Bastille Day Ch. 02

When one of the other men suggested another beer, offering to buy the round, we others agreed - not without Marge and me exchanging smirks - but insisted on paying for our own. We three men went to the bar and paid for our two beers and returned to our roommates. Marge said: “Prost,” and someone said: “Cheers,” and someone else said: “A votre santé,” and we all drank and smiled.

We continued our conversation, finishing our beers. When the others suggested returning to the beach, we followed along, finding a place where we could all lie down together, with a little space between our pairs of towels. Marge and I were lying on our backs, our little fingers linked. Nice warm sun on my cock and balls. But after several minutes, I felt that my cock wanted to do something. Apparently, Marge's muschi also did; her finger clutched mine.

I looked over and saw that she was looking at me, then smiling slightly, before she murmured:
“I've got to go.”
“Me too.”

We grinned, smirked, but then one of the other woman said:
“I do too. We can go in the water.”

Marge scowled with a wry grin. I returned it, nodding. We snorted and got up. When the woman did, the others also did, chuckling, and we all went in the water, splashing about to suggest that we were having fun, but smirking, knowing that we all were going. We splashed a little more, and left the water. Our cocks were again somewhat smaller from the cool water. We returned to our towels, and each couple took turns refreshing sun lotion, the men first, the women lying on their backs.

The other men also massaged their partners' breasts more than necessary, their partners' obviously appreciating as much as Marge was, smirking up at their man. The one who had spoken before remarked:
“Of course we have; isn't that why we're here?”

Marge replied:
“Not sure. We had a lot of fun talking first.”

The third woman was silent, and other woman, remarked:
“We didn't talk so much.”
“After all our emails: about the same thing,” her new friend commented.
“After he told me his height and weight.”
“I cheated a couple of pounds.”
“I'm not complaining; I did too.”
“But all in the right places,” he replied, his hands returning to her ample bosom.”

Marge remarked:
“I was worried about that, too. Had good luck, very good luck!” She grinned up at me.

Finally the third woman said something:
“We weren't sure if we would, emails, agreeing that we could get along together without.”
“Um-hmm,” her partner agreed, smiling down at her, massaging her nice breasts again.”

She smiled up at him, and replied:
“After agreeing about that, … well, … there we were, two adults, knowing that we were going to see each other naked. Hm-hmm! Kind of ticklish in the room the first night.”
“We didn't.”
“Nice of you not to suggest anything. I liked that.”
“I wanted you to … like that.”
“Isn't he sweet?! But then, of course, it was foolish to wear anything in our room.”
“But still a little ticklish, just the two of us.”
“And our big beds suggesting …”
“That sleeping alone was also foolish.”
“Something like that. Somehow we agreed about that.”
“You went to bed and left the covers on the side to mine turned back.”

We all smiled at them and nodded. She chuckled with a smile and replied:
“Yours were also turned back, how I got the idea.”

We all chuckled. The women turned over, and we men applied more sunlotion. Then it was their turn. They were a little more discrete about applying it to our cocks and balls, down between our thighs, but we could all see that the other women were. Marge snorted and remarked:
“Have to wash them as good.”

We all snickered with nods and lay down again. I wondered if our young men were getting the same attention, and if they were, if they had managed not to become aroused, and then - if they had - if the girls would have wanted them to. If they had …? Don't think about it!

After sunning for a while more, turning over a couple of times, someone suggested that we go in the water again. As we did, Marge smirked at me and whispered: “Don't.” I nodded, returning her smirk. I resisted the inclination to let it flow again in the water, assuming that she was too. That was reinforced, when she suggested on the way back to our towels:
“Another beer, before we go shower?”

The others agreed, and we collected our things. At the bar, we met a couple of other sets of roommates. The conversation was more discrete than it had been with the other two couples. The others had, however, also seen our young men and the girls, and heard Marge's story again.

We finished our beers and wrapped our towels around ourselves and returned to the hotel. While we all waited for the elevator, Marge moved her legs again, like a little girl who had to go. The others all snorted and let us take the first elevator. As we went to our room, she snorted and murmured:
“I don't really have to go that bad.”
“But you want to?”
“Oh, of course, I have to, just not that much.”
“Me too.”

I opened our door, and she entered, immediately letting her towel fall before I closed the door. Mine fell, and we smirked. I asked:
“What I think?”
“In the shower? I want to.”
“Yours or mine?”
“Hmm? Mine first. If I like it, then yours.”

We snorted with grins and hurried to the bathroom, stepping into the tub. Her quite pale yellow stream arched out, splashing on my feet. We both snickered, and then mine sprang forth. I rocked my hips, spraying on her thighs.

“Oooh, warm,” she murmured, adding: “Here goes.”

She reached down in her stream, catching a handful, and I also did. We smirked and tasted it, smiling wryly, and then both tasted mine. She snorted and remarked:
“Like you said, cum - semen - is more 'interesting.' You drank a glass of it?”
“Half a glass, a couple of times, after drinking more beer and watching videos; both conducive to experimenting.”
“Hmm? I guess. You were right; it doesn't really taste offensive, not even really strange, just a little raunchy doing it.”
“Yes, but aren't we a little?”
“Um-hmm. Maybe more than a little.”

She smirked as I nodded, and then we washed each other. There was no question that we were arousing each other, telling each other it felt good when our erogenous zones were fondled. While we were drying ourselves, my cock began to droop, of course, just flopping back and forth on my hand as I dried my balls. She still had to dry her hair, letting me enjoy watching how her raised arms made her breasts move. She snorted with a grin, seeing where I was looking, and remarked:
“We still have a lot of time till dinner.”
“Um-hmm. We could go out for a walk again,” I replied with a facetious smile.”
“Hmm? If you really insist.”
“You have a better idea?”
“Two or three.”

She smirked and made a demonstration of drying her muschi again, her other hand unnecessarily rubbing the other end of her towel over one of her breasts. I snorted and replied:
“Just a suggestion. What were you thinking of?”
“Hm-hmm! As if you didn't know.”
“Maybe, but if you have two or three ideas, maybe not what you were thinking.”
“Do I have to tell you? You know that I'm shy and modest.”

We both snickered and grinned. As she hung up her towel, I remarked:
“Now you tell me! Thanks for concealing that side of your character so well.”

We laughed, and she turned and stepped closer, rubbing her nipples on my chest, smiling up at me as her hands grasped my ass, and mine, hers. She murmured:
“Fun.”
“Um-hmm, more fun; more fun continuing to talk like that, and more fun, not just …, well, you know.”
“Not just having sex as though that's all we liked to do with each other.”
“Better than I could have expressed it.”
“Hm-hmm! What if we get carried away with talking and talk ourselves out of it?”
“Most unlikely, but that would also be interesting. Still have plenty of days to see if that could happen.”
“Hmmm?! Be fun to try, and see if it worked, if one of us didn't finally ruin the attempt.”
“Saying something like: 'Stop talking and lick my muschi!'”
“Oooh! That's a good idea, but I was thinking of what you might say.”
“I would never be so crude as to say that!”

We snickered, gripping the cheeks of each other's ass. She replied:
“But I wouldn't mind that. … One of the things I was thinking about.”
“Oooh! That would be nice! And the other two or three things?”
“Just to make it hard for you, and then - do I have to say it? - turn around and kneel on the bed …”
“Oh! Doggie?!”

I feigned surprise. She grasped my ass tighter again, grinning and remarking:
“You're not as dumb as I was beginning to think.”
“It's easier to play dumb than to try to appear more intelligent than I am. But then, the third thing?”
“If we do that, there wouldn't be a third thing.”
“What a relief!”

We snorted and sealed our agreement with a kiss, one that suggested what her lips and tongue were going to do. It also suggested that they weren't going to have to take long to make it hard for me - harder for me. We left the bathroom, not getting further than the near side of her bed. She drew back the covers and sat down. She only gave me the briefest glance, and then my cock was in her warm mouth again.

Oh, I have been forgetting that this is about the trip of whole group. It's very obvious why I have forgotten. Amazing how one can have total recall! And I can't stop with my cock in her mouth, just maybe not get as carried away with the details and sensations.

I fondled her breasts, and saw that her fingers were pussy [Freudian typo, really!] - were busy on her muschi. When I was beginning to forget about what else she wanted to do, my throbbing cock slipped from between her lips. She looked up at me with an aroused expression and turned around, kneeling on her bed, presenting, offering her open and moist muschi between her thighs. I had seen too many like that in videos, but never live, and hers was as attractive and inviting as any of the others.

I must have looked at it for a moment too long. She demanded softly: “Fuck me!” I did, the head of my cock slipping easily between the open lips of her muschi and plunging into her slippery, tight, warm vagina. “Slippery, tight, warm” in the order of the sensations on my cock.

I couldn't forget, but I'm getting carried away again.

In brief: I had never before fucked so hard and fast, our hips slapping together. Her fingers touched my balls as long as my sack was still loose and they were swinging as I fucked. Then I felt her fingers touch the base of my cock, and assumed that she was rubbing her clitoris. Her aroused noises let me understand why she liked to be fucked that way, and mine were just as aroused and unrestrained.

Keep it brief: clutching muschi, throbbing cock, a gush of warm muschi juice on my tight sack, dripping off it, spurts - several spurts - deep in her muschi.

She dropped forward on the bed with whimpering groans. My glistening wet cock bobbed, still throbbing. I dropped down over her, managing to get my hands between the mattress and her breasts, holding them.

Total recall, and then only briefly told. Got to stop that, if I want to get back to telling about the group experience. Difficult.

Maybe if I summarize: Marge and I had as much sex as we wanted and every way that we wanted:
always after our showers in the afternoons; always in the mornings, and sometimes after going to bed; and sometimes in the middle of the night - if we hadn't when we went to bed. Maybe we didn't in the morning, if we had in the night. No, I am pretty sure we did. Sixty-nine is so easy: don't have to be aroused to start; just agree to enjoy something with each other; and then, of course, it gets better.

Back to the present, Tuesday evening: at the bar, the German girls greeted us, saying that the men would be along. They smirked, and one of them murmured:
“They had to go back to their room.”

Anna seemed a little embarrassed by this admission, but nodded, and Marge and I also did with smiles. Then Anna said something in German to Marge, who replied, and the girls both nodded with smiles. Their new friends joined us, and we moved away to talk with others from our group.

If possible, it seemed that all of us were even more happy with our choice of roommates. At dinner, we sat with the couple we had talked to at the bar in the afternoon, who had told about how they agreed to sleep with each other.

We all smirked slightly. When does one meet people whom you know have just met, and the only thing you know about them is that they are sleeping with each other? They were smirking for the same reason, of course, although I and apparently Marge had no problem with it. No, she didn't, her smile at me.

I asked what the girl's had asked in German. She snorted and replied:
“They wondered if the guys were Jewish, you know, since they were circumcised. I told them that most men in the States are.”
“From your experience?”
“Don't be fresh; you know that most of them are.
“Sorry. Did they care.”
“No, just curious.”
“And then the guys had to go back to their room.”

We all chuckled. The other woman suggested:
“Could have expected that they would have been in both rooms.”

We chuckled again, then all snorting at the realization that we were assuming that the two couples had probably had sex in one room, and that the girls had suggested that the guys join them in theirs.

“Ah, youth,” the man remarked with a grin. His companion snorted and replied:
“We're doing pretty well for our age.”

We all nodded with smiles of agreement.

Wednesday and Thursday were more of the same. Marge and I talked with other couples, all of us discretely confiding that we were enjoying sex with our roommates, now bedmates. The German girls seemed to like to confide in Marge, talking to her a couple of times when neither their friends nor I was around.

By then, Marge and I sometimes separated for a while, walking or swimming alone, and then entertaining each other with what we had seen or done, always making it sound a little erotic. That was seldom true, but we enjoyed competing with stories, teasing each other with claims that we had attracted the attention of some sexy member of the opposite sex. The stories got better, claiming that we had sat with someone and only resisted an obvious suggestion to be with each other again.
That was, of course, an implication about what we wanted to do back in our room.

Once, when Marge was by herself, the German girls spoke to her. As she explained, when she smirked slightly and ventured to ask about the young men, the girls also smirked, nodding. Petra with the perky breasts, who was the more outspoken, replied that she and Anna had promised to stay together, no matter what. Anna had again looked a little embarrassed, but nodded, smirking slightly. Marge said:
“Of course, both in your room.”

The girls both blushed, nodding, and Petra replied:
“And in theirs, but don't tell.”

She did, however, tell me, and we snickered, then wondering if they shared partners. That suggested the general question if maybe any couples had met in one of their rooms after dinner. That in turn led to a humorous conversation about what we would do if another couple suggested that, and then one about which couple we could imagine would suggest something , and which ones we would find attractive.

By then, we had better visual impressions of all the others in our group. When I suggested that I could imagine that it would be nice with Petra, Marge snorted and said that she wasn't one of the group, but then smirked and said that she thought either of the young men would be good. I replied that Anna would also be just as good, since she didn't care which of the men she would get. We snickered and agree to only choose members of our group.

When I suggested Kathleen, thinking that she had been very forward about agreeing to share a room with James, Marge grinned and remarked:
“Oooh, yes! James. You probably didn't look at his nice long cock.”

I had, and tried to change the subject, but she didn't let me, grinning and saying:
“Just once.”
“Look or do it?”
“Hm-hmm! Maybe twice, both ways. Your fault for suggesting Kathleen. Why?”
“Seemed eager. Your fault for not having immediately wanted a Harvard man.”
“Hmmm! Had one already. Too intellectual.”
“Shouldn't have talked so much.”
“I was just kidding, … but James, if he can with her?”
“They don't talk, just hold hands.”
“Hands?! Hm-hmm! She would need both to hold him.”
“Don't complain!”
“Sorry. Just joking.”
“Hmm? I hope so, but you could be right.”
“I don't want to just hold yours - with my hand.”
“Keep talking.”
“Maybe I can get eight fingers around it.”

She demonstrated what she was suggesting, and we both snickered. Later that day, she snorted and tried. With some goodwill, pushing her hands down on my balls, the tip of my cock rose above her fingers. We snickered again, and she said:
“I want to suck it, and not one that big.”

She did, as good as she had the first time, and the times since then.

Friday, the weather was cloudy, and a few of us agreed to take two taxis to visit a Romanesque church and a picturesque village, Sans-culotte's suggestion and a nice change. Marge and I, of course, wonder if what we had seen was on the German girl's list of sightseeing, Marge whispering that we could fill them in with details.

That evening in the bar, despite the lack of sun, most of the others had been on the beach, especially our two young men and their girls. After a first drink, they smirked at each other, and one of the men remarked:
“In case the rest of you are curious, we went down where things are more liberal.”

We were suddenly all ears, other conversation dying down. He smirked slightly at the effect of his remark, and the girls and his roommate also did. For a moment he seemed to search for the right expression and then said:
“Yeah, well, if you have seen beach videos, like that.”

Apparently most of us had, nodding with smirks. He appreciated our response and added:
“Yeah, a little strange seeing people doing that, knowing that they could be seen. Wouldn't want to go there by myself, like some of the voyeurs we saw.”

His friend and the girls nodded, smirking. I looked at Anna, who again seemed a little embarrassed by his telling, but Petra seemed openly to enjoy it. I still couldn't tell if they had paired off. He continued with a smirk of his own:
“But once you've become accustomed to it, it's sort of infectious.”

We all snorted, snickering. Petra and his roommate nodded with grins. That suggested that Anna had also been infected. She then also nodded slightly with a wry smile. Apparently others had noticed her embarrassment. Her bra-less nipples were sticking out. There was a moment of silence in the group, and then Sans-culotte snorted and remarked softly:
“I can imagine. Thanks. Maybe save a couple of us from satisfying our curiosity, … or maybe not.”

The rest of us nodded with mild smiles, leaving it unclear which alternative they might be agreeing with. I thought that the videos I had seen were explicit enough. However, when we finished our second drink and were going to the dining room, Marge took my arm and murmured:
“Why not? Might as well see everything.”
“To tell back home?”
“In case anyone asks; can't say I was here - we were here - and admit that we weren't there.”
“Anyone? More than just your brother and his wife?”

She snorted and replied:
“A couple of others, before I understood that we would all be sharing rooms.”
“Hmm? What will they think of that?”
“They'll have to ask.”