Big Game

The man next door farted loudly, the toilet-paper roll whirred: she almost snorted in laughter. They eyed one another, almost laughed together, some sort of moment of truth, then Blake pulled her forward, bent his head, used his thumbs to spread her lower lips, nibbled softly, very effectively at the nub of her clit.

Better and better, she thought - a talented mouth! Inside her skull, fuchsia paint seemed to cover everything. He clit-nursed for another long moment, adding layers to the paint, spun her about, back to his front, pulled her towards him: she understood, agreed, straddled his knees, pussy spread wide. Now from behind her, his hands were busy, one on a boob, the other on her clit. God but she was wet. Wet wet wet! His long middle-finger slid inside, explored expertly, lovingly, was joined by the index, two were ever so much better than one!

She balanced with her left hand on the grip-rail, the other went between her legs, found him, set him precisely right, and with a quiet sigh she sat down, whispering over her shoulder, "Make me come, now, but you wait, please, no coming in there, we'll take care of you shortly, believe me!" Where did this crazy trust come from? Certainly neither logic, nor from common sense!

He nodded, slid into her as if they'd had infinite practice. Deep. Way, incredibly deep. The backs of her thighs settled atop his: he took the weight without the least strain. He pulsed his cock hard. Far inside her belly, at the backdoor to her soul, his cock nudged gently against her cervix, bump, bump bump. His fingers rolled her clit, pinched at just the right moment in her breathing cycle. She exploded. She'd never come so fast in her life.

When she started to groan, Blake brought his tit-hand up to her mouth, whispered into her ear "Bite!", gave her his thumb. She inhaled it, bit for silence, and kept on coming. She shivered and shook for what seemed like minutes, her insides doing their primeval welcoming dance for cocks. Then, slowly, it receded, her climax almost a solid shape drifting away like a ship leaving the dock. Gradually, she became aware of the bustle and flushing and grunting around them.

Blake filled her insides solidly, he'd been as good as his word, patiently waiting. She levered herself up on quivering legs, legs as rubbery as if they'd just spent an hour making love. Ceri reached between her thighs, took hold of Blake's cock as it slipped from her all hot and wet with her internal heat and juices, leaving her monumentally empty. She could fix that. She positioned it against her bottom: time for Blake to enjoy himself, and who knew, perhaps there might just be another for her, too? She sat down again, more slowly this time, feeling the cock slip inside her butt to fill her in a wholly different way. Thighs against his again, but quite different now with his cock in her other space. Behind her she heard Blake's breath whistle in appreciation.

As he filled her rectum, she turned her head and, from nowhere, whispered "Bet this wasn't what you meant outside, when you said we could "share number two!" Was it?"

Blake sputtered, then shook his head, bit his lip, obviously enjoying himself. He muttered into the nape of her neck "God what a talented butt! You are GOOD, woman!" That pleased her. She overcame the rubberiness in her legs to do a slow series of strokes, wondering how long it might take to make him come. Her wetness had coated him greasily, her climax had relaxed her, and together with her controlling things it was all totally comfortable, more than comfortable... the slither of cock into and out of her bottom was divinely erotic. Special fuck for a special occasion. She pulled completely off him for a moment, enjoyed the stretching as he re-entered.

It didn't take much, she could feel him letting himself go voluntarily. As he shook beneath her, she commanded just above audibility, "Your turn. Come for me. NOW!" At about stroke number six she felt him tense up, knew he was finishing, squeezed her bottom around his shaft, levered herself up and down in a short, furious burst of stroking that triggered, then drained him -- she reveled in the sensations as he twitched and spurted deep inside her.

He truly knew what he was about, too... knew what she needed. In the midst of his own pleasure, his fingers set her off again, and together they writhed silently atop the porcelain.

For a long minute they sat there, trying not to let the world hear their labored breathing, him leaning backwards, the piping cold and hard and uncomfortable on his backside, her leaning against his chest and belly, his front completely comfortable. Finally she sighed. How long had they been in there, anyhow? Probably a whole six minutes or so. Or a year, who could tell? Her whole body was aglow: satisfied for the moment.

Inside her, Blake hadn't softened: she considered the possibility of another go-around, suddenly became embarrassingly aware of the surroundings, and stood up. Blake's cock slithered from her smoothly, stood there as if to say "Well, already... How about it, Lady?"

She turned to face him, pinched his cock-head gently, whispered into his ecstatic face "Hey, suddenly-lover, we'd better go, don't you think?"

Blake's reluctance was obvious, but he nodded, and they scurried silently to re-assemble themselves. Cap in place, hood re-adjusted, they stood at the door. Blake mouthed "Ready?" Ceri nodded, moved to let him open the door. It barely cleared the teenaged boy sitting there in his wheelchair, patiently waiting his turn. Ceri saw the bottom of the chair from under her cap-bill: it startled her, and she raised her head to look. The boy's eyes caught hers, and his stunned, silent gawk nearly convulsed her. She ducked her head again, back into temporary anonymity, and they fled through the pissing-aisle back out into the slightly less surreal world of the stadium's underbelly. Gasping and sputtering, red-faced to a fare-thee-well, they looked at one another. Finally, Ceri said "Thank you for a very nice time!" They both laughed. "Better we get four beers and re-appear, don't you think? Can you maintain?"

Blake nodded.

The rain had almost quit by the time they got back to row 36. They got an enthusiastic but slightly smirky reception. Even Blake could see the unspoken questions... damn the way women could sixth-sense one another anyhow! But it turned out they'd only been gone a total of about ten minutes, and Ceri's casual comments about the crush of people going to the bathroom seemed to defuse things at least for the moment. Besides, the game was still on with a vengeance, and the hubbub covered things nicely, allowing no time for inquisitions.

Through the rest of the game, they sat together in their ponchos, hands intertwined beneath the sheltering cover provided by their overlapping edges, surrounded by a subtle glow invisible, or so they hoped, to the rest of the crowd.

At the final gun, as the crowd stood to head for the exits, Blake faced the three ladies, not quite knowing how to proceed, wanting to at least have a little time together with Ceri to explore whether they might not exchange addresses, phone numbers, set up the possibility of some future meeting if both were interested. He certainly was! Ceri beat him to it: after a brief confab with her friends, she turned and said "Blake, we're going out now -- to someplace WARM! - for a drink and then to dinner. Would you care to join us?"

Would he?

As they threaded their way through the crowd to the parking lot, one of the companions looked back over her shoulder at Ceri and Blake, spoke directly to Blake, asked cutely, her eyes twinkling knowingly, "So, Blake.... who won the game, anyhow?"

Blake blushed: he hadn't a clue.

Ceri replied for them both: "I believe it was a tie, one to one."