On the Beach Ch. 20

Muriel is moving her ass in small circles. Pushing her clit against the nubby back of the strap-on. She rubs the back of her head against Ben's hard-on.

Jill cums first. She arches her back so high the dildo slips out her cunt. Jim's lips close over her nub. He sucks at it as the tip of his tongue dances over it. A shuddery moan escapes from her chest and she collapses on top of the bed, panting. Jim turns his head, captures Jill's mom's clit between his lips and does the same. Meg grabs the dildo hanging between her legs and fucks herself with it. Normally, shy about vocalizing, she lets herself go, crying out incoherent words as her hips buck against Jim's mouth.

She too collapses, panting.

Muriel is close, very, close but she stops herself. She starts to lift Meg, Jim hurries to help. They left the panting woman off the dildo in her ass and settle her on the bed beside Muriel.

Jim looks toward the end of the bed. Bill stands behind Owen, arms wrapped around his waist. His chin rests on Owen's shoulder. Owen looks stunned. Bill rocks him, cooing in his ear.

***

Jill, for once, is too spent to take charge. Her mother appears to be nearly comatose. Her father, unconsciously or not, mimics his son, rocking his wife and cooing in her ear. Muriel does her best to remain respectful of her lovers' need for recovery. Yet, she herself has not found the 'little death', as the French call it.

Her body, her mind, both are desperate for release. Her belly aches, suffused with the blood that has rushed to fill her pelvis. She unhooks one side of the strap-on and pushes it away from her pussy. She twists on the bed, her head falling atop Meg's belly. Her legs open and wrap around Jim. Her gaze is fixed on the heavy cock that hangs, dripping, between his legs. Mark shifts, bending over her. His mouth finds her nipple as Jim lifts his cock. He needs no urging. His mind is full of the sight of his love, still panting from her orgasm and his mouth is full of the taste of her pussy. One swipe of his cock over Muriel's slit is all that is needed. He buries his cock deep in her cunt. Her heels on his ass pull him close.

Jim keeps pushing, as if by sheer desire their bones will dissolve and he can drive his cock even deeper. He's not even thrusting; he's simply flexing his ass cheeks, tightening and relaxing muscle behind his cock that he doesn't even really know are there.

Mark slides off the bed, kneels and leans over Muriel. He has to lay his head on her belly; there's not enough room between Jim and Muriel for him to do all he longs to do to her clit. By doing his own pushing, he is able to reach the base of her clit with the tip of his tongue. Jim's pubes scratch at his cheek.

Muriel feels Jim's cock swell inside her. She feels the way his belly and ass tighten. She swears his cockhead nearly penetrates her cervix. Surely, that's impossible, she thinks. Her cervix is thicker, harder, tighter than her ass. It can't be penetrated, not like this. It's designed, under very special circumstances, to soften and let a baby out. It's not designed to let a cock in, certainly not a cock the size of Jim's. Still, that's what it feels like.

Rational thought swirls away as Mark's tongue finds her clit. Her left hand clutches at his hair. Her right flails until someone, Ben, Meg, Jill, she's not sure who, grabs it and holds it tight.

Between her legs, Jim's ass tenses and does not relax. She feels his cock swell to an impossible size. Her pussy can't stretch that far. But it does, she feels it balloon as Jim cums. He does so, quietly, his voice as still as his body.

Jim is not, has not been, fucking her. He's barely moved. Mark tries but is barely able to tongue her swollen and tender sex. Her orgasm sputters and chugs, a chainsaw that refuses to roar to life. Her left hand pushes at Mark's head and Jim's body relaxes enough for Mark's lips to find the tiny swollen nub that has become, for this instant, the center of Muriel's existence.

The touch of her lover's lips is all that is required. The fuse that would not catch, flares, racing from her quivering clit to the center of her body, where her orgasm waits.

Owen later swears to Bill that the walls of room bowed outward when Muriel came.

***

The next four days pass in a blur. Bill makes love to Muriel twice more. Owen does not but he's there, for both of them. He spends a lot of time with Muriel, and consequently with Mark. They talk over ad campaigns, website design, Facebook and Twitter, often as Muriel lies, butt propped up in the air, waiting the twenty minutes that was become, in her mind, the magic number. Ben, Mark, Jim all take turns, except that isn't the right word, 'turns'.

'Turn' makes it sound like a chore and it was never a chore. Sometimes it was slow, the room and all in it, imbued with a deep sense of connection and longing. Other times, the love-making was faster, more intense, the emotions less refined, purer, rawer. Mark was always with her. Meg always accompanied Ben, as Jill did Jim.

Bill and Owen spent hours by the pool or in the ocean. Owen found time to pack his few things and tell his parents he was moving out. He thought his dad looked more relieved than sad. His mother just turned up her nose and told him she knew of only one way he could pay for a place of his own. She'd pray for him but thought it best he not return, not until he found Jesus and been 'purified' in the Savior's blood. It was Muriel's house, not the rental, to which he moved.

Muriel discretely got pizza Jim and a few friends on the phone. She made it clear the final decision was theirs but that she'd really appreciate it if they could give the boys a chance to make their pitch. Mark and Owen got cleaned up, Muriel spotted Owen a loan to buy a nice pair of pants and a shirt that had buttons. The men they talked to were Muriel's friends but they were businessmen first. They liked what they saw and heard. Of the five meetings Muriel help them set up, they got jobs from three. Thus, "OBX MultiMedia Branding" was born.

Jill's "breeding program" as she had accurately, if coldly, labeled it, rolled on to completion. Though none would admit it, all needed a break. The last full weekend of the Casey family vacation was quiet. A quick dip in the pool during the heat of the afternoon was the best most could manage. Books were started or finished. A lot of time was spent drowsing, bathed in the warmth of the sun and the steady murmur of the surf. Hands were held. Skin was stroked. Whispered words, inadequate for the task, attempted to convey feelings that could not be defined.

Every one of the eight would later claim that weekend as the best two days of their lives.

The celebratory orgy never materialized. There were random threesomes, and even one foursome, but the passions and desires had been fused into something new. The passion wasn't dead, far from it. It had been alloyed with love and memory to the extent that giving it physical expression had become, no pun intended, anticlimactic. A touch, a smile, a kiss on the top of the head, something as simple as the sight of hair being tossed by the wind, now sufficed.

The mood at the communal dinners grew more somber and the week relentlessly eroded away. Even the men were not immune to wet cheeks as cars were packed. It was silly. They were, even with bad traffic, no more than four hours or so away. There were cell phones and Skype and FaceTime. There would be other trips to the beach but they all understood, this had been a 'one of'. Their lives would never be the same but this moment would never be repeated. Such moments never are.