Four Squared

We are the four. We've known each other since high school. We went to the same college. We were on the same football team together with the same major. We married cheerleaders with great personalities and bodies to match. In graduate school, we studied together in Computer Science with different areas of specialty.

Armed with graduate degrees, we established ourselves as independent contractors in Information Technology. We signed consulting contracts as individuals but worked them all as a team. Our expertise in varied areas of the IT world allowed us to bid opportunities not available to a single practitioner. Over time, we've picked up considerable education from each other. We function as an integrated unit although we look like independent contractors to the outside world, including the tax agencies.

I'm Gene. My specialty is in computer/human interfaces. I also specialize in network interfaces. I married Jamie during my first year of graduate school. Vince is our information security guy. Vince is married to Kimberlie, Kim to most of us. Doug is our data specialist who shares his life with Val. Finally, there's Burt. Burt's specialty is computer languages. His wife, Lois, swears he mumbles incoherently when sleeping and dreams in JavaScript.

Our wives all know each other and the four couples maintain an active social life without the complications of benefits. All four women work and while children are a possibility, they're sometime in the future.

We live within a short distance of each other and our home offices are crammed with the tools of our trade and look like the bridge of a starship. We keep our own records and at the end of each quarter we pay each other as necessary to level our incomes.

Separately, as employees of some Silicone Valley enterprise, we'd make about $140K a year each. Working together, we each average more than four times that. The best part of the arrangement is that we don't have to work too hard, the commute is measured in feet and inches and we can create time off whenever we want. Golf is one of our priorities and we play twice a week.

Five years ago, I organized a week long golf getaway for the four of us. Originally, I thought we'd go with our wives but they declined. Jamie explained to me that the wives had little interest in killing time in some golf wilderness while we disappeared to chase a little white ball into the woods.

I worked with an agency that specializes in golf getaways. I settled on seven nights, six days at a mountain resort with four nearby nationally and state ranked golf courses and a number of other private clubs that the agency could book for us. The result was an eight day, seven nights, outing with two travel days and six days of golf on six different courses.

It wasn't cheap but it was incredible. Travel was first class. We were picked up at the airport and shuttled to the resort where a mini-van was available for transportation to and from the courses or whenever we wished to leave the resort. Carol, the resort concierge, met us in the lobby, checked us in and showed us our room.

We had a four bedroom suite, each with its own bathroom, on the limited access top floor of the resort. The suite had a large common area with kitchen, dining and living sections and a huge 85 inch television. A short walk from the suite and up a flight of stairs was a pool and hot tub reserved for the residents of the top floor.

Our days were simple. Breakfast, golf, a lazy afternoon, dinner, more free time and sleep. Breakfast was in the resort hotel and the golf courses were spectacular. We played a modified version of Stableford scoring with a five dollar Nassau payoff. Afternoons were spent sleeping or soaking in the roof top hot tub. Dinner each night was a different ethnic cuisine, some of which were off the resort grounds. Evenings we watched a movie or sports and we slept well in preparation for the next day. Carol checked with us twice a day, after breakfast and before dinner.

At home we were greeted like conquering heroes. Nobody had had sex for over seven days and our wives wanted to make up for lost time. None of us objected. The whole thing was such a success, including the homecoming, that we planned to do it again the next year.

I worked with the same agency and selected a different resort for the next golf trip. The resort had nine courses on its property and another thirty nearby. I selected four on the property and two others with national rankings.

We planned the same routine. However, this time we had two, two bedroom suites across the hall from each other and the hot tub and pool were shared with the rest of the guests. The restaurants were excellent but uniform in offerings. It was less expensive than the previous year and we did have a good time, but we noticed the missing amenities and variations and thought the lower cost didn't compensate for the loss of luxury.

The next year we went back to the original resort. We scheduled the same suite, three of the original golf courses and three we hadn't played. Carol, the concierge, remembered us from two years ago and led us to our room. The routine was the same, breakfast, golf, rest, dinner, something social and sleep.

The evening of the third night we were there, there were no sports on television and no movies we could agree on. Burt spent about ten minutes with the television remote searching the various channels available. He discovered an adult service with soft pornography films. He put on one and we settled in to watch. Within fifteen minutes, we were all unhappy with the result. Not only were the scenes unrealistic, they were obviously staged. More than that, it reminded us that we were hundreds of miles away from home and without female companionship.

We killed the flick and Doug searched for a deck of cards. His thinking was we could play poker to kill the evening. When he didn't find any, he grabbed a room key and headed out the door to find Carol and a deck of cards. Burt went with him.

I unpacked my laptop and began idly searching the internet and Vince fell asleep on the sofa. Twenty minutes later, the phone rang. Vince woke up but I answered the phone. Burt was on the other end.

"Gene," he said. "You and Vince have to come down here."

"Down where?" I asked.

"In the lounge," explained Burt.

"What are you doing in the lounge?" I asked. "I thought you were looking for a deck of cards?"

"We were," explained Burt. "But we found something better. Infinitely better."

"Okay. I'm listening," I responded.

"It's the lounge," explained Burt again. "It's crawling with women and I think they're all looking for connections."

"So?" I asked.

"Don't you get it?" he asked. "Live women, looking for sex," he said.

I could hear the excitement in his voice although I didn't see how it applied to us. "What do you want us to do?" I asked.

"Get your asses down here," stated Burt. "We can't miss."

"Did you forget you're married and so are the rest of us?" I asked.

"Whose to know?" he responded. "I don't plan on saying anything when we get home."

"You're nuts, you know," I chided him. "And you're playing with fire."

"What's wrong with one night of fire?" he asked. "You and Vince get your asses down here," he added and hung up.

"What was that all about?" asked Vince.

"Burt and Doug have found a party with live, and willing, women and they want us to join them," I explained.

"What's the harm in that?" asked Vince. "We should go."

"We're married," I stated.

"I know but what's the harm in a little flirting?" he questioned. "It's better than spending a boring couple of hours in this room."

I went with him. A little flirting is just what I needed to change my mood.

When Vince and I entered the lounge, Burt and Doug were standing at a round table on the side of the lounge with four young and very vivacious women. All of them were holding drinks. Doug saw us and waved us over to the table.

"Hey, ladies," he said. "Here's the rest of our foursome." He introduced us to Beth, Ellen, Janice and Tiffany. No shit, Tiffany.

I have to admit, socializing, and a couple of drinks did wonders for my mind. Sometime during the evening the arrangement around the table changed from men on one side and women on the other to alternating men and women. I was between Ellen and Tiffany. They were both gregarious, funny, superstructure enhanced and flirty.

Doug made sure the drinks kept coming although it seemed the women got an additional drink on occasion. Tiffany was especially touchy. Her hands were always moving and frequently landing on some part of my body. I didn't complain. Her touch created welcome physical sensations so why would I. Her movements included her own body as well. Unnoticed, the top button on her blouse became undone and, soon after, the second button. The top of her lacy bra was exposed and obviously having a problem containing her Rolls Royce version of breasts.

Doug excused himself to find relief. Without explanation, Ellen joined him. Nobody else thought that was unusual so I didn't comment either. They never returned.

Tiffany took my arm. "I think we should go look for Doug and Ellen," she suggested. It must have been the drinks since I didn't think that was unusual either. On the way out of the lounge, I asked Tiffany, "Where should we look?"

"Probably in one of our rooms," thought Tiffany. That suggestion didn't seem odd to me either.

"Your place or mine?" I asked. I hadn't used that phrase since before I was married and usually when I was looking for a place to get laid. Was that the case here? It actually hadn't occurred to me then that it was.

"We're sharing a single bedroom with two queen beds," revealed Tiffany. "Your place?" she asked.

"Why not?" I thought. Doug and Ellen were probably looking for privacy. Why I didn't think that Tiffany was also looking for privacy remains a mystery.

In the elevator, I used my room card key to rise to the fifteenth floor. "Oooh. Top floor," commented Tiffany as she wrapped her arms around my arm and put her head on my shoulder. I opened the door to the suite and let her enter first.

She was impressed by the size and elegance of the suite. "This is incredible," she said. "All four of you are staying here?"

"We are. There are four bedrooms," I informed her.

"Which one is yours?" she asked.

I pointed to the bedroom on the back left. "Show me," she ordered.

In the bedroom, Tiffany commented on the size of the room and the king sized bed. "This is larger than our entire room on the third floor and the bed looks amazing and just for you alone."

"True," I admitted.

"I don't think that's right," Tiffany said. She closed and locked the bedroom door before standing in front of me. "I think that bed should be shared."

I'm not proud that it took that long for the sudden realization that Tiffany, and probably Ellen with Doug, had an agenda in mind. While I was sorting my thoughts out, Tiffany took my cheeks in both hands and kissed me.

She tasted incredible and all my thoughts, and reservations, vaporized. I kissed her back. My arms went around her waist, I pulled her tight against me, her monster breasts crushed against me and I kissed her a third time.

Breathing hard, Tiffany stepped back. "These are constricting," she said as she completed unbuttoning her blouse. The blouse ended on the floor. She turned around. "Help me here," she asked.

In a daze that was rapidly fading, I undid the four hooks of her bra and watched her toss it aside. When she turned around, her breasts lagged somewhat and she stood again facing me, her breasts swinging gently and catching up with the rest of her body.

I couldn't help staring. As large as her breasts were, they were remarkably perky and firm. Her areolae were small for the size of her breasts and her nipples large. "Nothing could be that perfect," I thought.

Tiffany smiled. "They're real," she said. "Feel them. They're real."

I hefted a breast in each hand. It was difficult containing each of them in just one hand. They were real. More real than any breast I'd ever felt. I touched her already stiff nipples with my thumbs.

"Oooh, that feels wonderful," she commented. "Do it again."

I did and she "Ooohed" again and closed her eyes. I kissed her again. She put her arms around my neck and intensified the kiss. One of her hands came up and tried to unbutton my shirt. "I want to feel my nipples against your skin," she said.

I helped her remove my shirt. She ran her fingers through my chest hair, put her arms around my neck again and kissed me again emphasizing the movement of her breasts against my skin.

I knew at that moment, that I was lost. I had fallen into a sexually created pit and I was anxious to dig deeper. Somewhere, I knew that I'd have to do damage control but that was later. Much later. Now was now and the only thing that mattered.

Tiffany slid down my body and kissed my nipples. Her hands were active, blindly unbuckling my belt. Without remorse, I helped her and my trousers fell around my ankles. My briefs quickly followed. Her hands were all over my willing erection and testicles. Soon, so was her mouth.

My knees weakened and Tiffany maneuvered us to the side of the bed and I sat down. She took a short break to remove my shoes, socks and the rest of my pants. My legs separated further and she returned to sucking my cock.

She was very good. Within minutes, I was warning her against continuing.

"Why?" she asked. "Don't you like it?"

"It's incredible," I assured her. "I'm concerned that I'll have and orgasm."

"Is that so bad?" she asked between oral strokes.

"It could create difficulties later," I said.

"Are you in a rush?" she asked. "I've got plenty of time."

Mollified, I lay back and welcomed her efforts. As predicted, I came in her mouth. Tiffany swallowed and continued to suck on my erection that offered her several more, diminishing volumes of semen. She swallowed it all, licked her lips and swallowed again.

Grinning, like a sexual version of Lewis Carroll's Cheshire Cat, she stood in front of me, kicked off her shoes and removed her skirt. She was wearing bikini briefs with an obvious wet spot. "Can you help me again?" she asked.

Her name might be Tiffany but she was no fool. I realized that, in order to "help" her, I would have to be on my knees in front of her when I removed her panties. I wasn't adverse to that position, so I got off the bed and knelt in front of her. She pushed her hips forward and I grabbed the waistband of her panties and pulled them down and off her feet.

She was as bald as Patrick Steward's head. The detail of her pudenda was incredible. Her major labia were distended and swollen, revealing anatomically perfect minor labia. Her clitoris had emerged from its hiding place and was begging for attention.

I wasted no time in providing it. I put my arms around her hips and pulled her pussy toward me. First my lips and then my tongue found a home around her clitoris and I sucked it gently into my mouth. Tiffany's legs collapsed. I caught her and lay her on the bed with her legs over the side and spread apart. I returned my focus to her clitoris. Her legs came up alongside my head, her heels on the edge of the bed.

She squirmed and closed her legs around my head, whether to stop me or encourage me I had no idea. I choose encourage. I ran my tongue around her clitoris and dragged it down between her swollen lips. I probed between her labia as far as my tongue would reach. She tasted fresh and clean, like flat lemon scented seltzer. For only a brief second, I hoped she wasn't underage. I slowly returned to my starting point, prolonging the sensation as long as possible. I added two fingers to her vagina and squeezed her clitoris between my fingers and tongue. When I moved my tongue or fingers, her body reflexively lurched.

After a few minutes, her back arched and she squeezed my head between her thighs. She failed trying to muffle her scream by biting on her wrist. Before she could recover, I slid up her body and thrust my erection into her. Her body lurched in response. She relaxed into the feeling and she wrapped her legs around my waist.

We settled into a prolonged rhythm, neither of us prepared to climax soon. What began as a serious fuck morphed into a fun screw. We kissed and laughed together as our hips collided against each other. Tiffany began to show signs of an impending orgasm first. The tingling of her body caused similar reactions in my body. We climbed the orgasm mountain together. I got there first, injecting warm semen deep inside her. Her orgasm followed quickly, pushing what was left of my erection and its effluent from her body.

We lay together for several minutes before Tiffany excused herself and headed for the bathroom. I waited while she peed and took a short shower. She came back into the bedroom with a towel around her waist and her magnificent breasts glowing in the reflected light of the bathroom. She began to collect her clothing in preparation to getting dressed.

"Leaving so soon?" I asked.

"I think it's the right thing to do. If I stay, I run the risk of dying in your arms and you'll never make it to breakfast. If I go now, we have tomorrow to look forward to."

I watched as she tossed the towel on the bed near my feet. She picked up her panties, examined them, rolled them in a ball and put them on the bed on top of the towel. For someone who needed help removing her bra, she was efficient in putting it back on. She wrapped it backward around her body, hooked it, turned it around on her body, slipped the shoulder straps up and settled her breasts in the undersized cups.

She donned her skirt and blouse efficiently and balanced on one foot at a time putting on her shoes. She leaned over and kissed me and then lifted my flaccid penis and kissed it also. She picked up her panties, stuffed them in a pocket of her skirt and left the bedroom with a wave. Seconds later, I heard the suite door close.

I slept peacefully after moving to the other side of the bed to avoid the damaged sheets and woke early. I picked up my clothing from last night, showered and dressed for breakfast and golf later. No one was in the common area when I exited my bedroom. I knocked on each of the other bedroom doors to remind them of our schedule.

I waited, watching some early news on the television. Vince and Burt eventually came out of their bedrooms and joined me watching the news. To our surprise, when Doug's bedroom door opened, Ellen emerged. She was awkwardly dressed, the buttons on her blouse skewed having missed their usual button holes and she was carrying her shoes. She waved at us and left the suite.

Doug emerged several minutes later. He looked tired but with a satisfied glow. None of us commented on the events of the previous evening, and night in Doug's case. We went to breakfast.

Doug was the big loser at golf and took some ribbing about his lack of energy. After dinner, we started back to the room. Doug wanted to detour through the lounge. Burt agreed and they headed in that direction while Vince and I headed for the suite.

We found a movie we hadn't seen and settled in. About thirty minutes later, Doug and Burt came back from the lounge. They looked both disappointed and relieved. "No options?" I asked.

"If you mean in the form of Beth, Ellen, Janice and Tiffany, you're correct. The place seemed dull. The only thing interesting was four middle aged women in a rear booth."

We spent the night in the usual boring manner and headed for breakfast and golf the next morning. After dinner, Doug, forever the optimist, wanted to detour through the lounge. Just for the hell of it, we all went with him.

The lounge was pretty much as he had described it the night before. He noticed the four middle aged women in the rear booth. Since we were there, we sat at the bar and ordered drinks. We drank slowly. Doug interrupted our discussion about whether the Nationals had a chance to get to the series.