Vanilla Chocolate Strawberry

There were three of them and two of us.

My colleague Paul and I were at the Philadelphia Convention Center for a large industry gathering. Since Paul and I worked and lived locally, we hadn't booked a hotel room at the adjoining Marriott, unlike most of the other conventioneers, who had assembled from across the Mid-Atlantic.

Paul was relatively new to our commercial real estate company. As associate general counsel, he really had no business attending this cocktail party on the eve of the convention, which was mainly for deal makers, leasing-type people.

But under the guise of networking, which in this case was another phrase for "chasing pussy", Paul accompanied me to the event.

Not that I minded terribly. Paul Feeney was not the worst person in the world for whom to serve as wingman. He was a handsome devil, part Bradley Cooper, part Tom Cruise. But I knew his dirty little secret, thanks to one of the chatty paralegals in the office, who he bedded within weeks of his hire date. He was a slick Irishman, all right, and that included his equipment (or lack thereof) from the waist down, according to the disappointed young vixen.

Hung like a chipmunk, I believe was the term she used when describing her postmortem of their liaison to her female colleagues. And as we all know, word gets around in an office environment. Especially juicy gossip like this. What could be more newsworthy than the new office stud having the girth of a pinky finger?

Which is yet another reason not to sleep with a co-worker. It never ends well, but this was worse. Breaking up and still having to work together is one thing, but having the reputation as a thimble dick is eternal.

So, anyway, that was the "two of us", Paul and me.

Now, the "three of them". Well, they were, of course, still blissfully unaware of Paulie's curse. They had flocked to us near the open bar area like moths to a flame, and I am not immodest enough to realize that I was not the primary source of their attention. Paul was.

Boy, was one of them going to be in for a letdown, I mused to myself, sucking on my beer, watching the women vie for his attention.

Darcy, Janelle, and Diane. Blonde, brown, and red-haired, respectively. Vanilla, Chocolate, and Strawberry, three scoops, all hard-hitting brokers from the Raleigh office of one of the largest shopping center developers in the country.

Diane was the redhead, and the oldest of the trio by perhaps a decade, maybe approaching fifty. We learned that she was a North Jersey girl originally, who had moved south of the Mason-Dixon line when she got married quite a while ago.

Lady Di made it quite clear, by word and action, that she was no longer, shall we say, a practitioner of a monogamous marriage. I had her as the leading candidate to end up taking Paul to her room. She came across to me as one of these ultra-competitive women, who would fuck Paul just so her co-workers couldn't "close the deal" themselves.

Diane seemed to know her away around a cock. My guess was she didn't leave most conventions without a one-night roll in the hay. She resembled the actress Marcia Cross from "Desperate Housewives", who also seemed to mix each smile with a sneer. (Yeah, yeah, I know, I'm not that big a fan of Marcia Cross, either, but that's who she looked like, what do you want me to tell ya?)

Janelle was a tall, slender light-skinned African-American woman of about forty with long legs and an obvious boob job. Though she had sensational gams, her large, firm tits almost looked out of place on her thin torso. Although I was probably picking nits, I suppose. I just thought she didn't need the enhancement, her legs and backside were magnificent.

Paul had taken an immediate liking to Janelle, cozying up to her, much to Diane's chagrin. Something about having a thing for "skinny black broads with big fake hooters", he whispered to me when we went back for another round. Classy.

I guess it's worth mentioning, for the purpose of providing the full visual, that Janelle had short, close-cropped hair, ala Halle Berry as a Bond girl. A chocolate delight, creamy coffee-colored skin with plump mocha lips. If you were the kind of white guy who liked black chicks with a tight ass, then Janelle was admittedly a wet dream.

Darcy was the blonde, the quiet one, perhaps intimidated by her more gregarious and animated office mates. Darcy was not pencil thin like the other two. In fact, she was on a precipitous tightrope between voluptuous and overweight. However, her tits were anything but store-bought, and they were huge.

I'm not a great estimator of cup sizes. I once heard someone say that the difference between D cups and DD cups was the difference between big tits and REALLY big tits. If this was indeed an accurate measuring stick, as it were, then Darcy was a definite double-D.

Darcy was maybe mid-thirties, with a lovely, glowing face that blushed with each double-entendre shared by our group. Her hair was pulled back in a tight French braid. I could easily picture Darcy as a waitress in a German Hofbrau house, balancing mugs of brew on her enormous jugs. In fact, that was who she resembled, the waitress on the St. Pauli Girl bottles.

I was secretly hoping that this St. Pauli Girl would not become one of "Paulie's girls" tonight. He could have Diane and Janelle. I wanted to use Darcy's amazing tits as my personal windshield wipers. But she wore a wedding ring the size of a walnut, and unlike Diane, she seemed like she wasn't prone to stray.

Yet it's the quiet ones you always have to watch out for, right?

I was pondering the entire scenario as I excused myself to go to the mens' room to relieve myself of the four or so beers that my bladder had temporarily been leasing. Why was I not surprised, then, to return to see that Janelle and Paul were nowhere to be found, leaving Darcy and a sour-looking Diane on their own.

"Where'd they go?" I asked the women, knowing damn well the answer. Darcy stated the obvious anyway.

"Ah think they went to have se-ex," she blushed in her Carolina Low Country drawl. Diane scowled at this, and her steely green eyes began searching the convention floor for someone else to seduce.

I lifted my fifth Yuengling Lager to my lips and took a big swig. "Well, then, boyohboy, is she going to be in for a disappointment", I muttered into my bottle, knowing full well this would evoke their curiosity.

Diane's head snapped around. "Why? Is he.....? Noooo....he's not gay, is he?"

"Worse," I replied, shaking my head in an insincere show of remorse. "He's, well, he's, um, shall we say, challenged in the endowment department."

Darcy and Diane laughed uproariously as I told them the story, how Paul was now unwittingly tagged with nicknames such as "Small Paul" and "Teeny Feeney" by the women in the office, and he was now mystified that he couldn't bed any of them. The word was on the street, and there is no recovery from first-hand word-of-mouth.

"Poor Janelle," Diane said, wiping a tear of laughter from her eye. "She likes 'em big. Then again, what girl doesn't?" She pondered her own remark, her interest in me suddenly reinvigorated. She raised an eyebrow at me while glancing down to my crotch. "So, what's YOUR nickname?"

I acted non-plussed. "Oh, that's classified information, on a need-to-know basis only, usually." I looked around conspiratorially. "But off the record, most of the pet names I've been given seem to be along the lines of Vesuvius, Tarzan, or WhiteSnake."

Darcy giggled into her own drink, starting to loosen up with each sip. "You're funny," she said. Which, as we all well know, is girl-talk for "You're not really my usual cup of tea, but I just might want to fuck you after all."

The women excused themselves to visit the restroom themselves. I've never quite figured out whatever it is they do in there, but they apparently are incapable of doing it by themselves.

They were gone quite a while, at least fifteen minutes. I was to the point where I was finishing up my beer and thinking of driving home, about a half-hour away, to get a good night's sleep before tomorrow morning's start of the real convention, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was Darcy, who stood next to Diane, and they were both grinning like Chesire pussies, uh, cats.

"We were fighting over you," Darcy slurred, the effects of a night of alcohol clearly taking their toll. From behind her, Diane nodded, her auburn bangs slipping over her forehead.

"No need to fight, ladies, there's more than enough of me to share, I assure you." The beer muscles were talking.

Diane chuckled, throwing out the gauntlet. "I doubt you could keep up with me, let alone the two of us. And Darcy hasn't been with anyone other than her husband for twelve years."

The realization of what they were saying dawned on me like the proverbial lighting bolt. I didn't much care for Diane's Jersey "atty-tood", but that sure wouldn't stop me from fucking her silly. I eyed her up and down, steely-eyed, like two gunslingers in a duel. "I'd split you in half, pretty lady."

This seemed to impress Diane. She liked bold. She replied with her best Susan Sarandon imitation from the Baseball Annie character in Bull Durham once Kevin Costner/Crash Davis went on his memorable diatribe that included a soliloquy on the cock and pussy.

"Oh, my," Diane gushed, succinctly.

I turned to Darcy, whose face was now the approximate color of a ripe Jersey tomato. "And as for you, fraulein, well, my cock will fit real snug between those beautiful, married tits of yours."

Charming, it wasn't.

Effective, it was.

Within minutes, we were on the elevator heading towards the seventh floor, trading hot kisses with Darcy while Diane stroked my cock through my suit pants. "We have to use my room," Darcy announced, fumbling for the key as our tongues locked. "My husband will call eventually, and he'd go nuts if I wasn't there to answer. So when he does, we have to be quiet."

Diane smirked as she groped my balls. "If my husband calls, I'd let him hear me moaning, being stuffed with strange cock. The bastard." Apparently the magic was long gone in her marriage. Oh, well.

I'd anticipated that Diane would be the alpha wolf and take command, especially from her colleague, when we reached the room. I was half-right.

We had barely closed the door behind us when Diane fell to her knees, tugging at my zipper. But by then, Darcy had already pulled her blue and white striped blouse over her French-braided blonde locks, displaying a baby blue bra encasing those huge globes, bright red erect nipples poking through the material.

This was sizing up to be a battle between two women used to closing deals in a very competitive environment. And I was the "deal" tonight. It was a role I happily volunteered for.

Diane extracted my cock as Darcy and I kissed hungrily while I mauled at her tits, wiggling in her cups like two oversized pink water balloons.

"Ooh, look at this, Darcy," Diane squealed, holding out my shaft like a proud student at Show and Tell. "Nothing teeny about this thing, wow!"

I saw Darcy's eyes strain to look south as she opened them, though never releasing her succulent lips from mine. "Mmmph," Darcy mumbled into my mouth. "Big." Her hand lowered to grip my pole while Diane began to lick around the purple mushroom head of my cock.

There were three snaps on Darcy's bra, which can also be another determining factor of the size of a woman's tits. Duly distracted by Diane's licking and Darcy's handjob simultaneously, it took me what seemed like an extraordinarily long time to remove the lacy bra. I would have had an easier time picking the combo lock on a bank vault. By this time, Diane had stopped licking and started sucking fervently, bringing me to full length.

"Get down here and help me out with this thing, Darce," exhorted Diane, coming up for air between slurps. "We have to give Johnnie boy an apt nickname of his own."

Darcy recoiled as I massaged her tits. Her face took on a look as if she'd seen a spider. (Women HATE spiders.)

"I haven't done THAT.....," she pointed down to Diane greedily inhaling my tube steak. ".....in years, maybe." She looked at me bashfully. "I'm rusty."

I took her by the shoulders and pushed her down gently. "It's like riding a bike, sweetie. I'm sure it'll come back to you. Just jump in and suck whatever part of me that Diane doesn't have in her mouth."

This proved to be sagely advice. Darcy quickly found a nice niche on the base of my shaft. She wasn't as rusty as she might have thought, either. In fact, she was soon consuming my thick meat with a heated and enthusiastic lust, moaning into my trimmed pubic hairs as Diane went to work on my balls.

I orchestrated the oral concert, not that they really required my guidance. But I couldn't help but to grip both of their heads with each hand, urging a deep throating. Just because I could.

Surprisingly, Darcy caught on quickly enough and soon more than three-quarters of my seven-plus inches was buried deep in her mouth. She withdrew her head, leaving a trail of thick saliva from her lips to my dick head, and smiled up at me, duly proud of her oral homage.

"How about Long Dong John?" she offered as a suggestion. She looked at her partner in oral crime for affirmation. Diane stopped kissing my testes, but still held my sack in her palm while she pondered the nomination.

"I'm a simplistic person," Diane said, now pumping my rod with vigor. "How about just 'Nice Dick'"?

"I second the motion," Darcy agreed, gurgling on my cock.

Teamwork. It's a beautiful thing.

The familiar rumbling in my balls from the tag-team oral tandem signaled that an explosion was imminent unless I reluctantly called a time-out to the festivities. I released the strong grip on their skulls and gave them the "tap".

"Let's relocate to the main quarters, ladies," I said, gesturing to the king-sized bed. "We all have far too many clothes on, and I need to fire my load in someone's pussy. Who's first?" A gentleman should always ask a lady's preference, right?

We took turns helping each other with the remainder of our cocktail party attire. Darcy slipped out of her tight black pants and Diane removed her cranberry blouse and cream colored skirt. The three of us were soon naked on the bed, sharing tongues. I admired the contrast between Diane's petite, athletic body and smallish tits and Darcy's soft curves and enormous orbs.

I began to finger fuck both of them at the same time, one with each hand. Though I'd been with two women before at the same time, I had never tried to pull of this trick of manual dexterity. Believe me, it is not as easy as it may seem, it's tough to find a good rhythm.

I was a bit surprised to find that Darcy's cunt was the tighter of the two, probably from lack of use over the years. Her labia were salmon colored, thick, puffy, and leaking fluids copiously.

Diane's pussy was a cauldron, like most redheads' vaginal areas seem to be. Her slit was narrow, but once my fingers explored and fully opened her folds, her inner channel was a deep valley of spongy flesh, and literally hot to the touch.

I was able to ease three fingers into her, and she helped me along by grabbing my wrist and plunging my hand hard against her mound. The squishing sound was clearly audible, even over the two women's moans.

Diane wasn't going to defer to her friend. "I need your cock inside me," she said, still simplifying the process, as she climbed on top of me and guided my steel-hard cock into her tunnel.

Darcy sat back for a minute and watched as the redhead's body rocked on top of me. Darcy's face was a mixture of disappointment that she was the initial recipient of cock, but also lust as it was clear she had not had the up-close-and-personal experience of watching two people copulate like this.

I took the opportunity to suck on Darcy's nipples as she rubbed her slit, almost absent-mindedly, patiently waiting her turn.

Though I have already stated I was not fond of Diane's somewhat acerbic personality at first, I quickly took a liking to her fucking technique. This sexy older vixen was no stranger to cock. She knew how to move her lithe body so that she could maximize her own pleasure while visually exciting her partner.

Darcy and I were both a bit mesmerized by Diane's animated and impressive carnal performance when we all jumped as the room phone rang.

"Oh, shit," Darcy groaned, pushing me away from her heaving tits. "I knew it. Please, please, everybody be quiet. Diane, get off him."

Diane complied, lifting her cunt from my cock with a loud "pop", her juices splashing onto my tummy as she raised her hips. Without missing a beat, Diane crawled down and took my cunt juice-covered dick in her mouth and began to give me an animated blowjob.

Darcy gave her the evil eye, and Diane shrugged as if to say, "Don't worry, I'll be quiet."

Darcy picked up the phone, her hands shaking. My attention was diverted between Diane's blowjob and listening to Darcy's conversation with her husband. "Oh, just went to dinner with Diane and Janelle, and then had a few drinks at the after-party, nothing special. No, no, we didn't do any sightseeing, no time. Yes, the Liberty Bell is only a few blocks away. But, listen honey, I'm really tired....."

By this time, Darcy had her back to us on the bed and had leaned over the nightstand, exposing her plump ass. Her bright pink gash peeked invitingly from between her cheeks as she bent over even further.

I looked down at Diane, who was still sucking me, but also gazing over at Darcy. It was if Diane was reading my mind. She grinned, took my cock from her mouth, and whispered, "Go for it."

Great minds think alike. Diane went up in my estimation exponentially at that instant.

In one swift motion, I snuck up behind Darcy, grabbed her by her round hips, and eased my lubricated dick into her sopping, married cunt while she talked to her hubby.

She exhaled mightily, a truly surprised, "Oooh," coming from her lips as a strange dick penetrated her cunt for the first time since she was married.

I pumped Darcy's tight hole while she tired to explain the noise to her husband. I had to hand it to her, she was quick. "Nothing, honey, I... I stubbed my toe. It's dark, and I'm not familiar with the layout of the room. No, I'll, um, I'll be fine. But let me get some ice on this. How about I call you in the morning? Ok, honey. Yes, yes, I love you, too. Ok, Ok, yes, g'night...."

As Darcy hung up, I expected her to have a conniption and throw us all out of her room right then and there. Instead, she looked over her shoulder and gave me the sexiest smile, bending over to allow unfettered access to her cunt.

"That was fucking intense. Wild. Nasty. You're a very naughty boy. Now, fuck me hard, Mr. Nice Dick, you feel so fucking good."

I led Darcy back over to the edge of the bed without removing my deeply imbedded cock. I placed her on her knees on the floor so that her torso was splayed across the mattress on her stomach, and rhythmically pumped her married cunt.

Diane, ever the creative one, and certainly experienced and up for anything, stood on the bed, hovering over Darcy's prone body.

Diane pulled her labia apart lewdly, still glimmering with nectar since I had been fucking her less than five minutes before.

"Eat me," she commanded simply. I complied willingly. I grabbed her tight little ass with one hand and pulled her towards my face. My other hand began to massage Darcy's plumb ass, and I stuck a finger into Darcy's pink rosebud.

Darcy literally went over the moon with the surprise insertion of my finger. I could feel her moisture flooding over the back of her thighs as she came. She howled like a coyote, which only induced me to pump harder.