Trying Something New
Introduction:
Making the best of a bad situation?
* * * * *
Frank, the division manager, called me into his office. He and I had gotten fairly close over the years. My wife, Julia, and I had gone out to dinner with him and his wife a few times, and we had been to parties at each otherâs houses.
âShut the door,â he said. âCome, sit down.â
I did, and he just stared at his desk. This wasnât good.
âFrank, whatâs âŠ.â I began.
âLook, Mike, I donât know how else to tell you this. I just got off a conference call with corporate. Those shit-heads are closing down the Michigan operation, and moving other stuff around. âCost-cutting and efficiency measuresâ they called it. Apparently, theyâve been planing this for months. They told me that you and your entire department are done. Iâm sorry.â
âI have to transfer?â I asked.
âThey said re-location of employees is expensive, especially in a shitty real estate market. The damn bean-counters call the shots in this company, so very few people are going to move from one operation to another. Every facility is having one or more departments eliminated, and only a few guys are getting offered transfers. Youâre not one of them.â
âWhat the fuck? Iâm getting canned?â
Frank wouldnât look at me, but he nodded his head.
âEffective when?â
âThe end of the month. Mike, Iâm so sorry. None of us division managers saw it coming.â
âThe end of the month? Thatâs less than three weeks away! What the hell am I supposed to tell my people?â
âWeâll work on that tomorrow. Right now, I want you to go home. Iâll tell your secretary there was a family emergency or something. I donât know what else to say, Mike. I wish there was something I could do.â
It took me a while, but finally I said, âI know you do. Iâm going to take you up on that offer of the afternoon off. Tell Sandy my lunch didnât agree with me. She and the gang can take care of stuff for the rest of the day.â
âOkay,â Frank said. The poor bastard looked like he wanted to cry.
Itâs a good thing there are no windows on the side of the building where I parked. People would have called the guys with the very long sleeved jacket to come and get me if they had seen me sitting in my car, cursing like a raging madman, and pounding my fists on the steering wheel. Sixteen fucking years I gave to this company, pretty much my entire adult life, and theyâre throwing me out like a used tampon!
After a while, I got myself calmed down enough to drive home. I needed a drink and some good loving.
Julia would be home doing the same thing she always did on nice afternoons when she didnât teach a class at the university. Sheâd be out back by the pool, working on her all-over tan.
âYeah, thatâs it!â I thought. âIâll park on the street and sneak into the house. Iâll make us drinks, strip, and go out and surprise her. Weâll see where things go from there.â
In the kitchen, I had just gotten some glasses out of the cabinet when I heard something from outside. It sounded like Julia. I couldnât imagine who she was talking to, so I thought it would be a good idea to see who was out there before I dropped my pants. I walked to the patio door.
Things hadnât been at their best between us lately, but marriages go through periods like that. Maybe Iâm not the brightest bulb in the chandelier. I was completely unprepared to hear my wife moaning to my older brother, âFuck me harder!â
I have no idea how long I stood there watching him pound her, but for some reason I didnât move or make a sound until it was obvious they had both cum. Then, I opened the door.
Grabbing for his clothes, my brother stammered, âMike! Holy shit! Look, man, itâs not what you think!â
My naked wife sat up, my brotherâs cum oozing out of her. âBe quiet, Sean, of course itâs what he thinks.â Turning to face me, she said, âIâm in love with him. What should we do about that?â
For a second, I seriously considered which kitchen knives I was going to use on them, but then I decided that wouldnât be such a good idea. Instead, I said, âThis is the icing on the fucking cake! The shit-heads at corporate down-sized me out of my damn career today, along with my entire staff. I come home and find my goddamn brother fucking my wife. Whatâs next?â
âI didnât want to do it this way, but I want a divorce,â the woman I learned about love with in high school twenty years earlier said.
âGood idea! Iâll call you this weekend and maybe come over so we can start working out the details. Iâm gonna go pack some clothes. Oh, and Sean? Fuck you. Donât make the mistake of being here when I come downstairs,â I said, walking back into the house.
I spent the rest of the month in a motel, going to the office to finish projects and transfer files to the division that would be taking over our workload. At night, I e-mailed resumes and drank. It wasnât pretty.
When my job ended, I looked for a less temporary place to live. âLoft efficiency apartment,â the listing said. Yeah, well, it was basically a room above someoneâs garage. Two burner stove, tiny fridge, ridiculous bathroom (when I sat on the toilet, my one knee was against the tub and the other against the sink), and a price I couldnât pass up. There was enough room, if I did it just right, to bring all my clothes here, if I was willing to move boxes and suitcases around a couple of times a week. It was a monthly rental, and I was sure Iâd get a good job and be able to afford a decent place in no time.
That didnât happen.
Severance pay doesnât last forever, and I sure as hell didnât want to think about having to live on unemployment while paying my blood-sucking divorce lawyer. After spending two months running to interviews, I started working through a temp agency.
Thatâs how I met Yazhi. The first time I worked with her, I spent a lot of time trying not to stare. It wasnât that she was wearing slutty, revealing clothes. We were doing office temp work, and she was dressed appropriately, in a crisp white blouse and a charcoal gray skirt. Maybe it was her hair that first attracted me. It was coal black, waist length, and held back from her face with a large turquoise and silver clip. This exotic-looking girl was a perfect specimen of Native American womanhood.
The second time I worked with her, we took our morning break at the same time. âI remember you from that job a few weeks ago, donât I?â she asked.
âYeah, how are you doing?â
âPretty good for a temp worker,â she laughed, holding out her hand. âIâm Yazhi. Yazhi Sullivan. Whatâs your name?â
âMike OâConnor. Irish as you can get.â
âYeah, I kinda though so with the curly red hair and freckles.â she grinned.
âThe kids in school called me Ronald McDonald.â
âOh, childhood nicknames! I was the only Native American in my class in elementary school. They called me Pocahontas. But she was Algonquin. Iâm Navajo.â
âWith a name like Sullivan?â
âIâm divorced. I married outside the tribe.â
âWhat did you do before you signed up with the temp service?â I asked.
âMy last real job was as a middle-school English teacher. That was almost two years ago. Iâm not going back to teaching. What about you?â
âI was a quality-control engineer. My company down-sized.â
âAre you married?â she asked.
âAlmost divorced. The day I got canned, I came home to find my wife having sex with my brother.â
âOuch!â Yazhi exclaimed.
âYeah, well, you have to move on.â
âSpeaking of moving, weâd better move our asses back to work,â she said.
It was fun watching hers, following her out of the lunch room.
Yazhi and I took our breaks together for the rest of the week. By Friday, I had worked up the courage to ask her out. âWanna get a drink after work?â I offered.
âSure, but I donât drink and drive.â
âI donât really either,â I said.
âCome to my place. My housemate will be at work. We can just hang out until you think youâre legal to drive. I make damn good coffee.â
âOkay.â We exchanged numbers and addresses, and agreed that I would pick up a pizza on the way to her place.
She lived in an area of the city that I didnât know very well, so when I turned onto her street, I was surprised to see that it was an area of upscale condos and single homes â much nicer than I had expected. Her house was one of the smaller ones, but it still looked expensive. I checked the address again.
Yep, this was the place. Interesting. I knew she must be earning about the same wage I was, but even without lawyer fees, I could never have afforded something like this, even with a housemate.
Yazhi opened the door as I was coming up the walk. She looked magnificent, dressed in a cropped orange tank top and tight, high-waisted white shorts. The bright bits of cloth contrasted beautifully with her rich, sun-darkened skin. Her nearly straight black hair was hanging loose, wisps of it falling carelessly around her face.
âHey, Big Red!â she called.
I felt a slight rush of blood to my cheeks. âBig Redâ was the other nickname some of the kids started calling me when I got to middle school. I had always been a large child, the tallest and bulkiest in my class. The football coach took one look at me and demanded that I sign up for the team. Most people assumed my nickname was because of my stature. For some, Iâm sure it was, but the name started the first day I changed in the gym locker room in front of my teammates. Iâm one of those ninety-ninth percentile guys.
That actually presented some problems for me. Even though my physical development was always a couple of years ahead of the rest of the guys, I was the last one in my group to lose my virginity. Why? The girls I got to touch me were scared of the damned thing.
âCome on in,â Yazhi said, holding the door for me. As I walked past her, I caught a hint of desert flowers and spice. Iâm used to women wearing cologne of some sort, but this aroma was heady, even though it was very light. She smelled as exotic as she looked.
Her living room was furnished with an eclectic mix of modern and American primitive furniture. There was a large Navajo rug displayed over the sofa, a bison skull on the wall over the fireplace, and a traditional ceremonial headdress in a large display case in one corner of the room.
âLetâs eat in the kitchen,â she said. âFollow me.â Her slender brown legs were topped by a taut, athletic looking little ass that didnât jiggle a bit as she moved gracefully away.
The kitchen was a sharp contrast to the living room. The rich, earthy colors there were replaced here by stark white walls, dark granite counter-tops, and stainless steel and black glass appliances. There was no color anywhere â just shades of gray. There were a few black-and-white nature photos in black frames on the walls. Even the table was chrome and smoked glass, with chrome and black leather chairs. Floor-to-ceiling windows displayed a lush garden beyond the deck.
âBeer or wine?â she asked as she put slices of pizza on plates and carried them to the table.
âBeer, please.â
âOh good. I know some people like wine with their pizza, trying to act Italian, but Iâm about as American as a girl can get. Beer it is,â she said with a smile.
âThis is a terrific place,â I said, between bites of my second slice.
âThanks. My housemate let me take charge of decorating the common areas. She has no taste in decor,â Yazhi laughed. âBut I have to give her credit. She was the one who found the place. The back yard was what got us to sign the papers Look at the privacy fence! We tan out there all the time.â
âWhat does your housemate do?â I asked. I was still wondering how these women could afford this house.
âSheâs a model. Does some acting and stuff.â
âReally?â
âWanna see her picture?â
âSure.â
Yazhi grabbed her phone off the counter and pulled up an image. âHere she is,â she said, handing the phone to me. The screen showed a stunning blond, her long wavy hair arranged to just barely cover the nipples on a pair of naked, large, firm-looking breasts.
âWhoa,â I breathed. I donât have a very good poker face.
âSheâs pretty, isnât she?â Yazhi asked.
âYeah.â
âYou can look at the next picture too.â
I swiped my finger over the screen, and was greeted by a picture of Yazhi, her back turned toward the camera, completely nude and smiling over her shoulder while her housemate, equally naked, stood with her hand on the Navajo girlâs slender ass. Some care had gone into this pose. Arms, hands, and hair were positioned in such a way that the camera only caught large expanses of beautiful pale or bronze skin, almost, but not quite, exposing either girlsâ nipples or genitals. It looked like the picture was taken on the back deck of this house.
âHoly shit,â I muttered.
âI thought you might like that one,â Yazhi giggled, grabbing her phone away.
âUh, yeah! You ladies are both stunning. Sheâs a model, huh? What does she do? Swimwear?â
âSome, and lingerie. And other stuff.â
âOther stuff?â
âYeah.â
âWhat other stuff?â I asked.
âNude. Adult photos.â
âReally?â
âDoes that bother you?â Yazhi asked.
âShould it?â
âNo, it shouldnât, but some people donât approve.â
âScrew thatâ I said. âIf a girl has been blessed with a beautiful body, I think itâs great if sheâs willing to show it. I guess it pays pretty well,â I said, gesturing around the room.
âMost of the money comes from acting.â
âWhat kind of stuff does she do? TV?â I asked.
âNo, movies,â Yazhi answered.
âOh yeah? I donât think I recognize her. What has she done?â
âSome indie films, and some other stuff. More pizza?â
âIâm good. Those were big slices.â
âAre you kidding me? Youâre a big guy. Hell, I ate two slices!â Yazhi laughed. âOh well, Iâll have to do an extra five minutes each on the treadmill and the Bow-flex tomorrow.â
âYou have a Bow-flex?â I asked.
âIt was my housemate, Ingridâs idea, but once I read up on it, I agreed to go halves with her. Iâll show it to you later. Want another beer?â
I glanced at my watch. âYeah, I guess I can have one more.â
âSo can I. Iâll just do my penance tomorrow,â she said ruefully. âWe can take our beer into the living room. The plates will wait.â
She grabbed two beers from the fridge and walked back into the living room. When I followed her, she said, âLetâs sit on the couch.â She kicked off her sandals, and sat with her legs tucked under her, facing me. âSo who is Big Red, really?â
âI was born about twenty miles from here, went to the State Universityâs local campus, and got a job near where weâve been working. My high school sweetheart went to the same University, and we got married right after graduation. She went on and got her PhD, and teaches there now. I had a good job until I got canned. I told you what else happened that day.â
âThat sucks, Mike. So youâve been doing temp work ever since?â
âYup. I have a bachelorâs degree in manufacturing engineering, but the few jobs that are out there that donât require advanced degrees go to whiz-kids with wet ink on their diplomas. There arenât any jobs for middle-aged quality-control managers.â
âYouâre not middle-aged! How old are you?â
âHow old do you think I am?â
âMaybe I should put you on the treadmill and the Bow-flex to find out,â she teased.
âI never tried a Bow-flex. I used to go to the gym every day on my way home from work. Now itâs just running in the park and free-weights in the apartment.â
âItâs paid off,â she said, giving me the once-over. âOkay, the body is saying late-twenties, but the things youâve said tell me youâre older.â
âIâm thirty-eight. If I live to be seventy-six, thatâs middle-aged. Thatâs too old for an entry-level job, which is all Iâm qualified for.â
âAge discrimination is illegal. Trust me, I know all about discrimination,â Yazhi said.
âIâve heard some horror stories about the reservations,â I replied.
âReservations are a lot like white-trash trailer parks or black ghettos. I never lived on one. Neither did my parents. My father is a surgeon and Mom is an orthodontist. They both do pretty well.â
âSo, tell me more about Yazhi Sullivan.â
âOkay. Weâll start with age. Iâll be thirty in a couple of months.â
âI donât believe it,â I said.
âThank you, but itâs true. I have a bachelorâs in secondary English education, and was working on my masterâs when I lost my job. Since I canât go back to teaching, Iâve been working through that temp service. I know what you mean about the job market.â
âYou said youâre divorced?â
âYes,â Yazhi answered. âI got married right out of high school, which pissed my parents off properly. They didnât like him at all. Dad used to call him âthe stupid white boy.â They wouldnât have liked him regardless of his race though, because he was trash, but I was too young to see it. When I figured it out, I divorced him and went to college.â
âHow long have you known your housemate?â I asked.
âIngrid? It seems like forever. We were friends in school, but she hated the guy I married. We lost touch, and then we ran into each other again a few years ago.â
âYou said she does some acting?â I asked.
âYeah, but also some still photo glamor shot stuff. Thatâs where she is tonight.â
âYou must be really good friends,â I said.
âWe are.â
âI mean, to let you live here and decorate the place.â
âBoth our names are on the mortgage, and we split all the bills fifty-fifty.â
âOh, Iâm sorry.â
âMike, temp work is what I do to keep myself active in the mainstream job market. Itâs my âmad moneyâ not my only source of income. Ingrid and I do some work together.â
âYouâre a model?â
âYeah. I started as a toddler. I was the perfect little Indian kid to dress up in traditional costume and pose with some sun-dried old guy for tourist postcards. As I got older, I did some fashion shoots for teen clothing catalogs that were trying to be racially inclusive. Being Native American got me some jobs, and kept me from others.â
âI still canât get over the idea that youâre twenty-nine years old,â I said.
âI was a small baby, and Iâve always been kind of small-statured. Thatâs even what my name means: âlittle one.â Itâs actually been a blessing. I kept working with those teen catalogs until I was twenty. Then I finally filled out a little and got into some swimsuit modeling and other work.â
As she was talking, I imagined what she might look like in a nice little micro-bikini.
âYou wanna see the rest of the place? Iâll show you the Bow-flexâ
I followed her out of the living room and up the steps. The wide stairwell repeated the primitive/native theme of the living room.
âThatâs Ingridâs room.â Yazhi pointed through an open door into a huge bedroom decorated in pastel shades, dominated by a king-size canopy bed. âAnd this is the fitness room,â she said, opening the door to a smaller room with a tanning bed, treadmill, and the fancy exercise machine. âThis is where Iâll be tomorrow, undoing the damage of pizza and beer. Let me show you how the Bow-flex works.â
âOkay.â
She made a few adjustments to the machine and did a few repetitions of an exercise that was intended to tone her abs, but that also had the effect of causing the hem of her top to rise. I wasnât sure where to look â at the delicious-looking camel-toe displayed in her tight, white shorts, or the exposed curve of the bottom of her breasts. The bright orange fabric was pulled taut over her nipples, which became more prominent with her every movement.
This woman had a phenomenal body. She knew it, I knew it, and my cock sure as hell knew it. I wondered how long I would be able to stare at her before my erection became too noticeable.
She jumped up and made some changes to the equipment, and then lay down on her belly to do some leg work. Hooking her heels under a padded bar, she worked the healthy-looking muscles of her calves, thighs, and ass. Her ass. God!. With the position she was in, her shorts strained to contain those flexing curves, and the cleft between her lips was obvious.
After a few repetitions of that exercise, she looked over her shoulder at me. Her gaze went right to my crotch.
âMaybe you could come over some morning and work out with me. Iâd love to show you all this contraption can do. It can be adjusted to provide the right resistance for a smaller woman like me, a larger woman like Ingrid, or a big strapping hunk like you.â
âSounds like fun,â I said.
She got off the machine and smiled at me. âNow for the last stop on our tour, my sanctuary.â
We walked across the hall into a large room painted the color of unglazed red clay pottery. On the far side was a huge bed. The walls were decorated with professional-looking photos of Yazhi.
In one, she was dressed like a naughty schoolgirl, her hair gathered into a high pony tail. She wore black patent leather shoes, white ankle socks, and a tiny pleated plaid skirt. An unbuttoned white blouse and her school tie barely covered her breasts. Her lips were puckered into a kiss, and she was making a come-hither motion with her one finger.
Another showed her in a short buckskin vest and matching loincloth, neither one of which did much to hide her. Her one hand was raised to shield her eyes from the sun, and she was posed near a traditional hogan with a partially finished rug stretched on a frame outside.
There was a group of pictures of her with Ingrid. One was similar to the shot she had shown me on her phone, with the two of them nude and posed so that the good bits were out of view. Some others were not as modest. Yazhi saw me staring at them.
âGo ahead and look. Iâm not ashamed, and itâs not like others havenât seen them,â she said.
I walked over to the wall and studied the photos. Both girls were stunning. There was a picture of them standing nude, side by side, holding hands. Ingrid was a bigger girl than Yazhi, with large breasts standing proudly on her firm body, and a completely shaved pussy. Yazhi seemed short by comparison, her slender legs parted to reveal a small clipped patch of black curls above her sex, her long black hair draped over her one pretty breast, leaving its partner exposed.
The next photo was a head shot of the girls kissing, tongues against each other.
The last three photos showed them on a bed, naked again. In one, Ingrid was on her back, and Yazhi was lying partially on top of her. They were locked in a kiss, Yazhiâs one hand on her roommateâs ample breast, and Ingridâs hand on the Navajo girlâs ass. Another showed Ingrid kneeling between her friendâs spread legs. Both girls had dildos in their hands, which appeared to glisten with moisture. The last shot showed Ingrid on her hands and knees, her head thrown back in an expression of ecstasy, while Yazhi knelt behind her, her face buried in the blondâs ass.
âThose are what got me fired from my teaching job. Someone mailed those pics to the school board. At my dismissal hearing, every one of the men had copies of the photos spread out in front of them, and not one of them would look me in the eye. They probably all went home and jerked off afterward.â
I was sure she was right. That was definitely what I would be doing when I got home. âYou and Ingrid are lovers, then?â I asked, forcing myself to turn away from the pictures to look at her. She was standing at the edge of her bed.
âNot really. Itâs what the photographer wanted. I mean, yeah, we play, but I prefer men. Come here. Let me show you what I mean.â
Almost in a trance, I walked over to her. She pulled me in for a kiss. It was gentle at first, tentative, exploratory, but it didnât stay that way for long. My hands held her by her shoulders, but soon strayed down to cup her gorgeous ass. She pressed her body against me.
âI can feel your cock. Let me see it,â she breathed, pushing away from me. âTake your clothes off.â
When I took off my last piece of clothing, my badly tented boxers, my penis stood up to greet her.
âOh my God, you are a big boy, arenât you?â she asked, her obsidian eyes flashing with excitement. She knelt to cradle it in her hand and licked the tip. âThereâs no way in hell I can swallow all of that, but Iâll do what I can.â
Her tongue played along my length for a while, licking up the pre-cum that began to leak from me. Then she took me in her mouth, her one hand wrapped around the base of my shaft and her other hand on my balls. She began to suck me deep and hard. My God, she was good at this!
I pulled her top up to play with her breasts. They were a wonderful size, looking large on her trim body, but still fitting perfectly in my hand.
She stopped bobbing her head on my cock, and began to jack it expertly. Looking up at me, she asked, âDo you like my boobs?â
âHell, yeah!â I moaned.
âPlease keep playing with them. You can be a little firm with the nipples if you like. Now, are you going to cum for Yazhi?â
She didnât wait for an answer. She took me as deep in her mouth as she could, bouncing me repeatedly off her throat. What didnât fit between her lips was getting the royal treatment from her one hand, while my balls were getting fondled by the other. I wondered how long I could last.
When I started pulling on her nipples, she went wild on me. Sucking, licking, jacking, using every trick in the book. It was her moaning with my cock against her throat that pushed me over the edge.
âGonna cum! Ungh, ungh, UNGH!â I grunted.
The first blast went in her throat, and she gulped it down. Then she pulled me almost out of her mouth, wiggling her tongue back and forth on the underside of my helmet, letting me see my spunk fill her. When I was done, she swallowed hard, and took me back between her lips, sucking, licking, urging any last drops to coat her tongue. I thought my knees would buckle.
âThat was the first time youâve cum for a while, wasnât it?â she asked.
âYeah,â I panted.
âThought so. You came a lot. It was good, but kinda thick. I bet the next load is going to feel real nice in my pussy. Come to bed with me.â
I couldnât believe my good fortune. This incredibly hot chick just swallowed my load, and now she wants me to fuck her. Maybe my luck was turning around.
She pulled down the bedspread, which resembled an oversized Navajo rug, to reveal gold-colored satin sheets. âUndress me,â she said.
I pulled her orange tank top the rest of the way off and stopped for a moment to admire her breasts. Tiny nipples, not much bigger than mine, were ringed by areola the color and size of an old penny. As boobs go, they were fairly modest-sized, but on this small native goddess they were perfect. I cupped the left one in my hand and sucked on her firm nipple.
âI want you to do things to my pussy, Mike,â she hissed.
âGood,â I mumbled, teasing her nipple with my teeth.
âDo you have condoms with you?â
That stopped me dead in my tracks. âNo. I didnât think Iâd need any. I didnât expect to be doing this tonight.â
âI donât have any that will fit you,â she said. âI thought all single guys carried rubbers.â
âI normally donât need them. I havenât been with anyone but my wife since we got married. When we found out she couldnât get pregnant, I stopped thinking about condoms.â
âIâm on birth control. That wasnât my concern, if you know what I mean. You donât have to worry about me, by the way. I just got my latest health screening back and itâs all good. Besides, you were already in my mouth.â
âOkay.â This is not something middle-aged sorta-married guys think about.
âSo, get me naked. Get me naked and fuck me. Please.â
I picked her up and lay her on the bed. When we moved so we were in the center, she lifted her hips so I could pull her tight white shorts off. Unlike the images on the wall, she was clean-shaven now. There was a small, detailed tattoo on her mound.
She saw me looking at it, trying to figure it out. âItâs a squash blossom design. Iâll explain it to you sometime.â
As I said, Iâm an Irishman. This sun-darkened bronze goddess looked almost feral to me, her long black hair strewn across the pillows, black eyes flashing, dark nipples pointing to the sky, and moisture glistening on her naked lips. âYazhi, I want to taste you first.â
âI love it when a man says that,â she laughed, parting her legs to welcome me.
She had a piercing in her navel, with a little silver and turquoise pendant. When I lifted it with my tongue, she whimpered, and I gave her a playful grin. I kissed lower, across her tattoo, and down onto her copper lips. Thatâs when I recognized a portion of the scent I had first noticed when she met me at the door. The desert flower scent was her!
I licked her lips gently, teasing her a little. Her aroma was unusual, like nothing I had smelled before, and her taste was the same. Before I got married, I did a little exploring, but I never tasted a girl like this. I really wanted to tongue-fuck her.
Pulling her lips apart with my fingers, I curled my tongue and entered her.
âGood God! What are you doing?â she squealed.
âTongue fucking you.â
âYou can curl your tongue?â
âUh huh.â
âMmmmm,â she moaned.
She was getting wetter, and her taste was stronger, wilder, more primitive. When she came, I couldnât keep up. Spots of her nectar darkened the gold fabric under her. As she gathered herself, she gasped, âOh my God, Mike! Where did you learn to eat pussy like that?â
âI donât know.â I could feel my face getting red. âI just like to do it.â
âDo you fuck that well?â
By this time, I was very hard again. My cock heard her question and answered it with a glistening thread of pre-cum joining her moisture on the sheet.
âThatâs what I was wondering,â a female voice said from the doorway. âYou didnât tell me you were taking an audition tonight.â
âHi, Ingrid,â Yazhi said.
I was already off her and scrabbling for the sheet to cover myself before Yazhi identified our intruder. Holy shit. Busted by the roommate. That hadnât happened to me since college!
âDonât cover up, stud. I want to see you, too.â
âIngrid, meet Mike. Mike, Ingrid.â
âDamn, girl, you can pick them, canât you? Heâs got a nice build on him,â the blond said.
âTake a look at this,â Yazhi said, yanking the sheet off me to reveal my now-shrinking cock. âYou should see this thing hard.â
âTo hell with that. Thatâs for the cameraman. I donât want to just look at it,â Ingrid said as she started to strip.
My head was spinning. A pizza and beer date with a co-worker had turned into some amazing oral sex, and I had thought I was going to fuck her. Now, her busty, sexy housemate is taking off her thong. Before I could just accept my blessings, I blurted out, âWhatâs this about a cameraman and taking an audition?â
âThereâs no camera. This isnât an audition,â Yazhi said.
âWhy not?â Ingrid chuckled, walking around the bed, studying me.
âWait a minute. Whatâs going on here?â I asked.
âI didnât tell him,â Yazhi said.
âDidnât tell me what?â
âOh shit,â Ingrid giggled.
âMike, look around you,â Yazhi sighed. âCatalog models and indie film actresses donât live in places like this. Even nude models donât make this kind of money. The money is in film. Ingrid and I have been adult actresses in movies for years. Weâve started our own production company, Squash Blossom Films.â
âYou girls are porn stars?
âWeâre porn producers, now, too, and weâre looking for talent. Thatâs what I thought was going on,â Ingrid laughed.
âNo, Bigmouth, I was just horny,â Yazhi explained. âThis is the guy I was talking about from that temp job. He asked me out for a drink tonight, but I invited him over for pizza and beer instead. I started flirting with him. Then I saw his cock, and it was all over.â
âHow big does it get?â
âIâll let you figure it out,â Yazhi said, pulling her now-naked housemate to her and sticking her tongue in her mouth. They made out for a while. It had the same effect on me as it would on most guys.
Ingrid noticed. âWow! Look at that thing!â
âTold ya,â Yazhi said. âMike, I hope youâre not mad. Will you still fuck me? Or do you look down on me now?â
âNo,â I said. âNo, honestly, I understand your question, but no, Iâm not looking down on you. Youâre still you.â
âOkay. Well, then, this can be a wild night of crazy sex. If youâre interested, we can talk business over breakfast,â she said, straddling me. âIs it okay if Ingrid stays here?â
âYeah,â I said, admiring the tall blondâs bare, juicy-looking pussy.
Yazhi rubbed my cock over her wet sex. âIs it okay if Ingrid joins in?â
âHell, yeah!â
âGreat!â Ingrid said. She climbed up on the bed, lay on her elbows next to us, and grabbed my cock. As she jacked it, she licked her friendâs pussy lips. âMmmm, Yazhi, youâre nice and wet. Do you like the way she tastes, Mike? Thatâs herbs in her diet.â
âThatâs ancient Navajo medicine, passed down to me by my great-grandmother on her deathbed. I told you before, it doesnât work on un-enlightened Northern Europeans. Why donât you see if you can get that big mouth of yours all the way down on our new friend?â
Ingrid turned and engulfed my cock, forcing herself onto it until her nose was mashed flat against my belly. Blinking, she pulled off me, gulped some air, and did it again, leaving my entire cock dripping with saliva. âOh, sweetie, youâre gonna give me a ride on that thing for sure,â she laughed.
âLater,â Yazhi said, lining herself up to accept me.
Back in my wilder days, during my on-again-off-again relationship with the girl I would eventually marry, I had sex with some pretty hot girls. A few times there was more than on girl in my bed, but this was like nothing I had ever done before. This woman I was about to fuck was a porn star! That meant that, in addition to being hot, she would probably be talented and expressive, and would at least give me the impression that she was having fun.
Unfortunately, sheâd probably be loose enough that a London bus could make a U-turn inside her.
Wrong. Partially.
I was right about the first part. The sight of this desert goddess poised above me, her sopping wet sex ready to be impaled on my spit-slick cock was insanely erotic. Just the way she went about positioning herself to accept me, her black eyes sparkling, was one of the most sensuous things I had ever seen. Again, I wondered how long I would last.
The part I was wrong about was the way she felt. The head of my cock mashed against her for a second, almost as thought her labia didnât want me inside. They gave way grudgingly, allowing me access to a narrow, hot, wet velvet tunnel. As she lowered herself, she moaned and gasped with every inch we came together. It took a while, and she made it worth it. Finally, she was sitting on me.
âDamn, that looked nice!â Ingrid giggled.
âYou should feel it!â Yazhi grunted. She put her hands on my chest and said, âYouâre big, Mike. I hope you can last a while.â
She rode me slowly at first, long strokes, sometimes leaning down to kiss me or to let me suck her nipples, and other times sitting straight up or leaning back, steadying herself with a hand on my thigh while she played with her clit.
Thatâs how she started to cum. Maybe itâs a guy thing, or maybe itâs just me. I can almost always tell when a girl is ready to have an orgasm. Julia and I discovered sex together in high school, and sheâs the only woman I had been with since I said, âI do.â But, as I said, I had my share of partners in college. I havenât been wrong about a girlâs orgasm often.
I wasnât wrong this time. Yazhi started to moan louder. A lot louder. Her fingers moved faster on her clit, and she started riding me hard, fast, almost violently. Her pussy, wet from the start, began to flow. When her climax hit her full force, the pulsing of her walls on me would easily have taken me with her, if I hadnât cum hard less than a half hour before.
She pulled herself upright and then lowered herself onto my chest, still moving her hips a little, front and back and side to side, pulsating on me, massaging me. Keeping me hard, feeling phenomenal, but not getting closer to losing it. Amazing.
âAre you gonna finish that, or can I have some,â Ingrid asked.
Yazhi started to giggle. She raised herself up so she could look at me, her forehead damp with lust. âWould that be okay, Big Red?â
âYeah.â I really needed to see a shrink if this turned out to be a dream.
Yazhi peeled herself off me, bouncing a few times on my still hard cock before rolling to the side. âAll yours, girlfriend,â she said to Ingrid, who had been fingering herself and moaning the entire time Yazhi and I went at it.
Ingrid quickly climbed on top of me, kissing me hungrily and rubbing her wet sex on my cock. âIâm gonna fuck you now, Mike. When was the last time you fucked two porn stars, one after the other?â
âNever.â
âWeâre changing that right now,â Ingrid said. She sat back on her haunches, grabbed my manhood, and aimed. She was nearly as tight as her friend, and eventually, she settled her weight on my pelvis. âPlease stay for breakfast,â she breathed.
She positioned herself to allow me easy access to her amazing breasts. When I had first seen her picture, I had wondered who did her implants, since they looked so good, but from this angle, I could see there were no scars. Good genes and healthy living, or something.
I didnât care. I wondered what it would be like to fuck a pair of tits like that. When she started to move on me, I immediately shelved that fantasy. This girl had been doing her Kegel exercises. The flexing she did as she pulled off me reminded me of the way Yazhiâs mouth had felt.
I grabbed one fat nipple between my lips and sucked hard as I thrust up into her. Ingrid gasped, and her juicy pussy felt a little wetter. Still suckling her one breast, I began rolling the other nipple between my thumb and index finger.
âFuck me. Fuck me hard. I want you to cum deep,â she gasped.
Ingrid and I fucked harder that night than Iâd ever fucked before. Even when I knew I was seconds from erupting, I didnât just push in deep and hold it like I sometimes liked to do with Julia. I fucked her even harder. Grunting, gasping for air, we pounded each other.
When she felt my spasms, she moaned, âMore. More. Donât stop. Almost there. Oh God, please donât stop!â
I didnât. Even after I had cum, I stayed pretty hard for a while. Hard enough for long enough to muster up enough strength to rabbit-fuck her into a sloppy, screaming orgasm.
When Ingrid lifted herself off me, I was almost glad. She settled on her back next to me. âYazhi, you and I need to talk while we make breakfast for this guy tomorrow.â
âI agree. We need showers,â my other lover said.
We dragged ourselves out of bed and crowded into the two-person shower in Ingridâs room. The girls teamed up on me in there, just to make sure I was drained of all possible semen. I had never intentionally cum on a womanâs face and boobs before, but watching the water from the shower heads rinse the strings of my spunk off the chins and breasts of these two is an image I will carry fondly for a long time.
We slept in Ingridâs bed, Yazhiâs being a little rumpled from our earlier activities. Wake up sex was always a favorite of mine anyway, and wake up sex with a busty blond and a an exotic black-haired beauty made it easy to listen their breakfast talk.
* * * * *
That was five years ago. I stayed with the temp service for a while, maybe because I still felt like I was living in a dream. The girls put me on the payroll immediately as a gopher on video shoots any time I wasnât working elsewhere, allowing me to learn the business and the people. I slept at their house most nights, and after a monthâs notice to my landlord, I moved in.
At our final settlement conference, Julia mentioned my change of address. âThatâs a pretty nice neighborhood. How can a temp worker afford to live there?â
âIâm paying room and board to some friends.â It was the truth. My now officially ex-wife didnât need to know the details. Sheâd figure it out soon enough. Some of her University cronies must watch porn. The girls thought I would be a big star. I snickered as I imagined the look on Juliaâs face.
Last year, the girls and I thought we could make the financial commitment, so we bought an old farmhouse in the country. Weâve converted part of it into studio and post-production space. Upstairs, we created two large bedrooms. Itâs anybodyâs guess who sleeps where.
Yazhi and I wrote the script for my acting debut, and Ingrid served as my fluffer. We rehearsed it every night for a couple of weeks, and we still re-enact the thing a few times a year. âBig Red and the Native Girlâ was low budget, since it was the first feature-length film for the girlsâ Squash Blossom Films production company. It worked well, played to rave reviews, and launched the career of my alter-ego, Big Red.
Weâre all looking forward to this yearâs Adult Video News, or AVN, awards ceremony. Weâve been close to winning in the past. I nearly won for Best Male Newcomer in my film debut, but lost out to an emotional vote-getter about a blind girl and her dog.
Squash Blossom Films should celebrate a win this year, with a strong entry in the Best Big Bust Series category with Ingrid in âSki Instructors After Dark.â The word on the street is that weâve sown up the Best Boy/Girl Sex Scene win with Ingrid and me in âBig Boobs Like Big Cock.â Winning either of those categories will establish us as an important studio.
None of us say much about it, but weâre hoping for a third trophy for the runaway sentimental leader in the Best Group Sex Scene competition, âNaughty Wedding,â a re-enactment of the night Yazhi and I consummated our marriage. Ingrid was with us.