Best Laid Plans Pt. 02

Both guys started shoveling their hands, palms up, asking for more. What the hell. Why not? She walked over and stood real close, before letting her hands drop slowly to her sides. Her nipples stood out rock hard. God, what a turn on to be worshiped by those young eyes.

Tentatively, Mark extended his hand toward her right breast and Greg's headed to her left. Slowly, they came closer. Time to back away. She couldn't make herself move. Lightly they circled her breasts with the merest hint of contact and when her nipples were grazed, she shuddered. If they had grabbed them, the spell might have been broken. The gentle teasing made here want more. Go ahead and grab them, she thought. Her breath came faster. Quit teasing and take them. Her eyes squinched shut. She felt warm moist lips at each breast, nipping ever so tenderly. Her moaning began and her hands went to the back of each boy's head, holding them to her.

Hands slipped her skirt down, and she stepped out of it. Get my panties off she wanted to shout. Her hips began to undulate and soon cool air replaced the panties over her pussy. Still keeping contact with both heads, she lowered herself to he floor. Her legs spread wide. Please, someone enter me. Contact was broken and clothes rustled. A warm body covered hers. A hot prick teased its way between the folds of her womanhood and she willed it to penetrate farther. Ahh, wonderful! She wrapped her legs around just below the butt of her lover and squeezed to drive him farther in. She kept her eyes closed and didn't know nor care which of the young lads speared into her. Oh me, oh yes, oh fuck me and keep doing it forever! The fire in her flamed hotter. It scorched her soul. Hot, so fiery hot, then burned white hot and she erupted with a piercing scream. Lava must be pouring from her, she thought. Let it all flow out. She died the "little death."

"Somebody kill a cat?" mumbled Sandy.

Mark turned his head from his position atop Jan. Greg, who continued fondling Jan's boobs, said, "We both made love to Jan."

"Both? At the same time?"

"It drove her wild. I've never seen anyone come so hard," said Mark.

Sandy licked her dry lips and sat up. "Did you screw her to death?"

"She just passed out from the ecstasy."

"Never happened to me, damn it."

"It usually takes two guys working together to make it happen."

"No shit?"

"No shit."

"I want it to happen to me."

"Sure, Sandy. It's not fair to let Jan have all the pleasure."

"What do you want me to do? I'll do anything. But I'm kinda snockered."

"That's no problem, darling. You just relax and enjoy. We are your own private pleasure givers."

Sandy fumbled with her white sweater, but couldn't get it off. Greg came to her, kissed her neck, and helped her remove the sweater. "You gonna lick my titties? That's my Achilles heel. Suck 'em too. Suck 'em hard."

Greg and Mark worked together to remove Sandy's clothes. She was dead weight and caused more trouble by fumbling to help than if she just let them do it. Like Jan, they left her garter belt and stockings on. It framed the golden curls of her pubic hair in a mouthwatering display. Greg carried her in his arms to the bedroom. Mark threw a quilt over Jan as she slept.

"You get first crack, Greg, since I fucked Jan. That's where I'm headed. Her pussy is too tempting a feast to wait on." Greg spread her legs and knelt down to taste her charms. Mark alternated between kissing her lips and her nipples. Sandy responded to their wantonness. No room for second thoughts, rightness or wrongness, modesty or hang-ups. She visited Eros with the simplicity of need and desire. She sought fulfillment. Do with her what they wished. Explore any crevice or protrusion. Her body belonged to them to play with in any manner they saw fit. She trusted them. Sensations; delicious sensations fluttered and flooded her senses. She climbed higher up the mountain and leapt from its summit in a free fall that split her apart, as the jaws of the "little death" clamped shut, leaving her sated in a dark cave of contentment.

During the night, Greg took Jan for her second cruise to joy land and Mark came to Sandy once more for his encore. The girls returned to a semblance of sobriety as their game progressed. Jan gave head and swallowed every drop. Sandy agreed to anal penetration and never balked when Mark filled her pussy at the same time Greg was working on her from behind.

Four sore, exhausted souls blinked tired eyes as the harsh morning sun brought light into the apartment. Coffee supplanted lust and fulfillment. Its essence became the nectar of the gods and ushered reality back into their lives. Few words passed besides pass the cream or hand me a spoon. The actions of the night had spoken succinctly. No rehash could enhance the moments spent together. The gals gave sheepish thanks to their lovers. The guys kept murmuring "awesome" over and over. As they departed, token promises were made to get together again. Both parties knew it was perfunctory. Some nights were meant to happen once in a lifetime and that night was one such case.

Neither Jan nor Sandy spoke on the drive home. Each sat wrapped in their own recollections. When they piled out of the car in the driveway, they smiled knowing smiles at one another. Quite a night!

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Chapter Nine

Mark and Greg slept until 5:00 o'clock that afternoon. Mark awoke to the buzzing of the clock and said, "I'd like to throw the alarm clock through the front window."

"And me with it. Since we cut classes today, why not call in sick at the restaurant?"

"I need the money."

"Yeah, me too. God what a night!"

"I'm afraid to look at my dick. Must've rubbed a half inch off its circumference and I don't have that much to spare."

"We can tattoo last night to our memory bank. Something not to tell our grandchildren about."

"I may not fuck again for six months."

"I wonder if they'll come back?"

"I hope not. They're so beautiful, I might be tempted to have another go at them. Then my dick could pass for a strand of spaghetti."

"I could do 'em again."

"A regular dose of those two would put us in the age bracket to retire and draw social security benefits before we graduate. I'm going to keep my sex life reserved for the coeds on campus. Older women are insatiable. I guess their husbands can't take all the action. No wonder guys die younger than women."

"C'mon. We're late already. We'll come straight home tonight and sleep for twelve solid hours. To hell with classes. Marathon screwing and education don't mix."

Jan and Sandy slept through the afternoon and night. Jan awoke at 6:30 Friday morning. After two cups of coffee, she walked over to Sandy's back door, since phoning would disturb her if she still slept. She looked through the glass to see Sandy sitting at her breakfast room table with a steaming cup of coffee and an open bottle of Tylenol in front of her. Her hair stuck out on one side of her head and was plastered down on the other. Her smeared mascara gave the appearance of two black eyes. She cupped her forehead in the palm of the hand whose elbow was propped against the table. Jan tapped lightly on the glass. "Are you alive?"

"C'mon in but don't make such a racket." Sandy pinched her forearm. "Yeah, I'm alive, I felt the pinch."

"Looks like little blond bombshell exploded and the doctor didn't get all the pieces back in the right place."

"I feel like a slut and I feel like shit. Do you?"

"Which?"

"A slut."

"Ask me later, when I get the smile off my pussy."

Sandy produced a weak smile. "Mine's still glowing too, but I wouldn't last the month out with a steady diet of nights on the town."

"Yeah, and our funerals would cost twice the regular price. How would the mortician get the grins off our faces?"

"Speak for yourself unless I died before the booze wore off. How can you look so chipper? It pisses me off."

"I majored in orgies at Stanford."

"So that's where it got such a good reputation. Arizona State needs to update its curriculum."

"I'm going to fix you some hair of the dog. Where's your Peters' Bloody Mary mix?"

"Don't mention the word 'peter' for several days. Make that a month."

Jan foraged the refrigerator and added a healthy dollop of vodka to the red elixir. She cut two wedges of lime and squeezed them into the glass. "Here you go Miss Slut. You'll feel like a lady again in no time."

"Where do those college kids get such stamina? Poor Stan and Bob tucker out if they make it twice in a night."

"You mean peter out?"

"I told you I'm eliminating that word from my vocabulary. It's a good thing we found out about their hunting escapade. We have an excuse to cut them off for a few days. If I used a powder puff on my pussy, it would feel like a hatchet."

Jan said, "We've gotten too old for college kids. Let the coeds have the chafed pussies."

"They didn't use protection either. Think STD. How could we be so stupid?"

"A dripping wet pussy hath no conscience. We were half-drunk and horny. It can be a lethal combination."

"So do we have a pact to stay away from the kiddies?"

"Consider it signed."

Sandy asked, "This drink is helping. Don't you want one?"

"Nah, I've recovered, except for the soreness. I wish I did yoga, so I could kiss mine and make it well."

"Well don't look at me. If I leaned over, the blood would rush to my head and I'd hunt for a chainsaw to lop it off."

"I'm leaving, but when you feel better come on over. We have some decisions to make."

"I may never feel normal again."

That afternoon, Sandy walked next door wearing Bermudas and a baggy shirt.

Jan asked, "Returning to the convent?"

"It'd be just my luck for a gorgeous hunk of a meter reader to pop by and make a pass at me. I'm too weak to resist and I'd die of RVS."

"What's say?"

"Raw vagina syndrome."

"No such medical term."

"I would have discovered it, and be right up there with Jonas Salk."

"Back to joking. You're better."

"Yeah. I'll survive. What're we going to do about our shithead husbands?"

"Let them know we know, but not be too hard on them. That'll drive 'em nuts."

"They might even suspect we did what we did."

"We won't deny anything, nor will we admit to anything. A few innuendoes are as far as we'll go."

"If I have the chance, I know of a way to scald Bob's ass."

"How?"

"Wait and see. It might not work."

On Sunday afternoon around 5:30 the guys arrived home full of warm hello's and kisses. The gals were mildly aloof. Stan told Bob, while they were unpacking, it was only a case of them being miffed because they were left alone so long. Didn't he see how sexy they were dressed? Mini skirts and low-cut blouses! They hoped the girls wouldn't be too frisky that night. They were pretty well fucked out.

While Bob was showering, Sandy unzipped Bob's leather gun case and slipped some papers inside. Just before 7:00, Jan brought Stan over to Sandy's for drinks, as they had planned. When the cocktails were mixed, the four of them moved into Sandy and Bob's family room.

"So tell us about the hunting," said Jan.

Bob nodded in Stan's direction. "Not too great really. Not enough ducks for a good meal so we let the other fellows have ours."

"Any ringtails?" asked Sandy.

"Honey, I didn't think you knew that much about ducks."

"About as much as I know about body piercing. Any ringed-ears or noses?"

"Or any ringed-nipples or tongues?" asked Jan.

"Did you two get started on the sauce earlier?" asked Stan.

"No darling," said Jan, "How about tattoos?"

"This conversation is far out. Of course no tattoos. We went hunting."

"Must have been high-class fucks, er, ducks. By the way Stan, Miss Pringle, the temp at your office, called and left a message. What was it she wanted you to know? I'll remember in a minute."

"It may have been important," said Stan.

"Speaking of important," said Bob, "Sandy, I asked you to pack those papers concerning the Ferguson contract. You know how I'm sweating out the details. I wanted to work on them at the lodge. It's not like you to forget."

"I remember now, Stan," said Jan, "she said something about one of the three or four models or was it one of the escorts, whatever, one couldn't make it but they thought the two or three they sent could take care of your needs. I hope you fellows weren't inconvenienced."

In spite of themselves, the men couldn't help gasping as they looked at one another. Horror can paint an ugly picture. Their faces looked worse than some of those Holocaust survivors.

"Bob, sweetie, there wasn't room in your bag for those Ferguson papers so I packed them in your gun case. I hope they weren't lost. I'll run and see."

"No, no," started Bob, but Sandy was out the door. She returned lugging the case that held his shotgun.

"Now let's check," she said, as she stood in front of Bob and unzipped the lower portion next to the stock of the gun. Out floated papers that fluttered and dipped back and forth through the air before landing on the carpet at Bob's feet. "Oh, my, I suppose they were too well-hidden. I'm sorry, Bob."

"We can explain..." started Stan.

"Maybe later," said Jan, looking at her watch, "It's a shame about your hunting. I'll bet you were plenty bored. Sandy, we have to run or we'll be late. Just let me run back home and take off my bra, and I'll be ready to go. Bye, fellows."

Sandy lifted her blouse, unhooked her half bra and tossed in Bob's lap. "Put this in my bedroom, darling. Jan and I are running behind schedule. See you later."

Bob lifted the bra, dangling it in Stan's direction. "I told you that those 'fun girls' meant trouble. We're up to our necks in shit."

"Oh, shut up."

Jan and Sandy burned rubber as the Lexus shot out of the driveway and then they slowed down. They drove leisurely to Henri's French Restaurant and spent two hours on cocktails and a lavish meal. They took in a 10:00 movie ("Primary Colors") and at midnight walked into the Chevas Lounge. They shut it down at 2 a.m. and drove slowly home, being careful to muss their hair, and smear their lipstick slightly. Jan was to say they had seen "The Man in the Iron Mask" and Sandy was to report "L.A. Confidential" as the movie.

Downstairs' lights burned at both homes. "Lay it on thick," said Sandy, "and remember we tell the exact truth except for the movie."

Bob sat at the breakfast room table with his head on folded arms, fast asleep. Sandy closed the door hard enough to wake him up. "I thought you'd be in bed by now after that strenuous hunting trip, Bobby boy. I know I'm beat. Did you have a good supper?"

"Sardines and crackers. Where did all the food go?"

"King Oscar sardines are yummy. They're packed in real spring water. Jan and I had a great night, but I'm sated, I mean satisfied, er, just plain tired and I'm sore between my legs. I'm headed for bed. See you tomorrow, lambie-pie."

"How come you're sore?"

"My period may be starting. I always get so sensitive about that time."

"First time I've ever heard you complain. Where have you been, anyway?"

Sandy yawned, "Dinner at Henri's. It'll be on the Visa. Outrageous prices. Caught a movie and nightcaps at Chevas."

"What did you see?"

"A great looking bartender at Chevas. A real stud."

"The movie!"

"It's confidential."

"I'll bet."

"Yeah, 'L.A. Confidential.'"

"Oh."

She gave him a peck on the cheek, and said, "Nighty-night and sweet dreams. You don't have to sleep on the table, use the couch."

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Chapter Ten

The atmosphere remained chilly in both households for the next week. By Saturday the girls began talking about having sex again. "I think we've overdone the chastity bit, I'm getting horny."

"I'm getting itchy too," said Sandy. "It's been over a week. How's Stan reacting to things?"

"I'll bet he has scars on his tongue from biting it so much. He tries to work up the courage to ask about Sunday night, but my scowl shuts him up."

"Bob mopes. He walks around with a hangdog look and his tail between his legs, poor baby. I've let him back in the bedroom but he's learned to stay on his side of the bed."

"Let's be dolled-up when they get home from golf. Tell 'em we've decided on an armistice."

That night ended up in a wild swap. The guys strutted around on Sunday like two kings of the pavement. They talked themselves into believing the wives had been putting them on about having a toss in the hay with strangers. The movie titles not jibing still tugged at their rationalization, but as the weeks went by all was forgotten. Almost. In early May, Sandy and Jan delivered an atomic bomb. The guys first went into meltdown, but thawed to see interesting possibilities. The girls suggested including another couple in the fun and games.

"Whom might we consider?" asked Bob, as they all soaked in Sandy's and Bob's hot tub, au naturel, on a chilly night.

"The choice is critical," mused Stan. "How do we approach them after picking our targets?"

"First things first," said Jan, "there are several possibilities, but we all have to agree."

"How about Carol and Tom Akers?" suggested Stan. "She's a flirt and Tom would jump off the Eiffel Tower if she asked him."

"Nah," said Sandy, "he's too much of a wimp and I think Carol is all talk and no play."

"Look who's talking, Sandy. Back in September I'd have given a thousand to one odds that this conversation would ever be taking place," said Jan.

"Yeah, from saint to slut in a few months. It's all your guys' fault. You sweet little devils."

"We're not sluts. Just sexually liberated. Twenty-first century broads."

"I like you being sluts better," said Stan.

Jan splashed water in his face. "You insatiable horny bastard. But that's why we adore you."

"How about Janet Bowers and Jim?"

"She's two tits on a May Pole. Nice tits, admittedly, but she's so bony her pointy hips would gut you if you slid sideways in the saddle. I nix her." said Stan.

"I've thought about George Williams. What's his wife's name?" asked Sandy.

"Who cares," said Jan, "he's a stud. Have you seen the bulge in his trunks at the club pool?"

"We care," said both the guys.

"Jealous?"

"No," said Bob, "I've met his wife, she's the one with the great personality."

"I get the picture," said Stan.

"Oh, pooh," said Sandy, "you guys are so picky."

"Jeannie, 'Big Boobs', Carson would jump at the chance, and I could do Frank. How about you, Sandy?"

"He's okay, and the guys would dig Jeannie, but her mouth, like her tits, is as big as a map of the world. She'd buy a full-page ad in the paper in case she missed telling someone. Maybe we ought to stay away from the country club crowd."

"Or some couple who are new members that can't afford to let anything slip out."

"Bob, why don't you freshen our drinks. Play the good host."

"I'll help him," said Stan.

"I'd hoped they would both leave. Jan, what do you think about Nancy Bradley and Bill?"

"Probably too young, but she's a doll and so is he. Hasn't he recently gone with Hadley, Barkley and Clay, the stockbrokers?"

"Yes. I met her at Grace Wilkerson's luncheon. You were there."

"Right, someone pointed her out but I didn't have an opportunity to meet her. What's she like?"

"Somewhat shy but anxious to make a good impression. She worked Bill's new stock brokering position into the conversation in a really obvious way. A little wife pushing hubby along."

"They sound like possibilities, but I want to get to know them better."

"Of course, and the guys will want the same option. Here they come."

Stan and Bob said they had met Bill in the locker room and played golf with him in league play, where foursomes are picked at random every Wednesday and Saturday. They listened to the glowing reports on Nancy, at least in the looks department, and knew the difficulty of the challenge even if they all approved of them. Newly married and rather young. Tough assignment.