The Ballad of John and Al Ch. 04

If you've read the comments below earlier installments of this story, you know that John and Al are real. When John first reached out to me, the two of them were talking about turning their mutual fantasies into reality, and they had a novel twist about the way she wanted to do it that intrigued me. Now I'm chatting with Al most days, too, and she's decided to deny him the opportunity to preview these stories. Is he a cuckold already, or is she just teasing him? He may have to wait to find out when he reads one of these chapters, at the same time you do... ;-)..

"All right then," Al sighs, trying to sound resigned, but with a trace of husky anticipation in her voice. "Let's see it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Whip it out."

"Heh," the guy chuckle-snorts. Then, the sound of leather sliding across metal, a zipper disengaging. Rustling fabric.

"Hmmm," from Al. "Nice."

"Nice?" A note of slight disappointment in his voice.

"Yeah. Not bad. 't's got potential."

"Go on, then, stroke it. See how much bigger it gets."

"Huh uh."

"Huh uh? C'mon, Allie."

"It's not Allie," she corrects him, sternly. "It's Allison, or Al."

"Yeah, okay, Allison. C'mon, wrap those pretty little hands around it."

"Huh uh. Not today."

"Not today? What are you waiting for?"

"For you to want it bad enough," she replies. "For you to earn it."

"You fuckin' tease."

"Uh huh," Al agrees. "But I'll let you stroke it for me."

"Huh," he considers. "Yeah?"

"Uh huh."

A pause. Then, squicking noises. Slightly heavy breathing.

Suddenly, "Unbutton your blouse."

Another pause. "Okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

More rustling fabric.

"God," from the guy. "They're amazing."

A scoffing chuckle. "Not they're not. You're just horny."

"Yeah," he replies. "But your tits are perfect."

"They're just big," she shrugs. "Biggish. And young. That's all."

"Huh." A pause, with just more squicking sounds. "Oh, god yeah. Hold 'em together, just like that...

"Let me put it between them..."

There isn't a question mark behind those words.

"Okay ..."

***

John exhaled deeply and took his hand off his own cock before he came too quickly. Was that how it went down, he wondered? He had been wondering ever since Al had sent him the picture on his phone. The picture of the evidence of her first infidelity, her first step toward turning him into a cuckold.

The reason she was now denying him access to her breasts. Because she had warned him, that was going to be her rule. Whatever she gave to her new lover, she was going to deny to him.

And now he had a picture, skillfully cropped. But there was no doubt it was her. He recognized the dainty chin at the bottom of her heart-shaped face, and the full lower lip. Hell, he recognized the shape of her full plump breasts, right down to the little bumps around her areola. What he didn't recognize was the glistening archipelago of globs of semen splattered across her upper chest, the clear rivulets trickling down into her cleavage, and the gelatinous clumps of protein slowly sliding down in their wake.

Those had been left there by one of his neighbors. Who would be at the pool party tomorrow. Smirking at him.

***

Al bounded ahead of him, eager to get their afternoon started. John trailed behind her, enjoying the view of her ripe 24-year-old body jiggling in her green bikini and her sheer white cover-up. He had had one Bloody Mary in the apartment this morning. He could have had six; but he wanted to keep his wits about him today.

The apartment complex management had put together a nice event today, to close down the pool for the year but to try to maintain the casual camaraderie of the community. They had leases to renew this winter, of course. So the cost of a shrimp-laden buffet and a guitarist in a Hawaiian shirt crooning Jimmy Buffet tunes was inconsequential. Still, it made for a pleasant Sunday afternoon on the last weekend of September, when every pool north of here had been closed since Labor Day.

So. Somewhere here today, was the guy who Al had chosen to cuckold him with.

Who had already jerked himself off between Al's beautiful breasts.

He had a sense that his rival was one of two possible types. His original obsession had been picturing her with an Adonis, a Greek god. She could certainly have any guy she set her sights on, so, why not? And part of what drove his compulsion was, in fact, a genuine desire for her ecstasy. It excited him and made his gut churn to think of her letting herself go, letting herself wallow in pleasure, losing herself in the sheer delight of a young stud's strong hands on her body, his impressive cock rifling through her, his piercing eyes shining with his own rapture as he looked down into her lovely face and bent down and crushed her parted lips against his and slipped his tongue into her mouth and took that, took that, too, away from John. And she gave it, so eagerly, because this guy was just so good, so much better, better sexually in every way than he was, and she deserved it ...

But then, back when they had first started revealing their secrets and fantasies to each other, she had given him an alternative vision. The way she talked about the older customers who ogled her and flirted with her at work. He still couldn't be sure whether that was her genuine preferred attraction, or whether she had just noticed how he had reacted and now used the image to tease him, relentlessly.

But she told him that that's what really got her motor running ... the idea of being used for the sexual gratification of an older man; to be just the vessel for his sudden, amazed, unexpected thrill of conquest. And it didn't have to be some dignified silver fox. Sometimes when they were out together, she would point out some man that had been eyeing her and arch her eyebrows in intrigue; and the guy could be fat, or short, or have a receding hairline and a comical combover, or a liver-spotted forehead and a lazy eye, or all of the above. And Al would be breathing shallowly, apparently at the prospect of being ravaged by him. Some guy who didn't deserve someone like her at all, but who would greedily take her anyway, and she would writhe in bliss underneath him because he in his own way was giving her something, filling some kind of primal need for submission, that John could never give her.

And there were plenty of both of those types here today.

"So, how are we going to do this?" John asked her quietly as they passed through the gate into the already-bustling pool area.

"Well, I think you should be a grumpy Gus and go sit in a corner, and let me be a social butterfly, and then just try to figure out who my lucky guy is," she suggested.

John smiled wryly.

"It won't be obvious," she added. "He doesn't know what a kinky bastard you are. He thinks he's got this big secret. So, he'll probably be very discreet.

"But I'll draw him out..."

Jesus, John thought. He was getting hard already, and he was in a very visible and vulnerable position. The Grumpy-Gus-in-a-corner scenario sounded pretty good.

"Ah," Al said, noticing his predicament and wrapping her arm through his, guiding him away from people. "There's your buddy Warren. You can sit with him and trade Sun Tzu quotes while I go play in the pool."

John was grateful for the suggestion. Warren Edmonds was one of his new friends in the complex. He was a retired humanities professor at the university where John was doing his graduate degree, and so it turned out they had mutual friends in common, despite their age difference. And Warren's familiarity with world literature extended to the ancient Chinese military strategist and philosopher who had written The Art of War, a favorite of John's.

Al led him over to Warren's table, graciously obscuring the bulge in his trunks. The three of them exchanged pleasantries, and John quickly slipped into a chair.

Al then surprised him by taking a seat on Warren's knee. Warren looked a bit startled, but not uncomfortable. So, it's not him, John deduced. Although it could be, if Al's attraction to older men was genuine. Warren was tall and slender, goateed, and wore his silver-white hair down to his shoulders, in a look that alternately could be Mark Twain, or Sam Elliott in Ghost Rider.

The three of them chatted aimlessly for a couple of minutes. At least, John's participation was aimless. He couldn't help but focus on his friend's hand, which had gradually settled on Al's hip. His palm on her flank, his fingers down on the top of her thigh, his thumb beginning to gently move up and down over the narrow band of her bikini bottoms. John gulped. He thought he could see goose pimples rising on Al's flesh around Warren's probing thumb. How far was that thumb from Al's clitoris, he wondered. Six inches?

"Isn't that right, honey?" Al was asking.

Oh, shit. He hadn't even been listening.

"Oh, never mind," Al said, flashing a knowing look at him. Then her attention was redirected. "Oh, hi, guys!"

She bounced up to greet The Odd Couple, Matt and Nick, two roommates who were Al's age, both grad students in the area. They were friendly and flirty, and until the past few days, John had paid them little attention, even while the four of them had shot pool in the complex's clubhouse.

He called them the odd couple because they were so different. Matt had a teen idol look about him, with dark wavy hair and a gleaming smile and a swimmer's body. He was the type that John had always pictured Al entwined with, two beautiful people re-enacting the ideal depiction of the sexual act.

Nick, on the other hand, looked like Napoleon Dynamite.

"Hey, guys," Matt was saying. "Anyone want to play chicken?"

"Sure!" Al responded, brightly, bouncing up off Warren's lap. She turned and looked at John, obviously aware that he was in no condition to jump up and join them. John grinned and waved her on, and she skipped off with the two young roommates.

He watched her trot off between them, discreetly doing the little thing with her hands where she took the bottom of her bikini between her thumbs and forefingers and used her middle fingers to tuck the pale slivers of visible ass cheeks up inside them, for the time being.

He looked back over at Warren, who was arching his eyebrows and grinning back at him.

"Your fiancé's quite the vixen," Warren said.

"That she is," John replied. It was a bit of a brazen comment, he thought, but not the kind of thing that a man who had been secretly titty-fucking his girlfriend would say.

Nah, it couldn't be Warren.

Unless. A passage from Sun Tzu popped into his head: "Be extremely subtle even to the point of formlessness. Be extremely mysterious even to the point of soundlessness. Thereby you can be the director of the opponent's fate."

Huh.

Meanwhile, Al and her grad school companions had reached the far end of the pool and were talking to a woman on a chaise lounge. He recognized her as Amanda something-or-other, a quite attractive forty-ish milf type he had met and, admittedly, admired on a couple of occasions. She was wearing a yellow one-piece swimsuit and a floppy sunhat, which she was holding in place while she engaged in a conversation with Matt. He was apparently trying to talk her into joining the three of them in the pool. She was laughing, as if dismissing him, but he was persistent.

Even from this distance, John could see the pretty woman wavering.

And then Matt was extending his hand and Amanda was taking it, and standing up, and kicking off her sandals, and discarding her hat. Just like that. He had coaxed the older woman into getting into the pool and joining the three of them in a juvenile game, the women riding on the men's shoulders and trying to wrestle the other into the water.

Just like that. Probably wasn't the first time the handsome young man had convinced a striking woman his mother's age to get her thighs around his ears ...

Then it occurred to him that that meant that in a moment, Al would have her supple thighs on Nick's shoulders, the thin fabric of the crotch of her bikini bottoms pressed up against the back of his neck. Nick? Gangly, scrawny Nick?

The four of them were in the pool now, and the men ducked under the water, and emerged a moment later with the ladies mounted on their shoulders. An appreciative, laughing crowd was gathering to watch. Al swayed for a moment to get her balance, laughing along with her audience. Then the two combatants got themselves settled, bobbing and weaving as their mounts circled each other in the water.

Al was fit and athletic, but Amanda's arms were longer, and the young man between her legs was stronger and steadier on his feet than Nick. After much jockeying and laughing and splashing, Amanda got both of her hands on Al's upper arms, gaining some leverage that Al couldn't match.

Matt began backing up, pulling Al and her steed toward him, toward deeper water. Suddenly he ducked down, putting his head and Amanda's shapely lower torso below the water line. Al and Nick were suddenly top-heavy, and they were both losing their balance. But Al refused to give up, locking her hands tighter on the older woman's forearms.

Amanda began to twist Al to one side. Al's butt slipped all the way around onto Nick's right shoulder, and beyond. But instead of falling into the water, she hooked her left knee behind his neck and whipped her right leg back up around his head, burying his face into the inside of her upper thigh. It all happened in a second, and everyone was laughing, except John, who couldn't help but notice that in that second, before Al toppled backwards into the pool with Nick following her, she had the young man's entire head in a scissor lock, his face plastered against the front of her wet green bikini bottoms.

They were only under water for a second or two. Or three or four. Just enough, John thought, for Nick to consciously hold Al in place in that sudden surprise position for a bit longer than necessary.

John glanced over at Warren, who was watching the same scene and chuckling. They briefly made eye contact, then John looked away, back toward the pool. Nick and Matt were high-fiving, Matt still holding his majestic milf on his shoulders. Celebrating their mutual triumphs. A vision flashed through John's mind of the two of them repeating the same victory ritual over Al's naked back as they spit-roasted her on one of their twin beds in their shabbily-furnished apartment. Matt behind her, sawing his cock smoothly in and out of her, gripping her by the waist and occasionally giving her ass a playful slap, while she burrowed her nose down into Nick's unkempt tangle of ginger pubic hair. Or, was it vice versa? Which would be worse? John wasn't sure.

Al was just laughing as she stood up in the pool and pulled her sodden hair back from her face. She looked like she was game for a rematch, but suddenly a voluptuous Latina was shouting, "I've got next!" and slipping into the pool and wading toward Nick. John recognized her as one of the college-aged daughters of Ricardo, a Guatemalan expatriate who lived in the next building.

Other young people were jumping into the pool now, matching up for a massive "chicken" battle. Al pulled herself out of the pool, and noticed Ricardo, and walked up to him.

John watched from across the pool as Al and Ricardo chatted. Ricardo was probably in his early 50s. His body was wiry and hard, his skin dark and leathery. But he was hardly an attractive man in the face. In fact, he might have had the biggest nose John had ever seen. Al had even mentioned it, along with a coy reference to, "And you know what they say about big nose, big ..."

She looked so out of place, standing there in front of him, feet at shoulder's width apart, dripping onto the concrete while she absent-mindedly squeezed water out of her hair and then ran her fingers through it to hasten the drying. Even with her hair wet, she could use that move so effectively ... the subtle gesture of pushing her hair behind one ear, exposing her wrist as she did so, like a submissive puppy revealing its soft white underbelly to its alpha.

What were they talking about? Was Ricardo just moving his lips, not really able to converse, because all he could think about was the pleasure he had earlier this week moving his cock (his massive, uncut Central American cock) up and down between Al's luscious breasts until he unleashed a torrent of his pent-up jism all over her neck? A vision of the encounter flooded John's brain. Al holding her breasts together, refusing to touch Ricardo with her hands or her mouth, but letting him glide between her soft globes, up and down, up and down, his purplish knob disappearing and reappearing from inside the sheath of his brown foreskin, until he gasped out and began ejaculating on her, to her evident delight.

"Yeah," John heard Warren saying, off to his side. "I get it."

"You get what?" John responded.

"How hot it is to watch your girl flirt with other men."

John felt a chill run through his body. His friend had read him.

"My wife was the same way," Warren added, in a gentle voice, as if to say, "Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me."

John turned back to the pool, unresponsive, suppressing the urge to say, "Tell me more."

Al had moved on from Ricardo, and now was chatting up Dan. Dan was a guy about John's age in another adjoining building. All John knew about him was that he was a bodybuilder. And for all John knew, that was all he did. He wasn't much of a talker, and it certainly looked like all he did with his time was sculpt his physique.

John couldn't really tell if a guy was good-looking or not. He could tell that Brad Pitt was more attractive to women than Steve Buscemi, but in between he couldn't tell if a woman would consider a guy to be an 8 or a 5. Dan was no exception. Above his magnificent body, the only thing about him that John could remember was that he wore his brown hair in a dated, feathered '80s style. And that his eyes followed Al everywhere she went with a menacing, predatory stare.

John had to admit, in the beginning, this was the kind of guy that it made his heart ache and his cock swell to think about Al being with. To his way of thinking, Al was the perfect ideal of feminine beauty. Some guys might prefer the image of someone more ethereal, willowy and wispy. Al was more robust than that, with a body built to fuck and be fucked, and a face that was bright, expressive, and playful. Let the Heathcliffs of this world have their slender gothic mystery women -- he glanced over at Warren and briefly wondered what his friend's wife had looked like -- John had his perfect woman in Al.

And he knew Al was attracted to him physically, and always had been; he knew that he had to be in the top 5%, maybe top 2%, of all men when it came to physical fitness. Which is why it drove him wild to think of Al trading him in for someone even higher up the food chain. Like Dan? Dan could completely envelop Al. Wrap her up in those arms that were far larger than her thighs, pin her to the bed, make her disappear under his mass until all that was visible were her golden thighs and shapely calves and dainty feet moving slowly up and down along his legs while every well-defined muscle in his back and buttocks flexed and tensed as he thrusted, thrusted, thrusted into her.

And there she was, talking to him, still toying with her hair, still proffering the inside of her wrist like a sacrifice on an angry god's altar. What were they talking about? John didn't think Dan knew that many words.

He glanced back toward the gate, where their next-door neighbor Jimmy was entering the pool area. Christ, he thought, Jimmy. It was hard to imagine Jimmy being the guy that Jenny had chosen to let cum between her breasts, much less to cuckold him with completely. And it was hard to imagine anything else.