Sometimes, a man just has to start over. He's cruising along, enjoying life, and suddenly he's face down in the mud. That kind of thing changes a guy. If he's lucky, things turn out for the best.
* * * * *
Frank, the division manager, called me into his office. He and I had gotten fairly close over the years. My wife, Julia, and I had gone out to dinner with him and his wife a few times, and we had been to parties at each other's houses.
“Shut the door,” he said. “Come, sit down.”
I did, and he just stared at his desk. This wasn't good.
“Frank, what's ....” I began.
“Look, Mike, I don't know how else to tell you this. I just got off a conference call with corporate. Those shit-heads are closing down the Michigan operation, and moving other stuff around. 'Cost-cutting and efficiency measures' they called it. Apparently, they've been planing this for months. They told me that you and your entire department are done. I'm sorry.”
“I have to transfer?” I asked.
“They said re-location of employees is expensive, especially in a shitty real estate market. The damn bean-counters call the shots in this company, so very few people are going to move from one operation to another. Every facility is having one or more departments eliminated, and only a few guys are getting offered transfers. You're not one of them.”
“What the fuck? I'm getting canned?”
Frank wouldn't look at me, but he nodded his head.
“Effective when?”
“The end of the month. Mike, I'm so sorry. None of us division managers saw it coming.”
“The end of the month? That's less than three weeks away! What the hell am I supposed to tell my people?”
“We'll work on that tomorrow. Right now, I want you to go home. I'll tell your secretary there was a family emergency or something. I don't know what else to say, Mike. I wish there was something I could do.”
It took me a while, but finally I said, “I know you do. I'm going to take you up on that offer of the afternoon off. Tell Sandy my lunch didn't agree with me. She and the gang can take care of stuff for the rest of the day.”
“Okay,” Frank said. The poor bastard looked like he wanted to cry.
It's a good thing there are no windows on the side of the building where I parked. People would have called the guys with the very long sleeved jacket to come and get me if they had seen me sitting in my car, cursing like a raging madman, and pounding my fists on the steering wheel. Sixteen fucking years I gave to this company, pretty much my entire adult life, and they're throwing me out like a used tampon!
After a while, I got myself calmed down enough to drive home. I needed a drink and some good loving.
Julia would be home doing the same thing she always did on nice afternoons when she didn't teach a class at the university. She'd be out back by the pool, working on her all-over tan.
“Yeah, that's it!” I thought. “I'll park on the street and sneak into the house. I'll make us drinks, strip, and go out and surprise her. We'll see where things go from there.”
In the kitchen, I had just gotten some glasses out of the cabinet when I heard something from outside. It sounded like Julia. I couldn't imagine who she was talking to, so I thought it would be a good idea to see who was out there before I dropped my pants. I walked to the patio door.
Things hadn't been at their best between us lately, but marriages go through periods like that. Maybe I'm not the brightest bulb in the chandelier. I was completely unprepared to hear my wife moaning to my older brother, “Fuck me harder!”
I have no idea how long I stood there watching him pound her, but for some reason I didn't move or make a sound until it was obvious they had both cum. Then, I opened the door.
Grabbing for his clothes, my brother stammered, “Mike! Holy shit! Look, man, it's not what you think!”
My naked wife sat up, my brother's semen oozing out of her. “Be quiet, Sean, of course it's what he thinks.” Turning to face me, she said, “I'm in love with him. What should we do about that?”
For a second, I seriously considered which kitchen knives I was going to use on them, but then I decided that wouldn't be such a good idea. Instead, I said, “Well, isn't this the icing on the fucking cake? The cheap bastards at corporate down-sized me out of my damn career today, along with my entire staff. I come home and find my goddamn brother balls-deep my wife. What's next?”
“I didn't want to do it this way, but I want a divorce,” the woman I learned about love with in high school twenty years earlier said.
“Good idea! I'll call you this weekend and maybe come over so we can start working out the details. I'm gonna go pack some clothes. Oh, and Sean? Fuck you. Don't make the mistake of being here when I come downstairs,” I said, walking back into the house.
I spent the rest of the month in a motel, going to the office to finish projects and transfer files to the division that would be taking over our workload. At night, I e-mailed resumes and drank. It wasn't pretty.
When my job ended, I looked for a less temporary place to live. “Loft efficiency apartment,” the listing said. Yeah, well, it was basically a room above someone's garage. Two burner stove, tiny fridge, ridiculous bathroom (when I sat on the toilet, my one knee was against the tub and the other against the sink), and a price I couldn't pass up. There was enough room, if I did it just right, to bring all my clothes here, if I was willing to move boxes and suitcases around a couple of times a week. It was a monthly rental, and I was sure I'd get a good job and be able to afford a decent place in no time.
That didn't happen.
Severance pay doesn't last forever, and I sure as hell didn't want to think about having to live on unemployment while paying my blood-sucking divorce lawyer. After spending two months running to interviews, I started working through a temp agency.
That's how I met Yazhi. The first time I worked with her, I spent a lot of time trying not to stare. It wasn't that she was wearing slutty, revealing clothes. We were doing office temp work, and she was dressed appropriately, in a crisp white blouse and a charcoal gray skirt. Maybe it was her hair that first attracted me. It was coal black, waist length, and held back from her face with a large turquoise and silver clip. This exotic-looking girl was a perfect specimen of Native American womanhood.
The second time I worked with her, we took our morning break at the same time. “I remember you from that job a few weeks ago, don't I?” she asked.
“Yeah, how are you doing?”
“Pretty good for a temp worker,” she laughed, holding out her hand. “I'm Yazhi. Yazhi Sullivan. What's your name?”
“Mike O’Connor. Irish as you can get.”
“Yeah, I kinda thought so with the curly red hair and freckles,” she grinned.
“The kids in school called me Ronald McDonald.”
“Oh, childhood nicknames! I was the only Native American in my class in elementary school. They called me Pocahontas. But she was Algonquin. I'm Navajo.”
“With a name like Sullivan?”
“I'm divorced. I married outside the tribe.”
“What did you do before you signed up with the temp service?” I asked.
“My last real job was as a middle-school English teacher. That was almost two years ago. I'm not going back to teaching. What about you?”
“I was a quality-control engineer. My company down-sized.”
“Are you married?” she asked.
“Almost divorced. The day I got canned, I came home to find my wife having sex with my brother.”
“Ouch!” Yazhi exclaimed.
“Yeah, well, you have to move on.”
“Speaking of moving, we'd better move our asses back to work,” she said.
It was fun watching hers, following her out of the lunch room.
Yazhi and I took our breaks together for the rest of the week. By Friday, I had worked up the courage to ask her out. “Wanna get a drink after work?” I offered.
“Sure, but I don't drink and drive.”
“I don't really either,” I said.
“Come to my place. My housemate will be at work. We can just hang out until you think you're legal to drive. I make damn good coffee.”
“Okay.” We exchanged numbers and addresses, and agreed that I would pick up a pizza on the way to her place.
She lived in a part of the city that I didn't know very well, so when I turned onto her street, I was surprised to see that it was an area of upscale condos and single homes – much nicer than I had expected. Her house was one of the smaller ones, but it still looked expensive. I checked the address again.
Yep, this was the place. Interesting. I knew she must be earning about the same wage I was, but even without lawyer fees, I could never have afforded something like this, even with a housemate.
Yazhi opened the door as I was coming up the walk. She looked magnificent, dressed in a cropped orange tank top and tight, high-waisted white shorts. The bright bits of cloth contrasted beautifully with her rich, sun-darkened skin. Her nearly straight black hair was hanging loose, wisps of it falling carelessly around her face.
“Hey, Big Red!” she called.
I felt a slight rush of blood to my cheeks. “Big Red” was the other nickname some of the kids started calling me when I got to middle school. I had always been a large child, the tallest and bulkiest in my class. The football coach took one look at me and demanded that I sign up for the team. Most people assumed my nickname was because of my stature. For some, I'm sure it was, but the name started the first day I changed in the gym locker room in front of my teammates. I'm one of those ninety-ninth percentile guys.
That actually presented some problems for me. Even though my physical development was always a couple of years ahead of the rest of the guys, I was the last one in my group to lose my virginity. Why? The girls I got to touch me were scared of the damned thing.
“Come on in,” Yazhi said, holding the door for me. As I walked past her, I caught a hint of desert flowers and spice. I'm used to women wearing cologne of some sort, but this aroma was heady, even though it was very light. She smelled as exotic as she looked.
Her living room was furnished with an eclectic mix of modern and American primitive furniture. There was a large Navajo rug displayed over the sofa, a bison skull on the wall over the fireplace, and a traditional ceremonial headdress in a large display case in one corner of the room.
“Let's eat in the kitchen,” she said. “Follow me.” Her slender brown legs were topped by a taut, athletic looking little ass that didn't jiggle a bit as she moved gracefully away.
The kitchen was a sharp contrast to the living room. The rich, earthy colors there were replaced here by stark white walls, dark granite counter-tops, and stainless steel and black glass appliances. There was no color anywhere – just shades of gray. There were a few black-and-white nature photos in black frames on the walls. Even the table was chrome and smoked glass, with chrome and black leather chairs. Floor-to-ceiling windows displayed a lush garden beyond the deck.
“Beer or wine?” she asked as she put slices of pizza on plates and carried them to the table.
“Beer, please.”
“Oh good. Some people like wine with their pizza, trying to act Italian, but I'm about as American as a girl can get. Beer it is,” she said with a smile.
“This is a terrific place,” I said, between bites of my second slice.
“Thanks. My housemate let me take charge of decorating the common areas. She has no taste in decor,” Yazhi laughed. “But I have to give her credit. She was the one who found the place. The back yard was what got us to sign the papers Look at the privacy fence! We tan out there all the time.”
“What does your housemate do?” I asked. I was still wondering how these women could afford this house.
“She's a model. Does some acting and stuff.”
“Really?”
“Wanna see her picture?”
“Sure.”
Yazhi grabbed her phone off the counter and pulled up an image. “Here she is,” she said, handing the phone to me. The screen showed a stunning blond, her long wavy hair arranged to just barely cover the nipples on a pair of naked, large, firm-looking breasts.
“Whoa,” I breathed. I don't have a very good poker face.
“She's pretty, isn't she?” Yazhi asked.
“Yeah.”
“You can look at the next picture too.”
I swiped my finger over the screen, and was greeted by a picture of Yazhi, her back turned toward the camera, completely nude and smiling over her shoulder while her housemate, equally naked, stood with her hand on the Navajo girl's slender ass. Some care had gone into this pose. Arms, hands, and hair were positioned in such a way that the camera only caught large expanses of beautiful pale or bronze skin, almost, but not quite, exposing either girls' nipples or genitals. It looked like the picture was taken on the back deck of this house.
“Holy shit,” I muttered.
“I thought you might like that one,” Yazhi giggled, grabbing her phone away.
“Uh, yeah! You ladies are both stunning. She's a model, huh? What does she do? Swimwear?”
“Some, and lingerie. And other stuff.”
“Other stuff?”
“Yeah.”
“What other stuff?” I asked.
“Nude. Adult photos.”
“Really?”
“Does that bother you?” Yazhi asked.
“Should it?”
“No, it shouldn't, but some people don't approve.”
“Screw that. If a girl has been blessed with a beautiful body, I think it's great if she's willing to show it. I guess it pays pretty well,” I said, gesturing around the room.
“Most of the money comes from acting.”
“What kind of stuff does she do? TV?” I asked.
“No, movies,” Yazhi answered.
“Oh yeah? I don't think I recognize her. What has she done?”
“Some indie films, and some other stuff. More pizza?”
“I'm good. Those were big slices.”
“Are you kidding me? You're a big guy. Hell, I ate two slices!” Yazhi laughed. “Oh well, I'll have to do an extra five minutes each on the treadmill and the Bow-flex tomorrow.”
“You have a Bow-flex?” I asked.
“It was my housemate, Ingrid's idea, but once I read up on it, I agreed to go halves with her. I'll show it to you later. Want another beer?”
I glanced at my watch. “Yeah, I guess I can have one more.”
“So can I. I'll just do my penance tomorrow,” she said ruefully. “We can take our beer into the living room. The plates will wait.”
She grabbed two beers from the fridge and walked back into the living room. When I followed her, she said, “Let's sit on the couch.” She kicked off her moccasins, and sat with her legs tucked under her, facing me. “So who is Big Red, really?”
“I was born about twenty miles from here, went to the State University's local campus, and got a job near where we've been working. My high school sweetheart went to the same University, and we got married right after graduation. She went on and got her PhD, and teaches there now. I had a good job until I got canned. I told you what else happened that day.”
“That sucks, Mike. So you've been doing temp work ever since?”
“Yup. I have a bachelor's degree in manufacturing engineering, but the few jobs that are out there that don't require advanced degrees go to whiz-kids with wet ink on their diplomas. There aren't any jobs for middle-aged quality-control managers.”
“You're not middle-aged! How old are you?”
“How old do you think I am?”
“Maybe I should put you on the treadmill and the Bow-flex to find out,” she teased.
“I never tried a Bow-flex. I used to go to the gym every day on my way home from work. Now it's just running in the park and free-weights in the apartment.”
“It's paid off,” she said, giving me the once-over. “Okay, the body is saying late-twenties, but the things you've said tell me you're older.”
“I'm thirty-eight. If I live to be seventy-six, that's middle-aged. That's too old for an entry-level job, which is all I'm qualified for.”
“Age discrimination is illegal. Trust me, I know all about discrimination,” Yazhi said.
“I've heard some horror stories about the reservations,” I replied.
“Reservations are a lot like white-trash trailer parks or black ghettos. I never lived on one. Neither did my parents. My father is a surgeon and Mom is an orthodontist. They both do pretty well.”
“So, tell me more about Yazhi Sullivan.”
“Okay. We'll start with age. I'll be thirty in a couple of months.”
“I don't believe it,” I said.
“Thank you, but it's true. I have a bachelor's in secondary English education, and was working on my master's when I lost my job. Since I can't go back to teaching, I've been working through that temp service. I know what you mean about the job market.”
“You said you're divorced?”
“Yes,” Yazhi answered. “I got married right out of high school, which pissed my parents off properly. They didn't like him at all. Dad used to call him 'stupid punk' to his face. He was trash, but I was too young to see it. When I figured it out, I divorced him and went to college.”
“How long have you known your housemate?” I asked.
“Ingrid? It seems like forever. We were friends in school, but she hated the guy I married. We lost touch, and then we ran into each other again a few years ago.”
“You said she does some acting?” I asked.
“Yeah, but also some still photo glamor shot stuff. That's where she is tonight.”
“You must be really good friends,” I said.
“We are.”
“I mean, to let you live here and decorate the place.”
“Both our names are on the mortgage, and we split all the bills fifty-fifty.”
“Oh, I'm sorry.”
“Mike, temp work is what I do to keep myself active in the mainstream job market. It's my “mad money,” not my only source of income. Ingrid and I do some work together.”
“You're a model?”
“Yeah. I started as a toddler. I was the perfect little Indian kid to dress up in traditional costume and pose with some sun-dried old guy for tourist postcards. As I got older, I did some fashion shoots for teen clothing catalogs that were trying to be racially inclusive. Being Native American got me some jobs, and kept me from others.”
“I still can't get over the idea that you're twenty-nine years old,” I said.
“I was a small baby, and I've always been kind of small-statured. That's even what my name means: 'little one.' It's actually been a blessing. I kept working with those teen catalogs until I was twenty. Then I finally filled out a little and got into some swimsuit modeling and other work.”
As she was talking, I imagined what she might look like in a nice translucent micro-bikini.
“You wanna see the rest of the place? I'll show you the Bow-flex”
I followed her out of the living room and up the steps. The wide stairwell repeated the primitive/native theme of the living room.
“That's Ingrid's room.” Yazhi pointed through an open door into a huge bedroom decorated in pastel shades, dominated by a king-size canopy bed. “And this is the fitness room,” she said, opening the door to a smaller room with a tanning bed, treadmill, and the fancy exercise machine. “This is where I'll be tomorrow, undoing the damage of pizza and beer. Let me show you how the Bow-flex works.”
“Okay.”
She made some adjustments to the machine and did a few repetitions of an exercise that was intended to tone her abs, but that also had the effect of causing the hem of her top to rise. I wasn't sure where to look – at the delicious-looking camel-toe displayed in her tight shorts or the exposed curve of the bottom of her breasts. The bright orange fabric was pulled taut over her nipples, which became more prominent with her every movement.
This woman had a phenomenal body. She knew it, I knew it, and my cock sure as hell knew it. I wondered how long I would be able to stare at her before my erection became too noticeable.
She jumped up and made some changes to the equipment, and then lay down on her belly to do some leg work. Hooking her heels under a padded bar, she worked the healthy-looking muscles of her calves, thighs, and ass. Her ass. God! With the position she was in, her shorts strained to contain those flexing curves, and the cleft between her lips was obvious.
After a few repetitions of that exercise, she looked over her shoulder at me. Her gaze went right to my crotch.
“Maybe you could come over some morning and work out with me. I'd love to show you all this contraption can do. It can be adjusted to provide the right resistance for a smaller woman like me, a larger woman like Ingrid, or a big strapping hunk like you.”
“Sounds like fun,” I said.
She got off the machine and smiled at me. “Now for the last stop on our tour, my sanctuary.”
We walked across the hall into a large room painted the color of unglazed red clay pottery. On the far side was a huge bed. The walls were decorated with professional-looking photos of Yazhi.
In one, she was dressed like a naughty schoolgirl, her hair gathered into a high pony tail. She wore black patent leather shoes, white ankle socks, and a tiny pleated plaid skirt. An unbuttoned white blouse and her school tie barely covered her breasts. Her mouth was puckered into a kiss, and she was making a come-hither motion with her one finger.
Another showed her in a short buckskin vest and matching loincloth, neither one of which did much to hide her. Her one hand was raised to shield her eyes from the sun, and she was posed near a traditional hogan with a partially finished rug stretched on a frame outside.
There was a group of pictures of her with Ingrid. One was similar to the shot she had shown me on her phone, with the two of them nude and posed so that the good bits were out of view. Some others were not as modest. Yazhi saw me staring at them.
“Go ahead and look. I'm not ashamed, and it's not like others haven't seen them,” she said.
I walked over to the wall and studied the photos. Both girls were stunning. There was a picture of them standing nude, side by side, holding hands. Ingrid was a bigger girl than Yazhi, with large breasts standing proudly on her firm body, and a completely shaved pussy. Yazhi seemed short by comparison, her slender legs parted to reveal a small clipped patch of black curls above her sex, her long black hair draped over her one pretty breast, leaving its partner exposed.
The next photo was a head shot of the girls kissing, tongues against each other.
The last three photos showed them on a bed, naked again. In one, Ingrid was on her back, and Yazhi was lying partially on top of her. They were locked in a kiss, Yazhi's one hand on her housemate's ample breast, and Ingrid's hand on the Navajo girl's ass. Another showed Ingrid kneeling between her friend's spread legs. Both girls had dildos in their hands, which appeared to glisten with moisture. The last shot showed Ingrid on her hands and knees, her head thrown back in an expression of ecstasy, while Yazhi knelt behind her, her face buried in the blond's ass.
“Those are what got me fired from my teaching job. Someone mailed those pics to the school board. At my dismissal hearing, every one of the men had copies of the photos spread out in front of them, and not one of them would look me in the eye. They probably all went home and jerked off afterward.”
I was sure she was right. That was definitely what I would be doing when I got home. “You and Ingrid are lovers, then?” I asked, forcing myself to turn away from the pictures to look at her. She was standing at the edge of her bed.
“Not really. It's what the photographer wanted. I mean, yeah, we play, but I prefer men. Come here. Let me show you what I mean.”
Almost in a trance, I walked over to her. She pulled me in for a kiss. It was gentle at first, tentative, exploratory, but it didn't stay that way for long. My hands held her by her shoulders, but soon strayed down to cup her gorgeous ass. She pressed her body against me.
“I can feel your cock. Let me see it,” she breathed, pushing away from me. “Take your clothes off.”
When I removed my last piece of clothing, my badly tented boxers, my penis stood up to greet her.
“Oh my God, you are a big boy, aren't you?” she asked, her obsidian eyes flashing with excitement. She knelt to cradle it in her hand and licked the tip. “There's no way in hell I can swallow all of that, but I'll do what I can.”
Her tongue played along my length for a while, licking up the pre-cum that began to leak from me. Then she took me in her mouth, her one hand wrapped around the base of my shaft and her other hand on my balls. She began to suck me deep and hard. My God, she was good at this!
I pulled her top up to play with her breasts. They were a wonderful size, looking large on her trim body, but still fitting perfectly in my hand.
She stopped bobbing her head on my cock, and began to jack it expertly. Looking up at me, she asked, “Do you like my boobs?”
“Hell, yeah!” I moaned.
“Please keep playing with them. You can be a little firm with the nipples if you like. Now, are you going to cum for Yazhi?”
She didn't wait for an answer. She took me as deep in her mouth as she could, bouncing me repeatedly off her throat. What didn't fit between her lips was getting the royal treatment from her one hand, while my balls were getting fondled by the other. I wondered how long I could last.
When I started pulling on her nipples, she went wild on me. Sucking, licking, jacking, using every trick in the book. It was her moaning with my cock against her throat that pushed me over the edge.
“Gonna cum! Ungh, ungh, UNGH!” I grunted.
The first blast went in her throat, and she gulped it down. Then she pulled me almost out of her mouth, wiggling her tongue back and forth on the underside of my helmet, letting me see my spunk fill her. When I was done, she swallowed hard, and took me back between her lips, sucking, licking, urging any last drops to coat her tongue. I thought my knees would buckle.
“That was the first time you've cum for a while, wasn't it?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I panted.
“Thought so. You came a lot. It was good, but kinda thick. I bet the next load is going to feel real nice in my pussy. Come to bed with me.”
I couldn't believe my good fortune. This incredibly hot chick just swallowed my load, and now she wants me to fuck her. Maybe my luck was turning around.
She pulled down the bedspread, which resembled an oversized Navajo rug, to reveal gold-colored satin sheets. “Undress me,” she said.
I pulled her orange tank top the rest of the way off and stopped for a moment to admire her breasts. Tiny nipples, not much bigger than mine, were ringed by areola the color and size of an old penny. As boobs go, they were fairly modest-sized, but on this small native goddess they were perfect. I cupped the left one in my hand and sucked on her firm nipple.
“I want you to do things to my pussy, Mike,” she hissed.
“Good,” I mumbled, teasing her nipple with my teeth.
“Do you have condoms with you?”
That stopped me dead in my tracks. “No. I didn't think I'd need any. I didn't expect to be doing this tonight.”
“I don't have any that will fit you,” she said. “I thought all single guys carried rubbers.”
“I normally don't need them. I haven't been with anyone but my wife since we got married. When we found out she couldn't get pregnant, I stopped thinking about condoms.”
“I'm on birth control. That wasn't my concern, if you know what I mean. You don't have to worry about me, by the way. I just got my latest health screening back and it's all good. Besides, you were already in my mouth.”
“Okay.” This is not something middle-aged sorta-married guys think about.
“So, get me naked. Get me naked and fuck me. Please.”
I picked her up and lay her on the bed. When we moved so we were in the center, she lifted her hips so I could pull her tight white shorts off. Unlike the images on the wall, she was clean-shaven now. There was a small, detailed tattoo on her mound.
She saw me looking at it, trying to figure it out. “It's a squash blossom design. I'll explain it to you sometime.”
As I said, I'm an Irishman. This sun-darkened bronze goddess looked almost feral to me, her long black hair strewn across the pillows, black eyes flashing, dark nipples pointing to the sky, and moisture glistening on her naked lips. “Yazhi, I want to taste you first.”
“I love it when a man says that,” she laughed, parting her legs to welcome me.
She had a piercing in her navel, with a little silver and turquoise pendant. When I lifted it with my tongue, she whimpered, and I gave her a playful grin. I kissed lower, across her tattoo, and down onto her copper lips. That's when I recognized a portion of the scent I had first noticed when she met me at the door. The desert flower scent was her!
I licked her lips gently, teasing her a little. Her aroma was unusual, like nothing I had smelled before, and her taste was the same. Before I got married, I did a little exploring, but I never tasted a girl like this. I really wanted to tongue-fuck her.
Pulling her lips apart with my fingers, I curled my tongue and entered her.
“Good God! What are you doing?” she squealed.
“Tongue fucking you.”
“You can curl your tongue?”
“Uh huh.”
“Mmmmm,” she moaned.
She was getting wetter, and her taste was stronger, wilder, more primitive. When she came, I couldn't keep up. Spots of her nectar darkened the gold fabric under her. As she gathered herself, she gasped, “Oh my God, Mike! Where did you learn to eat pussy like that?”
“I don't know.” I could feel my face getting red. “I just like to do it.”
“Do you fuck that well?”
By this time, I was very hard again. My cock heard her question and answered it with a glistening thread of pre-cum joining her moisture on the sheet.
“That's what I was wondering,” a female voice said from the doorway. “You didn't tell me you were taking an audition tonight.”
“Hi, Ingrid,” Yazhi said.
I was already off her and scrabbling for the sheet to cover myself before Yazhi identified our intruder. Holy shit. Busted by the roommate. That hadn't happened to me since college!
“Don't cover up, stud. I want to see you, too.”
“Ingrid, meet Mike. Mike, Ingrid.”
“Damn, girl, you can pick them, can't you? He's got a nice build on him,” the blond said.
“Take a look at this,” Yazhi said, yanking the sheet off me to reveal my now-shrinking cock. “You should see this thing hard.”
“To hell with that. That's for the cameraman. I don't want to just look at it,” Ingrid said as she started to strip.
My head was spinning. A pizza and beer date with a co-worker had turned into some amazing oral sex, and I had thought I was going to fuck her. Now, her busty, sexy housemate is taking off her thong. Before I could just accept my blessings, I blurted out, “What's this about a cameraman and taking an audition?”
“There's no camera. This isn't an audition,” Yazhi said.
“Why not?” Ingrid chuckled, walking around the bed, studying me.
“Wait a minute. What's going on here?” I asked.
“I didn't tell him,” Yazhi said.
“Didn't tell me what?”
“Oh shit,” Ingrid giggled.
“Mike, look around you,” Yazhi sighed. “Catalog models and indie film actresses don't live in places like this. Even nude models don't make this kind of money. The money is in film. Ingrid and I have been adult actresses in movies for years. We've started our own production company, Squash Blossom Films.”
“You girls are porn stars?
“We're porn producers, now, too, and we're looking for talent. That's what I thought was going on,” Ingrid laughed.
“No, Bigmouth, I was just horny,” Yazhi explained. “This is the guy I was talking about from that temp job. He asked me out for a drink tonight, but I invited him over for pizza and beer instead. I started flirting with him. Then I saw his cock, and it was all over.”
“How big does it get?”
“I'll let you figure it out,” Yazhi said, pulling her now-naked housemate to her and sticking her tongue in her mouth. They made out for a while. It had the same effect on me as it would on most guys.
Ingrid noticed. “Wow! Look at that thing!”
“Told ya,” Yazhi said. “Mike, I hope you're not mad. Will you still fuck me? Or do you look down on me now?”
“No,” I said. “No, honestly, I understand your question, but no, I'm not looking down on you. You're still you.”
“Okay. Well, then, this can be a wild night of crazy sex. If you're interested, we can talk business over breakfast,” she said, straddling me. “Is it okay if Ingrid stays here?”
“Yeah,” I said, admiring the tall blond's bare, juicy-looking pussy.
Yazhi rubbed my cock over her wet sex. “Is it okay if Ingrid joins in?”
“Hell, yeah!”
“Great!” Ingrid said. She climbed up on the bed, lay on her elbows next to us, and grabbed my cock. As she jacked it, she licked her friend's pussy lips. “Mmmm, Yazhi, you're nice and wet. Do you like the way she tastes, Mike? That's herbs in her diet.”
“That's ancient Navajo medicine, passed down to me by my great-grandmother on her deathbed. I told you before, it doesn't work on un-enlightened Northern Europeans. Why don't you see if you can get that big mouth of yours all the way down on our new friend?”
Ingrid turned and engulfed my cock, forcing herself onto it until her nose was mashed flat against my belly. Blinking, she pulled off me, gulped some air, and did it again, leaving my entire cock dripping with saliva. “Oh, sweetie, you're gonna give me a ride on that thing for sure,” she laughed.
“Later,” Yazhi said, lining herself up to accept me.
Back in my wilder days, during my on-again-off-again relationship with the girl I would eventually marry, I had sex with some pretty hot girls. A few times there was more than on girl in my bed, but this was like nothing I had ever done before. This woman I was about to fuck was a porn star! That meant that, in addition to being hot, she would probably be talented and expressive, and would at least give me the impression that she was having fun.
Unfortunately, she'd probably be loose enough that a London bus could make a U-turn inside her.
Wrong. Partially.
I was right about the first part. The sight of this desert goddess poised above me, her sopping wet sex ready to be impaled on my spit-slick cock was insanely erotic. Just the way she went about positioning herself to accept me, her black eyes sparkling, was one of the most sensuous things I had ever seen. Again, I wondered how long I would last.
The part I was wrong about was the way she felt. The head of my cock mashed against her for a second, almost as thought her labia didn't want me inside. They gave way grudgingly, allowing me access to a narrow, hot, wet velvet tunnel. As she lowered herself, she moaned and gasped with every inch we came together. It took a while, and she made it worth it. Finally, she was sitting on me.
“Damn, that looked nice!” Ingrid giggled.
“You should feel it!” Yazhi grunted. She put her hands on my chest and said, “You're big, Mike. I hope you can last a while.”
She rode me slowly at first, long strokes, sometimes leaning down to kiss me or to let me suck her nipples, and other times sitting straight up or leaning back, steadying herself with a hand on my thigh while she played with her clit.
That's how she started to cum. Maybe it's a guy thing, or maybe it's just me. I can almost always tell when a girl is ready to have an orgasm. Julia and I discovered sex together in high school, and she's the only woman I had been with since I said, “I do.” But, as I said, I had my share of partners in college. I haven't been wrong about a girl's orgasm often.
I wasn't wrong this time. Yazhi started to moan louder. A lot louder. Her fingers moved faster on her clit, and she started riding me hard, fast, almost violently. Her pussy, wet from the start, began to flow. When her climax hit her full force, the pulsing of her walls on me would easily have taken me with her, if I hadn't cum hard less than a half hour before.
She pulled herself upright and then lowered herself onto my chest, still moving her hips a little, front and back and side to side, pulsating on me, massaging me. Keeping me hard, feeling phenomenal, but not getting closer to losing it. Amazing.
“Are you gonna finish that, or can I have some,” Ingrid asked.
Yazhi started to giggle. She raised herself up so she could look at me, her forehead damp with lust. “Would that be okay, Big Red?”
“Yeah.” I really needed to see a shrink if this turned out to be a dream.
Yazhi peeled herself off me, bouncing a few times on my still hard cock before rolling to the side. “All yours, girlfriend,” she said to Ingrid, who had been fingering herself and moaning the entire time Yazhi and I went at it.
Ingrid quickly climbed on top of me, kissing me hungrily and rubbing her wet sex on my cock. “I'm gonna fuck you right, Mike. When was the last time you fucked two porn stars, one after the other?”
“Never.”
“We're changing that right now,” Ingrid said. She sat back on her haunches, grabbed my manhood, and aimed. She was nearly as tight as her friend, and eventually, she settled her weight on my pelvis. “Please stay for breakfast,” she breathed.
She positioned herself to allow me easy access to her amazing breasts. When I had first seen her picture, I had wondered who did her implants, since they looked so good, but from this angle, I could see there were no scars. Good genes and healthy living, or something.
I didn't care. I wondered what it would be like to fuck a pair of tits like that. When she started to move on me, I immediately shelved that fantasy. This girl had been doing her Kegel exercises. The flexing she did as she pulled off me reminded me of the way Yazhi's mouth had felt.
I grabbed one fat nipple between my lips and sucked hard as I thrust up into her. Ingrid gasped, and her juicy pussy felt a little wetter. Still suckling her one breast, I began rolling the other nipple between my thumb and index finger.
“Fuck me. Fuck me hard. I want you to cum deep,” she gasped.
Ingrid and I fucked harder that night than I'd ever fucked before. Even when I knew I was seconds from erupting, I didn't just push in deep and hold it like I sometimes liked to do with Julia. I fucked her even harder. Grunting, gasping for air, we pounded each other.
When she felt my spasms, she moaned, “More. More. Don't stop. Almost there. Oh God, please don't stop!”
I didn't. Even after I had cum, I stayed pretty hard for a while. Hard enough for long enough to muster up enough strength to rabbit-fuck her into a sloppy, screaming orgasm.
When Ingrid lifted herself off me, I was almost glad. She settled on her back next to me. “Yazhi, you and I need to talk while we make breakfast for this guy tomorrow.”
“I agree. We need showers,” my other lover said.
We dragged ourselves out of bed and crowded into the two-person shower in Ingrid's room. The girls teamed up on me in there, just to make sure I was drained of all possible semen. I had never intentionally cum on a woman's face and boobs before, but watching the water from the shower heads rinse the strings of my spunk off the chins and breasts of these two is an image I will carry fondly for a long time.
We slept in Ingrid's bed, Yazhi's being a little rumpled from our earlier activities. Wake up sex was always a favorite of mine anyway, and wake up sex with a busty blond and a an exotic black-haired beauty made it easy to listen their breakfast talk.
* * * * *
That was five years ago. I stayed with the temp service for a while, maybe because I still felt like I was living in a dream. The girls put me on the payroll immediately as a gopher on video shoots any time I wasn't working elsewhere, allowing me to learn the business and the people. I slept at their house most nights, and after a month's notice to my landlord, I moved in.
At our final settlement conference, Julia mentioned my change of address. “That's a pretty nice neighborhood. How can a temp worker afford to live there?”
“I'm paying room and board to some friends.” It was the truth. My now officially ex-wife didn't need to know the details. She'd figure it out soon enough. Some of her University cronies must watch porn. The girls thought I would be a big star. I snickered as I imagined the look on Julia's face.
Last year, the girls and I thought we could make the financial commitment, so we bought an old farmhouse in the country. We've converted part of it into studio and post-production space. Upstairs, we created two large bedrooms. It's anybody's guess who sleeps where.
Yazhi and I wrote the script for my acting debut, and Ingrid served as my fluffer. We rehearsed it every night for a couple of weeks, and we still re-enact the thing a few times a year. “Big Red and the Native Girl” was low budget, since it was the first feature-length film for the girls' Squash Blossom Films production company. It worked well, played to rave reviews, and launched the career of my alter-ego, Big Red.
We're all looking forward to this year's Adult Video News, or AVN, awards ceremony. We've been close to winning in the past. I nearly won for Best Male Newcomer in my film debut, but lost out to an emotional vote-getter about a blind girl and her assistance-dog trainer.
Squash Blossom Films should celebrate a win this year, with a strong entry in the Best Big Bust Series category with Ingrid in “Ski Instructors After Dark.” The word on the street is that we've sown up the Best Boy/Girl Sex Scene win with Ingrid and me in “Big Boobs Like Big Cock.” Winning either of those categories will establish us as an important studio.
None of us say much about it, but we're hoping for a third trophy for the runaway sentimental leader in the Best Group Sex Scene competition, “Naughty Wedding,” a re-enactment of the night Yazhi and I consummated our marriage. Ingrid was with us.
