Musical Chairs

This is the last time we're letting Megan choose the party game.

Last summer, my college roommate, Dave, thought it would be fun to get together for a week's vacation. He rented a big cabin in the mountains, located on a lake about three hours drive from Santa Clara, where I was working.

I was "in between" girlfriends and working a hundred hours a week: I could use the break but wasn't sure I could make it. We had a release date just before and it was already looking bad. The team was a combination of recent parolees from IIT and some overconfident managers. It was a death march that made Bataan look like a run to Pizza Hut.

Dave reassured me there would be "adequate female company", as his girlfriend, Megan, had invited three other girls. In return, Dave got two other "eligible dudes" to come. He wheedled with me until I agreed to try to make it. I paid my share of the rental and food budget, pretty sure I was wasting the money.

And then a miracle happened. There was another journeyman engineer on the team, some French guy named Arnaud who both smoked and coded like he was on fire. We dragged his four-monitor setup and my pair of scruffy old Linux boxes into a windowless conference room, tore down the seriously broken parts of the application and, borrowing heavily from open source, rebuilt the mess at breakneck speed. We demoed it for leadership Friday afternoon, and I was on the road by 4 p.m. If I never taste Red Bull again in my life it will be too soon. I smelled like French cigarettes for days after.

Arriving around 10:30, I found a spacious cabin up a long dirt driveway. It stood at the crest of a hill with a view over the lake, rather than standing right on the shore. The interior was modern and clean, if a bit overstuffed with knotty pine and décor of the "cuckoo clock chic" variety. The satellite TV got many channels of static. The internet was glacial. Cellular service was one bar--if you went outside and stood near the road. In other words, it was heaven.

Dave came out to welcome me and help me lug my stuff up to the cabin. Everyone was in the living room, overlooking the lake. There wasn't much moonlight, but it was pretty. It was time for introductions.

"This is Henry" ("call me Buehler" "Bueller...? Bueller...?" "Sure. Funny. Also, mine's spelled with an 'H'." "That makes all the difference.")

Henry, er, Buehler was a Greek god, and he knew it. He filled his clothes perfectly without looking musclebound. He had an easy camaraderie that spoke of self-confidence. His hair was perfect. Basically, here was the love child of Tom Cruise and Robert Redford. The only blemish on him was having a name like "Henry Buehler".

The other guy was Gerald ("call me Gerald"). He seemed more like my kind of guy than Dave's. A little bit soft spoken. I think he might have been Filipino? Dark hair kind of tousled into place and horned rim glasses completed the look. We fist bumped. Then I greeted Megan, and she proceeded to introduce the ladies.

Megan is the same six feet in height as Dave. Behind her back Dave calls her "the Saluki" because she embodies that breed's narrow athletic look. It doesn't help that she wears her blonde hair in frizzy pig tails on either side of her head. That makes her look just like a saluki, right down to her brown, doe-like eyes.

Her sister, Julia ("call me Julia"), was more mastiff than saluki. She was every bit as tall as Megan, but she was massive. There was a family resemblance in her narrow face, but her honey-brown hair was short and straight. Her neck was thick, and she had stupendous jugs. Even her wrists looked powerful. Her legs were like tree trunks. If Megan looked like she was ready to go fetch tennis balls on the beach, Julia looked ready for the pie eating contest, maybe to be followed by some axe throwing?

Samantha ("call me Sam") was a friend of Megan's and she had recruited a friend, Cassie ("Cassie is short for don't call me"). From what I could see, Megan must be keeping a stable of super models just to invite to cabins in the woods. Sam bumped out her sweatpants with a curvy caboose and her top with a balancing rack. She had lovely strawberry blonde hair and seemed to glow with the inner something beautiful people have. And she was casting that glow at Buehler every other second to see if he'd noticed her yet.

Cassie was the shortest of the four, but still plenty stacked, with dark hair hanging to her shoulders. She wore a baggy black hoodie, black cargo pants, and the ensemble was finished off with black biker boots. She was the 'yang' to Sam's 'yin', but still a striking looking woman.

Speaking of striking, you've heard of love at first sight? It has an evil twin: Cassie took one look at me and was struck with the thought that she wouldn't condescend to scrape me off her boot.

The cabin had four bedrooms, which meant two to a room. Since they hadn't been sure I was coming, everyone was already situated. Buehler and Gerald shared a room with two twin beds. Julia and Sam were sharing a queen size. The fourth bedroom had bunk beds and was decorated for five-year-old boys. I always wanted a bed shaped like a race car.

Cassie had already taken possession, so she was miffed at having to share and more so because it was a guy and then some because it was me. And I disgusted her because I was still breathing.

I apologized for that and, after some nosing around, settled for the couch instead. No race car for me! I was so tired, having barely survived the drive, that I was insensible to the world until the morning.

It was great that Megan was there. If left up to Dave, provisions would have consisted of two enormous coolers filled with the cheapest beer on the planet, with maybe a package of luncheon meat for variety. There was still one such cooler, but the other was arrayed with actual food. Megan was up at an unfortunately early hour, but given that there were pancakes, it could be forgiven.

I won't bore you with the hiking and the rock skipping and such. Suffice it to say, it was nice out and most of us took advantage of it. Me? I was so flattened that I basically power napped, had some beer, power napped, and then strolled down to the lake for a few minutes.

The problem was that there were three girls and only one Buehler. There's only so much Ferris Bueller schtick you can do before it gets boring, especially since he's had a lifetime of practice alternately absorbing and crushing it. I don't think any of the girls could have picked Gerald or I out of a lineup. They spent all of their time trying to get his attention. He had mastered not giving that attention, which drove them insane. Gerald, by contrast, was going down in flames trying to get any reaction. I don't think he waved his arms over his head, but he might have.

There was some frustration building as a result.

After dinner, we switched from beer to vodka. There was the usual chatter, but the main thing was trying to find some sort of game we could all play. Eight is a big number for a lot of party games. As the vodka took hold, good-natured ribbing was starting to verge on naked aggression. And that's when Megan suggested her game: she had an app on her phone for musical chairs. You could program it for how long between music and what songs to play.

The first version was supposed to be tame. The guys sat in four chairs arranged facing out from one another. The girls walked in a circle around it. When the music stopped, the girls had to sit in a guy's lap and kiss him for the two minutes in between songs. Only one girl to a lap. And, yes, Megan and Dave played too. It sounded silly, like one of those games you play at the house party you aren't supposed to have when you're sixteen.

It turned out okay. I got to kiss Sam first. We weren't really going at it hot-and-heavy, but it wasn't just grade school kissing either. She sat kind of sideways in my lap and I held her. She let her left breast rub against my arm. Nice. One of the golden people was throwing the peasant a bone.

Then the music was on again. This time I got Cassie, who was not going to play with me, no matter what. Megan broke her snog of Buehler, on my right, to say "Come on, Cass, play the game right."

This meant I got to kiss Cassie, which was somewhere between kissing a dead fish and using someone else's scuba regulator. She disinfected with vodka immediately after.

Then music. Then Sam again. This time Sam's kiss was frustrated: she'd missed Buehler by one three times in a row. Then music. Then Megan.

Megan is a fantastic kisser. She put her arms around me and went all in. We're both tall and having her firm body in my lap got me nice and firm in about thirty seconds. That left about a minute or so for her to grind her little tight mound against it. "Mmm, that's a nice one," she whispered as the music started up again, "Cassie and Sam don't know what they're missing".

Finally, Julia landed in my lap. She's a big girl and she filled my lap, coming in just like Megan, facing me fully, thighs to either side. She got the full effect of Megan's leftovers and for two minutes she and I dry humped like squirrels fighting over a nut. I think I was losing that battle. Oh, and the kiss? It had me seeing stars.

"What do you think, girls? You having fun? Or do you want to take it up a notch?" Shots were consumed while we discussed what "a notch" might consist of. We settled on: two minutes of kissing while the guys got to feel the girl's tits.

Sam paused to slip her bra off through her top. She had Goldilocks-sized breasts--just right--needing just a tiny amount of support. Their slight droop now made every guy's hands itch to hold them. The others opted to keep theirs on.

I got Julia first this time. The kiss was nice and we "renewed acquaintances" downstairs, but I was distracted by the new toys. She had appreciable lung capacity, and, reaching up under her loose gray sweatshirt, I got a good handle on them. The problem was that the toys were encased in various levels of protective enclosure. In two minutes I wasn't able to locate much of interest and it distracted me from the other joys.

Then it was Megan. The saluki had some respectable bumps held in place by a very sheer sports bra. I was able to locate everything in about two seconds, during which time she was locating something she liked very much down in my lap area. She seemed pleased with her sister's preparatory work. I wondered what Dave would think of that?

There was something else: the Buehler magic was doing a number on the girl to my right. There had been a pronounced moan during that session. This time when the music stopped, Sam and Cassie both tried to dive into his lap. Sam was a little quicker, so Cassie had to trudge over to the runner up. Yep, me.

Her kiss was petulant and she didn't seem to care if I had a boner. Reaching up into her black hoodie rewarded me with two plump-ish mounds behind a garment that didn't provide, or really need to provide, any support. Since "dead fish" is not interesting as a kissing regime, I concentrated on circling her surprisingly sizeable nipples with my thumb and stroking them to attention. This made her squirm a bit in my lap, as if surprised I could make her feel something.

Then music. Then the same Sam and Cassie collision. "My turn," Cassie informed Sam, and pushed her off. I got to play consolation prize a second time. As noted, Sam had a rather fine pair of consolation prizes, so I enjoyed weighing their merits and gave them some nice squeezes.

Then music. The Buehler mania resumed, but this time it was Julia and Megan! I was able to console Julia for her willingness to concede to her sister. The last couple of encounters had let all the steam out of my venture: it's not a lot of fun to play the role "guy who also groped you". But Julia didn't seem to mind that she was there. Our bodies figured out where we'd left off and I was able to cut through all the red tape by pulling her bra up and letting her tits fall free.

They were big and warm, with heavy centers like grapefruit hanging down to where my hands were waiting to pluck them. Her nipples were huge and quite pleased to be pinched by a greedy pair of paws. Julia moaned into my mouth as we enjoyed right up to the last second.

Then... not music. Megan was pouring shots for everyone and there was a cacophony of suggestions for turning the wheel another notch. I think Dave was starting to get nervous, since his girlfriend was already experiencing a level of heavy petting that was probably making him sweat a bit. How far would we go?

The girls felt that they should get to do something to the guys next. There was an obvious suggestion for what that could be: two-minute blow jobs! Megan seemed to consider for a moment, but then said, "Okay, but... we should save this for tomorrow night. Let the tension build.

"Now, does anyone want to change bunking partners tonight?" she asked. All eyes turned to Buehler. You could feel the hope radiating off the women. The room held its collective breath. Julia punctured it. "Hey Cassie, you want to trade?" Then she took me by the hand and led me off to the bunk beds, trailing wolf-whistles from the guys.

--

We didn't wait for Cassie to clear out her stuff or bother to get our own. We just went in and sat on the unmade bed and kissed.

"What made you pick me? You might have had..."

"C'mon. He doesn't need to be that nice to Dave. Whereas you paid a gal the right kind of attention all day."

We kissed again for a while. Julia had a low voice, a seductive contralto. Between kisses I loved listening to it tell me more about her. She was in her final year of an economics degree back East, at Boston College. She planned to return to California to take up law school in the fall--probably Berkeley, maybe Stanford or UCLA. Clearly, she was wicked smart.

Cassie came in in an attempt to throw black light over the proceedings (and get her stuff). We went out to collect our own luggage. Then there were various ablutions: teeth may have been brushed, snakes drained, dogs watered. Elsewhere lights were going out. I had no idea how the problem of "not enough Buehlers" had been solved.

I stumbled back into the room in my boxers and a wife-beater t-shirt. Julia was dressed for bed. Which is to say: she was naked.

She had a womanly shape: her waist was narrower than her hips; her bust and her ass were round and in proportion to the rest of her. Reubens would have cum in his pants to have her model for his paintings. And there is nothing more attractive than a woman who wants you. In the back of my mind, a little voice was starting to whisper about something more than just attraction.

I took her in my arms and we kissed again, carnal wet kisses. The wife-beater beat it and the boxers got punched out. But we had a practical problem.

I was finally going to get my race car! But bunk beds intended for small children are not comfortable for one, let alone two, adults over six feet in height. The beds had hard wooden edges, so sitting on the edge was uncomfortable.

I was in a playful mood, so I got her to climb into the upper bed, pivot with her back to the wall, and let me eat her out. The bed was the perfect height for me to do so while standing.

Her mound was shapely and lightly furred. I blew gently on her closed labia, letting her feel my hot breath. Her hands went into my hair and she bit her lip. We were both turned on. I could smell her arousal building. With one hand I pressed lightly and those lower lips parted, a narrow crack in her firm pink flower. I kissed lightly around her stiffening nub and then slowly turned to licking.

When I brought my other hand up and slowly began to work a finger around her opening, I got to hear Julia's voice break into song. Her moans were deep and melodious. She had to steady herself to keep from falling over the railings.

When she pushed my face away, it was with a hunger for more. She thumped down the rickety ladder, fumbled in her luggage for a condom, and tore open the packet.

"I am super fertile this week," she informed me. "We need to be careful. I hate these things, so I need to rely on you to keep me from taking you bare. After law school, then you can litter the floor with our babies." Talk about family planning.

I averred that I could do that for her. She rolled on the offending instrument, turned to bend over the lower bunk bed and presented her ass to me.

I obliged by pulling myself in as deep as I could reach. I'm no size champion, but we fit together like puzzle pieces. I watched my cock slide into her warmth until my body met hers. Her ass shook with the violence of the collision. We pounded together, stroke after stroke, she pushing her ass back to meet me, me gripping her hips to pull into her the harder.

I heard a noise like a siren, rising and falling, in time to our moves. It was her deep moans sliding up and down the scale. I joined her by calling out "Julia! Julia!" at the end of each thrust. Racoons two forests over would have no doubt that I was claiming her.

When she came, her skin flushed all over her body and she quivered, her voice dropping an octave to groan a rumbling orgasm. And, in a week of miracles, one more. In spite of the soul-deadening feel of the condom, I felt the little hitch that signaled potential orgasm of my own. I pursued it relentlessly until I caught it, feeling myself surge and tremble within her, crying out with release.

We tried sleeping together in the bottom bunk, but it was too cramped to even fit in there. I climbed up into the top bunk and we fell into slumber.

Around 3 a.m. I had to pee and drink some water. When I came back, she was sound asleep, facing the wall, and curled up just so. I thought I could see how I could fit. I shed the boxers again and slipped in behind her, spooning her. She snuggled and shifted to welcome me. Then I shifted. Then she did. Then I had to move because my arousal was getting obvious. Very quickly we were face-to-face and kissing passionately.

My cock was hard and she was grasping it. Her pussy was damp and I was fingering it. She leaned up suddenly, and bonked her head. Cursing, she fumbled again in her bag: last of that two-pack of condoms. Then more messing around until we found a position that worked. Her thighs were holding my hips as my back arched up to touch the bed springs above us. Still, I could get where I absolutely needed to be. Our heads and knees banged our solid confines, but we were focused and uncaring. We needed to mate and we did. Instinctual wet fucking until we were both exhausted.

In the morning our hair was standing on end and there were definitely bruises. She ran off to the bathroom and shower first. I laid in bed, feeling cozy and reluctant to give it up.

Later I carried the latex packaged mess to the bathroom and then slipped into the shower to find low water pressure and almost no hot water. I was quick and methodical, focusing on getting the "used condom" smell off of me.

Over breakfast Julia and I took turns looking bashful, as we had obviously communicated our attractions overnight.

Megan drew me aside as the day's festivities started. "Be good to her, eh? I don't want her to get hurt."

I looked at Megan and part of me was sad: she thought I was giving her sister a mercy fuck? "I think you might need to warn her," I replied. "I might be in a little trouble here." I smiled and it felt good. She gave me a look and, seeing that I was serious, she gave my hand a squeeze and flashed me a quite different kind of smile. She loved her sister.

I spent most of the day with Julia, swimming and strolling around on the beach. Or, if I'm being honest, alternating between staring at her in a besotted haze and trying to suck her tongue out. When it got towards dark she pulled her button-front coverup over her one-piece swimsuit and we walked up the hill to the cabin holding hands. Yep. Maybe more than a little trouble.