Fooled Me Twice Pt. 02

Fooled me Twice Part 2

greenday0418

*****

We flew back to school on the 27^th, and Rita, my house sitter, picked Liz and me up with a chuckle and dropped us off at my house. We were exhausted and slept ten hours, ordered a large pizza, and watched old movies before sleeping some more.

When we woke up on the 29^th, we talked and agreed to work harder at communication. Liz convinced me she was serious about making our relationship work, and I told her about the invitation I received to a party on New Year's Eve. I didn't tell her what the owner did for a living.

We went to a New Year's Eve party at an estate owned by a company that ran bondage internet websites. I got an invitation through my patent attorney's father-in-law, who graduated college with the man who owned the company, Mr. John Smith. I swear that's his name.

The party was decadent and depraved, a perfect exhibition of San Francisco's immorality. I enjoyed it immensely since I hailed from a conservative South Carolina city. They even had dressed-up outhouses that looked like nineteenth-century brothels. The spacious backyard had three dance floors over grass and three live bands.

Liz was spectacular, dressed in a sexy ice blue evening gown with a thigh-high slit and five-inch pumps with ankle straps. With her hair piled on top of her head in a glamorous messy bun style, she was a major attraction for every unattached male. She flirted shamelessly with attractive men and women but remained attached to my arm. Every time we danced, a half dozen lounge lizards or lesbians tried cutting in.

About an hour before midnight, Liz took my hand and led me toward the house, urging me along, "I'm not going to piss in a box sitting outside that looks like a whore house. "

Guarding the back door were two bodybuilders doubling as bouncers, who stopped our entry into the mansion. They were a Mutt and Jeff team, short and tall.

Liz knew what she was doing, "Guys, I have to pee so bad; if I don't find a toilet right now, I'll have to do it here. See?" She reached down to the slit in her dress and pulled it up, showing her smooth pink cunny with moisture seeping out.

The short one, who I named Mutt, stammered, "Straight ahead through two double doorways, then the second door on the right." The tall bald bouncer, who had to be Jeff, hurriedly opened the door for us.

We moved quickly straight ahead, with Liz practically dragging me behind her. I looked behind us and expected to see someone chasing us, but no, we were in the clear. After we passed through the second doorway, she opened the first door on the right.

"He said the second door..." and I stopped talking.

I was looking at a stunningly beautiful woman, incredibly well put together with extra cushion for the pushing, whom I would classify as a BBW, an internet term. Wearing an outfit made of leather straps, she was straddling a man lying on his back, and her large implants were sagging slightly as she rested on her hands and knees, with the man's thick dick stretching her hairless pussy. A second man, with what looked like a ten-inch cock, but half as wide as the first guy, filled her ass. These two men were young, in good physical shape, and they were in no hurry to come. In front of the woman, a rolly poly man holding a whip was sliding a long skinny cock down the woman's throat as her muffled moans escaped from her lips wrapped around his dick.

Liz was frozen, clutching my wrist, so I freed my hand to turn her around with a hand on each shoulder.

After leaving the room, I quietly closed the door before we were discovered and led Liz to the second door. She launched herself at a vacant toilet, lifted her dress to her waist, sat down, and sighed.

I looked around, and the room was laid out like a public bathroom, reserved for the rich and famous. The difference between the two; public lavatories have privacy stalls around the toilets and don't have a bidet. They also don't have vanities with marble sinks, gold fixtures, and large mirrors on the wall.

The other toilets were occupied, and two women, wearing very skimpy costumes, were bending at the waist over one vanity with straws in their hands.

No one seemed to mind my presence in the ladies' room.

Liz finished tinkling and reached to her right for TP, but the roller was empty. "Son of a bitch. I need to dry off." She was silent for a minute. "Marty, will you help me out? It's only pee. Please, Baby?"

"I don't see any towels or washcloths. What can I use?"

I had already drunk three tall glasses of champagne and was no longer the sharpest knife in the drawer.

I looked at her pleading eyes and was confused, "What, you want me to use my jacket or vest?"

"No, stupid, your tongue."

Oh, okay, now I get it. But, what the hell, it's my girlfriend, Liz, and I had a good buzz going on.

So I did my thing by licking her until she was mostly dry and then helped her stand up. To thank me, Liz unzipped my pants, freed my slick shaft, and leaned over the sink. A stiff prick has no brain or conscience, so while my big head was spinning, I took advantage of the smooth folds of skin, glistening with her juices, and sunk the little head balls deep with one thrust. With Liz screaming at me to fuck her while bent over a marble sink with gold faucets, I couldn't have stopped even if a gun had been pressed against my head.

So I followed orders while thinking about our relationship; sometimes Liz is in charge, and sometimes I think I am. I pulled out and slammed in again and then a third time. Noticing movement out of the corner of my right eye, I turned my head to see a woman standing three feet away, staring at Liz, um, washing her hands. Standing behind Liz, I loudly encouraged her to scrub off the germs, so if this lady was a cop, that's the story I'd swear to.

"Excuse me, darlings. Might I use the loo while you, ahem, use the sink?"

She had a marvelous English accent, and I remember speaking to her earlier while filling a plate with food. Saphron or Sofia was her name, I believe; I can't recall. My hips slowed down as I tried to think.

"I didn't tell you to stop. Fuck me harder but do not come in my pussy. I don't want your cum running down my leg; after all, I'm not a cheap whore here for your pleasure." It's a good thing this lady isn't a cop.

So I stopped thinking and continued storming through the lips of her slick Venus flytrap.

Since I was back on track, Liz answered the woman's question, "By all means, ohhh, be my guest because that's; oooh yesss, don't stop, fuck me harder, Marty."

As the mystery woman walked past me, she raked her fingernails slowly across my right thigh and butt cheek, and poked my tight rosebud before stroking my swaying ball sack between my thighs. Her fingers continued until she was no longer touching me, and I was surprised she didn't reach around to inspect my work. Her dress was similar to Liz's, but hers was red. In addition, she had on a thong that she took off before sitting on the toilet to pee and watch the floor show.

"She's watching me fuck you, Liz. Does that turn you on, Baby? Are you going to come like the slut you are?"

My words pushed her over the edge, "Yesss, I love being watched. Come on, Marty, fuck me harder, show her how it's done, oh God, YESS, just like that, don't stop, I'm coming, OH MARTY," and she transitioned from words to a high-pitched squeal at the end, and her legs were shaking so much she collapsed over the sink.

She didn't tell me to stop, so I kept fucking her, and now seven women were watching me plow Liz's sopping wet pussy. In addition to the lady on the toilet watching and the four women who were here when we crashed through the door, two women came in walking funny until they stopped to watch with their mouths open.

*****

The woman on the toilet stood up and adjusted her red dress before speaking. "I'm Sapphire Smith, and your young man looks like he can go a while. Let's get out of here so people won't pee on the floor while watching you fuck, and I'll show you my bedroom."

I slid my cock out of Liz and struggled to get my pants back on; my zipper got stuck on some skin. Meanwhile, Liz was being led out into the hallway by Sapphire, with her arm around my girl's waist. I hurried to catch up as they turned to the right, and as I entered the hallway, Sapphire was two doors down, punching a code on a keypad. Her fingers danced over the pad, and the door opened. I caught up to them as the door was closing.

A flight of stairs led up to another door that opened into a walk-in closet. It was huge and overflowing with dresses hanging on clothes rods, and racks holding hundreds of shoes. On one side were ten custom-built dressers, five feet high, with three-inch tall drawers. I opened one, which contained a matching set of red silk lingerie; bra, panty, garter belt, and stockings.

Following Sapphire and Liz, I walked out of the walk-in closet into a woman's bedroom. There was a king-size bed with four tall corner posts, multiple mirrors on the ceiling above the bed, and a large mirror on the wall at the head of the bed. On a wall opposite the bed was an enormous flatscreen, at least eighty inches, and feeds from a dozen different cameras played on it. There was one large picture and eleven smaller ones. The big picture showed the room Liz had accidentally wandered into with the foursome, and they were still going strong.

I turned and, for the first time, examined our hostess. I estimated she was in her forty's, with medium-length brown hair, B or C-cup breasts, and long legs under a tight model's body.

"Do you see the fat man? He's my husband, John, and he's the face of the studio, but I'm the majority stockholder. Since we no longer have 'relations,' he does his thing, and I do mine."

"And what is your thing?" I asked politely.

"Women, only women. If you would allow me to satisfy my desires with your girlfriend, you can stay the night, and I'll watch the two of you afterward."

I looked at Liz, and she didn't seem thrilled that Sapphire asked me, not her. I couldn't read her expression regarding the offer.

"Liz, do you want to answer, or should I?"

She took my hand in hers and placed her other hand on my forearm like she was afraid someone would drag her away from me.

That was enough for me, but I didn't want to be rude when I turned her down.

"At this time, Ah'm afraid we must decline yawls kind offer. Neither of us is inclined to be a voyeur or share sex partners; we prefer the priv-a-see of our own company. However, Ah do hope Ah havn't offended yawl by speakin' my mind; yawl has been a perfectly charmin' hostess."

She giggled then started laughing, "I like you, honest, yet polite, and the only thing fake about you is that South Carolina accent. I'm a southern lady, born and raised in Charleston, and I know how it's supposed to sound."

"I'm Marty, and this is my girlfriend Liz, and I was born and raised in Greenville."

"Perhaps you'll change your mind the next time I throw a party."

"That's very kind of you. Here is my business card with my address near Stanford, and after this school year is over, Liz and I have one more year till graduation." I looked at my watch, "We'd better get back outside for the countdown; the time is 11:55."

"Follow me; I'll show you a shortcut." Sapphire led us down a different flight of stairs to a veranda where a servant handed us a flute of champagne, and the three of us toasted the new year before counting down from ten. At midnight Liz and I kissed again and again, and afterward, Liz tugged on my arm to get me to lean over so she could whisper, "I saw you staring at her. Let's go to my place, and I'll make you forget that Sapphire woman."

"Who?"

"Right answer."

We thanked our hostess for a lovely evening before departing Sodom and Gomorrah, and we didn't look back.

Entering her condo, we stripped on the walk to the bedroom, and I began making love to her in a way that was the complete opposite of our first and only sexual encounter. I threw her on the bed, raised her legs, and buried little Marty in his home away from home. I maintained a steady rhythm for half an hour, probably due to the champagne I drank and the rocket fuel formulas I created in my head while turning Liz into a screaming wild woman.

Between climaxes, Liz played tennis with my tonsils and left hickeys on my chest. When each orgasm exploded through her body and mind, she was getting closer to the big one, and her breathing was getting more labored. Her eyes rolled in their sockets, blue eyelids fluttering rapidly, her nostrils flared, and I could feel her trembling underneath me.

"Sooo good, I feel another, now, oh yes, Marty, don't slow DOWN, almost, yes fuck me, there, coming,

yes, I love you, YesYesYESYESYES! I'M COMMMMINNNNGGGG."

With her legs hooked around my back, she pulled her mouth away from my lips and threw her head back, screaming obscenities too nasty to print here. At that point, I lost control and exploded inside her, filling her with cum created earlier this evening at the party.

"Marty, oh my. Marty, that was...." I rolled over and lay next to her as tears rolled off her cheeks. "I love you, Marty, I do, and I could live with you the rest of my life and never be scared of commitment or being tempted to stray."

I took a deep breath, thinking what a strange declaration that was, and I thought the night's festivities were over, so I closed my eyes. A second later, I felt Liz moving, and the next thing I knew, her pussy filled with my cum was lowered over my mouth. At the same time, I felt an intense sensation from my cock as Liz's luscious lips closed around the head, then plunged from the penthouse to the basement.

My dick was so sensitive, but I'll never cry, uncle, so I concentrated on cleaning up and tongue action of my own. Cream pies are fine as long as they're mine.

Later in the night, our bodies shut down, and we slept.

A tongue sliding up the side of my prick woke me up, but my eyes were glued shut. Using my fingers, I pried one eyelid open, then the other, and saw a pile of blonde hair that looked like a character on an old TV show, giving me a blow job. "Liz, is that you down there, or is Cousin Itt from the Addams family visiting?"

"Marty, my love, you're awake, and I'm ready to answer the proposal you gave me the first time we had sex. My answer is YES."

Yes??? Proposal??? For what? "Liz darling, yes, for what?"

"The first time you came to my condo," she giggled, " you proposed after you woke me up, right before you carried me into the bathroom."

Now that she brought it up, I guess I did propose. "Hmm. You're right, but what I said was, 'Liz, I love you, and if you wake up, we can get married right after we pee.' Well, we peed but didn't get married."

Hell hath no fury like an angry woman, and Liz started screaming at me about promises and honesty until I shut her down, with authority, "Elizabeth Katherine Cummings, stop talking and listen."

She seemed shocked that I used her full name, so she closed her mouth.

"We have so many things to discuss, such as when should I propose with an obscenely expensive ring, when and where should we marry, where shall we settle down and live, how many children can we have, and should we live in a nudist colony or visit on weekends?"

I paused so she could digest what I was saying.

"Then there are the lesser important decisions, such as names for our children, which side of the bed is mine, where to honeymoon, what furniture to buy, how big a house, etc."

"Oh. Okay. All right, Marty, stop talking; I get it. Do we have to stop having this fantastic sex before marriage?"

"Only with other people and furry cosplayers. You can have me anytime, anywhere."

"Well, you are a fantastic lover, and last night fucked me like a whore, making me come, like six times.

And most men don't clean up after themselves."

WOW! Was this the girl I spent my Christmas vacation with?

We necked, lying in bed, and talked about our future and feelings for each other while musing about weird people we've met, rough sex vs. making love, fetish sex, kinky sex, and many other subjects relating to sex. Liz seemed to know more about these subjects than I did.

I wonder, who is this goddess who has infected my blood with lust, and when she's looking at me with those eyes penetrating deep into my soul, what is she thinking?

We didn't get out of bed until hunger and bodily functions forced us to get up. After all, classes didn't restart until the 10^th.

*****

We returned to our dating formula when classes started again, Friday night dinners, dancing, and sex running over into Saturday evening. Our dates were anything but routine now; monthly, we drove up or down the coast on a Friday, staying at random hotels, and going wild with the locals at night, then returning home on Sunday. In late January, I flew Liz to Las Vegas for a weekend, and the sex was highlighted by me fucking her with her naked tits pressed against a six-foot-high window on the 50^th floor of our hotel. We had sex in empty classrooms, in movie theatres during a movie, on deserted beaches, and even in a crowded bar. And the sex ran the gamut from making love to rutting like animals.

I once asked Liz, "Babe, why is there so much variety with, um, you know how we have sex?"

She had an answer ready, almost like she read my mind, smiled a sultry, seductive smile, and said, "Because I like variety in my sex life. Think of sex as being like ice cream; both have lots of variety; some you love a lot, and others, not so much. To simplify, I like making love any way possible, I adore being fucked in every position possible, and I love fucking you anytime, anywhere, and anyhow!"

I couldn't dispute that logic.

Valentine's Day arrived on a warm Friday evening, and Liz took me out for dinner and dancing. She wore a white dress covered with red hearts and a shiny red vinyl choker. Her hair and makeup made her look like Marilyn Monroe, but I've never seen Ms. Monroe wearing 5-inch red patent leather stilettos and three-inch red heart earrings in any of her movies.

After dressing, she surprised me with a new Armani suit she bought for me with my momma's guidance. She even picked out my underwear.

Liz grabbed the car keys and had to remove her shoes because it was impossible to use the pedals safely while wearing five-inch stiletto heels.

While breaking several traffic laws, including speeding and running red lights, Liz carried on a conversation with me. Translation; she talked, and I listened.

"Now, Marty, you took me to that eye-opening party on New Year's Eve, and I had a wonderful time. So tonight and the rest of the weekend are my gifts to you. Relax and enjoy, I have everything covered, and we will laugh about this adventure when we're old and gray."

Our first stop was at Oasis, a gay and transgender nightclub with shows, dancing, and crossdressers in costumes. After Liz escorted me in, we had some champagne and danced nonstop. If anyone tried to

cut in, she whispered something in their ear, and they went away.

"Liz, what are you telling these women who want to dance with you?"

"Oh, Martin, my love, they all want to dance with you, not me, and I'm telling them perhaps another time. You belong to me tonight."

I tried not to stare, but those women who weren't real women were as beautiful as any women I'd ever met. That statement sounds as confused as I was. After an hour, we left the dance floor and waited for the valet at the front door to bring my car around.

Critiquing us was a group of gay and lesbian party-goers standing in front of the club. As the valet pulled my car up, Liz unleashed a toe-curling, tonsil tickling, red hot kiss on me as she cupped my junk with her free hand. The oohs and aahs we received were in harmony, and they all gave us a thumbs up. Then, as Liz released my lips, she blew the crowd a kiss and opened the passenger door for me. With a shake of her hair, Liz strutted around to the driver's door like a streetwalker, slipped into the driver's seat, removed her shoes, then left two long strips of rubber on the street.