New Years Eve

"New Years Eve" an erotic sex story by Anon - Sep 17, 2004 - From Swinger stories

This story has been read 19857 times.

Swinger story - It’s not uncommon for cops to marry each other.  We work a nasty,
unforgiving, thankless job with pressure from all possible sides.  We try to
do what’s right most of the time but somebody is always coming down on us.
Our suspects, obviously don’t like us and often curse us.  We can live with
that. Their victims, often enough, also curse us a lot.  I can’t count the
number of times I’ve arrested an abusive husband for beating the shit out of
his wife and then had the wife in question verbally or even physically attack
me for doing so.  You LEARN to live with that. Our citizens, the one’s we’re
sworn to protect, are afraid of us, the best of them just avoiding our
presence, the worst of them writing angry editorials to the newspaper about
our alleged power abuses.  We learn to live with this also.  The media, it
goes without saying, loves nothing more than to slam us for something, taking
comments out of context, interviewing outraged family members that were not
present at the incident in question and presenting those interviews as if
they were the gospel.  We learn to cope with and protect ourselves to some
degree against that.  Even our administration; that collection of captains,
deputy chiefs, and the chief himself; people who have not been street cops in
years, if ever, who are more interested in public relations than the morale
of us poor line slobs, will burn us in an instant regardless of whether or
not we’re right.  We learn to protect ourselves against this too.

We persevere.  It’s the nature of most of us.  But it’s not
surprising that we’re perhaps the most xenophobic group of individuals on the
face of the earth.  We have a divorce rate that is right off the chart.  I
know cops, both male and female, that have been married four times and still
haven’t learned the lesson.  Marriage with civilians just doesn’t work.  They
don’t, they CAN’T understand what we go through, what motivates us, what
frustrates us, what things we know about our fellow human beings.  A wall of
uncommunicativeness inevitably develops leading to antipathy with each other,
infidelity, and eventually, hatred.

There are many cops of the old school still around that think
allowing women onto the department was the worst mistake ever made.  I beg to
differ. For one, a good many of them make descent or even outstanding cops if
they make the effort to fit into what had traditionally been a man’s world.
After all, bulk and muscles are not what gets the job done but words and the
projection of authority most of the time.  Cops are the greatest bluffers on
earth. Second of all, there is now a group of females in existence that DOES
know exactly what we go through because they go through the same thing.  We
can now relate to someone.  The divorce rate for inter-profession marriages
is remarkably low, lower in fact than the national average of all marriages.

I’m one of the smart ones.  I began dating Stephanie shortly after
she was hired by the Seattle Police Department six years ago.  At the time I
was a two-year veteran, just becoming comfortable with the job and just
getting bored with the life of a single cop.  I’d had my fill of night shift
waitresses, dispatchers, clerks in convenience stores, and other forms of cop
groupie and was ready to settle down a little. She was a cute brunette
assigned to one of the training officers on my shift.  We often ran into each
other on calls and hit it off pretty well.  We began dating once she was
released for duty on her own.  A year later we were married and proceeded to
pump out two kids, girls, both of them, twenty-two months apart.  We now have
a nice house in suburban Seattle (two civil service incomes combined is a
comfortable salary that qualifies for a NICE amount on a home loan).

Like most cops, we choose not to socialize with civilians in our off
time.  Such relationships just don’t work.  The civilian will feel the need
to vent about his or her encounter with what he or she considered a rude cop.
Or they’ll express their opinion about the latest damning editorial they’d
read in the paper.  At some point, they’ll get a speeding ticket or something
and, after complaining about the heartlessness of the cop that had issued it,
will ask if you can “fix” it for them. It’s best to just avoid those kinds
of relationships.  But still, we have the need to socialize and to fulfill
this, we naturally turn to other cops.

Stephanie and I are very close friends with another pair of married
cops; Mark and Michelle Lacy.  Mark was hired the year after I was and had
been assigned, once his training was complete, to the same district as I.
Michelle, a big-boned blonde, not quite large enough to be considered chunky,
was hired the year after Stephanie and had met Mark in a manner similar to
the way I’d met Steph. They married within a year of meeting and they too
proceeded to pump out a couple of kids.  Mark and I became friends early on
when we found ourselves frequently assigned to calls together. Our
get-togethers on mutual off-nights began shortly after the birth of Mark and
Michelle’s first child.

The get-togethers were not as frequent as we would have liked. Since
none of the four of us were particularly fond of day-care we each sacrificed
time with our spouses in order to minimize the amount of time the children
were not in the presence of one or the other of the parents.  To do this, we
worked opposing shifts from our spouses.  Mark and I both worked weekend day
shift, he in Central Seattle (not nearly as glamorous as it sounded, downtown
Seattle, once away from the high-rises, was a pit), me in South Seattle, a
lower-class residential area.  Michelle and Stephanie both worked the same
division and shift; East Seattle, another crime-ridden ghetto, on the weekday
swing shift. It was rare indeed when all four of us had a day off at the same
time, but we’d made a point, a long time ago, to take advantage of such
opportunities when they arose.

Usually, when we DID get together, we would watch the children, who
were becoming fast friends with one another, play together.  We would
barbecue something, make a nice dinner.  We would play cards or Pictionary or
some other board game. We would talk shop, getting calls off of our chests,
bitching about management, that sort of thing. But always we would drink.
Cops are voracious drinkers of alcohol in our off time.  Why not?  It is
legal. As for driving under the influence, we could do that with near
impunity.  As long as we didn’t actually get into an accident, we were safe.
If another cop, even one from another agency, pulled us over for erratic
driving or something else, a simple flash of the badge would bring the
encounter to a quick end.  You can call it corruption or professional
courtesy, or whatever else you like, you can think it right or wrong or just
an interesting perk of the job, but it’s a simple fact.  Off duty cops, in
the matter of driving infractions, definitely live above the law.  Don’t ever
let any of them tell you otherwise.

Thanks to the alcohol consumed at these functions, quite an intimate
rapport had developed between the four of us.  We could say things to each
other that would have caused other invited couples to storm out of the house
in outrage.  For instance, I could say how nice Michelle’s tits looked in her
new sweater and then make a snide comment about how much I’d like to squeeze
them. Neither Mark, nor Michelle, nor Stephanie would be the least bit
offended by this, though they would usually laugh outrageously at the
observation. Michelle, who was proud of her tits, might even cup them for a
moment as emphasis.  Similarly, Mark could point out how Steph’s ass was
looking extremely tight in those jeans she was wearing and speculate on the
firmness of the individual cheeks and what they might feel like with his cock
in between them.  This offended me not the least bit, nor did it Steph or
Michelle.  Many a discussion had centered on the possibilities of wife
swapping.  We joked about how it would be perfectly safe since both Mark and
I had been vasectomized and we were all free of dangerous diseases.  These
discussions always produced good laughs.

Now there are fundamental differences between women and men.  I knew
and Mark knew that both of us were not fully joking when we talked of wife
swapping.  And we both knew that the other knew this.  We’re males and the
instinct of a male is to strive for variety in his respective sex-life, no
matter how attractive, pleasant, or skilled his spouse is in the bedroom.  We
knew that if the wives were to suddenly agree to this, it would not take more
than a minute or so to convince US that it was a good thing to do.  We also
both assumed that the wives WERE joking when they discussed it.  Women’s
sexual desires and needs are different than those of a man.  Women did not
strive for variety for the simple fact of experimentation.  Or so we thought.
Until New Years Eve.

We always made it a point to get together on December 31 of each
year. Usually it involved one or more of us taking the night or next day off,
but New Years eve, though it paid holiday overtime rate, is not a pleasant
shift to work anyway.  In fact, it’s our busiest day of the year, what with
all the drunken revelry and the inevitable domestic disputes that result from
it. Throw in all of the calls for “shots fired in the vicinity of…”, and you
have an ugly ten hours of work that usually turns into twelve or thirteen.
When you had the seniority that the four of us did, and if you asked for that
particular day off far enough in advance, it was usually granted.  This year
was no exception.  I was scheduled to work at 6:00 AM New Years Day but a
time- off request submitted way back in October had neatly taken care of
that.  The rest of the crew, by luck of the draw, was already off.

Our house was the chosen locale this year.  Mark and Michelle showed up
about seven o’clock that evening bringing a couple of marinated steaks and a
bottle of tequila with them.  Their two children, Jason and Alexandria,
followed them inside where they greeted us and our two children, Sarah and
Jessica, enthusiastically.  They weren’t there five minutes before the first
batch of potent margaritas was whirring to completion in our blender.

We started dinner right away, finishing it and cleaning up the dishes
by 8:30.  We were all pleasantly buzzed by then, our discussions animated and
mostly centering on work.  The kids of course wanted to stay up until midnight
and we told them that they could but the oldest, Jessica, was only four and a
half, and by ten minutes after 9:00, all of them were sound asleep on couches
or floors.  We carried them to waiting beds and returned to the living room
where the REAL drinking soon started.

We began by playing TABOO, a board game in which you have to have
your partner guess a certain word by giving clues.  The catch is that the
most obvious clues are usually on the list of taboo words.  It’s fun, all the
more so because a member of the opposing team is required to sit next to you
to make sure you don’t say any of the forbidden words. Since the married
couples were natural teams, this meant that Michelle and I were sitting next
to each other as were Steph and Mark.  As we played we drank more and more
margaritas, taking turns getting up and making each new batch. Soon we were
all pretty squiffed. I particularly enjoyed the way that Michelle leaned into
me whenever she needed to read over my shoulder.  Her balance was off and her
large breasts pushed pleasantly into my arm each time. I certainly didn’t
complain, nor did Stephanie who couldn’t have helped seeing what Michelle was
doing. In fact, I noticed, she was doing the same thing to Mark when she
read over his shoulder. I began to get aroused.

At about 10:00, we had just finished up the last round of TABOO.
Michelle, still sitting next to me, was telling a joke.  “And so the Pope
looked at them all.”  She said, giggling already.  She jabbed her elbow into
my side in a friendly manner, indicating that this is what the Pope in her
joke did.  “And said, ‘you motherfuckers are all right’.”

We began laughing.  It WAS a pretty funny joke, made all the more so
by our current level of intoxication.  Stephanie, in a fit of girlish
laughter, accidentally knocked her quarter-full margarita glass over.  The
green, icy liquid sloshed across the table and poured into Mark’s lap,
causing him to jump up, startled.  This caused everybody to laugh even more.

“I’m so sorry.”  Steph giggled, sounding anything but. “Here.” She
said, grabbing a handful of napkins from a pile on the table.  She quickly
cleaned off the chair and discarded the wet ones.  She then picked up another
pile and began wiping the wet spot on the front of Mark’s pants.  Her strokes
were firm, teasing, and not doing much to dry him off at all.  It was
probably, in fact, making him spring some wood.

He looked at me a little uncomfortably for a moment.  “Better be
careful.”  He told Steph with a smile. “Or it might suddenly get a lot
wetter.”

She chortled.  “I’m good.”  She said.  “But I didn’t know I was that
good.”

“Maybe you oughtta vacuum dry it.”  Michelle suggested to her.  “If you
know what I mean.”

This actually made Mark blush which served to make everyone else spew
laughter.  After a moment, Steph removed her hand and he sat back down.

It was Michelle’s turn to make the next batch of drinks.  She
disappeared into the kitchen for a few minutes and then came the sound of the
blender grinding up the concoction of ice, tequila (lots of it), and generic
margarita mix. When she returned, she unsteadily poured herself a glassful
and then set the blender down on the table.

“I’m too friggin’ drunk to pour everyone’s drink.”  She said, slurring
a little.  “You can all just do it yourselves.  That way, if you spill the
shit, it’s your own fault.”

“I know a good place to spill it.”  Steph said, casting an amused eye
at Mark.

A look passed between the two women at that point.  I didn’t know what
it meant, not then, but some form of telepathic communication took place.
Michelle, on the way to her chair, eased behind me.  I felt the weight of her
substantial breasts pushing against my back.  She paused there.

“You know Stephie.”  She said with mock indignation.  “I’m offended.
You went and spilled a drink on my husband.  That’s an insult in some
countries.”

“Oh yeah?”  Steph grinned.

“Yeah.”  She answered.  “I can’t just let that go without
retaliation.”  With that, she stretched her drink arm over my shoulder and
poured about half of her margarita right into my crotch.

“Jesus!”  I exclaimed, jumping.  Have you ever had icy liquid poured
onto your genitals?  It’s kind of like, well kind of like having icy liquid
poured onto your genitals.  I stood up so quick that my body threw Michelle,
who’d still been on my back, backwards.  She stumbled and fell to her butt on
the floor, pouring the remainder of her drink into HER lap.

Mark and Steph were both in hysterics, seeing this.  Though my crotch
was numb I quickly found humor in the situation and began laughing too, as did
Michelle.  I held out my hand to help her up.  She took it but when I started
to pull she gave a strong yank, pulling me down on top of her.  We fell to the
floor, our chests and groins pushing together.

“Gotcha.”  She grinned, her face inches from mine, close enough so I
could smell her breath.  She ground her crotch playfully into me.  Playful or
not though, my body responded immediately to the feel of her wet crotch
rubbing against mine.  Though we’d joked around before, it was almost a
ritual, this was the first time I’d ever been in close, intimate contact with
her body.  It felt nice, different than Steph’s.  It was a little larger and
a little softer.  And her breasts were a lot larger.

“Careful.”  I said.  “Your husband might get offended.”

“Are you offended Markie?”  She asked lightly, giving me another grind.

“Nope.”  He burped.  “I’m very inoffensable.”

“You guys ARE getting my carpet all wet though.”  Stephanie pointed
out, giggling.

Reluctantly I pulled myself off of her, holding out my hand once again
to help her up.  This time she stood in the normal fashion.

“Gee Michelle.”  Steph said, looking at me.  “I do believe you gave my
husband a boner.”

I was shocked that she would say such a thing and opened my mouth to
deny it.  But then, looking down at myself, I could see there was nothing to
deny.  My pants, made tighter than normal by the margarita spilled on them,
were most definitely bulging outward.  I felt myself blushing, the boner of
which they spoke wilting in shame.  I wondered if Mark was going to kick my
ass and felt grateful that none of us were wearing our off-duty weapons at
the moment.  But Mark was simply grinning, shaking his head back and forth.

“She gives good boners, doesn’t she?”  He asked.

“But does she know what to do with them afterward?”  Steph enquired.

“I’ve never had any complaints.”  Michelle answered.  She looked at me
and ran her finger up the bulge in my pants, both making me jump again and
making Steph and Mark laugh.  “You better get your wifey to take care of that
for you.”

“Oh no.”  Steph said.  “You gave it to him.  YOU take care of it.”

At that point the atmosphere in the room underwent a change.  Before,
though we’d been admittedly more raunchy than usual we could still tell
ourselves that we were only kidding around in a drunken way.  That illusion
was about to end and we were about to cross over a line, from friendliness to
open sexuality.  We stopped giggling and became more serious, serious enough
to feel the charge of sexual electricity in the air.  If any one of us would
have said anything, even jokingly, to indicate that they didn’t want to take
part in where this path was leading, it would have come to a stop right there
and we would have gone back to our usual sort of party.  But no one did.

“Well.”  Michelle said, issuing a joking statement with a dead-serious
voice.  “If I must, I must.”

Slowly she sank to her knees at my feet, so that her face was even with
my wet crotch.  Seeing her do this and realizing its implications, my cock
sprang back to life, becoming instantly, painfully hard.  She licked her lips
once and then peered around the room, looking at each of our faces for
objections.  It was still technically possible to abort at this point.  Nobody
gave a negative sign, either verbally or through body language.  In fact,
Stephanie was showing the unmistakable signs of arousal that I was so familiar
with.  Her face was flushed and her brown eyes were shining.  I could see that
her nipples were hard and poking through her bra and her shirt.

Slowly, Michelle reached forward and undid the button on my pants.
When she pulled the zipper down, causing the pants to fall around my feet,
leaving me standing there in my BVDs, which were quite tented, the line had
been crossed.  The going became much easier after this.

She pulled my underwear down with a single stroke, revealing my cock to
her gaze (as well as her husband’s who, I HOPE, wasn’t that interested in
seeing it).  She caressed it gently with her fingers and then leaned forward,
licking from the shaft to the head.

“Tastes like a margarita.”  She commented.

This broke the tension in the room.  We all laughed for a moment.

“It’s margarita-dick!”  Mark chided.

Michelle kissed the head a few times and then took it in her mouth,
giving it a little suck.  She pulled her mouth off and turned to my wife.
“Hey Steph.”  She said.  “I bet I can make your husband come before you can
make my husband come.”

“Oh yeah?”  Steph breathed, very flushed now.  “How much?”

“First choice of patrol cars next shift.”

“You’re on.”  Steph said, pointing to a spot on the carpet next to
her.  “Get over here.”  She told Mark.  He didn’t have to be told twice.

Steph undid his pants and dropped them, along with his underwear.  Soon
his cock was out in all of its glory.

“On three.”  Steph said.

“And you gotta swallow.”  Mark put in.  “Or it’s a forfeit.”

“Who put you in charge of our bet?”  Michelle asked.

“Somebody’s gotta be a judge.”  He told her.  “Just to make sure it’s
done fairly.  Spilling indicates poor technique.  And poor technique shouldn’t
win such a vital contest, don’t you agree?”

“Oh shut the fuck up.”  Steph said, grabbing him around the base of his
cock.  “One, two, three.”

With that the two women dropped their heads and began orally
copulating.  I have to say, in all fairness, that my wife sucks cock better
than Michelle does.  Unlike many married women, she actually LIKES to give
head and does it frequently.  But that’s not to say that Michelle was a
slouch at it.  She’d obviously had a cock in her mouth a time or two before.
She mouthed and tongued me, jacking me with her hands, occasionally licking
my balls or fondling them.  Her hands caressed and squeezed the cheeks of my
ass.  That fact that this was not my wife also added a lot to the experience,
as did the fact that my wife not only knew about this and consented to it,
but that she was less than five feet away doing the same thing to someone
else.  The whole thing felt nasty to me, but nasty in a good way.  The
alcohol was doing a nice job of keeping those nagging second thoughts from
surfacing, those dirty little things that had ruined more than their
fair-share of good times.

I looked down at Michelle’s head bobbing up and down on me.  It was
so strange to see a blonde head between my legs.  While she slurped away I
looked over at Mark and Steph. Steph, I could see, was intent upon winning
her bet. She was going no holds barred at his cock, bobbing, sucking, and
jacking all at the same time.  Mark glanced over at me for a moment and our
eyes met.  This was a man that I’d worked with on the streets, that I’d
gotten drunk with in cop bars, that I went hunting with every October. My
wife was sucking on his cock.  Groovy. He grinned at me for a moment and
then gave me a thumbs-up sign. He then closed his eyes and leaned his head
back, dropping his hands into my wife’s brown hair.

Steph won the bet handily.  I heard a grunt and a groan from Mark’s
mouth and looked over just in time to see my wife swallowing frantically.
She slurped him dry, not spilling a drop and then pulled her head out of his
crotch.

“Winner!”  She proclaimed proudly.

Michelle took her mouth off of my cock for a moment.  “Well ain’t that
some shit.”  She said.  She looked up at me.  “You let me down.”

“It was close.”  I said weakly, telling the truth.

“Yeah?  How close?”

“Go back to work and you’ll see.”  I said.

She smiled up at me and then dropped her head to my cock again.  I kept
my eyes closed while she sucked, knowing that we now had an audience and
figuring that seeing them watching would distract me.  It took about two
minutes of work before the spasms started in my groin.  My hips began bucking
and I shot a huge load between her lips.  She too swallowed every drop.

The sound of applause made me open my eyes.  Steph and Mark were
grinning at us.  Mark, I saw, had kicked off his pants, socks and shoes at
some point.  I began doing the same.

“Hey Mark.”  I said, sitting on the floor to complete the job of
clothing removal.  “I bet I can make your wife come before you can make my
wife come.”

He chuckled.  “How much?”

“A dollar.”  I said.

“You’re on.”  He answered.  “Mouths only for the purposes of the bet?”

“Mouths and fingers.”  I amended.  “For the bet.”

“Don’t we have any say in this?”  Michelle asked with false huffiness.

Mark and I looked at each other.  “No.”  I finally said, and patted the
ground next to me.  “Lie down.”

Michelle sat down on the carpet.  To my right, Steph did the same in
front of Mark. I reached out and stroked her face lightly, making her smile.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this.”  She said softly, nervously.

“Me either.”  I told her, running my hands down her jeans to her feet.
“But it’s fun, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”  She said.  “It is that.”

I untied her shoes and removed them, setting them aside and then
pulling off her pink socks and putting them inside of the shoes.  The bet was
just a façade, I didn’t really care about winning it.  I’d imagined making
love to Michelle before, it was only natural male instincts, and I wanted to
make it good for her, not fast.  I leaned forward once her shoes were off,
running my hands up the outside of her thighs to her waist, pressing my chest
to hers.  I kissed her gently, sucking on her bottom lip a little before
inserting my tongue between her lips.  Her tongue reached out to touch mine,
tentatively at first and then with more aggression.  I grasped the bottom of
her shirt and, breaking the kiss and leaning back, pulled upwards on it,
revealing her stomach and her bra-clad bosom.  I pulled the shirt over her
head and tossed it aside. Her breasts were barely restrained by the brassiere
she wore.  The straps had to be biting into her shoulders and back.  I ran my
hands softly over the cups, feeling the hardened nipples beneath.  Her
nipples, I could tell, were bigger than Steph’s.  I trailed my hands
downward, over her the flesh of her abdomen, which had an array of stretch
marks on it, the mark of childbirth.  Steph had a similar pattern on her own
stomach.  Kissing her again, I reached behind her back and found the clasp of
her bra.  As I undid it, I began kissing her neck and bare shoulder.  She
cooed softly as I did this.

Once the bra was released, I leaned backward again, letting it drop.
Her tits sagged downward due to the sheer weight of them, but they were still
impressive.  Her nipples were standing out firmly.  I ran my hands over them
softly while she tossed her bra aside, squeezing them a little.  As I pushed
gently on her, forcing her to her back, I heard a groan from Steph and Mark’s
direction.  I spared them a quick glance, seeing that Mark was moving a lot
faster than I was.  He already had her naked, his mouth attached to her left
breast, his fingers plunging in and out of her black bush.  Steph was lying on
her back, eyes closed, seemingly enjoying herself.

I turned my attention back to Michelle, pausing for a second to
remove my own shirt, which left me naked.  I kissed her gently again and then
began to lick and suck my way down her neck, onto her shoulders, and finally
to the top of her breasts.  I kissed all around them, working my way to her
nipples but avoiding them for the time being.  Finally I took the left one
into my mouth and began to suckle it like a baby.  Her hand came to the back
of my head and began running through my hair.  I switched to the other
breast, suckling it for a while, and then began to work my way south,
planting strategic kisses on her stomach and flank.  I licked across her
belly button and then reached the waist of her jeans.

Slowly, deliberately, I unbuttoned the snap and slid the zipper down.
The panties beneath were white with little Santa Clauses printed on them,
obviously left over from Christmas.  “Cute.”  I remarked, making her giggle.
I grasped the waist of her pants and pulled downward.  She lifted her hips,
allowing them to come free but leaving the Christmas panties in place. I
slid the jeans off of her and tossed them aside.  Her legs were full but not
flabby at all. Like Steph, she ran at least twenty miles a week and her
calves bulged with runner’s muscle.  I slid my hand up and down her pale legs
a few times, liking the feel of them.

Another groan caused me to look over at Steph and Mark again.  They
were going for broke.  Mark had his face buried between my wife’s widely
spread thighs and she had her hands on the back of his head, urging him on.
Michelle looked over at them too.

“I think you might lose your bet at this rate.”  She told me, smiling
sexily, seductively.

I shrugged.  “I guess I’ll be out a dollar then.  Hope I can cover it.”

With that, I dropped my head down to her left knee and began to kiss
it.  Her legs opened as I went to work, affording me a view of her panty-clad
crotch.  Her panties, I saw, were absolutely soaked with secretions.  Like a
wet T-shirt, I could see right through them to the flesh of her vagina.  My
dick, which had begun to harden again the moment I touched her breasts for the
first time, now let me know that it was firmly back in the game.  I licked and
sucked my way up her legs, treating each equally (us cops are champions of
equal rights you know), until I came to her panties.  I could smell her now,
the scent of female arousal, the most powerful aphrodisiac known to man.  She
smelled different than Steph, not better, not worse, maybe a little stronger,
but different.  This turned me on incredibly.

I planted kisses on the outside of her panties, right above her vaginal
lips, sucking her juice from the cotton of her underwear.  She sighed in a
frustrated way.  Hooking a finger into the elastic, I pulled the crotch aside,
getting my first unimpeded view of her vagina.  It was swollen and wet, just
begging for a tongue to enter it.  The hair surrounding it was light brown in
color and very kinky.  It had been years since I’d seen a blonde bush and I
stopped for a moment, just drinking in the sight of it.  Finally, I leaned
forward and ran my tongue across her puffy lips, lapping up her taste and
making her draw in a sharp breath.

“Quit fucking around.”  She ordered in a deeper voice than was her
normal.  “Get those fuckin’ panties off and EAT me!”

Instead of responding immediately, I planted another soft kiss on her
inner thigh, running my tongue over and barely flicking her engorged clit.

She moaned almost painfully. “Now Goddamit.”  She commanded.

As I pulled her panties off and prepared to begin my serious work, I
saw that Steph was approaching orgasm.  I knew the signs well.  Her pelvis was
thrusting with an erratic rhythm, her forehead was sweating, and she was
chewing on her bottom lip.  It looked like I’d definitely lost that dollar.

I tossed Michelle’s panties aside and then spread her legs wide.  I
put my face between them and began immediately plunging my tongue in and out
of her.  She groaned loudly as I lapped at her.  I spread her with my fingers
to achieve deeper penetration (and to get some of her thick hair out of my
way—she was HAIRY) of my tongue.  I deliberately avoided her clit at first
even though it was about as swollen and inviting looking as a clit could get.
I flirted with the hood a little, running my tongue in circles around it
before returning to the licking and plunging of her slit.  I knew this would
feel very good to her but the clit is where it’s at and if you want to bring
a woman to orgasm, you’d better know what to do with the clit.

Just when she was probably starting to think I didn’t know how to eat
a pussy properly, I moved north and began licking the boatman with firm
strokes. She let out a squeal that was almost bovine in nature, mashing
herself into my face.  I lost target for a moment but quickly re-acquired it
by feel.  When I started to gently suck on her clit I thought she was going
to lose her mind. She actually screamed loud enough for me to worry about the
neighbors calling the cops (that would’ve been interesting, they undoubtedly
would have been someone we knew).  Her pelvis began to move up and down, left
and right, in and out, making it difficult to keep my mouth where it
belonged.  When I DID lose contact with her clit she groaned in frustration
that sounded downright angry until I locked back on.  I grasped her legs
firmly to keep myself in position. When she came, she damn near choked me
out.  Her legs tightened around my neck, cutting off my air supply.  Her
heels dug forcefully into my upper back.  Her hands pulled my hair so hard
that I actually felt some of the strands being ripped free.  Finally the
bucking and thrusting and screaming and pulling eased up and her body
relaxed.  I was in shock.  I’d never experienced anyone come that violently
before.  Did Mark find it necessary to put on his body armor before he did
this to her?

I raised my head out of her crotch, wiping her generous secretions
off of my face with the back of my arm.  She was panting, licking her lips,
and had a mad glint in her eye.  I glanced to my right and saw that Steph and
Mark were now busily fucking.  His butt slammed in and out, Steph’s legs
wrapped around his back while he sucked her tits.

“Get your ass up here and FUCK me, you bastard!”  Michelle commanded.
My eyes widened in shock and arousal.  It was the same voice, you see, that
she would have used when ordering some dirtbag out of a stolen car at
gunpoint.  It was a stark contrast to Stephanie, who preferred to be dainty
and feminine at home, offsetting the hard-ass bitch she was capable of being
on the job.

I climbed frantically aboard her body, nearly throwing her legs
apart. She grabbed me by the ears, pulling my face down to hers and thrusting
her tongue so deep into my mouth I almost gagged.  I positioned my cock
against her slimy vaginal lips and sank into her, making both of us gasp.  I
started fucking her, not bothering with a slow build-up.  Again it was an
experience of near-violence.  She moaned and cussed, scratched and pounded me
as I banged in and out of her. She grabbed my ass cheeks and squeezed them
together.  She slapped them loudly with her hands.  She slammed her finger
into my asshole, which really gave me a start. She sucked and bit my neck
and shoulders. When she came, she scratched me so hard with her fingernails
that I thought I might be bleeding.  Not that all of this was unpleasant;
don’t let me give you that impression. It was very exciting and very
different from what I was used to, though I can’t say that I’d want this
treatment every night.

Finally I felt orgasm approaching.  I groaned this out to her and she
became even more frantic.  She began sucking my neck again and biting it.
Her fingers went to my asshole once again, plunging not just one, but two of
them in all the way past the second knuckle.  This pushed me over the edge.
Following her lead, I screamed into the living room and poured myself out
into her body. Once my thrusting stopped, her demeanor changed back to soft
and gentle.  She kissed me with a feathery touch of lips and tongue, licking
at my lip.  She withdrew her fingers from my ass and I wondered if IT was
bleeding as well as my back.  A memory of the days when Mark and I used to
work the same station came to me.  Most of the time he changed like everyone
else in the locker room, stripping down to underwear before putting on his
uniform.  But sometimes he would come in wearing a work T-shirt already.  It
was nothing that seemed important or noteworthy at the time but I understood
the ramifications of it now.  Those were the days after he’d had sex with
Michelle.  His back at those times, must’ve been a mess.  I wondered if he
had any permanent scars.

I raised my head up and looked to my right once again.  Mark and Steph
were both naked, unmoving, cuddled up with each other.  They were looking at
us, smiling softly.  I wondered what would happen now.  Could our relationship
ever be the same?

“You owe me a buck.”  Mark said matter-of-factly.  “Don’t make me have
to send you to collections.”

We all had a laugh at this and then disentangled ourselves.  Nobody
seemed to have a problem with what had just occurred, at least not at the
moment.  We put our clothes back on and made another pitcher of margaritas.
Soon the New Year announced itself by the crackle of firecrackers, M-80s, and
the occasional pistol shot from outside.  We went to bed soon after that.

There was no discussion about it but Michelle followed me to our
bedroom while Steph followed Mark to our guest bedroom.  I found out that
Michelle is fond of anal sex that night, as well as giving rim jobs.  We fell
asleep together, naked in each other’s arms.  My last thought before drifting
off into a drunken stupor was what tomorrow was going to bring.

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