I found myself preoccupied by this growing manifestation of my sexual interest in this rather large young woman who was intruding upon my space, such as it was. I immediately detected the aroma of marinating pussy, a scent I was familiar with. It took me but a moment to realize that it was wafting up from beneath that beer gut shelf guarding the entrance to her best feature. My eyes shifted upwards to enjoy the sight of her mammoth mammary glands rising and falling, with each movement an adventure as I awaited the sight of those beach balls breaking free of their moorings and popping out for all to see. I began to sweat profusely, and it had nothing to do with the weather. This woman was emitting pheromones, and I was responding. In case you don't know what they are, the next time you see some fireflies wandering around blinking their headlights, that's sort of what was happening between her and me. It's those damned pheromones; funny that the French didn't come up with a name for that stuff first.

Taking the bull or was it the cow, by the horns, I confessed that I hadn't caught her name last night. May, that was her name, gave me a grin that meant my goose had just avoided becoming cooked and said she was not surprised seeing as how she and I were rather wrapped up in our business and needed to focus all our attention on making sure it was done properly. Now that's not exactly how she said it. Her words were quite direct and a bit more colorful, which is something that can be a curse or a blessing in a woman. I guess it depends on how long you and she have been going along together and how well the going-together has been.

Being the devious type I first attempted to smoke her out on the subject of open marriage, such as was the relationship between Rhonda and I. She wrinkled her pug nose, I like those kind, and replied that the question had no meaning since she was not married. I then placed my foot squarely in my mouth and mentioned the fact that I had seen her and some stud involved with my loving wife prior to the meeting between the three of us later on that evening. She flashed me a glance that cut deep. Damn these women, even their looks can do some serious damage to a man's "self esteem" to use a phrase that is bandied about by a whole lot of folks these days.

She then proceeded to explain to me in words of one syllable, or so it seemed, that the stud in question was the husband of somebody attending my clambake. She, in turn, was here in the company of her widowed mother who I figured was probably one of those senior ladies slaving away in the kitchen. I ran my memory in reverse in an attempt to figure which one it might be. Unfortunately I could not associate any face with those ladies who possessed generously sized breasts, not surprising considering my state at the time. My pecker had begun to lose its starch as her words fell like bricks upon my head. I silently cursed myself for being an old fool and began to prepare my exit strategy, another buzz word phrase that I have become enamored with.

I was so busy plotting and scheming to escape with my dignity intact that I nearly jumped out of my skin when she came close and whispered in my ear, "Your wife seems kind of busy. Why don't you and I take a little walk and find some place where we can fuck in peace." I do not recall being led from the yard by my dick, but that would not have come as any surprise in my dazed condition. I was being carried away to the promised land, so it seemed. There were a few people who were kind of scandalized that I would desert my dear wife in her hour of need. To them all I can say is that those dogs seemed to be doing a damned good job occupying her attention and fulfilling her needs. I was superfluous; by the way that's a French word too.

We returned to where the morning had begun for both of us, only this time we were wide awake and rarin' to go. I watched her jiggle and wiggle out of those two tiny pieces of stretchy fabric revealing completely a set of jugs made for sucking, squeezing, nibbling, nuzzling, not to mention biting, bouncing, hefting and handling, plus the ever popular tit fucking. There can be no doubt that daylight is a much better time to survey the type of physical ripeness she displayed. Last night, in the darkness, I might have judged this paragon of plumpness, who had some of the most marvelous nooks and crannies a man ever had the delight to behold, as perhaps a tad above average based on touch alone. It would have been akin to the seven blind men and the elephant. This is not to say that May in any way would remind any sighted man of that lumbering beast of the jungle.

"That was a pretty good workout you gave my pussy last night. For an old guy you can still bring it pretty good, I like that in a man. Now please don't disappoint me like so many of your kind have in the past." As she challenged me, her hands had wandered down to that smooth, fat-lipped pussy that was hiding out beneath her belly and began spreading and kneading her best feature. Under normal conditions I would have mounted a direct frontal assault on her position, seeking to overwhelm it with superior force. However being somewhat older, and gifted with guile that has ably assisted me in surviving in the world of the untamed pussy, I took a more round-about method of breaching her defenses.

At my request she spread herself out on the bed and eyeballed me through the valley between those magnificent, mouth-watering mounds as I stretched out between her delightful thighs and pressed forward to capture that meaty pussy with my mouth. The desire and ability to eat pussy will serve any man well despite his physical, moral and mental faults and failings. If there is anything in our limited arsenal that is effective in allowing us to survive in a world ruled by members of the other sex, it is this skill. Unfortunately among the race of men this is not something that is openly spoken of except among the more sophisticated members of the tribe. It is not a skill passed from one generation to the other; fathers don't usually discuss this art form with their sons. Rather it is one of those arcane pieces of knowledge that seems to randomly strike a few of us as truth and a way to the pussy. I do believe that our Chinese friends call this "tao" or some such unpronounceable word.

The old saw about "practice makes perfect" is most appropriate when it comes to eating pussy. I became a practioner of the art at a very early age thanks to the efforts of my older sister who devoted countless hours to my training. I was taught about those special places that a lady finds most enticing when someone is lapping away on her genitals. I learned to understand the language of the pussy; what its movements meant, when it was happy, when it was not. I discovered as my experience increased and my thoughtful sister added fresh pussy to the mix, that no two pussies are alike despite statements to the contrary from those who have never gotten closer than five feet from one of those mysterious grottos. I have eaten enough pussy to understand that if I could live for a thousand more years I would still know very little about this delightful organ from which all men arrived.

May's pussy had a funky aroma and a tart-sweet taste with a hint of earth and greenery to paraphrase one of those folk who writes wine reviews. It was still far from its peak with respect to texture and finish, but the youthful combination of fresh flesh and delicate but memorable hints of maturity and body was enough to satify even the most critical palate. Cutting to the chase, it was damned fine pussy and there was no way a sane man could get enough of this juicy, tasty muskmelon that was ripening between her thighs. I proceeded to make a pig of myself.

This young woman was most forgiving of my bad manners. Perhaps my enthusiasm for her sweetest spot overcame the rough way in which I attempted to pleasure it. All I can remember was that she gently grabbed me by the ears and used them the same way one would handle the reins on a fractious horse or other dumb animal. Despite the fact that she used only a few words such as "deeper, more tongue, faster, slower and the dreaded, not there", her adept handling of the reins had me moving over areas that were new to me, and evidently most pleasant to her. I could probably go on about this magical first contact between my tongue and her pussy, but there are not enough words in a French dictionary to describe the plethora of sensations and emotions that were induced by this young lady's enchanting garden of delights.

When I finally came up for air, my face coated with a sheen of sweat and her precious essences, she announced that it was time we went riding and this time she was gonna really put the spurs to me. Since I had not had my normal morning release of semen yet, I looked forward to this little ride in the park with a great deal of excitement. She patted the bed next to her and rolled on her side to let me get into position. As I mentioned previously my favorite position is one in which my partner does most of the work; this was not to be. She climbed on board and dug her heels into my sides and grinned down at me. I could feel her stomach pressing my body into the mattress, making it difficult to get a good toehold. Moreover when she planted her tits squarely on my face I knew it was going to be a very long morning. Let me tell you, it was no ride in the park. We went through brush, streams, up switchbacks and down into deep gullies, all at top speed.

I thrust and she gave grudgingly, an inch at a time. When I was finally seated she rose up, took a deep breath and started grinding away, her big tits bouncing off my face. Those bags were big enough and firm enough to do damage. I began to fear for my safety as she kicked me into another gear, her beefy body moving like she was on ball bearings. I began to huff and puff and she laughed at my struggles to keep myself properly situated. I closed my eyes and thought good thoughts as she wore me down to the nub. I got both hands on that awesome backside and squeezed those hams as hard as I could to communicate the fact that I was on the verge of becoming unconscious. By then we had both worked up a good lather due to the lack of any form of air conditioning in the room. I could feel beads of sweat, not perspiration, dripping off those great tits and splashing down onto my face. She nearly had me pinned by then and I began to be concerned that my muscles would fail me before I could launch the millions upon millions of mindless sperm that would blindly seek the holy grail. At that very moment she took to sneezing, one good one after another, the sign of an allergy attack. I was to be saved. In truth this was a case of deus ex machina, compliments of mother nature herself. May's concentration now disturbed, I sneakily wedged myself into a slightly better stance and used the leverage to successfully launch my payload. By then she was too busy trying to breathe to even notice that the deed had been done. Ever the gentleman, I grew quiet and hung on for dear life as she finally overcame whatever had been tormenting her.

May gave me a big smile and deliberately bounced her tits off my face one more time. I sighed and started to lick the beads of sweat off those beauties. "That was pretty good all things considered." May said in a soft voice as she used her cunt muscles to give my cock a gentle squeeze to acknowdedge its presence. I gave her my best little boy smile and sucked her nipples.

"You do know what you're doing most of the time, but you could still stand a few more lessons when it comes to eating this girl's box and you definitely need to get into better shape if you and I are ever going to do some serious fucking. I presume your wife would have no objections if I came over now and then to give you some pointers and check out your physical conditioning."

Her words were music to my ears. Then it dawned on me that poor Rhonda was out there all alone standing off a pack of sex crazed dogs while I was in bed with this bundle of prime grade fuckmeat. It was almost enough to make a man feel guilty. The operative word in that last statement is "almost". One thing I learned very early in life was that a stiff dick has no conscience.

Emboldened by the fact that I had passed my preliminary exams, I escorted my teacher out to where my sweaty wife was handling a pair of four legged-fuckers for the second time. A few people gave me some funny looks, probably jealous of my good fortune. Someone told me that Rhonda was only one more set of dogs away from doing the pack twice, an impressive feat considering the heat and her inabilty to move very much while they were doing her. I am not at all sure that she was aware of the fact that I had strayed a bit with her friend from last night. I truly doubt that she was in any condition to even care much about my latest foray into the wild and wonderful world of the willing female. It was then that Ms. Marlowe and her little charges made their appearance.

The school teacher seemed none the worse for the lengthy "ordeal" of having her private parts pounded to pulp by a group of acne afflicted teens. Like most of the folks in attendance she chose to wear her birthday suit which was in need of some ironing to take out the wrinkles in a few places. There was a stream of milky fluid issuing from her nether regions, back and front. I also could observe that her droopy tits had some fresh markings that could only have been the result of rough or careless handling on the part of her partners in lust. Her sagging bottom was even more impressively decorated with areas of various hues ranging from red to blue-black. I could even make out the imprint of a hand on one of her pebbled cheeks. It had been applied with considerable force and more than a few times to create the depth of color that had been produced. I began to muse that possibly this dominant, aggressive molder of minds had a softer, more submissive side. I'd have to inquire about this matter to my "son", Jack.

The last pair of dogs was just finishing up in Rhonda, and much of the audience had peeled off to engage in some final exercises of free speech and their right to peacefully assemble with a sexual partner of their choice. To my utter amazement a line of males had formed to take a last crack at impregnating little Connie. The sweet young thing was on one of the benches with her knees resting beside her ears, and she was being hammered like no body's business by this rather large gentleman with a penis that was of truly impressive length and girth. It took me some time to identify Chief Vlad, who was without his hat, holster and the 357 Magnum it contained. I suddenly realized that my little get together had been infiltrated by the forces of law and order. It then became apparent to me that they too were interested in exercising their right to freedom of speech and expression.

Just before I claimed the worn out body of my dear wife from the master of the hounds, a number of the kitchen ladies who had taken off with Marty began to drift back into the yard. It seems that his spirit had been very willing, but his body could not measure up to the pressures that the gaggle of grannies applied to his scrawny frame. He had been spanked until his poor ass was nearly twice its original size and about fit to burst. These ladies had not gotten to this stage in their lives by doing things that were less than intelligent. They had liberated a variety of kitchen implements which they used in lieu of their palms to make Marty understand how distressed they were about his deportment.

In a kind of warped form of poetic justice they had dragged his sorry shape into the sauna and began to abuse him sexually as his body gave up its liquid contents to the hot, dry air and the demanding pussies that suctioned the seed from him. Currently only the hard core ladies remained and they were doing some terrible things to his needle dick which had long since given up its rigidity. This was the kind of gossip that I did not need to hear at this point. However I do promise a more definitive description of Marty's punishments in a later segment of this lengthening tale.

As luck would have it, one of the kitchen ladies spotted May and headed in her direction. This woman had a most impressive chest and I also noticed that she too had a shaved snatch. Just before she greeted my companion I realized I was looking at May's momma in the flesh, and there was sure plenty of it. My devious side immediately began working on a scheme that would result in May and her momma doing yours truly in a variety of interesting and entertaining configurations. May introduced me as a new friend she had made and from the look I got from mom she was quickly sizing me up for future use. Being old and wily I can figure these kinds of things out pretty fast. Her name was Mabel and she mentioned she had been twice widowed, May being the last product of her second marriage, a change of life baby who had turned out well. My charming companion tittered, if I dare use that word, and remarked that, " Momma put both of them under the ground by fucking them silly every chance she got. I intend to follow in her foot steps if ever I find a man that can measure up to my standards." It seems I had already been found wanting as a potential husband, which was fine with me unless Rhonda had a seizure and keeled over dead.

I made my excuses and detached myself from May and Mabel, heading for what was left of Rhonda. By now the handler had retrieved the padding and mask she wore, revealing a modicum of bruises and scratches that she had accumulated during her time in the dog run. Rhonda's lips looked like they were on steroids as a result of numerous collisions with the excited canines. She was unable to speak, and could barely mumble, her only method of verbal communication for the better part of a day.

As I half carried my thoroughly dog-fucked wife back to her room I was intercepted by Mimi Marlowe, who, close-up, smelled like a whore house bathroom as the result of her dalliance with those oversexed teens. It seems her sources had informed her of the existence of a rather battered Marty and his lovely wife, the fragile and currently unconscious, Marie. For reasons that she did not wish to share with me, Ms. Marlowe wanted to take custody of the pair for an indeterminate period of time. In exchange, she offered me the opportunity to baby sit the Tolliver twins, Terri and Traci, for the next four weekends, no questions asked, and no holes barred.

You talk about an offer you couldn't resist, this in truth was it! These 14 year old blondes were well known to be Ms. Marlowe's private stock and had been so for the last year. The girls were flat out beautiful and already sported sets of 36C tits, tapering down to waists that were rumored to measure no more than 21 inches around, then flared out to hips that had been actually measured to be 34 inches in circumference. They had been gifted with heart shaped asses that appeared to be mounted on ball bearings as they sidled by leaving a scent of musky fragrance in their wake. These were two dick stiffening, heart stopping, marriage ruining, wet dreams that were ripe and ready. Then to top it off they went both ways, compliments of the advanced training given them by the aforementioned Ms. Marlowe. Now these two paragons of youthful sexuality were about to be dropped into my lap, so to speak. They would come equipped with a one word vocabulary, "yes", and there would be no questions asked provided they were returned in a condition that would allow their pristine perfection to be restored in a reasonable amount of time. This was the proverbial "no brainer" and I nearly dislocated my neck accepting the trade she offered.

It appears that my printer is running out of ink and I don't presently have the wherewithal to fork over in excess of 40 dollars, American, to replace it. So until such time as the god of ink jets smiles down upon me, this will have to suffice.