Bastille Day Ch. 13

Then you have to suck our cocks," Sans replied - also a little too loud.

We all chuckled. Who had made up the bed? One of us flung back the covers, and we were all quickly on it, Marge and Anna lying back to back, waiting for us to join them. I hadn't considered whose pussy I preferred to lick - it didn't matter. Which one's was it? Too drunk to remember? And they were both so good.

Oh, it was Marge's; now I remember, so Anna must have been sucking my cock - not like she had that time. Yes, she was; after it was beginning to feel almost too good, it slipped out of a mouth, and I heard her demand:

"Fuck us! I want to lick Marge."

In vino veritas! And no objections! As they rolled together, Sans and I scrambled backwards around them, and our cocks found their ways in the pussy that we had been licking. Well, his also must have; Anna groaned.

Thanks, Anna, for an even better suggestion! Enjoy licking Marge's tasty, wet pussy! It sounded like she was, and that Marge was enjoying hers. Whose fingers were trying to find my asshole" Didn't matter, Anna's?

Nature couldn't have intended that two couples have sex like this; it only took one couple to make a baby, but it sure was good. So fucking good! All women must enjoy licking a pussy, having their pussy licked by another woman, especially when there was also a cock in it! A twitching cock, like mine was. And could there be anything better that feeling a pussy squeezing my cock in response to someone arousing it like Anna was doing on Marge's clitoris?

I forgot my questions, had to; it was feeling so arousing for my cock in Marge's pussy, too arousing, when her hips began to twitch. Fuck! I did.

If my cock didn't spurt as much in her pussy, at least, it felt like it had. I hoped that she thought so. And when Sans grunted, his hips thrusting, I hoped that it felt the same for him and Anna.

Moaning sighs. After a few, we rolled apart, and four hands fondled breasts. Then Sans snorted and murmured:

"Can't tell Daphne about this.?"

"Don't have anyone I can't tell," I replied.

"We do," Marge replied, adding: "but maybe we shouldn't."

"Better not," Anna agreed.

We chuckled again and continued fondling breasts, enjoying taking them from another hand, then settling on just one to hold: four hands, four breasts, ideal. We were silent of a minute or two, then Anna said:

"Me again," and sat up.

We chuckled and followed her to the bathroom. Marge waited for her to use the toilet, while Sans and I hung our cocks and balls over the edge of the washbasin. We all washed and went back to bed. As we were getting comfortable, Sans reminded us that we all had to get up early to start our trips home.

We did, reluctantly when the first of us stirred, early enough that Sans didn't mind leaving our room to return to his for a shower and to pack. For once, the three of took individual showers. Packing after a vacation at a nudist resort was quick, exchanging comments about the clothes we hadn't used. We got dressed, with the usual chuckles.

We met him again at breakfast, and the others, of course. Some of their exuberant remarks didn't seem in tune with our mood. Since Sans and Anna could leave immediately, Marge and I had an excuse to leave the group before we all had to get to the airport. Sans asked me to help him with his two cases of wine bottles, most of them empty now. We loaded them in his car, while Anna got her suitcase. He found two unopened bottles and gave them to Marge and me with a smile, remarking:

"Something to remember me by."

We took them, thanking him and both saying that we couldn't forget him. Marge looked at the name of the wine estate on the bottle and asked:

"If I may ask, what is your first name?"

He smiled with a nod and replied:

"You should know: Edmund, Edmund Thierry Maria. Need a saint's name for christening. Apparently the first two aren't."

"Thank you for a wonderful time, Edmund."

"And thank you, Marge, and you too, Thomas!"

He smiled at me and extended his hand.

"And you too!" I replied, and we clasped hands with slightly smirking smiles.

Anna joined us, and he put her suitcase in the trunk of his car. We stood in silence for a moment. Than Anna approached me and Marge and said:

"Thank you both for wonderful vacation! Thank you so much!"

She embraced me - we embraced - and shared a kiss that was more appropriate in bed. As she turned to Marge, she glanced around, seeing that no one could see us. When they embraced, they shared an equally intimate kiss. Then Marge and Sans - now Edmund - embraced with just as good a kiss. When he turned to me, extending his hand again, I grasped it, saying:

"But not me too."

We didn't kiss, but he grasped my shoulder, and we also embraced.

Then they were off. Marge and I looked at each other, both shrugging. She smiled and said:

"But with me. Maybe we can at the airport, but just in case."

Kind of funny, embracing and kissing her with all our clothes on, especially when we both made it as arousing as we could with our tongues, long enough for her to feel that I was, then rubbing her hips against me. If anyone had seen us, they could have wondered why we were kissing like that there, instead of in our room; or wondered if we were for the first time, after the others had left; or whatever else someone could wonder about a couple kissing like that in the parking lot in the morning.

We separated, chuckling, she again, as I helped my cock move around. No, we didn't love each other, but we sure enjoyed each other's company. She grinned and said:

"At the airport too."

"But not like that, rubbing against me."

"Hm-hmm! This is France; people will just smile and think we're doing it right."

At de Gaulle Airport, before going to our different flights, we did, maybe even better. She had been right, people just smiled. I did not adjust my cock in my pants. If anyone wanted to see that it was aroused, they would have anyway, and this was France.

The day after we were home, we received an email from Anna:

Dear both of you!

Thank you again so much for inviting me to share your vacation. Thank you for having me. That is what I first wrote, then put the other sentence in front. But that is what I really mean.

We had a fine trip back to Paris. Edmund, he told me that he had told you his name, even asked me to share the driving. Wow! His big car. He had to warn me to keep to the speed limit. In Germany, there isn't one on the freeways.

We did not have a "picnic", but joked about it. Not enough time, more than 600 km to Paris, just stopped for a couple of snacks and to change drivers.

Wow! Again. He lives in big flat in a turn of the century building somewhere near the Arc de Triomphe, to the left after driving up the Champs Elysées. He drove in Paris. What a flat! Like rooms in a castle in Germany.

I wasn't going to tell you about what we did. Of course, WE DID. But everything else. When he showed me to his bedroom, and I immediately started to unbutton, he did too, saying that a shower after the long drive would be good. The shower was too, but we didn't. I assumed that we would stay that way. He snorted, saying that it was going to be funny. It was; naked in formal rooms like that. High ceilings and antique furniture, like in a movie with Catherine Deneuve. When I said that, he agreed, telling that his family had lived there since the building was built.

Anyway. We went in the kitchen, large and very modern. He is a good cock too. "Too"? You can imagine ... ;-) He made a delicious omelette with ham and cheese and spices, and a bottle of his wine. Mmmm! We then did, of course.

I told him that he had stirred me as well as he had the omelette, in case you didn't understand the "too," but of course you did. When he replied that I had stirred him too, looking in my eyes, I suddenly recognized the other meaning. Yes, I was stirred like that too, but you both probably already surmised that. (Marge: had to look up the English for "vermuten".) I hope so.

He said that he had to spend all day Sunday catching up on emails and stuff from his work, so we didn't in the morning, but wished we could have, and he wished that he could have had time to show me Paris - "and a lot more," he added as he drove me to Gare de l'Est, the station for trains to Germany. I didn't want him to, but he insisted on buying my ticket.

And now I am back in my university room. But this coming weekend. Don't know how much I can tell my father. Oooh, my period. Oh, he won't be disappointed, but I will be, but only a little.

Thank you both again!

Love, Anna

That was the end of our trip, except for Marge's and my emails to Anna and her reply. A couple of days later she replied that she had remembered to send Sans her "He wanted to see more of me," [title of a posted story] about sleeping with her father for the first time, and that he had replied that he had enjoyed it with fond memories of her.

What could be a sequel to all that? It's fun to consider. I have my ideas, but if anyone has suggestions, maybe I'll be inspired to include them.