DD Experience

This story is really weird; I didn't intend it to be when I started it, but it got a mind of its own. If you don't like weird you shouldn't read it, and comments that it is weird (or any synonym thereof, such as creepy, eerie, bizarre, or strange) will be redundant.

**************

When I was in Las Vegas on my eighteenth birthday after just graduating High School I, Carl Watson, lost my virginity to a call girl that my older brother Ben paid for. Ben is six years older that I am and was married to his college sweetheart Samantha, and was not himself the least bit interested in cheating; but he had cajoled my virginal state out of me and said that there was no way that his younger brother should go to college a virgin.

Fortunately Samantha's family is loaded. Plus Ben is a really smart guy and hard worker and has a good job with Samantha's Dad's company. Ben is Samantha's Dad's fair-haired boy because her Dad (Jack) considered Ben the best thing ever to happen to Samantha. Samantha was an unruly and troubled teen and twenty-year old, however Ben had tamed her like a horse whisperer would a wild mustang. That's a round-about way of saying that the $1000 that the call girl cost Ben wasn't a big deal to him.

Cherry - obviously a stage name - the call girl that I picked out and Ben paid for seemed to like me, and sure gave me my money's worth. After I filled the third rubber and couldn't go any more she whispered to me that since Ben had paid for the entire night and since before our first fuck I had actually given her an orgasm by eating her out with "the longest most muscular tongue ever to poke my pussy," as she put it, that she wanted to give me a special treat.

Cherry made a phone call and shortly thereafter a friend of hers with the stage named of "Bullet" showed up in our room. What happened next was seared into my brain forever. At first I tried to convince myself that I didn't like it; then when my dick got hard despite the previously three filled condoms I had to reluctantly admit that I had become obsessed with it. Ben was the only person that I ever told about it, and his eyes almost popped out of his head when I did.

When I returned home the remarkable Cherry-Bullet event seemed to rattle around in my brain almost daily. I finally broke away from my obsession when after a year I convinced myself that thinking about it made me a pervert, and I was able to banish it from my mind for a decade.

***********

I followed Ben's lead and after college married my college sweetheart Lizbeth. Despite the age difference - like Ben and me Samantha and Lizbeth are six years apart - Samantha and Lizbeth became best friends. I also got a job in the 1500 employee company where Ben was now a V. P. and that Samantha's father Jack was the CEO and largest stockholder of. I had three other job offers that I turned down to accept the offer primarily because Samantha (including by flirting) and Ben (including by playfully threatening) begged me to, and agreed to pay for the lavish reception that Lizbeth wanted when she and I tied the knot since Lizbeth's family was not able to afford it.

To understand my story you have to know a little bit more about Samantha and Lizbeth.

First I need to note that when Ben first introduced me to Samantha when I was sixteen I developed a crush on her. She certainly noticed and never did anything to repudiate it. I convinced myself that I finally got over my crush when I started dating and having sex in college; subsequent events call that into question.

Back to Lizbeth and Samantha, neither has the face or height to be a model; rather both have a deceptive girl-next-door appearance. I say "deceptive" because their wholesome appearances belie the fire-brands beneath. Both are intelligent, strong-willed, and bold, with vivacious personalities. While Samantha had a more "infamous" youth than Lizbeth, it wasn't by too much, and Lizbeth's middle class parents were likely as impressed with my "taming" of their child as Samantha's Dad was by Ben's "taming" of Samantha. Both women are normally jovial but when sufficiently provoked have tempers that rival that of any other person that I have ever met.

While their hair color and style, eye color, nose shape, and general frontal appearances are different, what Lizbeth and Samantha have in common (aside from an mysterious "it" factor) are sleek bodies with top notch asses and thighs. In fact, several of my friends - and even my Mom - commented that Lizbeth and Samantha look alike. In view of the differences noted above I didn't understand that assessment until one day when they both were bikini-clad and walking in front of me with sun hats on. I swear that from behind, if you didn't see their hair color, they looked like identical twins.

Finally, Lizbeth is a tigress in bed, and from what Ben told me, before the salient part of this story, Samantha is too. He normally is closed-mouth about stuff like that, but he told me the only time I'd seen him drunk - again, at least before the salient part of this story - that she bordered on being too hot to handle sexually. (For some reason that caused a "boing" at my crotch, which fortunately Ben was too drunk to notice).

I have to say that approaching our six year anniversary I was truly happily married to Lizbeth and both Lizbeth and I felt honored to be perceived as emulating Ben and Samantha's marriage since they seemed to be the perfect couple.

***********

Ben and Samantha's anniversary was within a week of mine and Lisbeth's. We were coming up on six years of marriage, they twelve, and we were planning a joint anniversary celebration for the week of the 23rd. We were going to go to Aruba together for a week of fun and relaxation in the sun. Ben and Samantha's two kids would split time between both sets of grandparents, and Lizbeth and I would seriously start planning on having our first.

Samantha and Lizbeth were exceptionally excited during the planning of the Aruba trip. They invested much time, effort, energy, and emotion in it, much more so than any other one activity that either of them had been involved in. Everything was leading up to a wonderful time.

Then things went to hell.

Two days before the Aruba trip was to start there was a disaster at the main plant of the company that Ben and I worked for and that Samantha's Dad Jack ran. It was a plant that Ben had oversight responsibility for and was the most knowledgeable person in the company about, and it utilized problematic machinery that I, as an electronics engineer, was most familiar with. That meant that the two of us had to drop everything else, and with a team of five other people visit the plant.

Although our tickets and part of our hotel stay were non-refundable, Ben and I both made the case for postponing the trip for a week. That did not sit well with the wives. They independently, and collectively, went ballistic. It was the most angry that I had ever seen Lizbeth, and it was a scary angry because it was smoldering rather than a tantrum with thrown objects, the only other incident in our married life when she went completely off the rails.

Lizbeth even refused to say goodbye when I left and made it known that she and Samantha were going regardless of what Ben and I were doing; Ben related a virtually identical response by Samantha. That really didn't sit well with either Ben or me, but we had our hands full with four eighteen-twenty hour days in a row trying to avoid complete disaster at the wayward plant.

Ben and I unsuccessfully tried to call Lizbeth's and Samantha's cell phones - which we had had specifically upgraded so that that could receive calls in and make calls from Aruba - several times a day while working on the plant's problems. Our calls were never answered, and our voice mails requesting them to call us were never honored.

Fortunately, after the four marathon days we got everything working smoothly, and by adding an extra shift we were able to deliver all of the plant's products on time to all of our customers.

Jack and the board of directors were extremely grateful for my and Ben's hard work, and Jack was concerned because Samantha had not returned calls that he and Samantha's mother Marge had made to her cell phone either. Therefore he authorized the company Learjet 70 to fly us to Aruba.

Ben and I gathered what clothes we needed, met at the airport, and slept the best that we could on the trip. However the flight was turbulent and we arrived in Aruba about 10 p. m. their time tired, frazzled, and irritated.

We knew that the women had arranged a suite with two bedrooms connected to a common living room and bar area. When we presented our passports to the desk clerk and asked for keys to the room we got what only can be described as a startled expression from her.

"I...I...need to check with the manager," she mumbled and then disappeared.

The manager seemed to want to give us another room for the night but we were not in the mood to take shit from anyone. "We've paid for the suite we're booked in and you will give us keys to that suite or there will be hell to pay, including me calling your corporate office right now," Ben boomed while staring down at the manager.

I guess now that I need to relate something that before was irrelevant but probably necessary to make the next part of the story believable. Both Ben and I are big, tough, aggressive, purposeful dudes. While neither of us was interested in playing sports in college, in High School we were both starters in football (Ben a defensive tackle, me a tight end), and Conference champs in wrestling our senior years, Ben a heavyweight (maximum weight 285 pounds), me at the 220 pound weight class. We are still both in excellent physical condition; Ben weighs about 245 and I weigh about 225, both with only 14% body fat (the lean end of the "fit" level for men).

As we rode up the elevator with the keys finally provided to us I asked Ben "What the fuck was that about?"

"I sure as shit don't know, but something is hinky," he growled back at me.

We both were in no mood to be fucked with.

When I opened the door to the living area of the suite, at first I didn't understand what I was looking at - and then a cold rage overtook me. Men's clothes were strewn about. We heard "Yeah fuck me," and other sounds of sex coming from one of the bedrooms.

Not believing our eyes or ears we started for the raucous bedroom. "Don't make any noise until we see what the fuck is going on," I whispered to Ben, who seemed to have a cold rage even surpassing mine; but he nodded his head in agreement.

When we got into the noisy bedroom Lizbeth and Samantha were both on their backs on the California King bed in that bedroom, holding hands and moaning "fuck me," or "eat me," as the case may be. Samantha was being fucked, and Lizbeth was having her pussy eaten, by two guys who looked to be about college age, and two other naked guys were standing on the side of the bed holding their dicks.

Ben grabbed the guy fucking Samantha by the hair and literally threw him into one of the walls, and I kicked the guy eating out Lizbeth in the ribs, for sure breaking at least a couple.

Samantha's and Lizbeth's eyes flew open and they screamed and tried to cover up their naked bodies, as if we hadn't seen them before. The two guys standing by the side of the bed must have been on drugs or drunk because despite the fact that they were naked and smaller than either of us they started yelling at us and coming aggressively toward us. I was the closest to them. I kicked the first one in the nuts so hard that he literally lifted off the ground. I stopped the second guy's pathetic attempt at a punch and then broke his arm over my knee.

The guy whose ribs I broke was groaning on the ground. I looked over at Ben and he was turning the guy who had been fucking Samantha into a bloody mess; I had to grab his arm to keep Ben from killing the guy.

When Ben let the guy go he slumped to the floor unconscious.

Then Ben turned his ire to Samantha. "Shut the fuck up, bitch - stop screaming," he yelled, the only time in my life I ever heard him yell at her. "Don't even attempt to come back to the house, cunt," he yelled at her once she stopped screaming.

"The locks will be changed by the time you return, slut," I snarled at Lizbeth.

They were both crying as we stalked out of the room.

"Call the pilots and tell them that we're leaving tonight," Ben said to me as we started down the stairs, not wanting to wait for the elevator. I got ahold of the pilots by cellphone. They said that FAA requirements precluded them flying out until tomorrow at 6 a. m. I told them to get replacements that they could coax through taking off and who could file a flight plan.

By the time that we got to the airport forty five minutes later our two pilots were waiting with two locals, and within another thirty minutes all six of us were in the air.

Even though our pilots weren't actually flying the plane they checked every ten-fifteen minutes with the locals to make sure that everything was OK.

Ben and I told the pilots nothing - and they didn't ask anything. I'm sure that our eyes were still dilated and that the hair on the backs of our necks was still standing up straight and the pilots didn't want any part of what was going on.

Once we got to an area where there was Internet service Ben and I started feverishly banging away on our phones and then the laptop on the plane. Among many other things we determined or arranged; there is no extradition treaty between the U. S. and Aruba; 24 hour service locksmiths would meet us at our houses; and all accounts that Lizbeth and Samantha would have access to that we knew of would be frozen.

Neither Ben nor I said anything to the other about the gorilla in the room (I guess technically "on the plane"). I admit to crying in the bathroom, and I'd bet anything that Ben did too. We both looked and felt like shit when we got in our separate cars and drove to meet the locksmiths. Just before we parted we hugged and Ben mumbled "Stay strong, dude."

"You too, bud," was my choked-up reply.

***********

Now the shoe was on the other foot. Ben and I were not answering the numerous cellphone calls coming from Lizbeth and Samantha. We were also deleting their messages without listening to them. I was a zombie the entire next day and had no human contact after paying the locksmith except one call from Ben.

"What should we do about telling Jack?" he asked.

"You know him better than I do, bro - what should we do?" I asked.

"I can't face him today - but tomorrow I'll go to see the kids - I think that I'll leave them there, though, and tell Jack and Marge what happened so that there are no surprises when Samantha eventually gets back," he responded, Marge being Jack's wife and Samantha's mother.

"Sounds OK by me, bro; might as well get it over with," I responded. Then after a pause I said "I'm going for a divorce right away - I don't know what you're going to do in view of the kids."

"I'm hashing that out right now; I won't make even a preliminary decision until I've talked with Jack and Marge, and Mom and Dad." Then we collectively terminated the call.

***********

Interestingly, Ben reported to me that when he went to Jack and Marge's house to see the kids and talk to Jack, Jack had already been "briefed" on the subject by a frantic middle of the night call from Samantha. Samantha tried to tell Jack that she and Lizbeth had been roofied. Jack, however, well aware of Samantha's track record in her teens and early twenties disposed of that immediately.

"Funny, Samantha - you sound just scared, not drugged. However I guarantee you that Ben and Carl will not believe that unless you get a hospital blood test within the next half hour and it confirms roofies. If I were you and Lizbeth I'd beg for Ben and Carl's mercy, otherwise you're both going to be divorced."

Then Jack hung up on her.

Apparently Marge didn't agree with that approach and Jack and she had a knock down drag out fight about it. Although Jack normally does everything imaginable to keep the peace with Marge he didn't back down - eventually she did when he started packing a suitcase and told her "Then you can live with the two sluts and get your own divorce."

Samantha and Lizbeth had access to enough money that they were able to get a commercial flight out the evening after we found them, and arrived back in the U. S. about thirty hours after Ben and I did. Of course they were frustrated by their inability to enter their houses, but were able to talk the V. P. of Jack's company who was in charge of two condos owned by the business to let them temporarily use one of them.

Of course the V. P. apprised Jack of that situation, and Jack told both Ben and me in a face-to-face meeting. "I don't know what you two have planned," Jack somberly told us, "but I will support you two, not Samantha and Lizbeth. Don't expect the same cooperation from Marge, however."

We thanked him profusely.

I had Lizbeth served with divorce papers citing adultery (even though that really meant nothing in our state with the possible exception of if there were kids) at the company condo she and Samantha were occupying within forty eight hours after she and Samantha got back - of course without the blood test that Jack demanded if they were to be believed.

Ben and Samantha had actually met and talked without Ben first filing papers, primarily because they had to be sensitive about how to deal with the kids, a boy seven and a girl four, who were too young to understand and needed both parents.

I got one of the two best divorce attorneys in the metropolitan area, Chantelle Corbet. Lizbeth got the other one, Bryce Williams.

As Chantelle warned me we might, we got assigned as our judge "The Great Conciliator," Judge Bronson. He was famous for ordering long drawn out counselling sessions, and with all of her expert machinations the best that Chantelle could do was to limit initial counselling to three sessions.

"You can't afford not to participate," Chantelle warned me, "because if you get on Bronson's shit list he will drag the divorce proceedings out for more than a year and will be as lenient with Lizbeth as possible without putting himself in a position to be reversed on appeal. If you participate, you can be free in six months or less."

What Chantelle was able to get from Bronson, however, was an order requiring Lizbeth to stay in the condo, without access to the house unless a representative of the court was present, until the third counselling session was concluded, after which the situation would be reevaluated. Also Chantelle got the Judge to order, as a pre-requisite before the first counselling session, an STD test for Lizbeth.

So, only one month after I had Lizbeth served, I was sitting in the office of Licensed Marriage Counselor and PhD Psychologist Mary Stearns.

Since there were no dress requirements set forth in the order requiring counselling, I showed up in jeans and a T-shirt with a two day growth beard. Of course Lizbeth was dressed to kill - like I didn't already know that she was extremely sexy. She was non-plussed and I do believe even shed a tear when I refused to wait with her in Dr. Stearns' waiting room, and stood in the hallway until Stearns was ready to see us.

Stearns said nothing about my appearance when she greeted us. After no more than two minutes of chit-chat - which I did my best not to participate in - she got directly to the issue.

"I've read Carl's petition for dissolution and Lizbeth's formal response," she started out. Then looking first at me, then at Lizbeth, continued "It seems that there is really only one big issue that has to be dealt with - but before we get to that, I'd like to hear from each of you why you were attracted to each other initially, and what your relationship was like on the 20th of last month, three days before Lizbeth and Samantha left for Aruba."