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Click here(Excerpt from a 30 chapter Vignette.)
Chapter 5.
My poor little pooh-pooh hole was still swollen from last night when my girlfriend, Sarah, and her new boyfriend, Tom, came over to my apartment for dinner.
Tom wanted to try a threesome, and that was okay with me and, apparently, okay with his girlfriend, Sarah, too--and that makes three.
Sarah's boyfriends and I, whomever they may be at the time, share her. Between us; she's such a little bitch, she can never get enough. Tut, tut!
Although, I, a lone woman, and my preference that of Woman, herself: I-will-have the occasional fling with a guy, just to clean-out my holes, that is; to clean-out my pie.
Chapter 6.
Usually, I use one of Sarah's current boyfriends. More due to sheer laziness of convenience on my behalf, rather than out of jealousy, envy or the employment of trivial emotional chides.
I let Sarah do the prospecting, and I refine the rough ore, picking out a rare jewel, now and again, rejecting the slag, distilling---decanting-off the impurities, reducing the volume of the chaff; down--enhancing the purity unto the core.
Sarah has a rather regrettable affiliation toward "the slag", but that is nothing more than an unfortunate character flaw in her. Basically, Sarah is a cunt, but she thinks she is something---more, than that: Therein lies the inherent problem...!
Sarah, and I, in all ways imaginable, share; but, of course, we only share between ourselves! The third party, gets nothing, other than what they are allowed---by the sheer physical participation in [our]--vignette. The very cheek of it all...!
I'm such an easy-going type though, and just lo--ve sharing, but I only "do-it" with "them" as long as "she" is there...Sarah, I mean; because, after her boyfriends unload into me, I insist! she lick all my holes clean--afterward: I like it, she likes it, he likes it---Hell, we all like it! ...It's what I call-Democratic Hedonism.
Chapter 6.
Sarah's told me about Tom's cock. Although it is not very long, only about six and a half inches when rock-hard, (we measured it one night; it's an average schlong.) Nevertheless, I swear, I have never seen one so thick! It looks like a baby's outstretched arm grasping at a hot-house tomato in its greedy little handy grip.
Chapter 7.
Sarah trawls the bars at night, picking up tit-bits of information, and delight: Here, there, and everywhere, from bar-tenders, acquaintances and those who simply haven't got a care; about the size of men's dongs: Based preferably not on rumor, but on actual-sight; listening intently through the jukebox music, through the cutting-edge of the ageing songs, of the night.
Chapter 8.
Sarah's love-tunnel isn't very deep, but I swear I could get into it with both my feet, if I tried. Her vulva is like a horse's collar, and more-often-than-not, it smells like one too. I constantly have to remind her to wash it, but it's an exercise in futility, I have concluded: I holler, but the shouting only creates---ennui, its true.
Her pussy is in such demand: In use so often, and regularly, that it's a total lost cause, I feel--so I'll be dammed!
I, simply, just don't know how she handles the sheer volume of cumm that flows her way, in an average day, the calculation construed: The mind reels!
If Sarah washed her cunt after every time; she allowed men to use it, then the poor swollen vent, would be scrubbed red raw, in its prime, allowing for those who would, abuse it. So it remains--relatively clean, but somewhat...stinky, at all times. Sarah has a stinky cunt, but, if one loves Sarah, then, one has to love her stink too!
Chapter 9.
I have to admit, I do--sort of--get turned on by Sarah's scent, but unless I stay on-top of her, well, let's just think---"Fish Market!" at 5pm on a Saturday afternoon, after a busy day's trading!
With practical supervision, Sarah can produce a scent not unlike, that of fresh sturgeon-row set on ice, sprinkled with a pinch of crystallized sea-salt, gathered from the very evaporation-pools found glinting, serenely, amid the setting suns, of wind blown days, timed-out, along a pristine, isolated, coast; along an encrusted-rim of the Caspian itself, garnished by a lone sprig of crushed mint leaf, and an adroit twist of lemon-peel zest...! It [is] rather---special.
Chapter 8.
Sarah hones in on men with short thick dongs, like a side-winder tomahawk heat-seeking missile: Rushing at the after-burner's heat of a retreating, yet, doomed, inferior, hostile, fighter-bogie, infiltrating her legislated, territorial, sky-domain...and she never misses!
Chapter 9.
After Sarah's initial-tactical-victory, where she either forces her [bogie] nemesis to land as a prisoner-of-war, into the open arms of her unconditional surrender, [and apparent--love], or simply shoots them down in flames, without as much of a thought, as she would have had in the contemplation of a chip of nail varnish, inflicted upon a single toe-nail, in the wearing of peep-toed sandals, on a trip to a rather tiresome beach, of greater pebble content, as opposed to, strictly, the general, anticipated, benign sandy version--of it: She either reels them in, or cuts them loose, with little, or no compunction, either way. After all, she has two mouths to feed, when all is told! Yes, I get hungry too! Bitch!
Chapter 9.
Eventually, like all relationships, when the defeated bite back, when the worm, finally turns...when they get tired of [the] cunt, and start probing [the] rose-bud, well, that's where I come in. I always know when it happens too. I don't hear from Sarah for a week or three, because she's--"in lo--ve"--Oh, God! Give-me-a-break! Then, out of the blue, she wants to introduce me to her new boyfriend, over dinner--at my place usually? Bitch!
Invariably, during casual dinner chat, "The Coke-Bottle Story", just happens to come up in casual conversation! I know then, Sarah has brought her latest 'concubine' over to try and quench his thirst for fudge-packing. Sarah's bung-hole, you see, is as tight as a crab's ass at ten thousand fathoms, unlike her pussy hole...!
I watch her as she attempts to maneuver the whole focus of the dinner-party around to meet her own end.
She wants to borrow my bung-hole for the night, that's what she's after, and she wants to give [it] to Tom, in the fervent hope that this [new] beau, will-not-evolve into another ex-beau, as per-usual.
Chapter 9.
Poor Sarah, always, '...Looking for love, in all the wrong places...'
Sarah is lucky I'm a good friend--and that I just love getting my fudge packed--but that's totally besides the point! She owes me, and that's that!
Chapter 10.
I'm the very opposite of Sarah.
I have the longer, narrower, more slender type of love-tunnel, but can get almost anything into my ass-hole.
At a mutual friend's birthday party: Where we all got a little too drunk, and the games--well, yes, they also became a little-too-naughty, as well!
...Sarah won-her-game category, by taking a rather large gourd deep into her pussy-hole: Some seven inches in diameter, it was! She didn't bat an eyelid, the little trooper; a tear came to my eye, as I watched her "take-it", and take it all, valiantly...! And I swear, the little brave bitch had room to spare, to be sure...to be sure!
Chapter 11.
I won my category, by taking a 2 liter coke bottle all the way up my bung-hole, blunt side first!
I came hard the instant it was pushed it into me, and sprayed the lot of them from head-to-toe, before they could move out of my firing range of my pee-pee hole.
It cost me a weeks wages in dry-cleaning bills, those bitches were pissed, in more ways than one, I guess?
After some considerable coaxing, (and I do so, so, love the coaxing), and a couple of glasses of wine, to boot, I was enticed into showing-off my party trick for Tom, after dinner: But,
"Not! on this occasion.", I thought to myself.
No, not with the 2 liter bottle!
I didn't want to have to deal with all the cleaning-up in the morning!
I had to be at work early, and I always cumm and squirt everywhere with the 2 liter size. So I used the wine bottle from the table instead.
Chapter 12.
As it happens, I might as well have done the 2 liter one anyway, and raked in the usual applause for it at the end, because Sarah grabbed the neck of the wine bottle sticking out of my bung-hole, and did my ass good and proper with it! OoOoOoOoOW!
It felt so good though, that I just couldn't find the will [in me] to stop her. In fact I had both my hands grasped tightly around her wrists helping her thrusts! I wanted it all the way into me, hard and fast--blunt and relentless!
I was laying flat on my back in the middle of the floor: Tom holding my legs apart all way-up over and beyond my shoulders. Sarah, meanwhile, was pumping away at my ass-hole, with the bottle, like she was making butter the old fashion way.
I came.
...Long, and sure, with a sharp intensity, that opened my urethra wide!
My cunt was quivering: shooting blast, after blast, of piss out of me with each and every inward thrust of the bottom of the Chardonnay bottle, rammed deep into my bung-hole without quarter, until every fucking drop of warm golden rain was in the process, of being pumped out of my bulging wine-filled bladder, squirting high up into the air above us, like a reluctant, hesitant, fountain, malfunctioning in a sunny square, somewhere, in a courtyard of Seville.
Chapter 13.
The squirts were so powerful that they hit ceiling.
The sheer force of the stream intersecting a flat plane at a slightly oblique angle from perpendicular, resulted in creating a plume: A spray, billowing-out from the impact zone; raining-down over the three of us, almost atomized, until we were drenched to the skin, with my warm, lemon-colored, urine.
Sarah pulled the container out of my ass, the bottom-dimple packed solid with my mud.
The travel along the body of the bottle rimming-out, at about 8 inches up.
It made a loud pop as it came out, and my ass-hole slammed-shut, tighter than a virgin's bedroom door, after the reception, of an arranged marriage; in the face of the eager, drooling groom.
Chapter 14.
A moment later, internal pressure that had been built-up in my anal chamber by the relentless, vicious, pumping of that bitch Sarah-on-the-bottle; finally got its release...!
It let-loose with a deep, protracted, fairly baritone fart: A humid wind, issued-forth out of my innards, with such immediate force; vibrating the over-stretched curtains of my bung-hole, in such a manner, as to closely mimic, a rendition, not unlike a sextet of trombone, mixing-it-up in a New Orleans funeral march parade. I blushed red with embarrassment!
...And the air was filled with a thick aroma of wet clay, mixed with honey, and cinnamon, coupled with that pungent smell, that comes off the steaming wet coat of a galloping horse. Sarah loves it, and make me 'pooh' in her face, with her finger, as she licks my slit for hours during an evening: I let her have her way with me of-a-night.
It allows me time to catch up on my reading, while she is quietly occupied.
I like to read.