Incredible Us, Page 2

  “Well, come on! What are you waiting for?” I call back to them. I can hear them hustling to follow, and I almost laugh. They just can’t help themselves. When I walk through the doorway of the private room, the girls are already undressing. Sheila makes the first move and grabs Trish to kiss her, and it’s a party. It’s a big, deep, wide kiss that makes my toes curl. Damn. Their hands are wandering all over each other’s bodies. Sheila’s stops to tweak Trish’s nipple; Trish’s hand makes it all the way down Sheila’s body and strokes down to her slit, and I hear both of them moan.

  There’s only one thing I can think to say: “Well, happy birthday to me.”

  “You joining in or not?” Trish calls over to me.

  I glance at Clint and Steffen. Steffen’s eyebrows arch in resignation and Clint groans, “Go for it. They’re all yours.”

  As I stand there and watch the two of them, I think back to the first time I ever saw Trish, drunk in that bar, that sleazy guy hitting on her. And I remember Sheila from then too; she looked like a disapproving nun getting ready to rap somebody on the knuckles. Boy, they’ve both come a long way. I’ve been with both of these women, but as I watch them, I realize that I can’t do it. If it were Steffen or Clint’s idea, that would be different, but it was the girls’ idea, and that’s not right. My son and his best friend acquiesced to me. Maybe because it’s my birthday? Or because I’m old? I have no idea, but I’m not going to do this and damage those relationships. I watch their faces relax when I laugh out, “No. We’re just pulling your chain.”

  “Thank god. I thought I was going to have to have her twat fumigated.” I’d like to think Steffen is joking, but I’m pretty sure he isn’t.

  “Nope. I’m enjoying the show just watching the two of you panic. Ladies,” I smile toward the girls, “let’s try this cake.”

  We all get a huge surprise: The cake is awesome. It tastes like a cross between peanut butter and butterscotch, and I wind up eating two pieces and contemplating a third. I finally shoot Clint and Steffen a look. “Well, what do you have to say for this cake?”

  “I’d say we need to do this again sometime,” Steffen murmurs as he watches.

  “Yeah. I’m with you,” Clint echoes.

  We sit and laugh and talk until it’s time for them to get the kids into bed and the sitter’s probably about to stage an uprising. They’re all at Steffen and Sheila’s. When they all walk through the door, I bet it’ll suck to be them. They’ll be putting the place back together for the next year.

  “See you later, birthday boy!” Steffen calls out as he and Sheila head out the door. Trish gives me a kiss on the cheek and follows them.

  I take a good look at Clint. Yes, there are little laugh lines at the corners of his eyes, and a little tiny bit of gray at his temples, but he’s still the seven-year-old boy I remember from all those years back. He just smiles at me, then wraps his arms around me and hugs me tight. “Thanks, old man. Thanks for being a great dad and teaching me how to be one.”

  I whisper back, “Thanks for hanging in there and still being here, son. I love you.”

  “I know. I love you too. And I’m glad I hung in there. I’m glad she hung in there too. Look at what I’ve got now.” His eyes are glistening with tears of joy, and I know the life he has now is one he never thought he’d have. We’ve all been through a lot, but Clint’s been through more than anyone should have to be. Now that’s all over and he’s exactly where he needs to be. It’s amazing and encouraging. I watch him stroll toward Trish, and I smile as she meets him and circles an arm around his waist, then continue on out the door. They look so blissful together.

  What a poignant, permeating reminder that I’m alone.

  “Hey, I’m cooking dinner. Want to come over?”

  “Sure! Need me to bring anything?” I wish I could see Marta’s face when I say that; she knows if I bring something, it’ll be beer.

  “Condoms. We’ve got everything else. So stay later too, if you want. We’d love to play.”

  In the background I hear a voice yell, “Hi, Dave! Come over and fuck us!” I can’t help but laugh.

  “Tell the slut back there in the background that I’ll gladly come over and fuck her. And you too. On my way in twenty.”

  We hang up and I sit and chuckle. Most people would be appalled if they could see what takes place between us. It’s like a big nasty free-for-all when we’re together. I loved Marta, still do, and I don’t think I’ll ever get over her leaving me for Angela, but I’ve come to terms with it. And I enjoy playing with both of them. Angela’s a spectacular fuck, and Marta is, well, Marta. She’s just about as free with her body as anyone I’ve ever seen.

  And now I’m getting hard just thinking about what I’m going to walk into. And for the record, just opening the door and walking in is the way I’ve always dealt with the two of them. They don’t seem to mind; in fact, I think they expect it. I may have wound up alone because of their relationship, but by god, if they expect me to come over and service them whenever they want, they should have to bend to my will. They’re in the kitchen cooking up a storm and I just growl, “Okay, if you’re both not naked in about two minutes, I’m turning around and leaving.”

  You’ve never seen two women shuck clothes as fast in your life. I’d say it was forty-five seconds. Marta’s built more like an eighteen-year-old girl than she is a fifty-seven-year-old woman, willowy, slightly-built, with a gently sloping backside and small but firm tits. Angela’s just the opposite – she’s busty, lusty, and ample. Marta’s sandy-blond, blue-eyed countenance is such a contrast to Angela’s dark skin, dark eyes, and dark hair, that it’s a joy to be with them together, but that’s the difference in a German woman and an island girl. Of course, I pick up their clothes for them, take them to the laundry room at the back, and come back. They’re both cooking up a storm, radio going, asses swaying to the beat, and I walk up behind Marta, wrap my arms around her, and cup her breasts. “Don’t accidentally toast your dangly bits, girl.”

  She busts out laughing. “Yeah, that would be tragic! But mine would have farther to go than hers,” she giggles as she points to Angela. “So baby, if you have to take something out of the oven, let me do it, okay?”

  “Yes, sweetheart,” Angela purrs.

  “No, I’ll do it,” I offer.

  Angela gives me a wink. “And we’ll let you.”

  “What’s for dinner?”

  Marta sighs. “Oh, just homemade chicken pot pie.” That’s my absolute favorite, and she knows it. “And we’ve got green beans and roasted cauliflower. Oh, and those flaky biscuits that you like.”

  “Beer?”

  “Yup. I’ve got Stella.” Oh my god, she obviously wants something. I don’t know what, but it must be big.

  Once dinner’s finished and the kitchen cleaned up, I look around for Angela, but she’s nowhere to be found. Then I hear the laundry room door and look up in time to see her come strolling into the living room with a cake. And it’s beautiful. Plus it’s got to have sixty-five candles on it, because it looks like we need to call the fire department. I manage to stammer out, “That’s gorgeous!”

  She grins until her eyes crinkle shut. “I’m glad you like it. And I hope you like the cake too.”

  “You’re a naughty girl. I should spank you.” No, I’m not a spanko, but she loves it and I’m generally happy to oblige.

  “I hope you will, but let’s eat cake first.” She runs to the kitchen to get plates and forks, and I look at Marta.

  She offers me an explanation. “She’s been taking cake decorating classes.”

  “Well, she’s obviously learning something, because that thing’s awesome.” And it is. It’s frosted with chocolate icing, and it’s got these beautiful, swirl designs piped all over it in white frosting. If the cake inside is chocolate too, I think I’ll die. “Is the cake . . .”

  “Chocolate? Yeah, of course. I told her that’s what you’d want.”

  “Oh, god, Marta, thanks so muc
h.” This is one of those times when I wish we were still married. “I really appreciate it.” I lean over and kiss her, and she kisses me back with gusto.

  “Would you two cut it out already? Here – have some cake,” Angela growls playfully at us as she hands us plates. “Happy birthday, Dave. We love you. I hope you know that.”

  “I love you girls too.”

  Marta laughs out loud. “I love it when you call us ‘girls!’ You’re the only person who still does that!”

  “Well, you are girls to me. My girls.” I take a bite. “Oh my god, Angela, this is delicious. It’s just, oh, wow, unbelievable,” I mumble around cake as I continue to eat.

  “I’m glad you like it.” I could swear she’s actually blushing.

  “I do. I really do.”

  “Then you’re taking the rest of it home. I don’t want it here to tempt me,” Marta orders. When Angela starts to protest, she barks out, “Yes. That’s how it is. Don’t buck me on this.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Angela pouts. You can guess who the dominant member of this household is, even though it didn’t start out that way. “Can I just keep one piece?”

  Marta drops a kiss on Angela’s forehead. “Of course, baby. You worked hard on that.”

  “Thank you.” Angela is beaming.

  “You’re welcome. Now let’s give Dave his birthday present.” Marta stands and takes my hand to pull me up onto my feet. “Come on, birthday boy.”

  Oh, I can tell already – this is going to be good.

  “Everything off. And put on this robe. We’ll be right back.” Marta hands me the robe as I stand beside the bed, and they both disappear into the bathroom. Then they turn on the water, and I’m hoping they’re planning what I think they’re planning.

  And I’m right. In a matter of minutes, they’re both back and Angela winks at me. “Come on, birthday boy. Let’s get slicked up.” I’m hoping she’s already slicked up. Then I realize Marta’s not behind me.

  “Hey! Aren’t you coming?”

  She shakes her head. “Nope. I’ve got something to do out here. You two go on.”

  Don’t have to tell me twice.

  The bathroom is awash in fragrance, and it’s strong on cinnamon and cloves. The lights are off and there are candles everywhere, and the big bathtub is full of bubbles. Angela steps in, then reaches for me. Once we’re both settled into the hot, fragrant water, she turns to face me and sits on my lap, her bronze legs wrapped around my ass. The hot, open-mouthed kiss she gives me sets my blood ablaze, and I can feel myself hardening. No doubt she notices it too, because her next little job is to take my cock in her hand and grind against it in the water, moaning and twitching the whole time. Catching one of her hard, thick, cherry-red nipples in my teeth, I give it a nip before starting to suck in earnest, and she increases her grinding. “Want to come, baby?” I whisper to her through those long, dark locks.

  “Yes, please, sir,” she groans.

  “Turn around.” She turns around in the water and I make her sit on my abs, my cock sticking up between her legs. “Use one hand to stroke me and the other to play with your nipples.” Instantly, she starts to work me and her buds, and my hands trail down her belly, down under the water, and down to her slit. My nimble fingers find her nub and trail little circles around and around it, and her hips buck upward to meet my hand. Even under the water, I can tell how slick she is, how totally aroused and overheated, and I want to watch her come unglued under my touch. That hand around my dick is working it like a pro, and I can feel myself tensing. “Oh, god, I think I’m getting ready to come.”

  She barks out, “No! Keep stroking me, but you can’t come. We’ve got a surprise for you.”

  “Oh, so I’m getting you off, but I can’t get off?” That doesn’t seem quite fair.

  “Yes. That’s exactly, oh, god, oh, oh, OH, OHHHHHHHHH . . .” she cries out, and I just keep torturing her. If I’m not allowed to come, I might as well have some fun, right? I finally stop and let her catch her breath.

  That’s about the time that Marta appears in the doorway. “You didn’t let him come, did you?” she asks Angela.

  “No, ma’am. I did not. I made him stop.”

  “Good.” There’s a smile on Marta’s face, but it’s not mischievous or wicked. It’s very, very calm and peaceful, and I’m curious as to what she’s got up her sleeve. “Come on. Angela, help me dry him off.” She grabs a large, fluffy bath towel and tosses it to Angela, then takes up another one herself.

  “That’s okay. I can dry myself off.” I try to take the towel out of her hand, but she snatches it back.

  “No. It’s your birthday and . . .”

  “Well, technically, yesterday was my birthday,” I grin.

  “Yeah, but it’s your birthday celebration,” she says with great emphasis, “and we want to do something special for you.”

  “Well, okay, I’ll let you!” I chuckle. When they finish, they help me back into the robe and lead me out into the bedroom, and I get really excited.

  Because there, in the middle of the bedroom, is a massage table. I’m not sure what’s going to happen, but I’m pretty sure it’s going to be awesome. “Climb on up, sweetie, face down, please,” Marta directs, and I make myself comfortable. I expect her to pull a sheet up over me, but she doesn’t. Instead, I can feel the drip of massage oil on my back and, before I know it, she’s kneading my muscles in ways no one’s kneaded them in years. All I can do is groan with joy. I think this is the best birthday present I’ve ever gotten.

  And before I can think, Angela’s joined her. As Marta works the muscles in my shoulders, upper back, neck, and arms, Angela massages my lower back, hips, ass, and legs. Her touch is completely different from Marta’s; Marta has a firm but gentle touch. Angela’s touch is much more aggressive, and she has to use more oil to keep down the friction on my skin. But the combination is heady, and I enjoy every contact, every stroke, and every whisper between the two of them. “Such hard shoulders. Look at these muscles. Oh, Angela, I can’t wait until we’re done and he can fuck us both.”

  “Yeah, I know, ma’am. I was working his cock in the tub. My oh my, it was rock-hard. It was all I could do to not mount it and ride.”

  “Mmmmm. That would be fun.” Marta stops and asks, “Hey, babe, you enjoying this?”

  “Oh god yeah,” is all I can get out.

  “Good. Time to roll over.”

  I roll to my back on the narrow table and she pours oil down the center of my chest. Just watching that is hot enough, but to watch their hands work my skin . . . oh man. I’m so fucking hard that I’m aching. “You know, that’s one of the things I always enjoyed about being with you.”

  I don’t know what Marta means. “What’s that?”

  “Looking up at all these hard muscles while you fucked me. I loved that – always did. Your body is incredible.”

  “Thanks.” They both keep going as I get harder and harder. It’s a given that they’re watching my cock, watching it pulse and throb.

  In a few minutes, Angela looks down in my face. “Relaxed?”

  “Oh yeah.” Then I snicker, “Well, most of me anyway.”

  Marta jumps in. “Good. Come over here to the bed.” So this is when I’m supposed to fuck them. I need to. Everything below my waist is aching with need, and I’m pretty sure my balls have gone from blue to purple. But she surprises me. “Hands and knees.” I’m not liking this much. “Come on, Dave, really. We’re not going to hurt you.” Complying goes against everything I feel, but I do it anyway. And I get a surprise.

  Marta positions herself behind me, and Angela to the side. I hear snapping sounds, like bottle lids, and then Marta says, “Okay, just relax. I told you, I’m not going to hurt you.” I feel her rimming my asshole, and I start to tense. “No, don’t tense up. You’re going to love this, but make it easy on us, okay?”

  “I’m trying,” I pant out.

  “I know. I can tell. It’s okay.” I feel her finger advancing
into my back channel, and I’m trying not to lock up. “There. I’m in. You in place, babe?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Angela reports back. She reaches up and under my body and takes my cock in both hands, which I find very weird.

  “Good. Babe,” she whispers as she leans forward, “you’re going to come like you’ve never come before. I hope you’re ready.”

  Now I know what she’s planning to do. “Ready. Absolutely, positively ready.” Oh, boy, am I ever.

  She starts to manipulate her finger until she’s found my prostate, and then she begins to massage it. At the same time, Angela starts to stroke me. Well, not stroke me. How can I describe it? She starts at the base of my dick and strokes down and off the tip while, at the same time, the other hand goes behind it and does the same. Left, right, left, right – I feel like I’m being milked. And really, I am, in more ways than one.

  But I have to say, I was not prepared for how it all feels. There’s a building pressure and I can barely contain myself. I want this to last forever, but I’m guessing at best I’ve got five minutes. That’s a long way from forever. Be that as it may, I’m so hard that I’m almost whining in pain, and Angela’s hands are magical, absolutely magical. It’s emphasized by the exquisite torture of having my prostate stroked by Marta’s long, strong finger, and the pressure is becoming unbearable, so much so, in fact, that I’m having trouble staying still. She strokes my ass and whispers, “Damn, Dave Adams, you’re just as fine as you were when we first met, know that? You’re just fucking gorgeous.”

  Okay, that does it – it’s pretty much over. In about ten seconds, I empty out, and I do mean empty. There’s got to be a quart on the bed, not kidding. I think there’s some there that I’ve been saving up since nineteen seventy-nine. If I were to lie down right now, I’d probably slip off into the floor. I hear Angela say, “Holy fuck, Dave! It’s a wonder you don’t have fifty kids.”

  “Um, I’ve had that done to me before, but that’s never happened before. I don’t know . . .”