Girl Talk 4

"Happy anniversary, darling." My wife Joan raised a glass of champagne above the table in our favorite French restaurant. The candlelight glinted on the bubbles in the wine. I touched my glass to hers. "Happy anniversary--has it really been five years?"

"Mmmmm. . . Five great ones--and many more to come, if I have anything to say about it." She smiled and sipped her champagne, then blew me a kiss across the table, giving her long blonde hair a toss. Joan is tall and statuesque, with a face and body that supermodels would kill for. Tonight she was wearing a backless red dress that covered her like body paint and made it obvious that she neither wore nor needed a bra (when she stood up, a close observer might have noticed that she wasn't wearing panties either--she says she hates feeling confined). The eyes of every man in the place were on her, and I felt a thrill of excitement at the thought that they could look and admire and wonder, but I was the one who would get to peel off that skin-tight crimson sheath and hold her perfect body tonight.

Not that I'm possessive--it's the second marriage for both of us, and we've both learned the hard way that it's jealousy, not adultery, that destroys marriages. We've both had flings, but we both know that nothing is going to tear us apart--we fit too well, in every way.

Suddenly her eyes widened. "Sweetheart, isn't that Leslie?"

"It can't be. . ." I turned my head to follow her gaze, and saw the small, dark-haired woman being shown to a table. ". . . but it is. What's she doing on the West Coast?"

"Go say hello, darling."

"No, it's our anniversary. This is just for us."

"Oh, go on. If you don't and she sees you it'll just be embarrassing. Look, they're taking away the other place setting. She's eating alone. Why don't you ask her to join us?"

"You want my ex-wife to have dinner with us on our anniversary?" I was skeptical--and a bit uncomfortable with the idea.

"You know I've always wanted to meet her, and I might never get another chance. Go on!" She laughed, enjoying my discomfort.

Leslie and I were married in college, and had three wonderful, passionate years together in New York. Then my career in the wine trade took me out to the West Coast, and hers in public relations kept her back East. We tried to have a commuter marriage while we worked out a way to live together, but neither of us could manage the long weeks of celibacy between visits, and neither of us was devious enough to conceal the evidence of our other lovers. We tried to be accepting and tolerant, but weren't mature enough for that. When we could no longer stand our own or the other's jealousy, we got divorced, but we managed somehow to come out on the other side of the ordeal as friends. We'd kept in touch, but after I married Joan the phone calls, stopped, the letters became less frequent, and for the last two years we hadn't exchanged so much as a Christmas card. Joan had never met Leslie, but she'd seen her picture in my college yearbook and had asked a lot of questions--all of which I'd managed to avoid answering in any detail.

I shrugged, got up and walked over to Leslie's table. She was studying the menu and didn't see me coming. She looked as great as ever, with the dark hair and complexion she inherited from her Puerto Rican father and the full lips and high cheekbones from her Jewish mother. She was several inches shorter than Joan, more petite and smaller-breasted--I remembered how they just fit the palms of my hands when I took her from behind. My heart was racing, and my cock remembering things that my brain hadn't quite got to yet as I approached her.

She looked up, recognized me, started to get up, then changed her mind. "Dave! It's great to see you. How are you?"

"Oh, I'm alright. How could you come to Portland without telling me?"

"Oh, it's a business trip--one of our clients just opened a branch here and they want us to handle publicity. There just wasn't time for anything else. I was supposed to fly back tonight, but they overbooked my flight. I'm going on vacation as soon as I get back, so I decided to let myself be bumped and take the free ticket."

"Well, why don't you join us?" I gestured toward our table.

She looked over at Joan, who was playing with her hors d’oeuvre and trying hard not to watch us. "Oh, I don't want to intrude."

"You're not." She hesitated. "Really--it was Joan's idea. If you don't come, she'll think I said something to scare you off, and she'll get suspicious." I grinned to show it was just a joke--I hoped.

Leslie shrugged, smiled, and headed for the other table, while I signaled the waiter. I introduced my first and second wives to each other, ordered another bottle of champagne, and hoped for the best--without being sure what the best might be.

"Do you guys come here often?" Leslie asked. "Oh, mostly for special occasions," Joan replied. "But we make as many of those as we can."

"What's the occasion tonight?"

"It's our anniversary." I thought Joan seemed just a little smug.

"What a coincidence! It's ours too!" Leslie flashed her most dazzling smile at me. I felt myself blushing, and believe me, that's something I don't do much any more.

"I thought you two got married in August," Joan said.

Leslie grinned at her. "Not our wedding anniversary."

Joan looked at me for an explanation. "Uh. . ." I fumbled, "the, um, the anniversary of the first time we, uh, slept together." I felt like a fourteen year old on his first date.

Leslie giggled. "I don't remember getting much sleep!"

Joan looked at me, then at Leslie, then burst out laughing in her low, throaty chuckle.

"No, with Dave I don't expect you would--I have to sleep with my legs crossed if I really want any rest!" They both burst into peals of laughter at my embarrassment.

That broke the ice, and by the time we were halfway through dinner the two women were laughing together like they were old girlfriends and I was just some guy they'd brought along for the ride. I was feeling more relaxed too, with the help of a couple of glasses of an excellent Mersault. We finished our entrees and ordered coffee and dessert. The waiter scribbled on his pad and strode away. Joan looked at Lesie. "Ladies room?" Leslie nodded. They gathered up their purses, smiled sweetly at me, and disappeared toward the back to the restaurant.

I waited a minute, then followed. I knew something Joan didn't. The restaurant is country French, not haute cuisine, and though the food is great and the wine list exceptional, the ambience is more funky than elegant. The rest rooms were shoehorned into the back of the old storefront, and the partition between the men's and women's is thin, and the plumbing is old. In one of the men's stalls, a pipe runs right through the wall, and if you pull back the metal flange around the pipe, you can see through into one of the women's stalls. My friend Bob had shown it to me, but I'd never taken advantage before--that sort of peeping isn't one of my turn-ons. But this time I was more interested in listening than looking.

Or so I thought--I got my eye to the gap just in time to see the stall door open and Leslie step inside. I could only see her from the waist down, but it was quite a view as she turned her back, raised her dress, and pulled down her pantyhose. She might have gained a pound or two in the past eight years, but on her they sure looked good. I got an eyeful of her luscious ass as she lowered it onto the seat.

"So how are you and Dave doing?" she called out to Joan. "You seem happy."

"Oh, we are. I think we both learned a lot from our first marriages--I don't know how anybody gets it right the first time."

"Does he still like eating pussy?" Leslie giggled, and I heard the metallic hiss of urine on porcelain.

Joan laughed. "Honey, he likes pussy the way I like chocolate. Maybe even more than he likes good wine." Maybe? Let’s just say that, if I had to choose, it wouldn’t be wine I’d take to a desert island.

"He always did--he used to go down on me for hours. Even when I had my period."

"Yeah--just last Friday night he must have spent an hour and a half eating me out. I had seven orgasms. I think--I kind of lost track around five. Anyway, finally he let me go to sleep. So I have this dream that I'm Snow White, and I'm getting fucked by all seven dwarfs, one at a time, you know? And then I wake up, mid-orgasm, and there's the sun shining in and Dave with his tongue up my twat! Not a bad way to start the morning, actually." She laughed.

Leslie wiped herself and got up. "Sounds like Dave, alright. I hope you don't mind me talking about this stuff. Dave and I weren't really meant to be married, but I have a lot of good memories--especially about sex."

"Oh, I don't mind. It's kind of fun to talk about it with somebody who knows. He remembers you too--he tries to hide it, though."

"Oh?"

"Yeah--about a month ago I was going down on him and I tried something I hadn't done before. I sort of wrapped my lips around my teeth and slid them up and down the front of his cock. And he kind of moaned 'Oh, Les.' He caught himself and tried to change it to 'oh yes,' but I could tell."

"Hah! Yeah, I used to do that a lot. 'Cause when we first got together he was only 20--I was 18--and I don't think anybody had ever really sucked him off. And he was kind of shy about it. And I worked on him for 45 minutes, and he moaned and groaned and squirmed, but he didn't come. I was starting to feel kind of upset because I may have been only eighteen, but I was real proud of my blowjob technique. And my jaws were getting sore, because--well, you know."

"Oh yeah. It's not the longest cock in the world, but length never did that much for me anyway. Dave is far and away the thickest I've ever had in me. In fact the first time we fucked, I reached down to touch him and I just about jumped out of bed--I didn't think he'd fit."

"Yeah, but he fills you up nicely, doesn't he? Anyway, I finally figured out that the problem was he'd never done this before and he was afraid to come in my mouth--he just couldn't let himself go. So I did that thing with my lips, like you did, and pow! Old Faithful!"

I remembered that night. The Allman Brothers album "Eat a Peach" was on the stereo, playing over and over while Leslie licked and sucked my cock, which felt like it was going to explode. I tried to relax and let myself come, but somehow I couldn't. She caressed my balls, tickled my asshole with her finger, teased my nipples while she sucked me, but nothing worked. I was right on the edge, but couldn't quite get over the edge. The thought of shooting cum down her throat and watching her swallow my cream was exciting, but I was afraid she wouldn't like it, and at that age I was too shy to ask. Then she took me out of her mouth and applied her lips to the front of my cock, right below the head. Five strokes was all it took--I thought I'd never stop coming. There was a river of semen from my navel to my chest; Leslie lapped up every drop and said "Yum". I never had that problem again, but Leslie continued to use that technique, and when Joan discovered it I was overcome with a rush of memories and Leslie's name slipped out.

"Anyway, I don't usually talk like this," Leslie was over by the mirror and her voice was muffled, "I guess it's the wine. And the anniversary bit set me off. That and the fact that I'm hornier than a cat in heat--I haven't got laid in six months."

Joan laughed. "Oh, come on!"

"Don't I wish--I've just been working too hard. I make a point of never screwing clients or colleagues, and lately I haven't seen anybody else. I've been buttering my own bagel since April, if you know what I mean."

"Mmmmm. . . polishing the pearl, eh?" They both burst into giggles.

"Yeah, petting my kitty every night. And as much as I enjoy ladyfingers in cream--" more giggles-- "it does get a little old. But I'm off to Paris on Wednesday. Those Frenchmen better be eating their oysters--and they better get ready to eat mine!"

"Well, you know. . . " Joan and Leslie seemed to have moved farther from my spyhole and were talking more softly. I could only hear a few phrases and frequent bursts of laughter. ". . . no pressure. . . sort of an anniversary present. . . I'd love to. . . see his face--and. . ."

I gave up, pushed the flange back against the wall and went back to the table.

The girls joined me a minute later, looking pleased with themselves. They were quieter as we finished our dessert and coffee than they had been during dinner, but every few minutes they would look at each other and giggle. I got the check and paid, and we headed for the door. Joan stepped in between Leslie and I, linking arms with both of us.

"Why don't you come to our place and have a soak in our new hot tub?" she asked Leslie.

"That sounds great--but I wouldn't want to keep Dave up past his bedtime." Leslie chuckled. "Oh, Dave's always willing to be kept up." They leaned their heads together and laughed.

So fifteen minutes later I was on the deck behind our house, slipping into the warm water. A moment later Joan and Leslie emerged from the little dressing room we built when we put in the tub. They were the most beautiful pair of opposites you can imagine: Joan tall, slim, blonde, with generous pink nipples on her large, firm breasts, and delicate golden fleece between her thighs; Leslie short, compact, curvy, with smaller breasts and brown nipples, and a luxuriant black bush below her belly. My delight must have shown on my face, because they smiled in unison as they joined me in the tub.

Joan hit the button that turned on the whirlpool, and the water bubbled up around us.

Then she and Leslie slid around the tub toward me, and suddenly I felt two pairs of breasts pressing against me, two sets of lips kissing my face, and two hands groping at my cock. I wasn't completely surprised, but I hadn't really dared to hope for this. I made a half hearted attempt to play it cool, but my cock is always honest, and it sprang to attention in seconds. I gave in and began kissing and groping back. We spent a few minutes kissing and feeling each other up, then climbed out of the tub onto the carpeted deck. I hesitated, and then found myself pushed down on my back, two warm bodies on top of me. At first they were all over me, then they slid down my belly, and before I knew it, Joan was licking the head of my cock while Leslie took my balls in her mouth and rolled them around with her tongue. I closed my eyes and gave in to the feeling, as a finger probed gently into my asshole and another flicked at my left nipple.

I just let it happen. Hands and lips and tongues were all over me, and it seemed that every nerve on my body was directly wired to my cock, which felt like a rocket about to lift off. And the it was happening, and I opened my eyes to see two heads, one blonde, on brunette, bent over my groin, Joan's mouth on one side of my cock and Leslie's on the other, their tongues thrust out to catch the semen that gushed from it, sucking up the white cream, licking it off the tip of my member, their tongues battling for each drop. And then licking it off each other's lips as I kept coming and it dripped from their mouths and ran down their chins.

And then they were kissing each other, rolling off me onto the carpet, Joan touching Leslie's breast, Leslie stroking Joan's pubic hair. Leslie, I knew, had been with women before, Joan hadn't. I was all the more surprised to see Joan push Les down and swing around into sixty-nine position, then bury her face in Leslie's dark twat as Leslie fingered Joan's clit, then raised her head to lick it.

I lay back and watched, stroking my cock and enjoying the wet slurping sounds and soft moans. I could see that Joan was tentative at first, but soon she was taking the lead, thrusting her fingers into Leslie’s cunt, then slipping one into her ass. Leslie whimpered and squirmed; I remembered how she used to yell when she came–with those thin dorm walls it could be embarrassing at breakfast the next morning. One time in particular, when she was on top, she collapsed on my chest as she finished, shouting, “Oh God, that’s the best fuck I ever had!” In the morning my next door neighbor Jack was in front of her in the cafeteria line. He scooped up a large spoonful of oatmeal and held it out to her. “Exactly how good was it?” he asked.

Now she made as much noise as she could with her mouth filled with Joan’s cunt. Joan, who tends to be quiet in bed, was just licking and thrusting away. Finally Leslie threw her head back, thrust her hips up, and with a hoarse “Aaaaooohhh!” locked her ankles behind Joan’s head as she came.

She barely caught her breath, then flipped Joan over and finished her off with a few licks–Joan broke her usual quiet habit by letting out a soft whinny as she came, then pulled Leslie up and kissed her.

I slid over and put my arms around them both. We lay together for a few minutes, kissing and stroking each other. I noticed that my cock had come back to attention and was thrusting between their thighs. Joan’s hand found it and stroked it gently, then she pushed me away. She turned Leslie over so Leslie was lying on her back on top of Joan. Joan reached out and took my hand, pulling me on top of both of them. I realized what she was doing–it’s the classical Chinese position called “Two Dancing Phoenix Birds,” with a man and two women.

Once, when we were looking at a book of Oriental erotic art, I pointed to it and said, “that looks like fun.” She said, “In your dreams.” Now my dreams were about to come true.

I thrust into Leslie’s cunt as Joan played with Leslie’s nipples. Leslie growled and thrust back. I fucked her vigorously for a few strokes, then pulled out and moved down to Joan’s cunt.

I suddenly became aware of the difference–Leslie was tighter, but Joan’s vaginal walls seemed to have more texture. Five thrusts into Joan and I moved back to Leslie. I alternated between them that way, enjoying myself but wondering if I could last long enough to satisfy both. I needn’t have worried. As my cock plunged into Leslie’s pussy, I felt Joan’s fingers busy on her clit and Leslie was coming, this time with a screech like a factory whistle. As soon as I felt her insides clutch at me, I pulled out and plunged into Joan–it only took three thrusts to bring her off, and then I was gushing sperm into her dripping hole.

We gradually disentangled ourselves and crawled back to the hot tub. I put an arm around each of my wives. Both leaned close and whispered in my ears–“Happy Anniversary, darling.”