
yellow shirt emblazoned with a large blue star on his chest,
he smirked, "Student deferment."


He spit on the floor, ignoring the angry retort from the
bar tender. I looked straight ahead, across the bar, and
told Tom, "Tell him to fuck off and forget it."


A TV set above the bar glared. The TV commentator was intoning
about a greenhorn lieutenant and his squad who'd gone
hyper in Vietnam and wasted the better half of a village
we'd never heard of.




So Yellow Shirt glanced away from the set and growled, "Were
you two with those My Lai baby killers?"


I shouldn't have said anything, but I pulled on my beer
and explained heatedly, "He was Army! We're
Marines!"


I felt an immediate twinge of guilt about implying the army
was incompetent; it had been the army's helicopters
and the army's green berets who pulled Tom, me and three
other reconnaissance marines from a hell hole where we
officially shouldn't have been but had been sent anyway.




We'd been on the run for a dozen days and nights from
an unrelenting enemy who probably thought we were fifty
or more men instead of just five scared marines, three of
whom wouldn't live to celebrate their twenty-third
birthdays. We'd slept in short shifts with thunderstorms
arriving on the hour and pesky snakes crawling through
our mud-soaked sleeping bags. I was suffering from a fractured
wrist, influenza, diarrhoea, and a festering cut to the
groin from crawling through a quarter mile of jagged riverside
rocks. And, as if the jungle gods hadn't done enough,
I was stumbling along half-blind with a three-day migraine.
Yet because, I was to be checked into a hospital for two weeks,
I was to be the luckiest of the five.




I was scared out of my wits from the first night's rumble
of mortar fire to the moment the flock of army choppers and
the berets cleared the jungle and whisked us away.




I was remembering all that while this loudmouth was asking
if we were baby killers. I remembered it all.




As the helicopter turned south, a hulking green beret grinned
down at our six-foot-four superstar, Mojo, and asked,
"How'd you guys keep going?"


Mojo turned his determined black face to the beret and said
simply, "Semper Fi, baby."


A week later, a red-eyed sergeant who'd been leading
Mojo's new team strode down the double line of hospital
beds to mine. He had bad news. They'd just plucked the
two dozen pieces of Mojo's body from the stale waters
of a rotting rice paddy. His remains were in a black body
bag, folded inside an ice chest on the hospital's west
end. Nervously gesturing his thumb over his shoulder,
the sergeant added, "Near the non-com's dining
hall."


And, by the way, how would I fucking like to visit what was
left of Mojo?




The next two hours, I was chewing pages from the Time Magazine
I'd been reading. I spat out paper balls I was imagining
were bullets aimed at everyone I could blame for us been
sent to that hell hole. Then I remembered. It was me. And
Mojo. Nobody had forced us to volunteer. Mojo's last
fond memory was having learned the green beret talking
to him in the helicopter had been a pro football player for
Mojo's hometown team. The beret's reserve unit
had pulled the unlucky number and was called to Vietnam.
The sergeant had told me Mojo had been talking about the
beret and his team that morning Mojo was killed.




Two months later, I was assigned to a fresh recon team. It
didn't get any better.




So I pushed away from the bar but was too late. Tom had already
walked around the man who said he was c.o. and gripped the
throat of Yellow Shirt whose legs were now dangling inches
above the marbled floor. His arms were flailing. Tom was
yelling at him, " A student DEFERMENT! You're
a DRAFT dodger!"


I told myself this was why Tom shouldn't have been a
priest anyway. Turning to Tom, I said, "Forget it.
This piece of shit isn't fucking worth this."


Tom murmured, "Guess not."


He released his grip. Yellow Shirt thumped to the floor.
The man sat there in his bell bottom jeans, his peace symbol
dangling from a silver chain. Choking, he coughed out obscenities
about the brutality of mother-fucking, baby-killing
bullies.




Grinning, I turned to Tom, swallowed the last of the beer,
and scratched my forehead. I asked him, cynically, "So,
you proud of yourself?"


Tom's face reddened as he said, "Guess not."


Turning to the conscientious objector, but not to the man
on the floor, he apologised, "Sorry. And I mean it."


He dropped ten dollars on the counter and told the bartender,
"Keep the change."


The bartender swooped it up, leaned over the counter, and
shoved the bills back into Tom's pocket, saying, "Gy-renes,
you got a free beer here anytime you want it."


The bar man told Yellow Shirt to get the fuck out of his bar
and not to come back.




So here we were across the country, light years later, sitting
across a card table. Playing for my wife as the prize.




Assured that Ellen and I were serious, they played furiously.
Their attitudes had changed to a determined lust. Now and
then, Leo, Paul and Tom looked toward Ellen who was sitting
on the couch.




She looked fearful. She squirmed each time one of us dragged
the pool of chips across the table, like she was trying to
determine who would win. Once, her body shuddered, her
hips involuntarily thrusting in excitation. I didn't
know who was the most eager, her or them. Or me.




I lost purposely. No one noticed when I didn't show
my hand. To hurry the game along, the remaining players
drew for the highest card. Paul won.




They breathed heavily, leering at Ellen. Wide-eyed and
tremoring, she walked to the staircase, looking back at
us in the dimness of the game room.




ELLEN'S STORY:




I had known from the beginning I'd have to involve all
these men; otherwise, anyone of them could have talked.
My voice quaking, I murmured, "I want you all. But
Paul's the winner. He's first."


My knees were shaking as I took Paul by the hand. I turned
once more to Bill like I hadn't made up my mind. My stomach
was churning. Bill's eyes glinted beneath the chandelier.
The long faces of Leo and Tom displayed disappointment,
but they smiled. Paul and I turned for the stairs to our bedroom.




Paul's eyes are dark and brooding. Muscular and lean,
his arms look like telephone poles, the fingers of his large
hands like bananas. My body trembled as he closed the door,
taking me in his arms. His hands fondled my soft breasts
as I unzipped his grey slacks, stroking his stiffening
manhood. My breasts heaved as he unbuttoned my blouse and
untied my skirt. My clothes puddled to the floor.




I'd known Paul and his wife for two years. Perhaps that
should have made me feel guilty, but somehow the thought
heightened my desire for the sin. I unbuttoned his shirt,
then pulled away his slacks. I knelt to worship the long
engorged member curving up before me.




My fingers were shaking like leaves in the wind. I grasped
his hips as my trembling lips enveloped his velvety manhood.
As my lips slid along his length, my eyes rolled up to watch
his face. He stared back, chewing his lower lip, his hands
clasping my bobbing head. His hips thrust madly. His eyes
glazed.




I tremored with fright as he grasped my arms, lifting and
pushing me back on the waterbed. My groin was thrusting
in excitation toward his twitching tool. Hovering above
me, he spread my legs. His tongue lathed my breasts, then
traced a sensuous path down my stomach. My vagina quivered
up to his mouth.




He guided his lengthy tool's broad head to my vagina.
I wailed, realising the others could hear me downstairs.
I no longer cared. My shaved cunt closed tightly around
his throbbing staff. My eyes widened as I stared down at
the huge instrument sinking its full length. My hips rotated,
my cuntal walls contracting and pulling his engorged length.




He thrust into me like a wild stallion fucking a young mare.
My vaginal walls smouldered. I mewed with each entry. Closing
my eyes, I locked my legs around his back. His hips were slapping
against my hungry loins.




I shuddered. My straining vagina accepted each entry of
his broad tool. My body lifted from the waterbed with each
withdrawal. Paul's rod tunnelled deeper. My mouth
formed an "oh" as I moaned in thrilling ecstasy,
my eyes opening widely to watch the instrument driving
into me.


The door creaked open. Leo and Tom were standing nude in
the doorway, their forms outlined by the dim lighting from
the bathroom down the hall. Each walked to a separate side
of our bed. My husband was leaning against the doorjamb,
pumping his cock furiously.




BILL'S STORY:




When we opened the door, Paul turned to acknowledge us but
continued fucking my wife. Ellen looked at Leo. Leo is about
her height, heavyset but muscular, with the thick neck,
shoulders, and arms of a weight-lifter, which is just what
he is. Her tremoring hand reached to stroke Leo's semi-
tumescent member. She grasped Tom's soft cock, pulling
it to her lips. As Tom's cock gathered its full, hard
length, it glistened beneath the dim stream of light filtering
through the door. Leo's broad chest hovered above
her as he suckled one of her nipples that were standing out
like spikes. Her moans of pleasure were muffled by Tom's
broad-beamed member fucking into her hungry mouth.




I wondered whether Ellen thought about these men being
married to her closest friends. As for Leo, Tom, and Paul,
I knew that at this point they didn't give a damn.




Paul was fucking my wife with a frenzy. She was pumping Tom's
thick cock and mouthing Leo's full length. Paul shuddered,
then groaned as he exploded.




Leo took his place. As Leo's body hammered between
her splayed legs, her hips grinding and thrusting with
his rhythm, the bedside telephone rang. I said, "Let
the recorder answer it, " but Ellen put a finger to
her lips for us to quiet down and picked up the receiver.


Ellen's lips ovalled in awe at the size of the cock ramming
into her shaved pussy.




Leo hadn't missed a stroke. His broad member thrust
deeper. Ellen's hips tremored at the onslaught. Her
voice quaked softly as she answered into the telephone,
"Hel...Hello-o-o-oh!"


It was her friend, Christine, who was telling her what a
great movie she'd missed that night. Finally, Christine
asked, "Are you all right? You sound a little strange."


Whatever Ellen said in response, Christine laughed, "Oh!
You're being fucked by BILL! WOW! Can I ever pick some
great times to CALL! Look, I'll call back tomorrow
night!"


When Ellen told us about the conversation, we broke up in
gales of laughter.




Leo, however, seemed oblivious to what had happened and
kept thrusting into her. The mood returned as he began erupting
his hot sperm. And then, Tom was pumping into her. Her ankles
locked around his back. He murmured, "Oh, GOD!"


She told Tom, "I love you, Tom! I've always loved
you! Oh, fuck me, Tom! FUCK me!"


I didn't know whether she meant it or not, but for some
overwhelming erotic reason, my cock expanded to enormous
proportions as she was proclaiming her deep love for him.




She rolled until her legs were straddling him. Leaning
over Paul's supine body, she brought him again to hardness.
Her hand stroked Leo's cock.




ELLEN'S STORY:




The heated male flesh around me electrified my mind and
body!
I could feel our cosmic orgasms rolling up from the distance.
A massive groan in unison surrounded me.




I was pumping Leo's cock furiously, relishing the
feel of his soft outer skin that slipped over the hardness
beneath. His purple veins bulged over the pale skin.




I curled my hand around Paul's member, pulling it to
Leo's. I rolled one slippery shaft in a circular motion
around the other as they closed their eyes to experience
the fleshy veins of another man's tool jerk and throb
in my hands.




I stared at the bulging shafts I was rubbing together. The
cock- heads surged in excitation, glistening a deep crimson.
Tom stared at the two cocks that were only inches from his
face. Tom rode me savagely. I pulled Leo and Paul closer;
the undersides of their shafts met from root to head. Softly
grasping the upper half of each cock, I slid them together
in lengthwise motions.




Raising my torso, I strained my lips to envelope the heads
of both penises, my tongue lathing the walnut-sized cock
heads as I pressed them together at the roots. They groaned
at the thrills rippling through their rubbery tools.




Electrical currents shimmied through my body. The feeling
of two throbbing shafts in my hands and mouth, and another
fucking into my fluttering vagina, drove me wild. Rolling
my head, I screamed ecstatically.




Tom's tongue twined around mine. I pulled Leo's
and Paul's lengthy rods into my mouth, rolling my tongue
through the crevice between Tom's tongue and their
shafts. Tom's body tensed. His cock twisted and slammed
into my vagina with full force, plunging to the furthest
reaches of my steaming cuntal walls. My clitoris pulsated
in pre-orgasmic spasms with each savage entry.




My head was thrashing from side to side, my vision blurring
from the sensual overdose of multiple fucking. A fire storm
was raging through me as I shivered helplessly beneath
them, like the maiden prize of an ancient conquering army.
My eyes rolled in excitation as I felt the throb of an expectant
eruption.




In the dim light, I could see a large pale vein pulsating
in Tom's temple as he drove relentlessly into me. My
hips gyrated madly in passion. My hair flailed the warm
night air. I shuddered wantonly, my groin rotating wildly.
The searing heat of his rubbery staff flooded through me.
My hands were still stroking Leo and Paul. Tom's broad
tool painfully stretched my lubricated walls to the breaking
point. My body throbbed in an explosive shower of mind-numbing
pleasure as I thrashed beneath his hammering hips. Murmuring
my desire, I radiated with passion.




I was insane with desire!
I rolled, until my long legs were kneeling away from Tom,
my backside to him. I released my grip from the other two
men. My elbows braced my body against the headboard as Tom's
hands grasped my hips; he entered my quivering pussy from
the rear. I wailed when we were united. And strangely, it
was as if no one else were in the room; just Tom and I. My passion
smouldered.




His manhood throbbed within me. His swollen balls slap-slap-slapped
against my buttocks. Crazed with desire, I cried as he thrust
into me. My hips rotated like a Ferris wheel gone mad. I fucked
back against him like I was riding an untamed bronco. I breathed
lustily, "Oh-h-h! Fuck me! FUCK me, Tom!"


Hot ecstatic coals had been poured into my vagina.




I turned my head to watch him, my eyes wide. He hammered his
long instrument like a massive machine. My lips ovalled
in wonder. I was a cosmic surfer, riding a celestial wave.
When our eyes locked, we each recognised the mutual feeling
- We loved fucking the other. We loved this adultery. We
loved.




I relished the exquisite feeling of his huge cock slipping
into me. As Tom's hips gyrated, twisting his manhood
deep within, my cuntal walls irradiated in a passionate
white heat. I was whimpering in delight.




I glanced to Bill who had groaned from the doorway. His nostrils
flared. His eyes gleamed like those of a hungry coyote surveying
his prey. Bill squinted, his lips parted, as he gripped
his cock. He murmured savagely, "Oh, God-d-d-d!"


The realisation that my husband was about to come while
watching his friends fuck his wife rocketed my desire into
hyper-drive. Tom was now ramming his shaft into my cunt
like a sledgehammer, his hard stomach flattening my buttocks
each time he slammed into me from behind.




The other men, pumping their tools furiously, were slack-jawed.
They stared in wonder at Tom's and my passionate union
of orgiastic flesh. Tom was still lost in the lusty vortex,
oblivious to the others.




Then it began. The thunder of cosmic orgasm was rolling
up from lust's distant mountains in lightning-laden
clouds. The breadth of Tom's manhood was now expanding
monstrously like the explosive upsurge of a volcano about
to burst. We shared an ecstatic sigh. I was sobbing like
I was about to die. As I realised Tom was about to come, I moaned,
"Oh, GOD-D-D-D, YES-S-S-S!"


I writhed in ecstasy as his thrilling tempo increased and
cried, "Oh DO it to me, Tom! I'm so fucking hot,
I don't know what to DO! Fuck me, Tom! FUCK me-e-e-e!"


I sobbed, staring straight ahead at the headboard as he
rammed into me from behind. Warm tears of joy streaked across
my face like tropical rain on the windshield of a speeding
jetliner. The salty liquid spread through my mouth as I
moaned, "Oh God, Tom! I'm going to COME! I'm
going to COME WITH YOU! Oh God! It's so fucking AWESOME!"


And now, it was happening!
Oh God help me!
The tidal wave was upon us. I shuddered, my body on fire with
the cosmic power of our orgasmic flood!
We wailed in unison. The lightning thunder-clapped. A
million stars burst throughout the room.




Tom's hot semen burst through my waiting channel.
I screamed as his lengthy member erupted molten lava through
my steaming cuntal walls. My arms enwrapped the shuddering
torsos of the men kneeling on each side. I was sobbing with
passion, my tears flowing in torrents.




I throbbed in a sensation of dying in rapture. My mind was
separated from my body as if my eyes were looking down from
the ceiling upon Tom's body fucking his climactic
crescendo into my cunt from the rear. The vision of overwhelming
passion was playing out before me like I was a spirit watching
from a cloud. I knew I was dying but no longer cared. I reached
for Tom's shaft as it was about to explode, my mouth
pulling its surging cream from deep within his balls. He
collapsed on the bed, his body jerking as he groaned mightily.




At the final moment, as I screamed in abandon, Leo rammed
his broad, steaming cock into my wide open mouth. My lips
clamped upon it as my tremoring tongue gripped the underside
of his cock. I was swallowing his warm sperm as it [color
blue] spurted through the walls of my mouth.
My mind was spinning in rapturous torrents, capturing
the lusty thoughts of every man in the room.




The final orgasm rippled electrically through my cunt
in a massive explosion. I imagined a skyscraper collapsing
into rubble. My body was shuddering like leaves in a hurricane.




After we'd fluttered to earth, we showered. I was lathered
and rinsed by the four men until my skin squeaked. We returned
to the bedroom. I collapsed face down on the waterbed. The
others lay across my body. We drifted asleep but were awakened
an hour later by the alarm Bill had set on the headboard.
Leo took the final ten minutes before they had to leave;
I guess he wanted to prove he was the ultimate stud. Leo rolled
me above him until I was straddling his hips, then fucked
me twice more. It wasn't that erotic; the other men
were laughing and muttering, "Come off it, Leo!"
and "You think you're a teenager again?"


I gladly took all he could give. It had been the greatest
night of my life.




Bill and I still relive that night in the privacy of our bedroom,
but for reasons too numerous to tell here, its history wasn't
repeated. The rapport and friendship established with
these men in a non-sexual way was amazing to me. Occasionally
in a social situation, a coded remark is dropped by one of
them with a wink. Their wives and other friends are unaware
of the meanings of these remarks. And not one of them would
dare offend Bill by suggesting to me that we get together
on the side.

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