Sheri eased off of my rod, slid up beside me and fell asleep against my shoulder. I relaxed with my arm around Dan’s wife, whose hand was wandering more than it should have. When it settled over my dwindling cock, I knew I should have done something to stop it, but it felt too damned good. Feeling her breasts pressing against my side, her lips occasionally reaching down to my chest, and her hand gently holding my semi-hardness, I tilted her head back and leaned down and gave her a kiss. It was long and tender, and I hardened in her hand. “Not like this,” I told her softly. “I want to. You know how bad I want to, and how long I’ve wanted to, but not like this.” She reluctantly let go of my hard cock, and I kissed her again, and again, and yet again. Somewhere in all those kisses, I finally fell asleep.
I woke to find myself blissfully on the receiving end of another blow-job. Looking down, I could see that it wasn’t my wife at work on me, but Robin, who was showing me that she was just as talented at giving head, if not at listening to good common sense. We were very quiet, and I noticed that the weather outside had almost completely subsided, and the fire in the fireplace was nearly out. The room was noticeably cooler. But not where Robin’s hot little mouth engulfed me. She was slow and steady, her mouth and hand determined to get me off, without shaking things up too much, and eventually she got her way. Then she climbed off of our bed and moved a few feet over, back to the other bed. I fell back asleep; almost convinced it was a dream.
* * *
I woke up slowly, sticky from the humidity and heat, my head hammering from too much alcohol, and my mouth as dry as the Sahara. I could hear voices nearby and pulled the pillow over my head to block out the vicious light.
“Looks like someone is waking up,” I heard pronounced.
“I wonder if his owner is as well.”
“Jill!” I heard my wife admonish our friend.
I realized I had a bad case of morning wood, and without a half-bottle of tequila in me, I wasn’t the exhibitionist I had been the night before. I moved the pillow from over my head down to cover my waist, which got me soundly booed.
Sitting up and looking at the group I was entertaining, I was glad I was covered with the pillow. The view alone was almost enough to put me over the edge.
All three of the women were in the kitchen, and all were topless, wearing towels around their waists, and nothing else.
“Glurgh aarrhg, uuunh,” I mumbled. I wasn’t a morning guy.
“Dan is down cleaning up the brush and mowing the grass between us and the water. Jack is scouring the area for our clothing, most of which the wind had its way with last night, and is scattered across 30 acres. Wouldn’t you just figure?” Sheri answered, as if she understood my grumbling.
I staggered out of the bed and made my way to the bathroom where I waited patiently for my erection to subside enough to pee through it. I read the plaque above the toilet reminding me, “If it’s yellow, let it mellow, if it’s brown, flush it down.” Just below that was a reminder to keep toilet paper and other paper items out of the toilet. Foregoing the morning flush, I splashed some water on my face, rinsed my mouth with someone’s mouthwash, picked the junk out of my eyes, took two deep breaths and went out to face the world. My staff was still semi-hard, in appreciation of the scenery.