Gay Erotic Stories

My wife likes men. I've always known that about her. When we first started going out, she was still seeing several other guys, but they just sort of fell away and we ended up together. We dated for many months, then finally got married. We've been hitched for 6 years, and to the best of my knowledge she's been faithful to me, and me to her. Well, I did have a couple of visits to a massage parlor, and there was that one business trip in Orlando, and, oh, yeah the time with the bikini contest I emceed in Dallas. I mean, those girls practically jumped me. But other than that, totally faithful. Um, unless I've forgotten something. Anyway, June is a flirt. At neighborhood parties she's always hanging around with the men; the women’s talk about kids and recipes just bores her. And she loves to dance. I mean LOVES to dance. If my wife had it to do over again, she'd probably make dance a career. That's the one weird thing about our relationship. I don't dance at all. Well, hardly. Maybe a waltz now and then. So I've gotten used to seeing her dancing with guys (and women) at parties, at company functions, and sometimes when we just go out to a bar. It's great fun, and she loves it. It's innocent. Usually. I was on a business trip to Boston, and since I had to be there on a Friday, I suggested that she come along, and we'd make a weekend of it. That way we'd only have to pay her airfare; my company would pick up the hotel. My boss was good that way. Since we were staying over a Saturday night, I'd save him almost $500 on the price of my plane ticket. He was glad to pick up the Saturday night hotel room for $125. Anyway, we arrived on Friday morning, I attended my (boring) conference and she went shopping. My meeting didn't end until practically 6:00, by the time I got back to the hotel and we went out to dinner it was nearly 8:00. The dinner service was slow, but in fairness, the restaurant was busy, and we didn't get done 'til well after 9:00. Picking up a taxi at the restaurant, I told the driver to take us to our hotel, but as he pulled away, I thought better of it and asked where something was happening. Unfortunately this cabbie was like many and barely spoke the language. We ended up back at the Inn. According to the literature in the room, the O'Stikkits had immigrated from Ireland in the 1800's. Now maybe once upon a time the O'Stikkit's had run a fine country inn, but it had long since been taken over by a chain, which had added 100 rooms, a swimming pool, a sports bar, and, well, you get the idea. Now the charming wooden house in front masked two one-story brick buildings which fed 4 corridors of rooms. June and I decided to just hang out at the Inn; we always had tomorrow night to see the town. We went to the sports bar and sat down. The Bulls were on TV that night with a West Coast game. So we sat and watched and drank and watched and drank and watched and drank. Did I mention we drank? Next door was another bar with music and a dj. In fact the music competed well with the audio from the game; it was loud loud loud. But it all added to the general party atmosphere. I got up to take a piss, and by the time I got back I found a few things changed. For one, the Bulls had pulled ahead by 10 points. For another, there was a guy standing, talking with June. I walked up and said hi. You could tell he was disappointed; I'm sure he thought she was there alone. But I invited him to join us, anyway. He declined, probably sensing better opportunities elsewhere. He said he was going back to the other bar to catch a dance or two. As if Groucho Marx had said the secret word, June squealed and said "Dance? Do you dance?" "Why sure. Love it. One of my favorite things to do," he said. "Oh, Mike, would you mind?" she asked. "Not at all," I said. I waved her away. I knew she would have been disappointed if I'd said 'no'. And as I explained, I've long since become used to her dancing with other guys. After all, I don't dance. "By the way, I'm Mike, and as long as you're stealing my wife from me, what's your name?" I asked him. "Oh. John. John Rogers. Yeah, well, I mean only if this is OK..." he trailed off. "Don't be silly. She loves to dance. I don't. Simple. On the other hand, I love the Bulls. I've got something to do. Go enjoy yourselves." They left, actually moving only the 30 or 40 feet into the next bar. I could feel the thump thump thump of the bass in the dance beat music that was playing. I could see into the room as well, although it was much more dimly lit than where I was sitting. After about 20 minutes, June returned. "Whew," she said. "That guy can dance. What energy!" "That's nice," I said. "Bulls are down 4." "Don't worry about it. Michael will handle it," she said. "I know, I know. Just catching you up," I responded. We made innocuous conversation for another 10 minutes, when John walked by, apparently heading for the men's room. On the way back, I motioned him over and offered him a beer. This time he accepted. It was already nearly 1:00 AM, the West Coast game was in the 4th quarter, the sports bar was beginning thin out. The dance bar was was still going. We hit it off. The three of us, I mean. John said we was a comptroller for a division of large company, a Fortune 500. He was well spoken, obviously intelligent, quite charming, and darn it all, handsome as heck. In fact, if he were bald, he would have looked a little like MJ. John, you see, was black. Very. Even after the Bulls won, we sat in the bar talking for another 45 minutes, yukking it up, playing stupid bar games like trying to balance the salt shaker and stand quarters on edge and that sort of thing. At about 1:40, the bartender shouted over to us that it was last call. I ordered another round, but June suddenly asked him if that meant the other bar was closing, too. "Sure," he said. "Liquor law; everything closes at 2:00 AM." "Holy jeez," she said. "How about another dance or two?" I knew she wasn't talking to me. "Absolutely," he said. They both jumped up from the table, and as they were walking to the dance floor, John turned to me and said "You OK?" "Of course," I said. "You guys go play in there, I'll just stay here and play with myself." I laughed at my joke, and both of them did too. The bump bump bump of the percussion still reverberated through the bar, and I knew June was having a good time. I thought some of the men in there might be too, since she was well dressed for the occasion. June had on a top that should have been called a "scoop neck." That meant it was square cut low across the front. June has a great set of tits, a natural C cup, firm and high, and, well, just fabulous. Take it from one who's dived in there many times. Her skirt was above the knee, nothing obscene, but nice. June is also what I would call an "aggressive" dancer. I mean she really goes at it, bouncing all around. I like to watch her. I sometimes watch other men watch her. She's something to look at. At about 1:50 AM, the DJ announced a "slow dance," and I watched as both of them hesitated for a moment, then melted together on the dance floor. I could almost feel the heat all the way back in my booth. If you've ever slow danced with June, you know she has a way of pressing herself against you so that her tits fairly bore a hole in your chest. But more than that, she has a way of wrapping her legs around one of yours and rubbing herself against you. And she was doing it 10 years before anybody ever heard of the Lambada. I used to tell her it was no fair using my thigh as a rubbing board, she should go back to the room and get out her vibrator like every other woman in America. Anyway, it was evident to me that John liked having this woman rub her cunt against his leg, and he tried to maneuver her to one of the darker corners of the dance floor. In fact he did just that, and I even thought I saw him try to cop a feel, but June put a quick stop to that. After 8 or 9 minutes of ballads the music ended; the DJ apologized, and shut down. They came back to the table. I had thoughtfully ordered another beer each at last call, and while they might be a little warm by now, they were at still drinkable. We chugged them. John started saying his goodbyes, and June started saying how much she had enjoyed meeting him, when I piped in, "Hey, the party's just starting. Come on back to the room for a nightcap. There's a mini-bar fridge; I'm sure there's a few more drinks in there." June looked at me as though to say "What the hell are you doing?" but I ignored her. "Sure, OK, why not?" John said. "I've got nothing to do but catch a plane back to Atlanta tomorrow. It's not until afternoon, anyway. Let's party." We grabbed our remaining beers and found our way down the corridors. We were more than a little tipsy, apparently, cause June stumbled and crashed into one of the room doors. If anyone had been asleep in there before, they weren't after that. We tried to "play straight," but it only made us giggle harder. We finally got to our room. I had forgotten how small it was. There were two chairs, a small table, and the bed. The TV was in an armoire that also served as a chest of drawers. I sat on the bed. June and John took the chairs. I got a couple of beers from the fridge and poured 3 glasses. We talked, and laughed, and talked some more for another 20 minutes. "Now what?" John said to no one in particular. "Well," I said, "I was thinking of going swimming." We all cracked up. "Oh yeah?" June shot back, it might be a little late, don'cha think?" "Of course. That's why I want to do it. The pool's just up the hall, you know." John sat silently, watching the words fly. June realized I was half-serious. She protested, "It's probably not even open. And if it is, it's probably dark. And if it's not, I don't have my bathing suit with me." Well. That was that, apparently. Now it was my turn. "Well, I just happen to know that it is open, cause I yanked on the door handle as we walked by. It opened a crack. Nyahh Nyahh. And yeah, it's probably dark, but have you ever heard of a light switch? Nyahh Nyahh. And as for the suit, well, you got me there." I paused. "Of course we could go skinny dipping...." June shrieked. I hoped nobody was trying to sleep in the next room. "You're crazy. Nothing personal, but John, I hardly know you, and I'm not, well, you know..." "Perfectly understandable, June." He was so gallant. "Of course I wouldn't mind if you were game, but..." "Hey, hey, I was just kidding," I said. "But you know, we could just strip to our underwear. I mean, my jockey shorts cover more of me than that silly spandex suit you bought for me. And you prance around in a thong at the beach in front of people you don't even know, now, don't you?" I asked. "Well, that's different," she said, not totally convincingly. "I mean it's a bathing suit. That makes it different." "Sounds perfectly logical to me," John said, grinning at her discomfort. "Woman logic, I mean." "Now come on, guys." She could see that we were ganging up on her. "Anyway, it'll be dark. You said so yourself." I was winning. "Tell you what. You wear the robe from the room, I'll take a towel, John can do whatever he wants. Fair?" Well, we were drunk enough and giddy enough that she bought it. June stepped into the bathroom to disrobe. John and I stood up and took off our shirts and threw them on the bed. Then we dropped our pants. June returned with a couple of towels. She had wrapped herself tightly in the robe. "Oh, boxer shorts, I see," she said to John. "I thought so." She suddenly realized what she had said, and looked at me. I knew it could only mean she had felt his dick pushing against her when they were slow dancing, but I pretended that I had no idea what she was talking about. "And jockeys for you, my dear husband. Here, towels for both of you." We wrapped the towels around ourselves. I grabbed the remaining beers from the fridge, a bag of pretzels from the mini-bar, and a pocket transistor radio from my overnight bag. The three of us careened down the hall to the pool. It was in the other wing, but our room was close to the split, and we were only 5 or 6 doors away. We burst in like a bunch of teen-age kids sneaking into the gym after dark. As we entered we discovered there was a bell hanging on the inside door handle, like a customer bell in a store. ding-CLANG-ding, it went. "Oh shit," I said. "Careful, here. The swimming pool police are nearby." ding-CLANG-ding, the bell announced as the door slammed closed. We all howled. There was actually plenty of light trickling in from the hallway overheads; I'd say it was about like early dusk. I flicked on the inside florescents, but they were sooo bright that I snapped them back off again. At this time of night, we didn't need to put ourselves on display for any passers-by. There was enough light to see the vacant customer service desk at the front, the towel racks behind it, and around the corner, the pool. You couldn't see straight into the pool from the hall because of the desk and the towel racks; that was fine with me. We weren't looking to advertise. We went in and pulled some chairs and chaise-lounges together. After another 10 minutes, and some more beer, I decided to go in. "Taa-daa. The great unveiling," I announced. I stood up and dropped my towel. I made a Mr. Atlas pose. I looked ridiculous. "Your turn, John." He stood and did the same. Dropped the towel, I mean. "Now you, June." "Oh, I don't know..." she said. "For god sakes, it's no big thing. Come on. Let's go in." She stood, and opened the robe. It was true that the pieces of clothing she had on covered more than her skimpy bathing suit, at least in the number of square inches. The difference was that her bra and panties were made of thinner material, and left less to the imagination, even in the dimmer light of the room. John whistled, and grinned. June grinned back. "OK boys, you got what you wanted. Now grow up. In fact..." She made a dash for the water. "Last one in is a big dick!" She was already in the air on her way to the water as she said it. SPLASH! John and I looked at each other. We rose more lazily from our chairs. In fact I reached down and took another swig of beer. Then we ambled over to the pool, and jumped in. The three of us splashed around and floated and swam for several minutes before we all ended up standing in the shallow end. We were up to our hips, but that left June's top half on display. And what a display it was. Her bra clung tightly to her breasts, the thin material outlining every goose-bump and curve. John couldn't help but stare, and frankly, neither could I. Finally she said, "Hey, whoa. Guys. Come on, get a life. Jeez. You're going to make me so self-conscious I'll have to leave." John and I immediately looked up at her. We all bust out laughing again, and I said, "What, and stop having all this fun?" We really were. We played some more water games, like swimming through each others legs, and I could see that June's wet panties had turned just as transparent as her top. This was getting me plenty excited. In fact, I felt the beginnings of an erection, and rather than call attention to myself, I waded over to the side and jumped out of the pool. I figured I'd sit down for a minute or so and then rejoin the party. I was sitting on my chair, lazily drinking my beer, when I remembered the radio. It was just a pocket-sized job, but I managed to find a station playing some decent music, and turned it up. It wasn't loud, but it was listenable. John and June continued to play in the water. From my vantage point, I could see he was using every opportunity to stare at her tits. She pretended not to notice, or maybe she was just so loose she didn't care. Anyway, even I couldn't take my eyes off her chest. She really has a nice set of knockers, and the effect of the thin wet material made them even sexier as they played peek-a-boobie behind the soaked brassiere. Just then a Donna Summer song came on the radio. "Oooo," June squealed. "One of my favorite dance songs of all time! Come on. Let's dance!" They were both standing in hip-deep water. They looked stupid trying to dance, fighting with the water to move their bodies in time with the music. Finally June waded over to the side and jumped out of the pool. She stood at the edge and began to dance. I sat back and watched. "Come on up!," she hissed at John. He shook his head. I guessed he didn't want to climb out of the water because he was sporting an erection. I didn't really know, but it seemed a reasonable conclusion. June stayed at the edge of the pool, dancing. John waded over in front of her. Of course she was elevated, with her feet at about his hip level. That put his eyes even with her cunt. It was starting to get interesting. Now some 60's dances were named after the movements of the dance. Like the "mashed potato", where you, uh, mash potatoes with your feet. Or the "jerk" when you jerk with your arms. If June's dance had a name, it would have been the "thigh-master" in honor of the Suzanne Sommers' machine that women used to flex their knees together, then open wide, then back together. I was looking at her from the back. John had the front view as she squatted, flexed her knees, then stood, then repeated the series of motions. I knew that her panties were dripping wet, and had to be sticking to her pussy like a coat of paint. And her dance movements were not exactly modest. In fact, I had never seen her dance like this before, but it was late and we'd all had a lot to drink. John stayed in the water, but I could see that his eyes were glued on that "Y" where June's legs met her body. And I could also see that she was staring down into the water at his mid-section. From my angle I couldn't see what she was looking at; for all I knew his dick was sticking straight out of his pants. Or maybe not. I really couldn't tell. The song finally faded out. Then the announcer came on, made some trite comment, and played a commercial. John and June just stood there, staring at each other. I made a few seconds of polite conversation. Neither of them paid attention. The announcer came back and said he was going to change the mood and play a whole set of slow songs. The first one came on, and June turned to me and said "Dance?" "Thanks, hon, but I don't think so," I replied. "In fact, I think I'm going back to the room for some more beers. I'll just be a minute. Go on, dance with John. Really, I'll be right back." We still had one beer left, but I deftly slid it under the chair as I got up. I turned quickly as I stood so they wouldn't see my hard-on, which was now pushing mightily against the fabric of my shorts. I walked directly away from them, and around the corner. I pushed open the door. Ding-CLANG-ding went the bell. But I didn't go through. Instead, I stayed inside and let the door close. Ding-CLANG-ding it went as the automatic closer pulled the door shut. I was still inside. I crept into the shadows. I wished I were nearer to them, but I had a decent enough view. "So let's dance," she said to him. June jumped into the water, and fairly slid herself up against him. At least she tried to, but for some strange reason, her pelvis couldn't get close to his. "My god," she said. "Sorry," he replied. "Force of nature." "No need to be sorry," she said. "But nothing can happen here. You know. He's coming right back." "I know. But I'd still like to dance this dance with you." I saw him reach down and push his dick out of the way. At least I assume it was his dick he was pushing. What else? He apparently had pushed his hard-on right between her legs; there was no where else he could have been hiding it! Then he pulled her to him, and she melted into his arms. Before I knew it they were dancing, up to their hips in the water. I saw her grab his shoulders and wrap her legs around his hips. He was carrying her around as she bounced against his mid-section. "Boy you sure to make it hard," he said. "Tough, I mean." They both laughed. "Come over here." He walked to the edge of the pool, and then began walking up the inclined bottom until she was at the edge til at the perfect height. She still hung on him, and felt him set her in a sitting position on the pool edge while he stood in the water. She unclasped her legs from around him, and slowly hooked her heels on the edge of the pool. Her pussy and his dick were now bouncing against each other as they swayed slowly in time with the music. I reached down and squeezed my dick through my shorts. I watched with wonder as he bent down and kissed her full on the lips. I was not surprised when she returned his kiss; hell, I'd have been shocked if she hadn't. Then she broke away and said "We shouldn't. And he'll be back any minute." "Don't worry. We'll hear the bell. No sweat. Come on..." And he kissed her again. He reached up and cupped her tits. Now I know those tits, and when June get excited, those nipples get as hard as buttons. I knew they were at this moment. He reached around and started to unclasp the bra in the back, but she stopped him. "No!" she fairly screamed. "No. He's coming back. When the bell rings, that's it." Of course she didn't know that the bell wouldn't ring, because I was already inside the door. Then she surprised him by reaching up and pulling him down for another passionate kiss. His hands reached for her breasts again, and I could see him gently massaging them in his big hands. June's hands weren't idle, either. I saw her reach into his crotch, and although my angle didn't give me a direct view, I could tell she was feeling his hardness in her hand through his boxer shorts. From the funny angle of her elbow and her next movements, I knew that she was snaking her hand into the flap in the front of the pants to grasp his penis directly. "My god," she exclaimed, "You're..." She stopped. She was listening. "Just so we understand. When the bell rings, you're gone. You dive back in the water. Under water. Somewhere. Anywhere but standing here in front of me with your, uh, you know, here in my hand." She could have convinced him to do anything at that moment. "Sure sure," he said, continuing to grab at her tits. Her hand was obviously at work, extracting his swollen member from the front of his pants. Then her other hand went to her own crotch, and I could tell she was pulling the panties to one side. As they again kissed, I saw his tongue lick against hers, and I could tell she was rubbing the head of his dick around on her cunt lips. Then she aimed it, and then I knew by her grunting that she had located it directly at her portal of sex. That is one great thing about June. She's vocal when it comes to her pleasure. She's not afraid to make noise, and knows it's a turn-on for me. She also likes to talk dirty, or at least use dirty words when we're making love. She also cums quite easily, often requiring only a few minutes of warm-up. One thing that really pisses me off, tho, is that she can come several times. I'm only good for once, then I need a half-hour cool-down period. After she comes, she can be right back at it, and another 4 or 5 minutes later will be popping her cookies again. It's just not fair. Anyway, I knew that he was entering her just by her noises. Her "Oh oh oh" and her "uh uh" and her "oh yes" told me everything I needed to know. He was fucking her, and fucking her good. Even though I was enjoying this, and by now had my own hand inside my jockey shorts, I thought I'd better do something quickly. I figured he'd try to blow his load as quickly as possible, thinking that at any moment I'd be likely to come barging through the door and he'd have to pull out and pretend everything was fine. I crept forward in the shadows until I was just 20 feet from them. I was directly behind her, which meant that he would have been looking straight at me - if he had had his eyes open. He didn't. I took another two steps forward. Suddenly his eyes opened and he saw me. He dropped his hands from her breasts, stopped pumping, and froze. I put my finger to my lips, as if to say "Shhhhh." He seemed to understand. He relaxed. I took another several steps forward. I made the "Shhhh" gesture again. He wasn't in any hurry, now. She let out a low moan. I stepped another few feet closer, until I could almost have reached out and touched her. I bent down and whispered, "I'm baaacckk," in my best Poltergeist imitation. She screamed as though I had stuck her with a fork. If she had been standing, she would have jumped about 6 feet. She was freaked out. She recovered, kind of. "We were just, ah, dancing, and ah," I thought to myself "dancing, yeah, pole dancing, maybe." I said "Sure, I know. Sorry guys, no beer. We're out." I waited a beat. "Jeez, hon, what's with you? You look like you've seen a ghost." She twisted her head to look up at me, as guilty as hell. Of course I knew that she was sitting there with this guy's dick in her snatch up to the hilt. But she didn't know I knew. And from my angle behind her, I couldn't really see anything, so she thought maybe she'd get away with it. One thing for sure, if he pulled out now, I'd see. So she stayed right where she was. "Yeah, well, you just sort of, sneaked up, and I, ah..." "No problem," I said generously. "Go on and dance. It's fine by me. But boy are you tense." I knelt on one knee down behind her. Now I often massage June's back, it's a great pleasure for her, and I enjoy doing it. I reached up and put my palms on her shoulder blades. It was as though an electric shock went through her torso, but what could she do? She couldn't go forward and she couldn't go backward, so she just sat. I began to massage her back, and after several moments sat down and spread my legs and scootched up behind her, as though we were both riding the same horse. I split my legs and moved closer. I moved my hands to her shoulders as I snuggled up to her back. I continued the massage. Now she was getting into it. She was undoubtedly still wrestling with the problem of John's dick in her pussy, but as long as she didn't move, it was well hidden. I continued my massage. She began to make noise. "Oh, that feels good." I didn't know if she were talking to me or to John. At this point it didn't matter. "Ah, ah. Lower." I moved my hands lower on her back. "God you are just a bundle of tension." I knew why. "Here, this will help." I released the clasp on her bra. "What are you doing, oh, oh," she said. She knew exactly what I was doing, but tried to maintain an illusion of modesty. "Oh, for heaven sakes. That strap is in my way, and is holding in the tension. And by the way, honey, your bra got soaking wet the first time you went in, and doesn't hide a thing. Now be honest. John. John? Does her bra hide anything?" "Not a thing," he agreed. "And doesn't she have great tits?" "Fabulous," he said. "See honey? No big deal." I let the bra straps hang down to the sides. I put my hands against the flesh of her back and continued my rubbing motion. She didn't know what to do. She was doing her best to stifle moans, not altogether successfully, while talking to two men who had her surrounded, and penetrated. "Does this strike anyone as weird? Here we are at 3AM, sitting in a hotel pool, with two men talking about my tits while my husband takes off my bra?" She paused."With a stranger standing right in front of me?" She didn't mention the cock that was poking into the warmth and wetness of her cunt. I bent my head down and nuzzled the back of her neck. She always loves that. She shuddered. "Here John," I said. "This makes her crazy. Just nuzzle the side of her neck..." He bent his head to the task. I put my head on the other side of her neck and began doing the same. What are you doing?" she managed to say in between staccato breaths. "Oh, this is great, oh, we shouldn't, oh..." Like I said, she makes noise. And she excites easily. Her words degenerated into a series of low moans, and I could tell by the volume and the pitch that she was excited. "I feel like a sandwich between you guys..." she trailed off. I continued to rub. I spoke into her neck as I softly said, "So John, you really like my wife's tits?" I knew that John's hands had returned to her breasts. I sensed, more than felt her tremble he released her hiding hooters from the bra cups. I knew they would grow as the ruby tip expanded in his hands. "They're awesome," he said. "And I'm not just saying that." He was nuzzling her neck as he said "You have the most gorgeous body, beautiful breasts, wonderful skin..." He kissed her neck gently. I could see him rocking his pelvis gently back and forth. I knew, but could not see, that his dick was sliding in and out of her hot box, lightly and slowly, but sliding in and out nonetheless. Her moans increased, and I could tell she was getting close to orgasm. I thought she might try to stifle it, even in spite of how far the conversation had come. I whispered to her. "It's OK. OK. Relax. It feels good. Your back is relaxed. The tension is gone. You feel good." She was moaning. And I knew this series of sounds. This was what she did with less than 20 seconds left before her explosion. I continued talking. "John. You like my wife's tits a lot? Have you got them in your hands? Do they feel good?" She climbed closer. He squeezed his hands around her breasts. I said softly "Let go, honey. Let go." When I knew she had just hit the point of no return, I lifted my head and whispered in her ear "And I know he's got his nice big black dick in your pussy, and he's fucking you. He's fucking you nice and slow..." She climaxed and let everybody from rooms 201 to 205 know it. She screamed so loud I thought she deafened John's right ear. As she rode the roller-coaster down with her little series of "ah - ah - ahs" John took to pumping his dick in and out of her. There was no pretense left. Now we all knew. And she knew we knew. John was still pumping when I said, "What did it feel like, John?" I had interrupted him; caught him off guard. His hips slowed. "Uh, well, uh," Silence. Then "It felt like a thousand tiny fingers massaging my dick. Her snatch got hot, and then I could feel it gripping me, gripping me, gripping me, trying to pull me in. Shit, it was fabulous." He began pumping away. "Whoa, slow down soldier," June said. "Give me a minute. I can go again. That is, if it's OK with you, dear." She twisted around and looked at me. I kissed her square on the lips. "It's fine with me. In fact, it's terrific." "Whew. All right! OK tiger, straighten that dick up. Let's get ready." I told you she liked to talk dirty. "And some dick it is, too." "Really?" I said. "Can I see?" Of course I was curious. I peeked over her shoulder and looked down. She explained to me, "It's about the same length as yours. But it's thicker. A lot thicker." The stereotype lives, I guess. At that moment he was pressed to the hilt, and I couldn't see anything. But he answered me, stammering, "Sure, I guess." He slowly withdrew his hard-on from her pussy, and I saw what she meant. He had the same 7" length as me, but he had to be as big around as a beer can. At least that's what it looked like from where I was sitting. "Holy shit!" I croaked. "Jeez. That is something." I paused. I was just drunk enough to say "Do you mind?" And I snaked my hand around into both of their crotches until my fingers brushed against his boner. He didn't move. I slid my hand down further, until I grasped him completely. I tried, but I couldn't get my hand all the way around it and touch my fingertips together. I took my hand away. June was looking at me strangely. "Hey man, if you want to..." John said. "No, really, I was just curious," I replied. I hadn't had my hand on a guy's dick since I was 11 and Jimmy Verti and I were jerking off to Penthouse magazines and we started "helping each other." I looked at John wondering if he were bisexual. I wasn't. But having my hand on his aroused organ for those brief seconds gave me a jolt I hadn't expected. Anyway I said, "Now, John. Slow and steady wins the race." I leaned back into her and began to kiss her back. She snaked on of her hands around and groped at my crotch. I knew what she wanted; I wanted it too. I pulled my shorts to the side, releasing my prick into her waiting hand. She grabbed at it and did her best to stroke it in spite of the awkward position she was in. John began rocking back and forth in front of her, sliding his tool into her toolbox while he massaged her tits. "Hey darlin'," I said. "How about some noise?" She began to groan, then to moan. She said "This is so nice of you two fellows. John, especially you. What would I do if you weren't here? Why I'd be back in my room, probably just playing with my vibrator. Instead I get to have you here with your nice big cock - and it is a NICE.......BIG.......DICK sliding in and out of me. Does you cock feel good right now? It's too bad I'm stuck in this position. I'd sure like to be sucking that cock, and having you cum in my mouth and all over my face." "Uh," he grunted. It didn't take long. "Oh, I'm getting there. I'm getting there." I knew she was. Her moaning was increasing and her words were getting more and more indistinct. All John could do was grunt. I could see he was rocking more and more furiously. "Oh oh oh," she said. I jumped back and stood up. Now I had a perfect view of his cock sliding back and forth into her. He was ramming her like a piston, and she was taking every blow. I took my dick into my hand. "Look at me, hon," I said. She twisted her head around. She knew what was coming. I was. She looked up into my eyes with love, then looked straight at my dick. "Come on, big boy, cum all over me," she said. I guess John and I came at the same moment, because I heard him groan just as I lost it. I shot my first huge load; it hit her right in the forehead just at her hairline. Half my goop went into her hair. SPLAT! My second spurt landed on the bridge of the nose on her smiling face. Cum dripped down her cheek. John was groaning and groaning, so I knew he was filling up her cunt with his jism; I wished I could see it. But as my dick continued spurting, she kept her face turned up to me, her eyes holding my gaze, waiting for me to finish. A little of my sperm shot right past her face and landed on his arm, but he was in such throes of passion I don't think he even noticed. My fourth spasm dribbled across her lips. At that moment she reached her climax, and began bucking like a stuck pig. Her moans became grotesquely loud, and her face contorted as though she were in pain. The three of us collapsed in a heap. We were silent for a couple minutes, when John said, "God I'm thirsty. I have cotton-mouth. I could really use a beer." "Just a sec," I said. I ran back to the chair and grabbed the one can I had stashed earlier. I draped a towel over my arm and returned. "Room Service," I called out. "My wife's cunt, and a beer. Will there be anything else tonight, sir?"