Drool

"What? You pimped him out?" asked Paige, feigning indignation.

"Hey, that piece of meat paid his way through law school. The women of this neighbourhood grew very attached to him over the years. But, I'm the only one he still sees. Every Monday night he comes over to my house and does things for me. I guess he thinks he owes me."

"Oh, I think he probably gets a little something out of it too."

Tom returned with the wine and poured some in each glass. He stood, waiting for his next command. The women were sitting on the couch and Tom's incomparable cock was hanging casually just inches from Ms. Dawson's head. It was her painful pleasure not to turn suddenly and taste it.

Instead she said, "Tonight Smith, you are going to go into the backyard and weed the garden," but she couldn't resist gently stroking the soft underside of this ball sack, looking at Paige who was riveted by the scene. The women giggled together and Tom felt the tingling joy of being subservient. Ms. Dawson had the most wonderful laugh, low and smoky, as if she had seen the world and every surprise it had to offer, and yet in wisdom, she could still find things to delight in.

It had rained late that afternoon, and the garden was still muddy. The women took their wine out to the patio and watched his round butt as Tom trudged naked across the backyard with a bucket and a few tools for weeding, his cock swinging like a pendulum as he moved. Ms. Dawson, when she wasn't selling her varied services to her equally varied clientele, was something of a dabbler in the art of horticulture; she found the whole process to be sensual in a sort of earthy way. The garden was large, it was muddy and it hadn't been weeded in a while. There were rows of herbs, thorny and twisted bushes, strange smelling flowers, and a half a dozen very healthy tomato plants.

As he sought out the weeds, Tom crouched and bent, showing his body in unusual positions that probably wouldn't be flattering on very many other bodies, but Tom's was certainly special. Even in the cooling evening air, Tom was sweaty; he was deeply focussed on his task, yet he allowed himself to feel the erotic pleasure of being naked outdoors, of being stared at by two ravenous women, of picturing the lines and indents of his strong muscles rippling and flexing as he went about his physical task.

On the patio, the girls were talking about the types of things Tom did at Ms. Dawson's house. "I don't know," she said. "Sometimes I have him clean the toilet, sometimes he moves the furniture around, and sometimes he even mows the lawn."

Paige laughed, "Don't you have a maid, and a landscaper?"

"Well," Ms. Dawson laughed too. "Usually by the time we're done, things are messier than when he got here. With Tom, I like to get really, really dirty."

"Oh, I want to be a part of that. I want to get really dirty with you."

Ms. Dawson looked at her daughter-in-law: her eyes were wide and her hand was grasping the arm of her lawn chair. She thought of her riding her finger this morning, begging for one more digit up her ass. Smiling softly to herself, she was suddenly filled with fondness for this raven haired woman her son had found out there in the big bad world. For a while, when he left home for college, he was dating a few prudes from Raleigh, enamoured and intrigued by how different they were from everything he had known as a youngster growing up in Williamsburg. They espoused a strange morality of chastity, of diligence and discipline; they did not want to be bodies writhing against each other, they wanted to be faces, unique faces, people who made a difference in the world, people who were special. It was not disappointment or disillusionment that led Ms. Dawson to think this was a flawed morality. It was an understanding that to be a body, just a body moving in a world of other bodies, was a huge relief, an ultimate freedom. After a few years of experimentation with those fat-bottomed Raleigh girls, Anthony had returned to Williamsburg, to Paige, and to his true roots.

If there was anyone who understood the pleasure of being a body, it was Tom. His job seemed to take him away from that: he was constantly trying to distinguish himself, to compete against his colleagues, to do more, to be special. Vigorously he worked the garden, embracing his weekly role of "Smith."

The girls watched him for a little longer, and then they decided to bring him some refreshments.

"I'll tell you what," said Ms. Dawson as they went into the kitchen to get a snack, "I challenge you to keep up with me. Let's get messy," she said holding a plate of cookies and a glass of iced tea.

Crossing the yard, Ms. Dawson called out, "Oh Smith, we've brought some refreshments for you."

He was covered in mud all the way up his calves, smeared across his chest and forehead where he had wiped the sweat away from his brow. He smiled seriously as he took the glass of iced tea; his body tightened further as he tilted himself back to drink the cooling liquid. He was still hungrily eating the cookie when Ms. Dawson began to rub his cock with her flat hand, moving it against his smooth belly. He said nothing, but moaned deep inside his throat.

"Oh, you don't waste any time," said Paige, running her hands deftly over his erect nipples, pushing herself into his side, grinding her tits into his round shoulders. Meanwhile, Ms. Dawson got down in the mud in her repressed librarian outfit and began to suck his cock, first licking it sloppily up the shaft, stroking his balls with an open hand, then at last, taking his cock deeply into her mouth. Her nylons were quickly heavy with mud, and had run significantly from her big toe, and one of her shoes had fallen off. Paige quickly joined her in the mud and both women sucked his amazing cock deeply into their throats, causing them to salivate madly. They seemed to be competing with each other, grabbing it and sucking it hungrily, like a pair of starving lionesses after their prey. Looking each other in the eyes, they seemed to be daring one another to take it deeper, to test their skills, to push it to the very edge. Smiling and laughing, they occasionally paused to kiss each other deeply. While one was sucking, the other was encouraging her partner with dirty words and curses. At last, opening their mouths, the women took either side of Tom's cock and he moved his hard rod in and out of their wet mouths.

His cock still buried in her throat, Ms. Dawson ripped her shirt open freeing her tits: natural, round, with a perfect pink nipple perched precariously on top of the curve. The librarian was repressed no longer; she rubbed her own tits, running her hands along their soft, warm underside, pinching her full nipples. Paige quickly followed suit, undoing the zipper on the back of her body suit and wriggling out of it while Tom knelt behind Ms. Dawson in the dirt and rubbed her tits from behind, first gently placing his hands over hers, then as the intensity grew, slapping them roughly. Now naked, Paige knelt in front of Ms. Dawson and rubbed her ass into the older woman; Tom greeted her with a few slaps on her strong, but beautifully feminine ass.

After enjoying the rubbing and grinding of bodies moving together, and feeling the warmth of eagerness emanating from the crack of her ass and out from her thick, darkened pussy lips, Ms. Dawson got out of the way and invited Tom to start fucking Paige's spread, dripping pussy. He quickly agreed, but first, coming in from behind, he put his cock head at the top of her dark pubic thatch and then applying a delightful pleasure, he pulled it back, stimulating her clit and spreading her lips before plunging into her totally and without hesitation. She moaned with glee as he began moving in and out of her.

Ms. Dawson lay in the dirt and sucked Tom's balls, her eyes glued to the cock ramming her daughter-in-law's dark pussy. While lying there, Ms. Dawson pulled off her skirt and because her dark nylons ended in stark contrast to her creamy upper thigh, her pussy was exposed and open. She slid her hand down her belly, her fingers spread and her sweaty palm pressing into her flesh; reaching her pussy, she pushed in firmly, moving her fingers over her slickened flesh.

Suddenly, Tom pulled himself out and put his cock into Ms. Dawson's mouth, who ate it all the way down its shaft. She tasted Paige's musky juices, and smelt the rich, almost fruity taste of flesh all over his long, unrelenting cock. Straddling her body, he moved his cock wetly down her entire body: tracing the outline of her neck, in between her full tits, over her flat stomach, pausing briefly at her belly button, pressing himself over her pubic bone, spreading her lips and then entering into her slippery, wet cunt. She cried out ecstatically, but only briefly as Paige moved quickly into a crouch so that was squatting over Ms. Dawson. She allowed her mother-in-law to take in the extreme close-up of her engorged pussy before lowering her thick, hairy cunt over her face, rocking and demanding to be tasted, which Ms. Dawson did happily and gluttonously. Covered in mud, Tom fucked Ms. Dawson as he watched the gentle sway of Paige's back, the womanly charms of her supple ass, which from this angle looked like an especially juicy apple, lowered over the body of a woman gyrating unashamedly in the dirt.

After some time of rolling around in the mud, the trio altered positions. The mud was fresh and wet on Ms. Dawson's body, and seeing this great woman of constant poise fucking like a pig in the mud gave Paige an almost orgasmic feeling rushing through her entire body: just because of the mud, now drying in the cool evening air. As much as it was wonderful just to be bodies, it was also a part of the experience to see the face that exists in real-life becoming an animal, a victim of instinct, and helpless in the stirring storm of everything that belongs to the body. There is something delicious about the dirtiness and sordidness of sex. This is where Paige found her bliss, in plumbing the dark, dangerous corners where few people dare to tread, in pushing her body as far away from the routines and rituals of civilized life, in being covered in mud or worse, in drooling madly over a big, fat cock.

Ms. Dawson put a long, sinewy leg up on a table in the garden; Paige sat spread legged in front of her on a cast iron chair. Tom pushed his cock into Ms. Dawson's asshole, which seemed to invite him in, as if it were expecting an intruder. Ms. Dawson began to eat the younger woman furiously. She started in her asshole, jamming her tongue in and brushing each of the sensitive nerve endings before beginning the trip across the perineum, applying steady pressure to the vulnerable, opened flesh and then flicking playfully, almost maddeningly, at the exposed clit.

Ms. Dawson thoroughly enjoyed the raw, ecstatic pleasure in her asshole: the gradual loosening, his cock finding and repeatedly connecting with a special spot that shot joy down her legs and up her back, which curled her toes and seemed to explode in her ears. Her body rocked against the vigorous movements of her man, her tits swinging, now covered in goose-bumps with rock hard nipples.

Paige watched Tom's face, which was stern, focused and clenched with activity and concentration. She admired his strong neck and the muscles on his shoulders; she noticed his muddy hand smearing steamily on Ms. Dawson's hips. Taking in the scene, the glorious richness of the entire situation, she came under the expert tongue of Ms. Dawson, which, as the moment neared, was driven deeply into her pussy over and over, then lapped over her lips and pressed insistently up against her clit, then pushed again sharply into her hole. The formerly quiet, idyllic backyard was filled with the dangerously sinful sounds of hard bodies slapping into one another, moans, curses and squeals.

Sensing the end was near, Ms. Dawson pulled herself away from Tom and pushed him down in the muddy ground. Then, sitting with her back to his face, lowering her asshole down over his cock, she spread her legs and demanded that Paige eat her pussy. Grabbing the younger woman by the back of the head, she forced her face deep into her pussy and bucked and rocked against the glorious cock buried in her asshole; she rubbed her cunt up and down Paige's face. Ms. Dawson, tits bouncing, one shoe on, nylons torn, hair in her eyes, mascara down her face, mud everywhere, rolled against her partners until finally, from deep inside herself, she felt the electricity of orgasm building in the arches of her feet, the top of her head, and the tips of her nipples. She cried out uncontrollably, took one last deep, tearing buck, and felt the electricity arc down her spine and explode from her pussy. She came, she came, she came and most of the neighbours knew it.

The instant he pulled out, Paige was sucking on Tom's cock, sucking it clean, tasting her mother-in-law's mysterious asshole, the dark and enigmatic scents of a woman. Recovering, Ms. Dawson moved in for her taste of cock and then, responding to his grunts, the girls sat back, mouths open and were greeted by a warm, thick, gooey spray of come, shot onto Ms. Dawson's tits and hanging momentarily from Paige's nose.

THREE

At the very same moment, Anthony had decided to satiate his craving for cock. He was glad that even as his mouth had been watering in the change room, he had not done anything foolish, but he was feeling beaten by the fact that he was again going through the door of the Gloryhole, a club he had sworn off several months ago. The Gloryhole was a dirty, shadowy club where men moved in the darkness, satisfying dark desires. Anthony, baseball cap pulled tightly over his eyes, moved directly to the booths in the back that gave the Gloryhole its name. He bypassed the gyrating dancers in the front room and went through a door in the back, down a few steps into a room few people knew about. He walked down a hallway with a number of small rooms to the left and the right, looking for one that wasn't occupied. Finding one at the end of the row he sat down on the come covered bench, opened his fly, pulled out his cock and began to masturbate. Almost immediately, an eager big black cock poked through the hole cut into the graffiti covered wall. Anthony took the cock hungrily, thinking, not unpleasantly, about how many times this cock had been sucked tonight; the other desperate men who had tread this mysterious path. He pumped himself hard as he moved his mouth over the fat cock, taking it all the way into his throat. Anthony threw himself into his work, eating the cock deeply, his eyes watering as it pounded against the back of his throat. Suddenly, the cock shot its heavy load into Anthony's mouth. He choked slightly and then came himself, spilling onto the zipper of his khaki's.

FOUR

Meanwhile, Doug had taken a more traditional route. Now, completely naked, he stroked his cock rapidly, enjoying the view in the mirror: the way his muscles twitched and flexed, his lines, his shadows. Gazing at himself, he found the whole picture to be quite arousing. He imagined that someone was watching him jack off in the cool light of the moon and suddenly, thinking with the addled brain of someone just before an orgasm, he decided he wanted someone to actually watch him. He stopped before he came; the evening breeze caressed his body and convinced him to take things a bit further tonight.

Joanie was supposed to have finished her yoga class over an hour ago. She was still not home, and had not even made a phone call. If she had been here, this never would be happening. Inspired by the evening air, and justified by everything Joanie had done wrong, he pulled on a pair of Joanie's soccer shorts, a tank top and a pair of flip flops. Tonight he was going to the Gloryhole and he wanted to be seen. He would be leaving his Hurricances cap at home.

Just as he pulled out of his driveway, the phone rang. But in that state on mind he probably wouldn't have answered it anyway. He didn't want to be tamed by the intrusion of reality

FIVE

Elsewhere in the city, yoga was ending. It was Joanie's usual habit to take a sauna after yoga, but they were informed that the sauna was closed this week for repairs. Jane overheard Joanie voicing her displeasure, and seizing her opportunity, said: "Hey, I have a sauna at my house. Would you like to come over and use it?"

Joanie didn't know what to say. She had never spoken to this woman before, and now she was invited over for a sauna. Well, she didn't look like a killer; in fact, dressed in a pair of white yoga pants and a very tight blue tank top, she looked fantastic. Intrigued, she accepted.

"Great," said Jane. "I've noticed you at yoga and I always thought you were someone I should get to know. I'm Jane; it's nice to meet you."

Again, Joanie was surprised. There could be no doubt that the tenor of this encounter was decidedly sexual; she would have to be very naive to have missed that. Still, Joanie thought to herself, what have I done to invite this sort of attention? Do I want this type of attention? She thought in response to the first question that it must be her fine looking yoga outfit. In response to the second question, again, she was intrigued and realized that in a way, she did want this time of attention: soft, slow and gentle attention, kisses, tongues and tits.

Arriving at the house, Joanie was amazed by its architecture, and its size. Its high ceilings, opulently tiled floors, big windows, large original paintings, and foreign color palette made the home impressive indeed. Jane explained that they had inherited it. "Actually, we're selling. We just bought another house today. We're looking to free up a bit of cash until my husband makes partner at his law firm. This might be the last time the sauna gets used."

"Oh, your husband works at a law firm. He must put in long hours. I clean an office downtown and some of those lawyers are still working, even at ten. I feel sorry for them."

I bet you do, thought Jane wryly.

After giving her a bit of a tour, Jane directed Joanie to the sauna and told her to get undressed. She would get some white wine and join her in a few minutes. There were towels hanging nearby, but Joanie guessed that this was a test of sorts and decided that she would be completely naked when Jane returned with the wine. So, she undressed and paused a moment to rub a hand softly over her stomach, brushing against the bottom of her tits, circling around, moving over her upper thigh and across her pussy. Joanie was ready for whatever came her way.

Jane entered the sauna several minutes later, carrying wine in ice, two glasses and wrapped in a white towel. She took in the naked girl sitting casually in the sauna and smiled slightly to herself. Without saying a word, she poured the wine and sat down on the bench behind Joanie.

"Sorry," muttered Joanie, wondering if she had mistaken all the signals. "I didn't see the towels there."

"Oh, no problem," said Jane, removing her towel, but pretending that she was just doing it to be polite. "Being naked is always better," she allowed.

After some wine, some small talk and some giggling, Jane decided to make her move. She said: "Why don't we pretend I'm the yoga instructor, and I'll tell you what to do." Then she added in a low, throaty voice, "I'll force you into strange and vulnerable positions."

Joanie had limited experience with women. There had only been her cousin one summer at the cottage, their tan slick bodies moving together on the empty beach. But she wanted it now. Usually, when she and Doug had swung, they had always invited other men. She loved to have multiple cocks demanding her attention, forcing her to move, to twist, to choke, to cry, to take them deeply, again and again, even when she thought she was too tired to do anymore. And now, this woman was offering her an opportunity to submit to her, to be controlled, forced and vulnerable. She couldn't resist the chance. She got up and stood with her hands at her side, her olive skin glistening with sweat, her tits small, firm and erect, and her black eyes focused on the slim red-headed woman now masturbating on the bench. "Teach me the positions."