Gourmet, Gourmand, Glutton - "3-Gs"

"Orgasms? Plural?" Lois thought. How nice! And how self-assured!

Meanwhile, he asked a silly question - "How about another short session?"

As he set to with renewed will, a small corner of Lois's mind found itself momentarily unoccupied and searched her vocabulary. What adjectives to use? She had here a combination package of pussy gourmet, gourmand, and glutton. Three "G"s. A nickname loomed but didn't come clear yet. He combined incredible levels of knowledge, sophistication, and delicacy with wolfish hunger, a huge appetite. Gluttony? YES! Hooray, in fact – a deadly sin perhaps, in the abstract, but for her in the real-world here and now, being the lucky recipient of a bit of it was good for the soul. And a LOT of it was clearly much, much better!

"Turn around so I can see you, and come sit on me!"

She turned, happy now to have him study her from close up, straddled him, slid forward and lifted so he could hold his cock vertical beneath her. And then she settled. Forty years evaporated as she engulfed him. The feeling of his entry was simply luscious – like the first spoonful of deep chocolate ice-cream on the year's hottest afternoon.

A first for her, it was she who took possession, not he who penetrated. One of his hands on her hip, the other playing diligently with her nipples, they explored rhythms, pressures, corkscrews, sliding. When her internal tension reached white heat and she began to erupt again, she bit her lip to keep silent, and he pounded upwards into her with a perfection of timing and pressure that nearly removed the top of her skull. She had never come so hard. How long it went on she never could fathom, and didn't really care – time was just a silly number, the sensations and emotion were the measure.

Lois slowly returned to full awareness: in her belly, Harold's still-hard cock continued its stirring as she slid back and forth atop him. She pouted – he hadn't come yet, had he? No, not yet. But he was more than willing to entertain the idea, now that she had been satisfied for the moment. Was it time for him to turn himself loose? She insisted that it was indeed his turn, and overdue, too. She upped her speed and pressure, watched as he released himself for the drive to finish, redoubled her efforts as his fingertips took command again of her nipples, his wide-open eyes staring into hers.

"Come with me if you can" he said, "... and no matter what, keep your eyes wide open while we come. I want to be inside your soul at that very moment."

She managed both: she kept her hips in motion through her own spasms, enabling, demanding his contribution and participation, and also managed to keep her eyes open – that yielded an extraordinary intermingling that went far, far beyond the simple mechanics of orgasm. Deep inside her pelvis she felt the satisfying jerking of his cock as he spurted into her – she counted three, four, five... perhaps six? Age seventy-four, she was, and now sporting a belly full of hot young sperm. It seemed so utterly improbable as to boggle one! Not even to mention what the sperm might be thinking...

As she leaned forward, her hands on his chest, she realized with a start that they hadn't yet kissed, although kissing was her absolute favorite erotic activity short of full-fucking, and the lack now triggered little nagging unresolved doubts about her attractiveness. The question of what to do about it was overtaken by events, and she had again the eerie feeling that he had read her doubts and needs from her face. Harold reached up for her shoulders, said "Come on down here, lie beside me so we can cuddle. There's more of that cock available whenever you wish, but it's not the be-all and in-all." She lifted and let him slip out: his cock was, amazingly, still hard and slapped wetly against his belly, down between her thighs.

She paused, giggled down at him as he raised a questioning eyebrow. "In a moment... I guess we each have our own little fetishes. For me, one of the sexiest things in the world is the feeling of semen drizzling out from inside me. It's this odd, slippery-sliding sensation. It's been a long time, you know. Do you mind?"

Harold didn't mind. Eyes closed, she tightened her belly muscles and there was a sudden splattering on his belly: she groaned slightly – the sensations were only a razor's-edge from orgasmic. She opened her eyes again, reached to wet her index and middle fingers with their juices, brought the fingers to her mouth, stared at him as she licked. He startled her thoroughly by reaching for her hand, muttering "Share?" and taking the fingers deep into his own mouth.

Moments later, the kissing question was retired: he cupped her face in his hands and pulled her down to meet him. A half-second of teenager tentativeness evaporated: in a moment each had taken full possession and command of the other's mouth, while yielding complete access. The kiss expanded to include the cuddle, and went on for minutes on end.

Entranced by his subtle aromas she lay snuggled into his armpit for a long time, bathed in a rosy mental glow that was fading only very, very slowly. After her breathing moderated, he asked what might most please her as the next exercise. Her hand was still on his cock – it didn't seem to have subsided in the least, and she found that most interesting, a statement apparently about both his abilities and her attractiveness. Warm fuzziness pervaded her and she sighed into his neck, muttered "I've never been so hot, or so satisfied, in my entire life. You can have anything you want. I've had so many orgasms already that it's got to be your turn again, you know – you've been quite the considerate gentlemen! Try me!"

Harold slipped his free hand down her hip, cupped her buttock, slid a fingertip into the slobbery wetness they had so recently created together, pressed the tip against her anus. "Shall we try my absolutely favorite, then?"

He paused.

She recalled as if from a great distance the supremely strong sensations his finger had produced only minutes ago when it entered her butt full length: she could still feel it wriggling about inside – pure sexual nitroglycerine! Now, under his touches, her muscles puckered, relaxed, puckered hard again, although the tip this time entered merely fingernail deep.

Through his palm, Harold felt the tiny tremor in her flank, read it correctly as concern, not enthusiasm. Gently he asked "I don't mean to push. How much practice have you had at anal games?"

Lois sighed and the body-tremor tickled Harold's palm a second time. "None whatever." She didn't elaborate, but there was a great deal more to the story, a load of heavy-duty emotional baggage. Far back, before Harold was born, thirty-nine years ago to be precise, back when she was still hoping desperately to re-instill some sensuality and sexual intimacy with her mud-stuck husband, Lois had attended a mid-afternoon gathering of several lady-friends, a close knit group. In a girls-only discussion of happiness in their private lives (meaning, of course, sex or its lack), conversation ranged over techniques to keep things fresh in a long-term sexual relationship, and there arose the topic of anal adventures.

Once the embarrassment and tittering stopped, they got serious. One woman called anal sex the "Universal Catholic Contraceptive" – and had immediately been nicknamed "Miss UCC". She claimed she'd been introduced to it by her parish priest shortly before her twelfth birthday. They had managed an almost two-year affair, with regular weekly trysts, protected entirely by UCC. She concluded the tale with "I'll gladly bet you all that I've farted out more sperm into toilets than most of you have received... holy sanctified celibate priestly sperm at that! What a fucking joke the Church is – pure hypocrisy!"

When Miss UCC finished her initiation story, she listened to the instant hubbub and heard a lot of opinions backed by precious little data. That concerned her - these innocents certainly needed some help. "Okay, Ladies! It's time for a little education, some coursework, let's call it an extemp version of UCC-101, from someone who DOES really know what she's talking about. Namely me! I have about thirty years of experience, you know."

Silence, then nods all around. Miss UCC giggled slightly, composed her thoughts for a few seconds. "Okay. Bottom-fucking 101 is now in session. "BF-ing" can be the single sexiest thing you've ever tried. But you have to know the ropes, at least the basics." She was blunt, funny, thorough. And enthusiastic! She covered physical and mental preparations (YOU are in charge, not him! Cleanliness is paramount!), the physical actualities of positions (potentially embarrassing but huge fun!), lubrication (LOTS!), initial entry (DEAD SLOW AHEAD!), what was likely to happen at orgasm and how to take advantage of it, the physical feelings and emotions to expect. It turned out, once inhibitions were down and everyone was speaking truth to the question, that almost all the women had tried it: opinions were sharply divided. A few were hugely enthusiastic ('incredible orgasms!" was their consensus), several thought it rather ho-hum but obviously pleasing to their man hence okay, and two had disliked it intensely – but agreed their personal problems with it were most likely due to their partners' and the ladies' ineptitude, a straightforward 'blind leading the blind' situation.

Lois soaked it all in, managed over her embarrassment to ask a few questions, left breathlessly enthusiastic (in the abstract) and on a major emotional high – thinking perhaps this was something that could jump-start her years-dead sex life with Hubby. She spent the next two days in a positive lather of planning and practicing – enemas, lube, the obvious vegetables, fingers.

Unfortunately, in the event things didn't go at all well: quite the opposite. When she shyly, somewhat proudly, made her suggestion, Hubby's reaction was exactly what she didn't want or need. He went absolutely ballistic in a way she had never experienced, didn't know he was capable of, accused her vituperatively of being "The goddamnedest whore in Christendom!" – amongst other terms of endearment. It put the permanent kibosh on re-establishing any sexuality in the marriage.

She retreated into tennis, gardening and yoga.

Five years later, when she was a mere forty-three, some genetic defect in Hubby's deep brain plumbing had dropped him instantaneously stone dead, face-down on the faculty-meeting table amidst his colleagues. Two or three weeks later she went through his home office for the first time ever, and immediately discovered his closet-full of records of literally dozens of affairs –mostly with undergraduates- ranging back to years before they met and continuing through the week before he died... an extensive library of thousands of pages of two-way letters (he'd even kept carbons of his own!), hundreds upon hundreds of photos, hours of video tape. All meticulously filed and cross-referenced by names, dates, types of sexual activities. Blowjobs and UCC were the obvious, hands-down favorites.

She hadn't had a clue! Once the initial shock wore off, her anger flared white-hot. How the HELL could HE, the sanctimonious little bastard, claim SHE was such a wanton bitch for suggesting UCC, when all along it was obviously one of his very favorite, and FREQUENT, activities? Then the anger turned inwards, self-destructive – if he hadn't wanted HER that way (or ANY way whatever, apparently!) then obviously it must somehow be HER fault, something was wrong with her, not him.

And however illogical, she couldn't pull out of that analysis. It shut her down permanently. For over three, almost four, decades.

All the memories flashed past in a fraction of a second. She took a breath to steel herself and then produced a thirty-second synopsis for Harold. He sat there listening, silent. She finished, waited.

He lifted her chin with his fingertips, kissed her solidly, then said "Lover, I am so sorry about that. So much lost time and opportunity for you and others. But that's spilt milk, here and now is different, thee and me together, we're utterly different, brand new. I would love to be the person to re-enact that moment with you and get it right this time. If you'd like. I certainly would." Then he grinned at her, shattering the seriousness: "Besides, I have some intelligent self-interest in this, you know. I just have a feeling that you are going to be a stupendous pupil, and I've been letching after your butt since I first saw it early today. Yummy! Built precisely for such activities. Shall we?"

She rolled onto her side, looked up at him sideways in the silver glow. "Yes. Let's – you'll have to teach me, though. I think I'd like that... it sure sounds sexy as the dickens, but it's also a bit scary! So- would it be okay if I were in charge, at least for the start?"

Harold leaned to kiss her yet again, tweaked a standing nipple, slipped a hand down over her buttocks and laid the middle fingertip against her anus again. "Of course you'll be in charge... your body is going to be the recipient, so you're the absolute boss. You can tell me whatever you want me to do... just hold still and let you do all the work, or conversely once you're accustomed to it, perhaps you'll want to be passive and let me pound! Absolutely your call – just don't be shy about letting me know. Clear and forceful on the "yes" and "no" and "go" and "stop". Okay?"

Communication – intense, continual, mostly non-verbal - was what made it such a delight. From the first motion, they joined as if they'd had eons of practice – the very first long, rippling full stroke hit something powerful, some never-before-felt need (not to mention never-fulfilled!) deep in her psyche, a need so intense it almost frightened her.

An hour later, they had, together, made her come repeatedly in several interesting and highly effective positions. Even now her bottom tingled, almost seemed to sparkle. In the process her butt had milked from him every available iota of semen and sperm. Resting, almost drowsy from the prolonged emotional and physical intensity, Lois expressed her amazement and delight at how she had responded to Harold's bottom-fetish, asked him if he could explain why he took such delight in it, other than the obvious aspects of surrender and naughty-verboten. Harold responded by lying on his back with legs widespread, his butt on a pillow, and inviting her to find out for herself. She had expressed some mild disappointment in not having made him come yet with her mouth – as if that were some sort of failure on her part – perhaps she could combine a few things: he would be her guide.

His superlube coated her fingers: he positioned them at his own anus, urged her to press forward. She was tentative, almost fearful at first, hesitant. He encouraged. Her middle finger tested, probed, slid inside into the heat and slippery-tightness. Suddenly she understood fully his huge attraction for her bottom. It was delightfully sensuous in there. And the sense of trust, of permission and invitation and joining! He had her add a second finger, showed her his prostate and what to do with it. Then, as she took the initiative with her own ad-hoc blend of pressures and stroking, he began to buck upwards, obviously enjoying himself immensely and equally obviously going rapidly out of control. It was hugely exciting and gratifying. She felt like a chef, creating something new. To the mix she added her mouth on his cock. It didn't take three more minutes until Harold came far back in her throat, came for a whole minute non-stop, came in the most violent, urgent and spectacular male orgasm she had ever been involved in.

A few hours passed in light, drowsing sleep. Then, in the early morning light, Lois was silently exercising her rights to yet another encore, riding her nicely resurrected cock-horse with slow, luxurious rocking-horse strokes. The ride had already lasted a good many minutes, and had involved –deeply involved – alternating strokes into her pussy and bottom. At the moment, her bottom happened to be engaged.

Jeannie's soft tap on the door brought them to a halt, eying one another through some sudden minor embarrassment. Jeannie's voice filtered through: "Okay, you two in there, it's about time to rise and shine. I wouldn't want you to interrupt whatever you might be doing, but please do finish up soon and join me for coffee. Ta-ta!"

They took her advice. Minutes later, clad only in robes, they entered the kitchen, barefoot, arm-in-arm, and both brightly flushed.

With a huge grin on her face, Jeannie studied them for several long moments, then laughed. "My, oh my! Don't the pair of you have all the sangre-froid of a pair of canary-filled cats! Sit down – I'll fetch the coffee."

As she poured, she looked back and forth between them, then down at their intertwined hands. She laughed again and asked gently "Well... I suppose there's going to be no need for two separate rooms for the next few days, is there? How NICE of you to be so considerate of your hostess! Reduces the laundry load, you know..."

She finished in a barely audible whisper "There is a simple way to reduce that load even more. Don't you think?"

And then she smiled, looking brightly into their faces.