A very sexy love story
"Abigail Danforth" by Fred V. Bradford
I work at a car wash. My name is Hank. This is a love story.
I met Abigail on the playground in 4th grade. I was working out a swap of dad’s Playboys for a gross of firecrackers that Billy Martin’s dad had bought in Wyoming, when Abby came sauntering over to investigate. I tucked the magazines inside my T-shirt.
“Are those firecrackers?” Abby inquired.
“Smoke bombs,” I said, while Billy began to sweat.
“No they’re not,” Abby insisted, “they’re firecrackers!”
I grabbed her by the collar and pulled her down next to us in the yellow grass.
“Listen, if I say they’re smoke bombs, they’re smoke bombs. Do you have a cat?”
“A cat?”
“Yeah, you got a cat?”
“Why do you care?” she asked suspiciously.
“I just like cats, is all.”
“Yeah, I have a cat, his name’s Rasta.”
“Pasta?” Billy asked.
“RASTA,” Abby corrected.
“Okay,” I said, glancing at the school marms, “wouldn’t it be a shame if Rasta was scared shitless by a bunch of firecrackers one night?”
Abby flinched with her mouth agape.
“They’re smoke bombs, okay?”
After a brief silence Abby replied, “Smoke bombs, yeah.”
That was fifteen years ago. Now Abby and I live together in a cabin out by the Atchison & Topeka railroad in Nutt, New Mexico. It’s a real oasis. I work in Deming; she works for a cranky ol’ prospector who’s convinced there’s a gold mine nearby just waiting to be found. The ol’ bastard’s worth a fortune but he roams the hills everyday with an “Indian” guide who’s really Mexican, in an old Ford pickup with no A/C. Abby keeps books for him and takes care of his dog, Peter, when the ol’ man disappears into Arizona or Nevada for weeks on end. He owns the national car wash chain where I work.
Anyway, Abby and I grew up in Las Cruces, made awkward love at 16 in her folks’ garage one fall, and decided we were gonna run away one day. We made it about 40 miles as the buzzard flies. That was seven years ago.
Abby grew up to be a petite, well-proportioned young lady. I’m not certain when this transformation took place, exactly, but I remember how beautiful she looked in her prom dress. Sweet, yet seductive. I still don’t know what Abigail ever saw in me, but I’m grateful for whatever it was. At twenty-five Abby’s the envy of all six Nutt residents. And she’d be the envy of all New Mexico if they knew her as I do.
To say I work at a car wash is a little misleading. My official title is Southwest Division Manager. But the ol’ man teases Abby all the time, saying, “When you gonna ditch this car wash jerk and find a real man?” He’s a real charmer, that one. But the crazy ol’ man’s been good to Abby and me. I call him Mr. Bigsby; Abby just calls him Pop. Abby’s real dad died in a car accident three summers ago. She tells people when they ask that I kept her alive, but that’s horseshit. Abby’s a survivor. She had already survived her mom leaving when Abby was just seven, long before I even met her. And she’d survived a tragic accident at school in 3rd grade when she fell off the end of the bleachers and sliced herself open from mid-stomach to left armpit; sixty-eight stitches and a life long scar that now dances across her supple left breast. And she survived years of her father being absent while he put in long hours to support them. Mr. Stevens was a good man, and his passing was hard for more than just Abby. I can’t tell you how many hours Mr. Stevens spent teaching me to fly. He was a fighter jock in Vietnam flying F-4 Phantoms, but he’d just as soon be flying his Piper Cub from the grass field near his house. It seems almost ironic that an automobile would claim his life, but when fate steps in it’s hard to hide.
But this is a love story, right? Okay then, let me tell you about an episode that speaks volumes. It began six months ago when Abby and I took a weekend trip up to the south rim of the Grand Canyon. Neither of us had seen this wonder before, so we were like little kids as we climbed off the Harley and stared out into the canyon. It was near dark when we entered the Canyon from the east, but we had reservations at The Grand Hotel, so we weren’t in any hurry and just soaked in the summer sunset at the first viewpoint we came to. A few other viewers were present, but most had probably hurried ahead to the main viewing areas further along.
And that’s when Georgia rode into our lives.
Chapter One
Summer sunsets at the Grand Canyon are truly awesome to behold. Most people don’t realize that the south rim sits about 7,000 feet above sea level. So despite the nearly unbearable temperatures to the south (particularly in Phoenix), summer evenings at the south rim are very mild. Abigail and I stood on a jagged outcropping, marveling at the grandeur of the moment and the depth provided by early shadows. There was no breeze to speak of, and only the nearby chatter of fellow tourists kept us from imagining ourselves on the western frontier in the days of Manuelito and Delgadito, back before Kit Carson’s work culminated in the Navajo’s “Long Walk.” I didn’t have a peace pipe on hand, so I lit a Camel on their behalf as the sun continued its slow descent.
We were soon roused from our fervent awe by another bike pulling into the lot and parking alongside our own. Touring the south rim via motorcycle is a fun, popular way to explore the canyon, so neither of us was initially surprised by the new cyclist’s appearance. I’ll admit though, as the helmet came off and the long, wavy red hair cascaded down leather clad shoulders I was a bit impressed. I don’t think it was the hair so much as the attitude. Not arrogance, but confidence; a lone female rider, touring the Grand Canyon, with no reservations and no apparent timetable. There was something seductive about the whole thing, but perhaps that’s just typical male hormones.
Harmony and Chaos by Arthur Braginsky
Abby and I returned to the jaw-dropping view before us as the red rider dismounted and began organizing herself.
“You think she’s hot?”
“Who?”
“You know who, the redhead.”
“That just rode up? Hell, I don’t even know her.”
“Well, you don’t have to know someone to decide whether or not you think they’re hot. It’s not like I asked if you thought she was friendly or smart.”
So I pondered this a moment.
“Yeah, I guess she strikes me as a little hot then.”
“Just a little?”
“Cripes woman! There’s more to being ‘hot’ than a quick glance is liable to reveal.”
And Abby just smiled.
“How’s the view over there?” the stranger asked.
“Beautiful,” Abby replied without looking back, “care to join us?”
I turned to look at Abby with what must’ve been bewilderment.
“Don’t mind if I do,” the stranger said as she straddled the low, rock retaining wall and vaulted over. “Hi, I’m Georgia.”
“Abigail and Hank,” Abby replied.
“Nice to meet you,” Georgia said as she shifted a camera to her left hand and shook with her right. She had an honest smile but the designer sunglasses made me wonder what her eyes looked like. I feigned disinterest though and, after shaking hands, began to drift away on the pretense of finding a better vantage point from which to view the massive canyon before us. I could still hear the girls talking behind me.
“Wow,” Georgia was saying, “it never gets any less impressive, does it?”
“It’s beautiful,” Abby replied, “but this is our first visit.”
“Virgins?”
Abby laughed. “I guess you could say that.”
“I stop by annually,” Georgia confessed, “have for four years straight.”
“Wow. Where are you from?”
“I live in Sturgis, South Dakota. How about you guys?”
“New Mexico,” Abby replied, “Nutt, New Mexico.”
Georgia turned away from the spectacular view to look at Abby. Then both of them began laughing. Nutt sometimes has that effect.
The conversation between the girls continued but I had drifted far enough away now to miss parts of it. The canyon rim is composed of a series of natural jetties, outcroppings and ledges from which unique viewpoints can be found. And since boys will be boys, I explored several of these until the setting sun cast so much shadow that the going became unsafe. I made my way back to the parking area retaining wall, crossed over, and began walking back toward our Harley-Davidson. The girls were still talking as I approached.
“I call it an ER Special,” Georgia was saying.
“As in Emergency Room?” Abby asked in shock.
Georgia laughed, “No, but that’s what most people guess. I call it an ER Special after Eddie Rickenbacker.”
“America’s big World War One ace?” I asked as I approached.
“Yes exactly,” Georgia said as she turned to face me, sunglasses now removed. “Eddie Rickenbacker was my great-grandfather.”
“Really?” Abby interjected.
“Really. You guys know of Eddie?”
“Sure,” Abby answered, “my father was a Marine pilot in Vietnam. Growing up I learned all about the old aces, from Lufbery to Rickenbacker to Boyington to Bong to Yeager. And even the German greats like Manfred von Richthofen, Ernest Udet and Günther Rall.”
“Wow. Great-grandpa died before I was born so I never got to know him personally, but mom told me all about his life. I’m not a blood relative, of course, because Eddie and Adelaide adopted, but David was my grandfather.”
“Fascinating,” Abby said.
And by now it was nearly pitch black out, the canyon specter all but invisible in the night. There was no street lighting here and the temperature was dropping quickly.
“Hey, where are you staying?” Abby asked.
“I don’t have any reservations,” Georgia confessed, “I thought I’d just ride on to Ash Fork or maybe all the way into Vegas before stopping for the night. How about you guys?”
“We have reservations at The Grand,” I said.
“Hey,” Abby interjected, “why don’t you stay with us tonight?”
“Really? No, I couldn’t. This is a special time for you guys and—“
“Nonsense!” Abby blurted, “we’d be honored to have Eddie’s great-grand daughter join us, wouldn’t we, Hank?”
Hank just nodded. What else could I do?
“It’s settled then. We’ll check in, go to dinner, and you can tell us more about these motorcycles you build.”
“You build motorcycles?”
“Yes. I built this one,” Georgia said as she straddled the ER Special.
“Wow,” I said, as I glanced over at a grinning Abigail.
“We’ll talk about it over dinner,” Abby said, “it’s getting chilly out here.”
Chapter Two
Abby and I had reserved a suite at The Grand with private bedroom and King bed, so space wasn’t much of an issue. Sleeping arrangements were though, as the suite offered only the king size bed and no rollaway was available. Abby asked if Georgia would mind sleeping on the sofa, and Georgia happily agreed after ensuring that she wasn’t putting us out. That settled, we stowed our gear and freshened up for dinner.
We hadn’t made dinner reservations, so we opted for steaks at the Arizona Room. Georgia was turning out to be great company for Abby, and I must admit that she wasn’t unpleasant to look at either. A couple of years older than Abby and I, Georgia was easygoing and quick to laugh. We discovered that she’d started her own custom bike business five years previously with a boyfriend she’d met in college. The boyfriend flaked out on her after two years though and moved to Long Beach. Rather than start over, Georgia buckled down and took over all business concerns herself.
“It’s still a young company,” she said, “but I’ve got distributors in Vegas, Dodge City and Dallas so far.”
“Cool,” Abby said, “Is that why you’re going to Vegas? For business?”
“Yeah, the distributor there wanted to meet the builder and offered to pick up the tab, so I promised him I’d come. He’s a nice guy, older gentleman, carries used Harleys, new Victory’s, and new Flights.”
“Flights?” I asked aloud.
“Oh, that’s what we call our bikes. Flight Cycles. We’ve sold hundreds during the annual Sturgis rally, and currently have about a half-dozen models available.”
“What kind of motors?”
“We have a contract with Honda America that allows us to purchase 400 and 650cc, air-cooled singles in parts form that are then assembled in-house.”
“No Harley clones, huh?”
“Nope. We figured that market was already cornered, so we targeted a unique segment. Riders looking for a lighter, better handling bike that still retained the classic styling of cruisers and stop-light bikes. We looked at factory offerings and decided everything out there was a compromise of sorts, so Ben and I went in a different direction. The ER Special I’m riding now is a simple, air-cooled 650cc single that sounds great, is ultra-dependable, handles very well and costs less than an 883 Harley. Everything’s made in the USA except for the reliable Honda engine. The big single delivers an exhaust note similar to old Triumphs. The final power-to-weight ratio is quite good. It’ll cruise at 80mph all day long if you’re man enough.”
At that everyone laughed.
“But enough about me,” Georgia said as our steaks arrived, “tell me more about you guys.”
So Abby proceeded to fill her in on our exciting lives back in Nutt, and I offered the occasional correction or obligatory rolling of the eyes when more personal information was shared. I wasn’t really upset though, because Georgia was nice and seemed sincerely interested in learning about us. I had no idea why.
After dinner we retired to the bar and had a few drinks as the conversation continued. Abby, who had never expressed a desire to ride solo before, was now almost ready to buy a Flight Cycle. I was impressed. And amused.
They discussed possible options and pricing and Georgia concluded that Abby would have to ride her ER tomorrow. I could tell that Abby was excited, but also a little nervous. She hadn’t ridden a motorcycle by herself in about six or seven years when I convinced her to ride a neighbor kid’s little dirt bike. She had done okay back then, but she wasn’t comfortable enough afterward to consider her own street bike. But now she was getting truly excited by the prospect. It was obvious that Georgia wasn’t playing salesman though, she was just passionate about motorcycles and it showed.
The more they talked the happier I found myself becoming. Abby didn’t have a lot of friends because of the small population where we lived and the nature of her work. More often than not she’s cooped up with Mr. Bigsby in that dinky shack of his, or alone with the dog while he’s away. So to see her having fun with Georgia was pretty rewarding. And would’ve been even more so had I not noticed the twinges of guilt in the pit of my stomach. Guilt, I realized, generated by a growing attraction to Georgia.
The fiery red hair, the quick laughter, constant smile, the sexy eyes… and I could’ve been mistaken, but I thought I saw something in those eyes once when she looked at me. A furtive glance? I tried to dismiss these feelings as silly. My love for Abby was immense, and until now I’d never even thought of other women. What the hell was wrong with me? Georgia was a little taller than Abby, maybe a little heavier because of it, but she looked to be very well proportioned. And there was a self-assured innocence to her that just made her all the more attractive. My mind was definitely drifting…
“Hank?”
“Huh? What?”
“Need another beer?” Georgia was asking.
I looked down at my empty bottle. “Yeah, I could use another. Where’d Abby go?”
“Oh, she went to the little lady’s room.”
With that, Georgia signaled the bartender and a fresh beer soon arrived.
“What were you thinking about?”
This was no time for the truth. “I was wondering whether Abby’s serious about this bike thing,” I said.
“I really think she is,” Georgia replied, “that doesn’t bother you, does it? I mean, I don’t wanna start a feud or anything.”
I just laughed. “No,” I said, “it doesn’t bother me at all.”
“Great, because I think Abby’s gonna be really happy.”
“I think she already is,” I said.
“What do you mean?”
“I think she likes you. A lot. She doesn’t get to meet many people back home,
ya know? I mean, I try to take her out and stuff but meeting you has really affected her. Thanks, by the way.”
“Thanks for what?” A startled Georgia asked. “For being friendly? Life’s that bad in Nutt?”
“Well, uhhh, no,” I stammered defensively, “it’s just that… well... uhhh…”
“I should be thanking you guys. I love riding, but normally the ride to Vegas is pretty mundane. Meeting you two, being so welcomed, well, I feel pretty fortunate.”
I tried to scoff but fear I snorted instead. “Nonsense,” I said, “at the very least you’ve been a pleasure.”
“Oh she has, huh?” A returning Abby said, giggling.
At that, Georgia giggled too as I sat there red faced.
“Shall we take this party up to the suite?” Abby inquired.
“Sounds good to me,” Georgia replied.
Hank nodded. Again.
Chapter Three
Back in the suite I flipped on the TV as Abby checked the small fridge. Georgia asked if she could take a quick shower, and there were no objections. But I must admit as I plopped down on the sofa and realized that her slender body would be lying there soon, I felt another little twitter. It’s no wonder that women say men are pigs.
Abby came in with a Pierre and sat down beside me as I flipped through channels. She leaned over and kissed my cheek.
“What was that for?”
“For being so sweet.”
Oh, if she only knew.
“I ain’t that sweet,” I replied.
“Yes you are. Even Georgia thinks so.”
“Georgia?” I asked in surprise.
“Yeah, she thinks you’re sweet and handsome.”
“Handsome?” I repeated bewildered.
“Well, okay, handsome was my contribution, but she did say you were sweet.”
“No she didn’t.”
“Sure she did! When she comes out I’ll ask her.”
“No, no, I believe ya.”
Abby leaned back to stare at me. “Hank, I think you’re blushing.”
“Why would I be blushing?”
“You’re attracted to her, aren’t you?”
“I’m attracted to you.”
“I know that, silly, but you’re attracted to Georgia too, aren’t you?”
“She’s a nice girl,” I confessed, “but I wouldn’t say I’m attracted to her.”
“Yes you are,” Abby said with a grin.
I pretended to be engrossed in a History channel program but I don’t think Abby was buying it. After a few moments she said, “I’ll be right back.”
“Where you going?”
“To brush my teeth.”
“You can’t go in there, Georgia’s taking a shower!”
Abby smiled. “Twenty bucks says the door’s not locked.”
“Twenty-five says it is.” I had to stand to see the bathroom door through the bedroom doorway. Abby reached for the knob and twisted. The door cracked open and steam billowed from beyond.
“Well there you go,” I said, “too steamy to see the mirror.”
“I don’t need a mirror to brush my teeth,” Abby said, pulling the door closed behind her.
Imagination is a powerful tool. But at this moment I would’ve traded it for a hammer with which to conk myself in the head. My beautiful wife and school girl sweetheart just walked into a steamy bathroom occupied by a nude female who was a virtual stranger. Holy shit.
I didn’t know whether to run or faint. So instead, I returned to the couch and waited for a scream that never came. A million images ran through my mind as I waited… none of them particularly chivalrous. Damn you Hank.
And just when I thought things couldn’t get more bizarre, I heard the bathroom door open and a second later Georgia appeared clad only in a generous bath towel. I was expecting Abby, of course, or at least an angry house guest, but here was Georgia strolling toward me and assuming a place next to me on the sofa.
“I heard you think I’m hot,” she said as she sat down.
This time I’m sure I was blushing. I needed to recover… quickly.
“I think you’re sexy as hell,” I confessed. So much for recovering.
“Why thank you, Hank. I think you’re sweet. And handsome.”
Oh shit.
“What have you done with my wife,” I asked accusingly.
Georgia giggled. “Your wife is in the shower. Perhaps you should join her?”
Well, I didn’t need a second suggestion. “Good idea, see you later.”
The bathroom was still steamy and warm as I entered. My imagination was running wild as I thought of Abby and Georgia together in here only moments before, at least one of them naked at the time.
“That you, honey?” Abby inquired.
“Yeah,” I replied over the sound of the shower.
“Come on in, the water’s fine.”
I undressed rather quickly and soon joined Abby in the shower. Her body was so intoxicating with hot water cascading down its supple curves. The grin just added to the allure and it was all I could do to keep from taking her right then and there.
“So?” Abby asked.
“So what?”
“So did Georgia say you were sweet or not?”
“She did,” I admitted. “But I think she’s drunk.”
Abby laughed. “She’s not drunk, sweetie. She’s horny.”
I just about fell out of the stall.
“Kind of like you,” she said, pointing at my privates.
“Hey,” I replied, “that’s only because I’m in the shower with my beautiful wife and we haven’t made love for at least… uhhh… 4 or 5 hours, anyway.”
“May I tell you a secret?” Abby asked.
“Always.”
“I’m horny too. Very horny.”
“Well, I think we can fix that,” I said, moving closer.
Abby put up a hand to stop me. “How rude, we have a guest in the other room.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No I’m not,” she said, reaching out for a towel. “We’ll have to wait ‘til later.”
And with that she stepped out of the shower and left me bewildered.
As I scrubbed and washed my hair I pondered how this evening had gone thus far. My wife was full of life, as full as I’d seen her recently. Georgia was mysterious, definitely sexy, and fun to be around. Myself, I was excited but, uhhh, cautious. I truly loved Abby and wasn’t willing to sacrifice that love. As the invigorating, warm water washed over me I decided I could wait. Indeed, I could wait forever for Abby. Georgia would be gone tomorrow, and Abby and I would continue our journey. I smiled.
After the shower I toweled off and slipped on a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt. I brushed my hair, brushed my teeth and threw on some deodorant. I was humming aloud as I opened the bathroom door and walked into the bedroom. And there, staring and smiling at me from beneath the covers of the bed, were Abby and Georgia.
Love me in the Morning by Mick Payton
Chapter Four
Now I don’t know about you, but I’d never been in this position before in my life. I froze like a deer in headlights and must’ve looked equally as shocked. This was the sort of thing you read about in nasty magazines, or heard from crazy kids at the car wash. A part of me was immensely excited for sure, but another part was nervous as hell and on unsure footing. The girls were still smiling… and not so innocently, I must say. I’m pretty sure a sweat broke out on my brow and I was almost irrationally glad I’d applied deodorant.
“What do you think, honey,” Abby asked, “can you handle it?”
I walked slowly forward, concentrating solely on Abby. “Maybe, I said. But can you handle it?”
“I can,” she said. “In fact, I really want to.”
“Are you okay, Hank?” Georgia asked.
“I’m okay if she’s okay.”
“C’mere,” Abby demanded, lifting the blankets between us.
“You’ll be gentle?” I asked innocently.
“Probably not,” Abby answered mischievously. Georgia winked at me.
The nightstand light was left on as Abby guided me between her and Georgia. I caught a very brief glimpse of Georgia’s bare left breast as I settled in. Surprisingly, I was having trouble getting an erection. But that was only a temporary problem.
Abby coaxed off my sweatpants as Georgia helped with the t-shirt, her warm hands seeming to linger upon my chest. I hadn’t worn underwear in anticipation of love making, but this wasn’t the love making I had imagined. I was nude in short order and began to slip off Abby’s cotton panties in return. Georgia, meanwhile, was caressing my shoulder and back while breathing heavily. The moment was beyond intoxicating.
Once I’d removed Abby’s panties she instructed me to do Georgia’s. I was scared, but also trembling with anticipation. I asked softly once more if she were sure. “Yes,” came her whispered reply. So I turned to face Georgia and was surprised when she leaned in to kiss me. What are the boundaries in a situation like this? Are there boundaries? Should we have discussed this beforehand? I met the kiss and gently matched the advance. If Abby was disappointed, she didn’t show it. I reached slowly beneath the blankets and, with one hand, found Georgia’s cotton boy shorts clinging to her body. I began to roll them down and, with her help, coaxed them down her long legs and eventually free of her body. Another kiss during this endeavor and I rolled back to face Abby… she was still beaming.
“Are you excited yet?” she asked.
“A little bit,” I lied.
She grinned and leaned toward me. I was expecting a kiss, but she was looking past me. From behind, I felt Georgia leaning forward and her lips met Abby’s right in front of me. I’m pretty sure I shivered.
I was snapped out of my revelry though by Georgia’s right hand contacting my semi-hard cock. That was unexpected, but so was everything else this evening. I put an arm around Abby and stole a kiss of my own. She was ravenous with hunger, as hot as I’d ever seen her. Apparently she was enjoying this moment as much as I.
Georgia was watching us as she gently stroked my manhood, smiling and perhaps as eager as Abby or I in her own right. “Can I see your tits?” Georgia asked of Abby. I became instantly, irrationally, worried. Abby was somewhat self-conscious concerning her breasts. The scar from third grade bothered her, and the fact that it danced across her most private parts made her feel ugly no matter how beautiful I told her she was. For a fraction of a second, I imagined the entire night coming to a screeching halt. I should’ve known better. Without a word, Abby sat up to expose those perfect breasts. I was so proud of her I wanted to just wrap her up and smother her with love. But before I could, Georgia removed her hand from my manhood and gently traced a finger along Abby’s scar. Abby shivered, but not in revulsion or shame.
“May we see yours?” I asked of Georgia, beginning to get into it now.
“Sure,” Georgia said as she too sat upright.
Most men will tell you there’s no such thing as a bad pair of boobs, but the four that surrounded me now were nothing short of perfect. As imagined, Georgia’s were a little larger than Abby’s C-cups, or perhaps just more full and rounded. Not better, just different and equally as beautiful. The areolas were larger in diameter and lighter in color, but her nipples were erect and proud. I reached a hand out and gently cupped one of them, prompting Georgia to shiver herself.
Despite the roundness, Georgia’s breasts were real and heavy. I took one into my mouth and savored it. I could feel Abby watching me but knew by now that she was okay with it. I caressed Georgia’s other breast as I sucked and kissed the first one. She tilted her head back and let out a soft moan. Abby was rubbing my ass and my cock was hard as steel.
“May I?” Abby inquired as I came up for air. She was looking at Georgia.
“I thought you’d never ask,” Georgia replied.
So I laid back and Abby leaned across to sample Georgia for herself. Never one to miss an opportunity, I slipped a hand down between Abby’s legs, evidently startling her. But then she relaxed, allowing me to insert a finger into her wetness. “Mmmmm…” she moaned around Georgia’s breast. Then she began to squeeze her legs together, grinding her pelvis into my hand. Georgia was again moaning softly.
Soon, when she couldn’t take it anymore, Abby straddled me and forced my cock inside her. She threw back her head in pleasure and squealed with delight. Georgia watched from her sitting position next to us and fondled Abby’s cute breasts. Abby’s tits were perky, with small, dark areolas and constantly hard nipples that always created a stir in me when she bounced around in a night shirt back home. I loved those gorgeous titties and, to me, they were the perfect size. And now I watched them sway naturally as she moved her sweet pussy up and down my shaft.
“Georgia,” Abby said between thrusts, “do you like to be eaten?”
“Ewww, very much so!” Georgia answered hotly.
“Honey,” Abby said turning to look at me, “would you mind?”
“I’d love to,” I admitted.
So Georgia stood up on the bed and lowered her moist pussy onto my face. I nearly shot my load right there. I was forced to grab Abby’s legs and persuade her to slow down. I knew I couldn’t satisfy these women if I came too soon, and I was enjoying things way too much for it to be over already. Abby must’ve realized what was wrong, for she slid off my throbbing cock and began stroking it slowly by hand.
Georgia tasted as sweet, and Abby and I couldn’t get enough. Apparently Georgia couldn’t either as she arched and clawed and forced my face into her pussy. Suddenly I wondered how long it had been for her. Since Ben left three years ago? If that was the case, she was determined to make up for lost time. But then she rose off my face and allowed her body to slide down mine, stopping only when I could feel her burning pussy against my stiff cock. And before I knew what was happening, Abby had guided me inside Georgia and I was pumping her full of hot semen. I couldn’t hold out any longer.
Sensing what was happening, Georgia bucked and yelped and squeezed and moaned loudly as she too reached orgasm. But without missing a beat Abby came around and put her own moist pussy on my face. Georgia eventually relaxed her tensed body and slipped off to the side. I figured she was through, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. Almost immediately she took my cock in her mouth and began administering CPR. The poor guy didn’t know what hit him, but it wasn’t long before he was rock solid again and ready for more action. Seeing this, Abby jumped over beside me and demanded that I fuck her. She hadn’t cum yet and was on the verge of exploding.
I nearly joined her as I slid inside and watched Georgia slowly lower her cum-filled pussy on Abby’s face. God was I horny!
Abby loved oral sex, with me anyway, so I wasn’t surprised when she didn’t resist. After a brief initial shyness, Georgia needed no further coaxing or permission to enjoy herself. Neither did Abby, for that matter. Was I the only one still feeling a little awkward I wondered? The only one still a little reserved? I fucked Abby harder and harder. She responded with muffled moans and clenched fists. Her back arched beneath me and Georgia screamed softly as Abby devoured her pussy. But I was ready this time. Abby’s whole body quivered and shook as a crashing orgasm washed over her. She almost always came, sometimes intensely, but this was incredible. I actually began to worry that she was hurt. I slowed and soon stopped thrusting completely, only to have her grab my ass and pull me deep inside. She held me there momentarily as a final orgasm shook her.
I rolled over only to have Georgia swoop down on my pulsing cock with her wet mouth and tender lips. And again I made the mistake of imagining that my latest victim was spent. Instead, Abby moved in to take over on my cock herself while Georgia moved behind Abby and began tonguing her swollen pussy. This nearly sent Abby into another frenzy because, as I’ve said, she really enjoys oral sex. And apparently Georgia was pretty proficient at it. Several times Abby would stop working on me and just bury her head in the mattress with pleasure. This whole thing was so surreal, because, to the best of my knowledge, Abby had never been with another female. And I hadn’t been with anyone other than Abby since a brief separation during high school. Kaci Walker. What a mistake that had been.
When Abby couldn’t stand it any longer she begged me to take her doggy-style. I complied, of course, and as I began Abby asked Georgia if she could taste her pussy again. Georgia eagerly complied too.
Eventually I came inside Abby and all three of us collapsed atop the mattress in a sweaty, sex-scented heap. It was silent for a while as each of us appeared to be lost in thought. For my part, I couldn’t believe what had just transpired. And now that it was over, for the moment anyway, I couldn’t help wondering what would happen next. An awkward moment in the morning? Would Georgia decide to leave tonight in order to avoid such a possibility? Would we ever see Georgia again? As friends? As lovers? Would Abby still love me, and know that I loved her? Suddenly I was even more frightened than before. I wished that Abby and I were alone so I could tell her how I felt. I loved her so much.
“It’s okay, honey,” Abby said as if reading my mind. “It’s okay.”
Conclusion
Autumn arrived in Nutt as indicated by cooler temperatures and a slight drop-off in my workload. Otherwise, it’s sometimes hard to distinguish seasons in the Upper Chihuahua Desert. Creosote brush, mesquite, yucca, juniper trees and burnt grass don’t change much throughout the year, throughout the centuries even. The Jack rabbits, coyotes and hawks are year around residents. As are Hank and Abigail Danforth.
Abby was busily arranging items inside as I checked over the Pathfinder one last time. The enclosed trailer was secured to the hitch, the lights plugged in and the safety chains connected. All the lights appeared to work, the rig was fueled up and the cooler between the seats was stocked with Pierre and Pale Ale. We eased out of the drive and pointed the rig toward Las Vegas, beginning our first real vacation in four years.
I’d like to tell you that Georgia was there, that we picked up Abby’s new Flight scooter, and that the ensuing two weeks were wild as hell…
But you know what they say about Vegas.
Originally published January 2010