Bromfield's Temptations Ch. 06

"Nothin' like a good fuck to improve the appetite," she said winking at me. This was the first time I had seen her under a strong light. Tiny freckles dotted her skin, most noticeably on her soft young breasts, upper arms, and back.

She saw me looking at them. "Sure, and while yer countin' me spots . . ." she said in a broad burlesque of her usual lilt, while I held up a hand.

"I was just thinking how they compliment your fair skin and lovely coloring," I said sincerely.

She looked closely at my face, decided I was being truthful, and said, "Ah, you'd say anythin' at awl ter git in a gurl's knickers, now wouldn't yer, Bucko?"

I shook my head. "You're looking at a spent buck -- a very spent buck -- my dear," I said. "If I don't find a place to lay down soon, I'm going to collapse."

"Well here, we can't have that," she said, taking my hand and leading me into the hall.

She paused and opened a door. "OK," she said, "This room will do us." She looked at the grass stains on my knees and elbows. "If you'd like a shower, there's one just there," she said pointing at another door.

I went into the bathroom, and was adjusting the water temperature when I saw her reflection in the mirror as she stood behind me. "Is there room for two in here?" she asked.

We enjoyed a communal shower, soaping and rubbed each other's backs, fronts, and sides. She stripped back my flaccid foreskin and carefully but gently washed my glans. Obviously, a foreskin was no novelty for her.

I reciprocated by gently, but diligently, soaping and washing her rectum and womanly cleft. We were both squeaky clean when we emerged from that hot, steamy room, and began vigorously toweling each other.

Bridget turned down the covers, and I gratefully stretched out full length on the clean sheet. She left the light on in the bathroom, but turned off the light by our heads and snuggled in next to me. She lay on her side facing me, her head resting on my chest, with an arm flung protectively over me.

I was used to Bette as a bed partner. Bridget was larger than Bette, but so were most women. The basic difference was that Bridget was softer. Her breast molded itself to my rib cage, where Bette's smaller and firmer breasts seemed more like soft tennis balls as they pressed into my side.

Bridget waited for a few moments, then her hand began creeping toward my groin. "Lots of luck," I muttered sleepily. "Let me know if you find something interesting."

"Oh, I will, Bucko. You can bet on that."

Her fingers closed over my soft member, and she began gently flexing her fist and rubbing the palm of her hand over it. It felt good.

I was just beginning to drift away, lulled by her hypnotic, repetitive stroking, when she slid her face down over my stomach. She sucked on my belly button, then moved further south.

Her hand cupped my scrotum, while she took my flaccid member into her mouth and began teasing it with her tongue. Nothing happened.

She stripped my foreskin back, then took me into her mouth again. The wet friction provided by her tongue, and the pressure exerted by the vacuum she created in her mouth, plus her gentle manipulation of my scrotum began to have the desired effect.

Much to my surprise and somewhat to my chagrin, my little friend began coming to life. I was sore, and frankly, the last thing I wanted was more sex. But I couldn't bring myself to say no. Not when Bridget was making such an effort.

She was rubbing it now with her hand while she continued to suck on its head. "I don't think it's going to work," I said.

She redoubled her efforts, and then she sat up and threw her leg over me. She began stuffing it into her slit as she crouched over me, her breasts dangling in my face.

My poor abused pecker bent almost double, but she managed to get it into her. Then she leaned forward, and slowly rocked back and forth, all the while flexing the muscles in her vagina, while the tips of her nipples teased and tickled the hair on my chest.

It was sexy, especially after she leaned down, fastening her mouth to mine, working her lips prying my mouth open so she could insert her tongue.

My cock no longer ached; it just seemed grateful to be in such friendly company. In the meanwhile, Bridget's breathing began to accelerate, and instead of gently rocking back and forth, she began to bounce. Her heavy breasts swayed back and forth, then began bouncing wildly as her movements became more aban doned. For a brief moment, I wondered if she might injure herself and whether she ought to wear a jogging bra when assuming the woman superior position.

Even though I was exhausted, and was sure this would be a dry run since Sam had all but turned me inside out, this was my night for surprises. She had to work for it, and it's well that she did, because my heart certainly wasn't in it; my sex drive was on auto-pilot, acting out of habit and chivalry rather than lust and desire.

The surprise came about fifteen minutes later. Bridget was showing no signs of tiring or even slowing down. I wasn't sure, but I think she had come once. Now, she was only cruising. She wasn't even breathing hard. My sore peg was buried in her as deeply as it would go, and I was beginning to wonder if we were destined to go through eternity coupled in the classic woman superior position, when the door opened.

Bette came into the room, and ignoring Bridget, lay down next to me and kissed me. "I love you, Jim," she said quietly.

My cock fired. Bang. Just like that. Brigit felt it coming, and redoubled her energetic bouncing and rocking. Her breathing quickened, and as my poor, thin stream trickled into her, she threw herself forward, and hugged us tightly as she shuddered through three distinct orgasmic peaks.

She raised her head and looked at me. "I needed that," she said, "thanks."

I looked at her and Bette. "Can I go to sleep, now?" Not waiting for an answer, I went. Mine was the sleep, if not of the innocent, then of the exhausted. No dreams, nothing.

When I woke, I slid out of bed, careful not to disturb my companion, whoever she might be. I carefully closed the bathroom door, and raised the toilet seat. After a long, satisfying pee, I lowered the lid. Not for the first time, I reflected that this was but another example of the way mothers train male children to behave in ways that benefit only females. I should think that logically, since women use the toilet seat most, they ought to be trained to raise it when they are through.

I slid back under the covers and cuddled up to whoever was on the other side of the bed and promptly went back to sleep.

When I opened my eyes again, it was daylight. Two pairs of eyes welcomed me back. Bette and Bridget, still naked, arms entwined, sat on the foot of the bed.

"Hi," I said weakly, "you guys been here all night?"

Bridget stood up. "Just about," she said, "How do you like your coffee?"

"Sugar, no cream," I said.

She left, leaving the door open. I heard the low rumble of voices in the distance. "What time is it?"

Bette smiled. "Around noon, I think. I was beginning to wonder if you had died."

The full recollection of everything I had heard the night before came flooding back. "Bette," I said slowly, "what the hell is going on? Who are these people? What do they want with us?"

She put a warning finger to her lips as Bridget stepped in the door, two cups of coffee in her hands. "I hope I got the right amount of sugar," Bridget said. "This one is for you, Bette." She leaned down and kissed Bette on the mouth, then flicked her fingers over Bette's erect nipples. "I'm going to jump in the pool," she said, and left the room.

Bette moved closer. "I wanted to tell you on the way out here, Jim," she said, "but it was like trying to tell you about Susan. I guess I was afraid of how you might react." She smiled a wan little smile. "Not every man would be so forgiving when he finds his girl with a lesbian lover."

I nodded. "OK, so I'm broadminded. Now, what the hell's going on?"

"I don't know all the details," Bette said, "but as I understand it, Phil met Steve years ago in college. After Steve got into this business, he remembered Phil's claim to fame." She paused and sipped her coffee. "In case you're interested, it's 10½ inches long and it's as big around as your wrist when it's fully erected. God, it hurts!" She shuddered.

"Anyway," she went on, "Steve tried to get Phil interested in making a film. Well, you know Phil. He's self-conscious about that log he carries around in his pants. But he's also greedy. Steve convinced him that his pecker was his fortune. The only thing was, not many women could handle a cock that big.

"At first, he tried to rope me in. I gave it a shot, but it hurt so bad during my screen test that I started to cry. Not exactly the image Steve wanted to project.

"Phil had to find another partner. He did. He found Louise. That's all I know."

I was silent, trying to tie up the loose ends. "What about our chance meeting at the Ten-Thirty?" I asked.

"There wasn't any chance about it," Bette replied levelly. "I'm not sure how they knew we would be there; perhaps Louise told them you liked the place. A fresh $100 bill probably would have gotten them a phone call when you made reservations. I'm only guessing."

"And when you saw them?" I asked.

"At first, I thought it was coincidence. I didn't know them well, but I knew Steve's line of work, and it doesn't take a brain surgeon to realize that a swing club might be a good place to recruit actors for porno films."

"OK," I said. "But why did they involve me?"

Bette looked blank. "I don't know," she said.

I soon found out. That afternoon, Steve and I were stretched out on a pair of plastic chaise lounges sipping cool drinks, and admiring the naked ladies playing in and around the pool.

"I think Bette told you a little about this setup," Steve began.

I nodded. "Barb gave me a general rundown last night, and Bette filled some of the blanks this morning, but I still don't know why I seem to be involved."

"I need a partner," Steve said, "and you look to me like good partner material."

"No, thanks," I said.

"At least you can hear me out," Steve said.

I shrugged. "Suit yourself, but the answer is still 'no'."

"OK," Steve said, "but let me give you the grand tour, just so you can see what you're passing up."

Why not? I followed him down the path to the old barn. He held a surprisingly modern door open for me. "This is the studio," he said.

I know nothing of the film business and even less about the equipment used in it, but I was impressed by a professional looking camera mounted on a traveling dolly, and the obviously heavy duty lighting system. I said as much.

"Christ," Steve said, "give me a little credit. What did you expect? A leering hunchback carrying a camcorder?" I refrained from giving the obvious answer, especially since the set seemed to consist mainly of a large rumpled bed. He opened another door. "This is the lab and cutting room," he said. He gestured across the room. "Makeup and dressing rooms are over there."

He led the way back to the house. We walked inside and went into his office. "My books are wide open," he said. "This could be your office."

"Just out of morbid curiosity," I said, "Why are you hitting on me? What have I done to deserve this honor?"

He stared at me for a full minute. Then he said, "It's a number of things. You're a reasonably successful lawyer. But you're not so successful that you're out of our reach. That's a big plus. As near as Dunn and Bradstreet knows, you are solvent and your credit rating is good.

"More importantly, however, I think you share our interest in sexual freedom, a freedom some folks would like to control, if not stamp out. As I'm sure you must realize, there are millions like us. Unfortunately, even though we are clearly in the great majority, we were so conditioned as children to a flashlight-under-the-covers mentality in sexual matters, that we believe the power freaks -- the Puritans --among us."

He looked at me. "Whether we realize it or not, the Puritans have monopolized sex and made a religion out of it. That's why, when we raise the issue in public, we can only talk about it in euphemisms and whispers. As a nation, we are victims of a terrible, irrational sexual repression. That's why we have an AIDs epidemic and are swamped in teen pregnancies. Figure it out.

"I can't give millions of people the reality of sexual freedom," he continued, "but I can provide them with a harmless illusion; eighty to ninety minutes of dynamite fantasy. That's what I do, and I'll be honest with you. I don't think it's necessarily a bad thing."

"I'm almost afraid to ask, but what, exactly, do you see me doing? Becoming your next famous star? Running the casting couch department?"

He laughed. The son-of-a-bitch knew he had me. "If you want to," he said. "But I was thinking more along the lines of con tracts and script selection and keeping us on the right side of the ob scenity line -- I sure don't want to end up like poor Ralph Ginsburg did, going to prison because of something dumb like picking the wrong mailing address."

I nodded my sympathetic agreement. Back in the late '50s and early '60s, Mr. Ginsburg had been the publisher of an ill-fated magazine, Eros, a slick sex publication that was tame by today's standards. The Supreme Court, lacking a sense of humor, had viewed his whimsy in selecting Blue Balls, PA, for his return address as 'pandering' when it affirmed his lower court conviction. The case still scared me.

"But you don't have to take in a partner, just to get legal services, Steve."

"I know, Jim. But this business is growing like crazy, especially with the Internet services we're beginning to provide. Frankly, there's more going on than we can handle. Here's our deal: We'll give you a full 1/3 interest in Satin Studios. We're a Subchapter S corporation. You'll own a third of the corporate shares and have the same income from the business that we, as indi viduals, have.

"However, because of the way the business is growing, we now have a serious cash flow problem. We're trying to keep as much money in the till as we can. Therefore, we would expect you to continue your law practice, perhaps on a reduced basis, eventually winding it up.

"You wouldn't be alone. Carol also has a little business on the side, which helps make ends meet.

"Tell you what. Why don't you give it some thought, maybe talk it over with Bette -- she knows us -- and give me a call some time next week. OK?"

God, he was sure of himself. Not a word about Louise, or how I could help her stay out of trouble. He was too smart for that.

"In the meanwhile," he added, "we've got a whole pool full of pussy out there just waiting for us. As the old bull said to the young bull, let's walk down and fuck them all!"

We walked back out into the brilliant California sunshine. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust. I followed Steve back to the chairs we had left.

Carol saw us coming and walked toward us, carrying fresh drinks. Her beautifully sculpted breasts glistened with suntan oil in the bright light, and quivered as she moved. Her torso flowed into her legs, and the dark mystery of her delta just beneath her slightly rounded stomach suddenly caused my groin to throb. She looked inquiringly at Steve as she set the drinks down.

He grinned at his wife. "Jim doesn't know it yet," he said, "but I think we have ourselves a new partner."

Carol squealed and threw her arms around my neck, pressing her lips to mine, while giving me a touch of her tongue and a licentious bump of her pelvis against my awakening member.

"That's wonderful," she said. "I want to celebrate."

"Not so fast," Steve warned. "You'll scare him off if you carry on like that! Try to act like a lady for once!"

Carol ignored him, and looked at me, her face serious for once. There was something in her eyes I couldn't read. "Are you really going to join us, Jim?"

I started to shake my head, but Steve answered for me. "He's thinking about it," he said. "Carol," he added, "please excuse us, now. We've got other things to talk about."

Carol smiled, winked at me, and walked away.

It was very pleasant relaxing in the shade, watching the people cavort around the pool. I saw Corrine eyeing me from across the pool. She looked better naked than she had in the ridiculous gown she had worn the night before.

Her pendulous breasts drooped, and her stomach could have been tighter, but the net effect was extremely erotic. She reminded me of Grace, whom I had met the previous weekend at the Ten/Thirty. I wondered, briefly, if Grace and her nearsighted husband had gone back to give swinging another try.

Lucy, the incestuous twin, and Blair, the incestuous son, were playing an energetic game of adolescent catch-me, push-you. I nearly cautioned them against running around the pool, then remembered where I was, and wisely kept my mouth shut.

Carol and Barb Adams disappeared into the house, and soon Steve followed them, only to reappear incongruously dressed in a chef's hat.

"I'm going to light the barbecue," he said loudly. "Be thinking how you'd like your steaks."

Soon the air was filled with the delicious aroma of charring meat. The shadows were beginning to reach across the yard, and people began drifting into the house in search of shirts and jackets. I was about to get up when Corrine suddenly appeared.

"Is this seat taken?" she asked as she sat on the chaise, her bare hip accidentally brushing against my thigh. It was a replay of my experience with Sophia. An innocent skin contact, and my cock hardened. It nudged Corrine in the leg.

"My goodness," she said, turning, "did I do that? Let me see." She leaned over conspiratorially, "If you'll smuggle that into the house, I can probably fix it for you."

Feeling an absolute fool, I let her run interference for me. We hurried to the nearest bedroom.

She sprawled on the bed, her legs at a wide, inviting angle. "I'm ready, darling. Shove that thing into me."

I mounted her, rooting briefly with my nose and tongue in her well-worn groove, then I drove myself completely into her with my first thrust. I scarcely raised a sweat, but Corrine's womanhood was wonderfully warm and moist, and the sensation of rippling, squeezing movement in her vagina was too much for me. In an embarrassingly short time, I squirted a stream of semen into her womb.

In less than five minutes, portal to portal, we were strolling hand in hand back out to the patio. As she told me later, the only giveaway, and you had to look closely to see it, was a rivulet of semen running down the inside of her thigh. She thought it would be too obvious if she stopped to wipe it away.

I went over to watch Steve burn our dinner.

He grinned at me. "I saw you with Corrine. She hasn't lost it, has she?"

I shook my head.

"That cunt of hers is why we're having to get her out of the business. No matter how many times we've warned her, she insists on milking her leading men on camera. That's not the basic idea. You want to get as much action on film as you can before the cum shot. She thinks she's adding realism, but with her, it's 'wham- bam, thank you sir', and my actors are raising hell with me."

"I see what you mean." I pointed to a steak that was begin ning to show bubbling juice on its charred surface. "Is that one spoken for?"

"You got it," he said. "The plates and silver are over there on the table. There's some salad over there, too. Help yourself. Then bring the plate back here."

I did as he suggested, and moments later I was seated on the lounge, happily wolfing down a wonderfully seasoned steak. Bette sat next to me, holding a plate like mine on her bare lap. She wore a sweater over her shoulders. "How's it going?" she asked as she began to chew on a piece of meat.