My husband and I spent several weeks in Hawaii over Christmas again this year. What is it about being away from home that brings out the horny pigs we really are?
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Thanks for reading about our sordid life. And . . . Happy new year!
Billy C. / [email protected]
I can’t say that I noticed Juan when he’d passed the point in the marathon route that passed in front of the house where we were staying in Kahala. For me that is a grave admission, given how insanely hot he was when he hit on us at the finish line party at Queen Kapiolani park on the other side of Diamond Head in Waikiki.
It may be my age – having turned fifty last January. Or it may be the resolution my husband Jim and I had made after our last foray with a hot bitch who’d hit on us at CrossFit at the end of the summer. That had been the last in a series of serial sluttiness that somehow just seemed excessive upon reflection. No worries, though – two of those other men we’d enjoyed sixteen ways from Sunday ended up becoming a regular item themselves, so at least they were not left wanting for our withdrawal of attentions, though they regularly let it be known that a foursome would be very welcome. Flattering, but awkward. Then again, introducing them into our clan of merry gay friends was the mistake there, though we’d seen it as consolation at the time.
Our wealthy friends – who by odd coincidence share our same first names – from the North Shore had a marathon starting point party before dawn that morning at their luscious penthouse condo at the far end of Waikiki. Nineteen or twenty of us gathered on their balcony and watched the anxious gathering twenty-some stories below and listened to the announcements and merry-making, mixed in with the boisterous enthusiasm of our group above. Chas and Bill’s gathering had several absentees from the party because they were racing themselves, adding an extra measure to the excitement among us. And, from that height, my masculine gay predator functions were unassessed as to the competitors below.
It seemed only fair that, after descending to and enjoying a sumptuous breakfast in the hotel below their penthouse, Jimmy blurted out an invitation to the assemblage for everyone to come to “our house”, which is along the eastern leg near the end of the race route. In response to my poker-faced for the benefit of them but obviously recognized as horror-stricken look to my husband, he grinned and mouthed, “Just call Hani and Catherine.”
Hani and Catherine are my in-laws “couple who do” for them at their “shore cottage” on Oahu. That house is rarely used – in fact, since we’ve been married, we’ve used it more in the past five-plus years than they or any of the rest of the family or their friends had in probably twenty before that. To call the place a cottage is tantamount to calling a palace a hut. I imagined Hani and Catherine enjoying the vast panoramas of the Pacific and the coastline, the luxuriously-furnished rambling rooms and the infinity pool that seemed to spill into the ocean.
But when I made the call, Catherine was unfazed. “How many? . . . Mostly young men I’m guessing? . . . Healthy sorts or . . . ? Drinkers or . . . ? . . . Any special dietary needs?” . . . The rapid-fire questions were daunting by the indication that either they were used to this – and how could they be, given the virtual abandonment of the property – and by their nuances. The age question took me a moment, and I looked around as well as I could from the large alcove I’d retreated to for the call and saw that most of the gathering was our age. WERE we young? Catherine had moved on as I pondered that one and was doing my recon for the drinking question. Far more mostly-undrunk Mimosas and Bellinis and straight Champagne than virtually drained OJ, pineapple juice and waters. Food-wise, I hadn’t seen anyone being picky – the group were all fit or ridiculously fit, and they all ate like they hadn’t a care about what they ate at all. Catherine assured me that her cousin’s husband supplied many local restaurants – with what was not elaborated – and she would have no problem in having a feast being readied in a couple of hours.
Thus, we did welcome the horde into my inlaws’ home. The population had grown mysteriously, and not by a little bit. My anxiety rose as we were introduced to yet more and more new faces as they piled in. Our party planners had even gotten uniformed parking attendants to mostly direct traffic as taxis and Ubers dropped people off, and they saw to the few cars, Chas and Bill’s gleaming Bentley convertible and a shiny Aston Martin convertible with interior that looked like fluffy French vanilla ice cream.
The race organizers had a comfort station for runners only a few blocks away, and I had contributed the bright idea to ask them when we passed on our way home to call us when they got word that the first runners were at the comfort station before them. Jim contributed a crisp hundred dollar bill to the palm of the young man, and the notification deal was sealed.
Nearly thirty of us joined the sparse crowd of other residents up the block where our street intersected Kahala Road, the race route, and we greeted the front-runners and those who followed for more than an hour before straggling back to the house for the feast. I would have stayed longer – truthfully, the sight of the sweat-soaked men (yes, there were women, and mostly they held no interest for my eyes) and the aroma of exertion and mansweat as they passed, even diluted by the ocean breeze, was heady. But Jimmy rightly suggested we had a party to finish.
When the second meal of our group’s day had been consumed and the buffet was in a shambles but still had enough food for a homeless shelter for a day or two – which is what Jim asked Hani to see to, the delivery and donation of the food – we all headed over to the finish line festivities. Those of us with cars – and we have Jim’s parents vintage Bentley convertible, which looks like it belongs in a museum it’s so pristinely maintained courtesy of Hani and Catherine – ferried the guys over in multiple trips, then when it was just us and the others were there, Catherine dropped us at our request, as I didn’t want to park there. Jim indulgently agreed with his usual bemused look when I do not treat such treasures as the fifties-era Bentley as just another THING.
And no sooner were we reunited with a clump of our revelers than did a piercingly handsome runner at least twenty years our junior introduce himself to us. He had not availed himself of the showers or the sponsored clothing that was available to change into, and his rich aroma and deep baritone Spanish accent were as stunning as his appearance. Coal black hair, and plenty of it on his chest, arms and legs; roughly six-four of body like steel; decent bulge in his sweaty blue running shorts; tanned everywhere visible; piercing blue eyes; and a smile that shone a thousand watts.
Juan, as he had introduced himself to us, told us that he’d seen us on Kahala and thanked us for our support. Then he took a step in, and with a sweeping glance at each of us head to toe, he asked why “two men who are obviously runners and are so fit” as we are were not in the competition. “Is it that you preserve your stamina for more personal pleasures?” he asked, having moved so close that we were nearly chest to shirts.
Jim looked at me with a look I know well . . . because it always reflects what I am thinking in my head – and usually that’s my little head doing the thinking, as the tightening in my cargo shorts evidenced. I looked back at Juan. I took a step back and gave Juan a slow, appraising look from his big Adidas mesh running shoes, up his lean-muscled, long, dark-furred legs, stopping at his strong, well-contoured quads. His running shorts were soaked still, and upon closer inspection his bulge was noticeable but unimpressive. His running shorts rode low at his hips on his tiny waist, and the veins of his cut groin and the gutters of his Adonis belt were tantalizingly visible. His bubble butt was impressive enough to make up for any absence of notability in the front. Juan’s easy breathing caused only the most subtle ripples in his pelted eight-pack, but his slab pecs undulated enough for his broad, flat medallion nipples served as nearly hypnotic in the upper triangle of his impressive v torso. Broad, well-developed shoulders were hairless in stark contrast to the rest of him. “Are you sure that you don’t need some rest time to tackle two men as fit as we are?” the latter part in air quotes, I asked with a smirk.
Juan threw his head back and laughed and smiled. “This race? This run? This is what you say – the play of children. I mostly compete in triathlon races. This was a warm-up for the extreme physical work,” he replied with a decidedly filthy grin. As if to prove the point, he was hardening in the barely-concealing running shorts.
Jimmy clamped his big hand onto my shoulder and leaned in close enough against me for me to feel his hardening cock against my hip. I felt his warm breath tickle my ear lobe. “A good afternoon’s worth.”
“Mmmm hmmm,” I growled, holding the gaze of our Spanish bitch.
“I share the hotel room with a roommate,” he said, obviously eager.
It was my turn to chuckle, at our good luck. “We have a place to ourselves. Uber to the rescue,” I said absently as I thumbed my phone.
The moments Uber’s app annoyingly takes to confirm the ride seemed longer that day as we three waited with our endorphins stirring. When the app finally confirmed our ride, it showed a Camry a couple of blocks and two minutes away. “Over there,” I said, pointing, and clapped my free arm across my husband’s powerful shoulders and turned us away from the tents and toward the perimeter road.
When we had made our way the mile or so around Diamond head and we turned onto and were riding down the road where the house is, Juan gave forth from the front seat with an exclamation of appreciation for the neighborhood. The driver stopped first at the gate into the enclave my rich inlaws call home away from home, and Jimmy gave the guard a grin and a wave that was the equivalent of Open Sesamy. At our gate, with the call box next to the back window, Jim punched in the code. As the gate rolled back and the sea and coast were revealed over the vast flat rooftop, Juan’s exclamation was louder and longer.
Hani had the front doors open when the Uber driver got us to the entrance, and the house was surprisingly clean despite the very recent revelry which had taken place there. Impressive – maybe Hani or Catherine were Marines! I laughed to myself.
Jimmy had introduced our guest, and he’d told the couple directly that we would not need anything during the rest of the afternoon and evening. Their tactful expression of appreciation did not even betray the slightest glance toward Juan, the obvious reason Jim was dismissing them. They were leaving for their own vacation the next morning anyway, so no doubt the time to themselves would be useful for their preparations.
Juan was gazing around at the sumptuous interior and vast Pacific out off the back off the property when I came behind him and took a good grip of those cakes which were displayed so well in his sweaty running shorts. I felt the Spaniard shiver and push back into my hold. As Jimmy moved behind and against me and kissed the back of my neck, I lowered my face to the back of Juan’s neck at his hairline and inhaled his musky scent. “Mmmmmm,” moaned appreciatively, squeezing his butt tighter.
The smell of him had been intoxicating in the open air by the bandstand at the park – manly, a very natural male odor of exertion and sweat. Now the manstink was filling the room despite the open wall to the outside and the sea breeze which was not sufficient to overpower three sex-minded men. Raging pheromones added to the sweat of exertion, and the arousing aroma of male sexual anticipation was overpoweringly CUMpelling.
Our bitch’s moan at my tightened grip was longer and louder, and his press back into me stronger. I let my fingers stray up the legs of his shorts, and my middle finger found his sweaty hole, increasing the volume of his moan. He ground himself into my fingertip until he had me inside him, and then he pushed back farther, begging for more with both his actions and his sounds.
Jimmy kissed and chewed my neck and had his hands down my shorts and had my hardening cock and heavy hanging nuts in his own grip, driving me as nuts as the smell of us and the feel of the runner. My husband further humped me with his massive hardon, as hard as steel, rubbing into the small of my back and my butt and making my need to fuck SOMEone acute.
Juan was panting and moaning gyrating like a bitch in heat . . . which he clearly was. His self-fucking on my fully-inserted finger was abruptly cut short when he finally croaked out, “I should clean. I carbed up before the race.”
We both knew what he meant. Logistics intrude, but the primal drive was too strong at that point. “Fuck that!” growled, and I felt Jimmy’s breath catch in excitement behind me. “You wanted to get fucked, so that’s what’s going to happen,” I declared, and shoved my long middle finger and index finger together inside him as far as I could, getting a deep yelp out of him as I did.
“Si . . . yes,” he gasped and groaned. “I want.” He emphasized his desire by grinding back onto my two fat fingers.
When I crooked my fingers and gave his p-spot a tweak, Juan shouted and started to fall back into me. I didn’t stop with my fingers, but I did get my other hand under his sweaty armpit to keep him upright. “Steady there. We’ve got a long way to go here.”
Jimmy reached around and caught Juan’s other armpit and helped hold him while I worked Juan’s spot until he was writhing and jerking, and he was crying out and begging to be fucked. But I didn’t relent, and I just kept working him like that, and the bitch kept whimpering and shouting and begging and fucking himself back onto my fingers, now twisting and prodding and pumping in and out of him.
When I finally felt that the bitch was about to lose control – his pre had soaked through and made a huge spot within the sweaty wetness of his shorts’ crotch, and his gasps were telling of a man about to blow his nutt - I not gently yanked my fingers out of him, eliciting a sharp gasp and exclamation. “MIERDA!”
Then we propelled him out onto the patio and across to one of the teak tables and pushed him back. “Get up there,” I told him, and Jim went around to help him hoist himself onto the sun-warmed hard wood with his quivering legs unreliable by that point.
I brought my fingers of both hands to my nose and inhaled deeply, more for awareness than because I intended to warn Jimmy before he went in. His armpit was mansweat to the extreme, and my head spun from that alone. But the heavy musk of his hole and buttsweat without a hint of anything more treacherous had my nuts controlling the shots for certain.
Juan and Jim were both watching me, and by way of answer to their unspoken question I put my fingers in my mouth and sucked them and pulled them out slowly. Smacking my lips, I told Jimmy, “Open him up for me, husband!”
Jim’s eyes were hooded, and he wasted no time getting around into position between the runner’s darkly-furred, muscular legs, and pushed his knees back until Juan caught them behind his knees and held himself well and truly open. Jimmy spit aggressively on the hairy brown hole that was winking at him, and Juan spasmed, and his hardon spewed forth a big dollop of precum on his groin fur.
I was moving around to get my cock into Juan’s face when he howled like a bitch. I saw Jimmy had dove in face-first. He was beginning to slurp and spit in the runner-bitch’s hole, and Juan thrashed his head about in frustration. “Please, I beg jou,” he cried out, his accent seeming to become thicker.
Jim lined up and smeared his precummy cockknob on the snapping cunt he’d just eaten – and MAN I wanted to taste that ass on my husband’s face. “NOW!” Juan roared, thrashing his body toward Jimmy and slamming his hand down on the teak table with a loud SMACK when his attempt to impale himself on Jimmy’s ten-plus inches of horsecock failed.
As he roared in frustration, he also threw his head back off the edge of the table, and that was my opening, as it were. With his mouth open in a howl and his neck hyperextended, I caught his corded throat and held him steady while I shoved my fat bullcock into his mouth. Another hard smack of the tabletop with one hand, and his other flailed back toward me.
Then, a loud, deep wail of pain as Jimmy shoved into him, giving him what he’d wanted a bit more aggressively than he’d expected. I felt Jimmy holding steady inside, giving the bitch’s cuntmuscles time to adjust, just as my steady grip on his throat and my cock pressing at his throat’s opening, his mouth straining around my girth, was in hopes of him relaxing so I could shove the other 5 or 6 inches of me down his gullet.
While the bitch didn’t have much luck with my cock, he was already pushing back to get more of Jimmy, and there was no delay in the beginning of his sound reaming. Loud, long moans and cries around my cock as he did his best – which wasn’t great – to suck me while he got cuntstuffed roughly by my other half.
When I finally realized I was no way getting my FAT fuckpole down the Spaniard’s throat, I gave up trying to coax his opening and let him tongue and lip-suck my head and a few inches of me. I also leaned over toward Jimmy, who did the same, and as we kissed over the bitch between us I inhaled deeply of Juan’s musk all over Jimmy’s face. When I licked in a long swipe over his upper lip and then back along his chin, Jimmy ROARED and SLAMMED into Juan, causing him to loudly react, muffled by his cock-stuffed mouth.
I could tell that Juan’s cunt was tight and talented by Jimmy’s expressions as he soundly fucked him. He drilled him deep and hard and faster, and once he caught the bitch’s p-spot and Juan trashed about so wildly that I removed my cock lest he bite it off, Jimmy was like a crazed movie executive raping a starlet.
(Okay, sorry to bring THAT up! But you have to admit it paints the picture!)
I got myself up on the seat and teabagged the bitch and steadied myself on Jimmy’s shoulders as his hips drove Juan right over the edge in a howling climax that had his Spanish spooge splattering up onto me and back down on himself as he yelled and thrashed and rode it for all it was worth. Jimmy, in turn, was hurtling toward the edge himself, as his face and clenched teeth showed. He finally slammed into the bitch SO hard one last time that I stumbled back off the seat from the force of the impact.
“FFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKK!” was the only intelligible word cried by my husband as his face screwed up, his body as taut as if it were stone. Then “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!” as he began convulsing and thrashing his head about in the familiar way I know him to be blasting his nutt HARD and draining his cumtanks forcefully.
My Spanish isn’t good, but I’m pretty sure the translation of the bitch’s loud, enthusiastic response to his cuntchute being drenched with blast after blast of my husband’s seed was probably, “OH FUCK YEAH I WANT EVERY FUCKN DROP!”
As both of them finally calmed down – Jimmy still fully planted inside Juan, Juan’s body limp, his legs now splayed on the table – Jimmy gave me a grin and quietly growled, “YOUR turn!”
We hurriedly changed positions and I yanked the bitch’s ankles into the air high and wide and shoved my blunt end against his gaping, sopping cunthole. Just as Juan was croaking some protest about me being too big, Jimmy shoved his cock fully inside the bitch’s throat. Eyes wide Juan’s protests were muted, and I pressed in.
Despite my husband’s huge cock’s stretching, my fat head was met with enough resistance that I had to SHOVE to get inside Juan’s cunt. That got a frenzied, but barely audible scream out of him, around Jim’s magnificent fuckstick. The way his cockhead was visible pressing out at the base of Juan’s throat and his Adam’s apple was bouncing as he tried to scream from the invasion at my end was like gasoline on the fire of my need to FUCK that bitch.
So I did. ROUGH. DEEP. Long-dicking him in pounding strokes and slamming into his pelvis and then pulling out to where his cunt was STRETCHED open around my monstrous head, then IN again. Over and over.
Jim had started fucking his face, too, and he was gurgling, gagging, choking, spitting and drool was running out of his mouth and down the sides of his face and neck as Jimmy just kept using his hole. His firm grip on the sides of Juan’s sweat-soaked head was better than any staged pornography. And Jimmy’s exceptionally muscular – but lean, ripped, corded – physique rolling an rippling as he face-fucked the bitch was going straight to my already-burning nuts.
I decided to get it moving along and took aim and began nailing the bitch’s p-spot with every thrust just as I grabbed his nuts in a tight grip and pulled and squeezed them as I worked him up. The cries and spasms and thrashing just made the angles I hit his pleasure knob at vary and intensify, and within a couple of minutes he was cumming like a firehose again.
Jimmy pulled out defensively and jacked himself until he blew his second wad all over the bitch’s face, neck, chest and abs and got some on me in the process. Between his cunt clenching as he came and Jimmy’s spray that was it for me, and I went tense. “FFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUU--------“ I went to silent as the skyrockets of my lust were ignited as Jimmy took a long swipe from the bitch’s sweaty, cummy neck down through the cleft of his slab pecs and filled his mouth with his own seed and the bitch’s sweat. Just as my body broke with the intensity of a matter-antimatter explosion, Jimmy had his big paw around my neck and had pulled our mouths together and we snowballed his load as I shot mine so hard into the bitch’s wrecked cunt that it felt like I might throw out my back.
I shot and shot, and I floated somewhere outside of the writhing and thrashing consciousness my body was experiencing. I was aware of my husband’s lips and tongue and the familiar taste of his essence, along with the delicious taste of our bitch’s sweat, but that was a sort of external appreciation as I floated.
At length, Jimmy let go of his gentle but firm grip on the back of my neck, and we parted. Juan was completely limp under me and around my cock, still hard and pulsing inside his gooey depths. I pulled out and then went around and shoved my cock at his face, smacking him alert, then ordering him, “Clean it.”
The bitch went to work, but it was clear that after the first two swipes with his tongue, he didn’t encounter anything unpleasant, and he went to work in earnest. He gave the length of me and my nuts and sac a thorough laving and struggled to get his head to where he could suck my ass. As hosts, we wouldn’t deny a guest, so I got myself to where I could grind my ass fully on his face, and he went to town loudly and hungrily. But when Jimmy alerted me that Juan was jacking his cock frenetically while he was eating me out, I dismounted and smacked his hand away.
“You ask permission before you touch your cock OR cum again. Understood?” I barked.
The Spaniard’s handsome lips curled into a grin. “Si, SENOR,” he smirked.
I didn’t know whether to smack him, laugh or give his abs a pat and tell him he was a good boy. Clearly Jimmy didn’t either, and he just looked at me, waiting.
“I think we’ve earned a cool-down, and I knew we should all rehydrate.” I’d punted, yes. But such was my prerogative, and Jim’s grin told me he didn’t mind one bit.
I led the way to the outdoor shower – which is always just cool enough, not hot from the sun nor chilly in the early morning after our runs – and we all rinsed off. Juan tried to get his cunt tidied up, but it was gaping as if it would never close, and cum just kept running out. I’ll admit that seeing our cum running down his thighs was HOT!
I got us all big bottles of water from the outdoor bar, and we sort of stood awkwardly, first guzzling, then sipping the water. Jimmy was grinning, and that made me grin. Juan was the most uncomfortable. Finally he asked, “You want I go now?”
Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh, got it. “You’re free to go any time. We’ll order you an Uber or drive you whenever you want,” I told him. “But I’m thinking we can have LOADs more fun together, and we’ve got all afternoon,” I added.
I didn’t wait around for his answer, and I took several loping steps and then dove into the big infinity pool and stretched my legs and arms as I swam the length. Before I got to the other end, I felt two other entries to the water and smiled to myself.
We all three ended up hanging over the glass wall at the edge, overlooking the beautiful Pacific below us and the O’ahu coastline. We made smalltalk about the beauty of the view, that the house belongs to Jim’s parents, that yes, we were certain that the caretakers had not been spectators – their cottage is off the garage on the garden on the east end of the house anyway – and some tidbits about Joan, as he gently corrected us on his name. HO-ahn. I stifled a laugh at the HO, and Jimmy admonished me with his stern look, knowing exactly what I was thinking!
It seems that our runner-slut is actually an investment banker from Barcelona . . . and a rather successful one at that. I’d taken the only data we had – that he was sharing a hotel room – to suggest more moderate financial circumstances. But it seemed that the reason for the room share was that he’d been generous to a fellow runner from Spain who could not afford to stay in a nice hotel on his own or even to share a nice room. Joan saved him from making the decision to either forego the Honolulu marathon due to the exorbitant hotel prices, particularly in December, or staying in a “hostel”. I wondered, though, if a hostel in Honolulu might be nicer than most hotel rooms in other cities.
Still the extent of the comfort of Jim’s parents’ accommodations was sufficient to have Joan gaping, and Jimmy, uncomfortable with the focus on his parents’ obvious wealth – and his, though Joan didn’t know that – changed the subject by offering lunch. Joan’s look of eagerness was immediate and extreme – poor guy, we’d known he’d just run his ass off, and then we make him WORK his ass off! Certainly he had to be famished.
We grabbed some pool towels and wrapped ourselves and tracked across the rough slate floors inside to the kitchen and went to work like savages pillaging everything edible we could find. When we’d made a thorough mess of the kitchen and were finally leaning back too full to move, Catherine appeared. She looked about the mess strewn over several of the long, wide surfaces in the vast kitchen and smiled. “It’s good to have people enjoying themselves here,” she told us. “Why don’t you boys get anything else you want and go out and enjoy the afternoon sun while I put this kitchen back right again. Oh, and Mister James, will your guest be staying for dinner tonight? I am planning a special dinner for you and Mr. William tonight before we are gone for the ten days.”
Jimmy quickly handled that all. He very gently got Catherine to accept that he wanted her to relax for the evening rather than putting together some feast, and he invited Joan – and his roommate, if he was available – to dinner with us in Waikiki. I always marvel at how adept Jimmy is in any social situation – a stark contrast to my complete and total ineptitude.
* * * * * * * * * * *
I pulled the vintage Bentley convertible up into the hotel’s portico right on time, and Joan and his roommate were there already, but they were immediately inside the lobby waiting for us instead of at the restaurant bar. Joan’s friend – Paul – Pah-OOOL – was not what we expected. He was every bit as fit as Joan, as evidenced by a well-fitted short-sleeved shirt untucked over walking shorts that showed off his olive-skinned, well-shaped runner’s legs. But his face was stunning, like he should be a movie star, not whatever he did that didn’t seem to pay him much.
Paul protested and wanted to beg off dinner, telling us that he didn’t want to take advantage of our generosity. His accent was much stronger than Joan’s, but his English vocabulary and syntax was better. Jimmy waived off his protests, and he clamped his big arm around Paul’s broad shoulders and pulled him through the Surfrider lobby and out to the steakhouse overlooking the beach.
Jim knows this hotel has a special place in my past – almost a week spent there when I was posted to MCBH and had just returned from a devastating, soul-crushing mission and hooked up with a gentle man who was the perfect antidote for a Marine’s moment of weakness. Now, on our trips to Honolulu, we’ve made it our place, even having rented out the biggest suite, the same one that gentle angel who helped me through over fifteen years before had inhabited, and we’d made our own history in every part of it.
As our delightful dinner progressed, it became clear that Paul expected to have to let us fuck him in repayment. Nothing could have been farther from our intentions – though we did intend to take Joan back to our place and keep him all night! As often happens, the thought about Paul’s expectation came to Jimmy and me at about the same time. We stumbled through a reassuring discussion, and the most difficult part was that he seemed to think he hadn’t measured up in some way. As always, Jim’s way with people won out, and we ended the evening with a long walk after dinner along the beach that took us all the way down to where their hotel was.
Paul said his goodbyes at that mid-point of our post-dinner walk, and Joan stayed with us on the walk back west along Waikiki beach, which is every bit as vibrant and beautiful in the moonlight at 22:30 as it is in the hot afternoon sun. As we walked back to the Surfrider to get our car, we three walked arms around shoulders and just enjoyed ourselves. It’s easy being with Joan, and our afternoon’s sexcapades and the promise of more put enough of a frisson into our easy togetherness to make it exciting.
That night, though, our sex was slow and easy. Three hairy men – two middle-aged, one far from it – all in great shape and enjoying each other’s muscles, textures, tastes, smells and reactions. We’d already wrecked Joan’s hole, so when he was languidly riding my cock as I lay back enjoying it, and Jimmy was behind him gently stroking Joan’s cock with one hand and playing with his nipples with his other, and then suddenly Jimmy was forcing him inside Joan alongside my fat cock which was already stretching him obscenely, I was suddenly ignited into near frenzy.
We’d NEVER gotten a bitch who could take both of us – ever! Most had trouble with either of us alone, particularly my bullcock. Joan cried out in a mixture of pain and desire as Jim pressed into his dripping cunt alongside me. I started to spear up into him, but Jimmy stopped me. “No, my love, relax and just let Joan take us at his own pace. He began rubbing my legs gently to slow me down, and I responded.
Joan struggled, but he managed to open himself enough by leaning forward almost horizontal on my chest to allow Jimmy entry. When he had him inside and was finally beginning to move some on us, Jimmy laid back between my legs and pulled Joan upright again. When Joan was up and seated fully on us both, I noticed his cock was hard as a lead pipe and dripping copious amounts of precum.
Slowly, with his head tilted back as if he was far away somewhere, Joan began to ride the two of us. Impaled on us, his only motions were up and down and some very pleasing gyrations. My “HOLY FUCK that’s GOOD!” seemed to stoke him, and he began grunting as he rode us more aggressively, and both of us moaned our encouragement and appreciation.
Jimmy was the first to begin to countertime thrusts up into Joan, and the feeling of Joan bouncing on us and my husband’s thick, hard, veiny fuckrod rubbing alongside mine was beyond description. Soon we were all three awkwardly in the mix – not rough or crazy, but energetically and interspersed with laughter when the cadence went a bit wrong. He rode us like that for so long that even my training to be a flawless judge of time failed me . . . we just went on.
Finally Joan decided to let us do the thrusting, and he began gyrating his cunt around us in a circular rhythm. Jimmy and I are good with eachother’s rhythms, and we soon were alternating thrusts up into him while he worked us like an old washing machine swirling around and around on us, his cunt stretched to its limit and squeezing us TIGHT.
Joan found his own spot and worked himself to where each of our thrusts were nailing his p-spot almost every time, and he moaned and carried on, undulating faster and faster on and around us as he worked himself to the edge. When he finally cried out long and loud as his body tensed and his cunt clenched us so painfully we had trouble maintaining a stroke rhythm into him, his entire body was covered with a sheen of sweat – his fur, his skin, his hairline along his neck dripping – and his muscles were a symphony of sight as he broke into his climax.
Shot after shot sprayed me as he came without ever touching himself, crying, screaming, moaning, growling and exclaiming in Spanish as he shot 7 healthy shots all over my hair, face, neck, chest, and abs as he loosed his seed. I felt Jimmy’s cock go rigid and fatter next to mine, and I reached out and felt his thighs alongside Joan’s ass and over my thighs and felt him tensed and about to explode. That pulled me over the edge, and as Joan cried out his appreciation for us soaking his STRETCHED insides, I lost all sense of Jimmy’s cock versus mine pulsing and blasting and going hypersensitive but unable to stop my body’s trajectory along the pleasure path.
The puddle of cum having flowed out of Joan’s STRETCHED cunt was HUGE. We laughed as we tried to get ourselves situated to where the three of us could occupy the bed, be in contact with one another – a 3-way spoon – and none of us be in the puddle. It was impossible, and laughing with resignation to the necessity, we got up, stripped the bed down to the mattress pad which had been sopping up spooge already and got to remaking the bed after Jimmy finally found the linens. We used a rarely-used duvet for a mattress pad, not having found one, and I’ll admit that both that and the silky sheets we replaced the fine cotton ones which had been on the bed made for a heavenly laydown when we finally got to it.
We fell asleep that way – 3 spoons . . . and had one of the best nights of sleep ever on that, Joan’s last night in Honolulu.
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