Chapter 1: New Townhouses Lead to New Intimate Friendships

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Mult, Romantic, Fiction, Group Sex, Cream Pie, .

Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1: New Townhouses Lead to New Intimate Friendships - As Jane Atkins moves into a new townhouse development named Dillon Run, she builds special relationships with new housemate Sheila and a few neighbors. Relationships with neighbors Paul and Mike are soured by scandalous news, but Jane discovers treachery and deceit. The perpetrator is uniquely exposed. Jane and Sheila also befriend a few others, creating a growing circle of close sexual friends and romances. Much group sex, but with a plot. Six chapters.

I was the sixth person to move into Dillon Run, the brand new cream of the crop development of thirty-two townhouses in Dillon, Massachusetts. Romantic relationships and sex were the last thing on my mind.

The development ran along a picturesque portion of the Merrimack River where it took a turn, so the multistory buildings curved to follow the river, and to provide a break from the usual linear developments other contractors and speculators were building. My two-story unit was right in the middle – Unit 16.

The developers had put my name over the mail slot on the front door: 'Jane Atkins.' Missing were other defining features: age thirty two; two successful romance novels recently in print and selling well – the kind with a knockoff of Fabio on the cover – with muscles and long flowing hair, and holding a damsel about to break through the bodice of her dress because her boobs are so large and quivery; plus my regular job as a 9-1-1 dispatcher for the tri-county area.

I'd become single again, after what had turned out to be a disastrous seven-year marriage that tried to redefine love and affection with alcohol, drugs, verbal and then physical abuse, and a huge amount of cheating, lying, and financial malfeasance. We'd skipped having kids because, I guess, I could see the writing on the wall and left me penniless. I still had time, but as my friends reminded me constantly, my biological clock was nearing midnight so Cinderella better get busy.

The first thing after the divorce decree was move out of the dump I'd been forced to live in with my tramp husband. I bought one of the cheaper townhouse units in the development called Dillon Run. I think the most expensive ones sold for around three times what I paid – those units were on the ends of the development and had more windows, better decorating and appliances, and the best views up and down the river next to the units. The others had been sold, but when I moved in many were still having interior finish work done on them; almost as soon as a unit was finished, someone moved in.

For my investment, I got three thousand square feet of living space, plus a two-car private garage, access to all the common elements of the complex, including sauna, gym, meeting rooms, party rooms, additional storage space, picnic area, and routine security patrols of the property.

You might wonder how a lowly hourly employee and struggling author afforded such an expensive place to live, along with the attendant other expenses, such as large quarterly payments to the home owners association, taxes, and all the utilities. Well, normally I couldn't.

Two things offset my financial burden. First, I inherited a bag of money, specifically five million. I paid cash for my unit, and invested the remainder of the money so that it would generate enough interest and dividends to allow me to stay there forever rent-free. I had upscale tastes, and this was what I wanted. It also left me without rent or a mortgage, plus money to play with if I didn't go too wild.

The second offset was Sheila Morgan, my housemate who was twenty-eight, blond, blue eyed, and gorgeous, but with an inferiority complex the size of Montana. (Mine was only the size of Connecticut.) Not wanting to live alone, I rented out a bedroom and full house privileges throughout the rest of the townhouse. I'd picked Sheila rather carefully based on four interviews and careful reference checks that included a visit to where she worked. She had a steady income from her work as a high school science teacher and cheerleader coach, seemed quiet and well-spoken when I interviewed her, had hopes of meeting Mr. Right, and seemed to tolerate my quirky personality, or as much of it as I displayed during the interviews. She appreciated the thoroughness of my selection process, and moved in a week after I did. We were nicely compatible and seemed to flow nicely around each other; further, I enjoyed talking with her.

After watching Sheila for our first two weeks together, I concluded that she didn't go out except to get some groceries and go to work.

I evaluated myself by the same criteria, and discovered that I didn't go out except to get some groceries and go to work.

My opportunity to meet new people – men – was handicapped at that point in my new life by my job. The 9-1-1 center where I worked resided in a storm proof building on high ground that had few windows and mostly other women working the various phone lines, some for various types of dispatch – police, fire, EMT, and then a raft of special government and quasi-government communications needs, for instance, hazmat responses and suicide hotlines.

We worked in teams of two or three unless we were overloaded with calls, and then we were singles. In my work building, I did four two-hour stints a day at a desk wearing a headset, and facing a computer screen that showed the location of just about every emergency vehicle in the three county area, plus would pop up the location of a call, and as we learned the nature of the emergency, would give us scripts to work from, for instance, how to give CPR. The work was fun and I felt I was contributing to society in a meaningful way.


Sheila was relatively low key and unemotional, a trait I thought unusual to have as a cheerleader coach, which I thought had to be all rah-rah, go-go, and all. Thus, I paid special attention to her when she burst through the door after her second week at the high school, flashed me a huge smile, and gave me the news; "Jane, I just met the man who's moving into the unit on the south end. Oh, God, he's so handsome he made my heart beat faster. I'll have fantasies about him for a week."

I asked, "What's he doing?"

"Moving in, he said, even though some of the rooms aren't done yet. He told me he had a company along Route 128 – his own company, can you imagine that? He also has a new black Jaguar, such a sleek looking car. He must be loaded with money. Did I tell you he's so handsome; he reminds me of Matthew McConaughey. He has arm muscles, and I bet he even has six-pack abs. I wanted to rape him on the spot."

This was the most emotive I'd ever heard Sheila since I'd met her forty-five days prior, plus she'd never displayed passion about anything, and here she was ready to throw herself at the newest resident of Dillon Run.

I asked, "What's his name?"

"Paul King. Isn't that the greatest name?"

"Is there a Mrs. King?"

Sheila stopped short. In one clipped sentence I'd shattered her daydream. The bubble burst, her shoulders dropped, and she dejectedly said, "I don't know. He seemed alone."

"Well, take me and introduce your housemate. You can get to see him again."

Sheila perked up, "Great idea. I'll have to figure out how to ask his marital status."

I checked myself in the mirror, and then followed Sheila out the door. We strolled down the brick paved street towards the large moving van. I noted the black Jag in his garage; the doors were open, a violation of HOA rule of some kind, but I guess we're forgiving on moving days.

A tall sandy haired man matching Sheila's description came out the front door of Unit 32. She was right; he was a hunk.

Sheila and I walked towards him, but he scowled in our direction and then went to the door of the moving van and gave a few instructions to someone inside as he pointed to various boxes.

Before I could say anything or stop her, Sheila hopped ahead a few steps. "Hi, Mr. King. I brought my housemate over to meet you."

He turned with a neutral look on his face.

He said, "Oh, yes. You're Shelly, right?"

"No, Sheila, and this is my friend Jane Atkins. We're in Unit 16."

The way Sheila had spoken, I was sure he thought we were lesbians. I cringed, but couldn't think of anything to say.

Paul didn't offer a hand. He gave a flash of a smile, and said, "Nice to meet you two. Busy day here." After that he turned back to the foreman of the moving team and started to talk about which boxes went to which rooms.

I pulled Sheila away. She looked dejected.

I said, "Sheila, there's no Mrs. King, so cheer up."

"How do you know that?" she asked.

"He wasn't wearing a ring. All the boxes in the van that I could see were all male oriented stuff. There are only a couple of wardrobe boxes. The car is obviously his, and he's already filling the other side of his garage with one bicycle, one pair of skis and equipment, and one single-person kayak. He may be spoken for elsewhere, but I'm pretty sure there ain't a Mrs. King."

Sheila soaked all that in, and started to bubble over again as we walked back to our unit.


I next saw Mr. Paul King about a week later as I was leaving for my 9-1-1 job. He was just starting to roll past my car in his to the exit from our little complex. I waved. I got a serious look for him, even a stare that seemed to say 'Who are you, Weirdo?' and then he drove on by. I had become very under-impressed with Mr. King's social skills.

A week after that, we had four more units occupied, all by couples. One young and eager couple – Jack and Katie, organized a wine and cheese hour after work on a Friday. Sheila and I showed up, and we all welcomed each other to the newly opened Dillon Run.

About six-thirty, Paul King, showed up with a male friend in tow. They greeted a few people, but I had the feeling that the illusive Mr. King was going out of his way to stay clear of Sheila and me.

I thought that made three strikes for him: crappy attitude, failure to return a friendly wave, and avoidance in a pleasant social setting. Well, I thought, Mr. King, fuck you.

I watched Sheila try to engage him in conversation, but she obviously got brushed off. King wanted to talk to his guest and avoid us. I wondered if the guy was Mr. King's boyfriend, as in gay buddy. I watched, but couldn't see any inclination that they were doing anything other than talk. Eventually, after one drink, the pair left the courtyard where the early autumn event had been held and walked back towards King's unit.


Sheila burst into the apartment after work about ten days later. "Jane, I think Paul King is having an affair with Leslie Rollins in Unit 23."

"OK, why do you think that?" My tone of voice dripped with disapproval, not at Sheila but at the apparently flamboyant Mr. King.

"Well, I just saw him coming out of the Rollin's front door. He was barely dressed: no shirt, running shorts, and sneakers. He does have six-pack abs by the way. Leslie had come to the door with him. She was wearing a robe – a short one that showed lots of leg. They talked for a minute and waved goodbye. He was carrying some repair tools ... I suppose he could have been helping her."

I pondered that situation for a moment. I said, "Or using the tools as an alibi. Well, I hope they're happy. Didn't we meet her husband at the social event?"

"Yeah, David Rollins. He was nice."

So, now I rated Mr. King as not only socially obnoxious, but also as a philanderer with married women. He was not only striking out, he was out of the ballpark. I noted that my sports analogy seemed to be breaking down. My opinion of Leslie Rollins wasn't all that high as of that moment either.

Sheila said in an animated tone, "Besides that, this morning I met Paul King's friend, the man he'd brought to the party. His name is Mike Jenkins. He's been living at Paul's for a couple of weeks until his unit is finished – Unit 1. He said his stuff was in storage, so he'd been living out of a suitcase. He's a venture capital guy with his own business too, and I bet he's put money into King's company."

"Sheila, you make a great gossip, and you make me curious about the two of them. Someday, I'll do a little research on them." I was curious enough to start that research about twenty minutes later when I finally got to my computer.

King Enterprises was heading for an IPO or initial public offering, so they were in the news a great deal, mostly speculating about the opening or strike price for the stock. The company made, marketed, and distributed electronic stuff, including home and small business security systems. Part of what they made came from South Korea or Viet Nam, and the rest was made in the U.S. They employed about one thousand people, but were growing at a rapid rate.

Mike Jenkins was a little harder to trace. He had been a partner at Ross, Hendricks, Jenkins, and Prendergast on the west coast, but left to start his own firm apparently in Boston. He was apparently worth a small fortune, and was heavily invested in companies like Paul King's, always for an equity share, particularly if the company might go public within a year. He was reported to have coined the expression, 'get in fast, and get out slow, ' a mantra describing how to scoop the market, and not let shares deflate when you sold out.

There was little about either man's personal life in the research I uncovered. It's nice to know your neighbors.

While I occasionally saw both men and automatically waved, the best I got in return was a reply wave or nod. At least, I elicited a smile from each of the once in a while, including Paul King.

My first reversal of opinion about Paul King came one day when I was leaving and waved at Sheila. I pulled up to wish her a nice day.

Sheila said, "You know, the way the light hits your windshield or other car windows with the tint on them, no one can see you inside the car. You're just a big dark blob. I had to look really hard to see if anyone were even driving."

Her remark gave me pause for thought, and made me revisit many of the times Paul King had gawked at me as I drove by. Maybe he wasn't being unfriendly; maybe he was just trying to figure out who was inside.

I also was outside sweeping some leaves off our front step one autumn weekend afternoon when Mike Jenkins came by on his bicycle after a ride.

"Hi. Isn't this the perfect day?" he laughed. "All the leaves are changing colors, the temperature is perfect for a workout, and we're all young enough to appreciate it."

I smiled at him and held up my end of the conversation.

Eventually, he asked, "How's your partner?"

Now, the word 'partner' in my social circle is reserved for use with same sex couples.

I tilted my head and replied, "Sheila's working on her lesson plans for next week." I gestured into the townhouse. "Did you think we were a couple?"

"Errr, yes. The only time I've seen you, except for heading off to work, you've been together. I just thought ... and Paul also speculated..."

I clarified, "No, we're not. I own the house, and Sheila merely rents a bedroom. She's very easy to get along with and has also become a good friend."

I could see the shades lift in Mike's eyes. I wondered whether we'd just been added back into the list of eligible females he'd want to date.

I turned the tables, "And, you and Paul are not... ?"

Mike laughed, "No, not at all. We met through business. I funded part of his business's expansion with our VC funds. When I moved here from Silicon Valley, my unit was supposed to be finished by the end of August. It wasn't, so Mike invited me to stay at his place until I could move into mine."

I chuckled, "I think we're both the victim of erroneous assumptions about two members of the same sex living together. Please accept my apologies for my stereotypical behavior."

"And mine," Mike chuckled. "Maybe we should all get together to have drinks sometime soon."

"I'd like that, and I'm sure Sheila would."

On that note we parted.


My next interaction with Paul King occurred about one a.m. the Monday before Thanksgiving.

I awoke to an insistent pounding on our front door. I whipped on a robe, and went downstairs to street level to see what the commotion was all about.

I opened the front door, and there stood King in running shorts, but wearing a jacket. He wore sneakers, but they were not laced.

King said excitedly, "You should wake up. There's a fire two doors down. I just called 9-1-1. Come on, I think you should get out of there. You're not in danger now, but if it spreads in this direction, I'd worry about you."

I said, "Thank you. I'll get Sheila up. How'd you see it?"

As he headed to the next unit, he said, "I'd just stepped outside to get a breath of fresh air, when I smelled smoke. I threw on some shoes and a coat, and figured out the source of the odor. Now, there's smoke coming from inside the unit."

I ran back up the stairs. Five minutes later, Sheila and I burst out the front door, clothed and wearing jackets since we expected to have to stand around in the chilly night air for a while. The fire department had just arrived. The odor of smoke permeated the area.

Heavy smoke rolled out of a cracked upstairs window at Unit 14. Moments later, we watched as the local fire department broke the door in, and deployed into the place, most wearing oxygen tanks and face masks.

Paul King was evident at the scene, talking to the battalion commander. Most of us knew the unit hadn't been occupied yet, but that didn't necessarily mean it was empty.

A few minutes later, we saw several of the upstairs windows opened, and copious amounts of additional smoke. A high volume fan was taken into the unit to air out the smoke. An hour later, as we stood outside our unit, the all-clear was given to return.

Paul came up to us to share that news. "One of the workmen left a bunch of batteries charging overnight. Something happened and the charging unit shorted out in some way. It caught onto some papers and rags nearby. One fireman said there was some significant damage in one room, but except for the smoke, nothing spread further. It's all under control now."

We thanked Paul for his news and started to reenter our townhouse.

As I did, I saw Paul walk up to Doug and Leslie Rollins, sharing the news with them. In front of her husband, Leslie hugged Paul but he seemed a little stiff about the encounter. That interested me. There must be some crazy relationship there.


Climate change got blamed for the thirty-inch snowfall in twenty-four hours the whole area received on December 17th. Roads were impassable, if one could even get out of their garage. The governor asked everyone to stay home.

The small street that ran past the townhouses and enabled access to our garages was barely walkable, and our plowing service had not kept up with the load. The snow was at least level with the tops of the picnic tables our complex had put down near the river.

I opened the front door to face a pile of snow up to my waist. Sheila and I looked forlorn about ever clearing our snow. We had one small snow shovel.

"I'll start on this," I said. "You relieve me in twenty minutes or so."

Sheila nodded, and I waded into the drift of snow with my inadequate tool. I started throwing small shovelfuls atop the bushes that had long since disappeared.

I had just hit my stride when a voice behind me said, "Oh, let me help."

A dark figure stood behind me in an insulated snowsuit, the kind snowmobilers wear. He started to dig into the mass of white flakes from the path in the street. Paul King was clearing my sidewalk and a path to my front door to meet up with the meager attempt I'd started.

He said, "Isn't this marvelous? I love snow. Everything is so beautiful and pristine. I wish I were a better photographer."

"Is that your hobby," I asked as I tossed more snow onto the bushes that fronted my unit.

"One of them, but I don't have much time for any of them."

"Did you close you company today?"

"Yes, of course." He looked skyward; "The powers that be had other plans for me today." He opened his mouth to catch a few snowflakes.

A perky female voice from several doors down shouted, "Hey! Hi. Merry Christmas. It's guaranteed to be a white one this year." It was Leslie Rollins, also sporting a snow shovel.

Paul turned and smiled, "Hi, Sis. Yes, it is. If I ever get out of here, I'll go help Mom and Dad."

I had frozen in position. I stared at Paul. Another misconception about him lay in shattered pieces on the ground.

I blurted out, "Leslie is you sister?"

Paul laughed, "Yes, and Doug my brother-in-law. Can you believe the two of us decided to live in the same complex? We're not real social with each other, haven't seen each other all that much, but..."

"And your parents are nearby?"

Paul said as he tossed another huge shovel full of snow, "About thirty minutes away on a good day in New Hampshire, just north of Salem."

"How nice to have your family all nearby."

Paul frowned, "Sort of. Where are yours, if I may ask."

"Outside of Erie. We're a dysfunctional lot, so I wasn't planning on going home for Christmas. All we'd do is argue and fight, and that's not my cup of tea. We'll have a nice Skype call Christmas day sometime, and that'll suffice for holiday family contact."

Paul nodded, "Well, if that's the case, how'd you like to join my dysfunctional family that day – if we can ever get our cars out? Your presence might help us be more civil to one another, and keep my mother and sister off my back."

The offer was sincere and caring, and not at all what I expected from the cold and serious Mr. King.

"I'd welcome the opportunity. I don't meet a lot of new people through my work."

More snow went by, and the piles were now getting over my head. We hadn't even started on the garage.

"I'm a 9-1-1 dispatcher."

"I'm impressed. I bet that's fascinating, being involved in all the drama that happens. I bet they're busy today especially."

I laughed, "It can be frustrating. We launch the fire, police, or EMT guys at a problem, but rarely hear about the resolution unless it makes the paper in some way."

The pathways Paul and I were shoveling to and from my front door met up. I said, "Thank you so much. At least we could get out of here once in a while now."

Paul obviously teased, "Where's you partner?" The way he emphasized 'partner' I knew he'd heard from Mike.

I said, "Sheila should be out to take the next shift any minute. I think I prefer the term 'housemate'; it's more accurate in so many ways." I teased back.

Paul laughed. "Thanks for being good natured about my wrong assumption about your relationship. I gather from Mike, that you thought..."

"Oh, I don't mind, and yes, I also made a similar bad assumption about Mike and you; not that being gay is bad, I just didn't want to say something inappropriate."

Paul said, "Well, let's start on the driveway; which car do you want to have available first, left or right?" He pointed at our two garage doors.

Sheila came out and took over. I didn't have time to clue her in about Paul and Leslie being siblings. I'd get to it later.

I made hot cocoa, and brought the cups out to Sheila and Paul. The snow had about stopped. The world as we knew it was white and paralyzed.

We'd run out of places to physically put the snow by the time my car was able to exit the garage. We thanked Paul for all his help, and he headed back to his unit. I noted he didn't make an effort to help his sister and brother-in-law.

Sheila came in, "We're having eggnog at Paul's place at six o'clock tonight. I accepted for both of us. I hope that's OK; I know you have a dislike for him."

"I've mellowed a little – maybe a lot." I explained about Paul and Leslie, and my bad assumptions. Even at that, I sensed the after taste of my initial impressions and assumptions, wrong as they were. I wondered if other people held onto those feelings as well, even after being shown the errors in their thinking.

As Sheila prattled on about Paul King and then Mike Jenkins, my mind wandered further afield. I wondered what had really bothered me in all my interactions with King. He was a reasonably nice guy once I let my guard down, and he'd really been nothing but cordial to me since his initial two weeks at the townhouses.

I cut him some slack about that. His business had been facing what turned out to be a successful IPO. He must have been really edgy as that event approached. He now ran a public company, although I could guess that he had held onto a significant number of shares. Mike probably had a sizable chunk of shares too.

Well, they were out of my league. They both probably had money to burn. 9-1-1 dispatch staff don't make big bucks, but the work seemed so rewarding. Several dozen times a day, I felt as though I really helped someone through a bad time in their life.

Our eggnog and grog party was just that. Paul hosted, and Mike, David, Leslie, Sheila, and I were there. We didn't stay long, but I did learn that Leslie seemed to have some definite ideas about Paul's social life. She was also sizing up Mike.


To my surprise Sheila and Mike also were invited to Christmas at the senior King's home in New Hampshire. Sheila's parents were in Europe, and Mike just decided he'd rather travel to the west coast where his parents lived when the chance of sleeping in some airport due to weather delays was near zero.

Sheila and I dressed to the nines, putting on our best dresses and sweaters. We carried some gifts and our high-heeled shoes, but wore our boots and other winter gear. Mike had a large four-wheel drive SUV, so he drove us. I sat in the back with Sheila.

I had a good time, although there was a shift in the dynamic between us.

Leslie took time to tease Paul about needing to date someone instead of working all the time. She even made reference to a prior girlfriend named Liz that he'd apparently fancied for a long time. If I read Paul correctly, Liz might be a consideration if he ever decided to give up long hours on his company, but Leslie wanted Paul to see a girl on the west coast who she said would be here in an instant if he showed any interest.

I was surprised to find myself feeling jealous of Liz and this other person. I had no liens on Paul, nor, I thought, did I want any. He was just a neighbor – a man turning out to be a very nice neighbor. He was exceptionally cordial to Sheila and me, making sure we were included and well fed.

Sheila gravitated to Mike, obviously giving him preferential treatment when she brought in treats from the kitchen or got him another drink. Once or twice when I saw her alone, I could see her taking large breaths to gird herself for another interaction with Mike or the others.

The senior Kings welcomed us into their celebration. Sheila and I had brought a house gift of a small hanging key rack, something that I'd finally extracted from Paul as something they needed. Beyond that we participated in a one gift Secret Santa with a gift for the opposite sex. We'd been told by Paul to wrap that gift in either pink or blue paper.

I'd put together a whole shave and shower kit for a man, buying some Old Spice shaving lotion, deodorant, soap, the newest in razor technology, and some wonderful smelling shampoo. I'd separately wrapped each item, and then wrapped the entire collection in an old shoebox.

Paul drew my gift, and made a big show of unwrapping and appreciating each item. He was funny too, pretending to put each item to immediate use such as pretending to smear the deodorant under his arms or shampoo his hair. I didn't realize a big business CEO could be so whimsical.

I got a scented candle that Mike had contributed. We were in a tacky mood at the time, so I got up and kissed him to say thank you.

The kiss resulted in Paul coming over to me after I'd sat down again, to give me a thank you kiss for the various cosmetics. Unless I was wrong, we held that kiss for a fraction of second longer than we needed to. I gave him a rewarding smile.

We drove home in the early evening. I rode in the front seat with Paul. Mike and Sheila were in the back seat. At the start of our trip I turned around and they were holding hands despite the low temperature in the car when we started. Later, I heard a smack and turned around to see them kissing. I turned back to mind my own business. I guess Sheila was handling her inferiority complex well.

I glanced at Paul. He looked over at me with a smirk on his face. I'd caught him watching in the rearview mirror. I gave his arm a gentle punch as I grinned back at him.

We all went to Mike's townhouse, since after entering the complex we reached his driveway first. He'd invited us in for a 'nightcap' and perhaps some dancing. I liked to dance, and I liked the company, so in we all went.

I should have known that the terms 'nightcap' and 'dance' held ulterior meaning to the two bachelors.

Mike's townhouse was marvelously and expensively decorated. He touched a button as we came in and the lights adopted a subdued and romantic level, creating a beautiful ambiance. Someone took my coat, and I doffed my boots by the front door, slipping into my sexy heels.

Shortly, some slow dance music started playing in a way that made me start to sway to the music. I didn't think much about it when Paul wrapped his arms around me from behind, and started to dance along.

I turned into his arms so I faced him. We danced for a minute and then our lips were smashed together, unable to get enough of each other. A few feet away, Sheila and Mike were similarly engaged. I watched Mike's hands drop to her ass, and heard her moan into the kiss they were sharing. She started to grind her hips into his. This evening had started to have an interesting trajectory to it.

We finished the song that was playing, spending more time kissing than dancing, but the pretext was there. Paul led me into the kitchen. He seemed to know his way around, and soon we both had a generous vodka martini.

I must have been a little nervous because the first drink disappeared in about five or ten minutes; so much for sipping. Paul got me another. He must not have been all that cool either, since he topped off too.

Mike and Sheila joined us, their arms around each other, as they obviously didn't want to be separated. They moved around the kitchen bar area as one, often exchanging little kisses as they went. I thought they were so cute together.

Paul pulled me back into the living room, and we set our drinks down so we could dance some more. Again, the dancing was an excuse to stand close to each other and make out. And make out, we did.

We tried to inhale each other, but soon gave that up in favor of wild and wet French kissing as we rubbed our groins together. If there was a Horniness Index, Paul and I were rapidly maxing out.

At one point, our dancing enabled me to look into the dimly lit kitchen where Mike and Sheila were. Sheila's sweater we nowhere to be seen, her blouse was open, and her bra was pushed up to give Mike access to her luscious breasts. He was sucking on her nipples as she sat on the counter in front of him, obviously urging him on.

I'd seen Sheila around the condo wearing panties and a bra, but I'd never seen her bare breasts. They were gorgeous: round, firm, with large areolas, and pink nipples as large as the end my little finger. Mike was sucking on them and then kissing Sheila. I remember having the thought that I wanted to suck on them too. I'd never had that thought about another woman.

I knew and accepted the entire arc of the evening. I wasn't sure how public I wanted our eventual lovemaking to be, but I knew if I had another martini I wouldn't care. Paul and I went into the kitchen to get another drink. I wanted to not care; I wanted to be an exhibitionist with my friends.

When we entered the kitchen, and Mike and Sheila didn't even blink. They pulled apart slightly, and changed so Mike was kissing her again instead of sucking on a nipple.

Paul teased, "Having fun?"

Sheila replied first, "The most, and more to come." Her voice was dreamy and sexy.

Our drinks refreshed from the pitcher of martinis that Mike must have made, we went back to the living room. The room seemed hot, and my sweater got tossed aside.

Paul nearly whispered to me, "I don't want to do anything to get on your bad side, so I'm holding back a bit. I can tell you that I'd like to be doing to you what Mike is doing to Sheila."

I replied, "And I wish you were too." I reached up and undid the first two buttons on my blouse and pushed my chest out to Paul. "I think we're on the same wavelength."

Paul took it from there, completing the job until the blouse joined the sweater on the arm of the sofa. A little maneuvering on my part, and I pulled my bra off too.

Paul's ardor filled me with lust. I really liked this man. Where had I ever got the idea he was anything other than perfect? He had a talented mouth and tongue, and was bringing me pleasure at a rapid rate. I had orgasmed a few times in my life from just breast play. Paul did it. He brought me off.

As I was panting and kissing his shoulder, he came up to face me. "Did you just cum?"

I nodded, "Yes, thank you. You are good at that."

"I've never done that to a girl." He looked impressed at his actions, and awed by me.

"I'm a special girl."

"I've come to believe that in many ways."

Paul toyed with the zipper on my skirt, looking into my eyes. I nodded enthusiastically, and the woolen skirt I'd worn joined my other clothes. As I shed that, I worked on Paul, helping him shed all his clothing. We got him naked marginally before I was.

"Dance?" Paul said to my surprise.

We came together to slow dance, and I trapped his hardness against my body as our bodies pressed against each other. I reached down and held his cock, and then fed it between my legs, not in my vagina, but just so he rubbed against my labia. Occasionally, he'd stroke against my clit, and I'd soar into space.

I eventually said, "Enough dancing. I want you making love to me."

We didn't say anything more, but we were on the sofa in a second, and I lay back. Paul leaned in and we kissed, and somehow in that act of love, I felt his cock slowly slide into me. Oh, God, this was so hot and just what I wanted.

I'm not sure when they joined us, but after Paul and I were well engaged in purposefully extending our sexual union by working up to the edge, and then backing down. I glanced at the other part of the long ell-shaped sofa. Mike and Sheila were naked and fucking as though the apocalypse was seconds away and they wanted that last surge of pleasure.

We watched each other as we fucked. Mike was hot. He was as buff and handsome as Paul. He had a little intentional twitch he'd do with his hips as he was fucking Sheila that made her moan every time he did it. I think it drove his cock deeper too, but I thought something else was going on too.

I refocused on Paul, and what we were doing, but it was hard, because I was finding that having another couple fucking right beside us was the hottest thing I'd ever done. My sexual temperature was at an all-time high. I loved being an exhibitionist for Mike and Sheila, and I loved being a voyeur watching them.

Paul caught me watching our friends. He asked me, "Do you like that? Does that turn you on?"

"I love it. I love watching. Yes, I'm very turned on. Have you done this before?"

"Never. This is a first for me, although I did go to a sex show in Amsterdam one time years ago."

Mike had heard our conversation and joined in. "I've never done this, but I am turned on to the max too. I'm so glad we're all doing this together."

Sheila said, "Me too. I want to make love to everyone here I'm so turned on. You're all so sexy and ... God, can you smell the aroma of sex in the air. I can. This is fabulous."

Paul glanced at me, "You're sexy too. We're all sexy."

I ground my hips up into Paul's down strokes into me as I pulled him to me. I said, "Then go fuck Sheila, and send Mike over here. I want to see what that little twitch he does"

Sheila squealed, "Oh, great idea!"

Where I ever got the courage or mindset to suggest we change partners remains a mystery. I'd never done anything other than a straight, man-woman fuck, up until that moment. Further, I thought that anything other than that was too kinky to contemplate. I was then about to get the second cock only seconds after my first cock of the night vacated the premises.

Mike obviously liked the idea too, because the next I knew his long hard cock was pumping into me, and I was in bliss again. Mike's little twitch resulted in the tip of his cock touching a very stimulating place deep inside me. After he'd hit that spot about twenty times, I came really hard. Oh, fuck; this whole idea was the best night of my life.

I recall examining my moral compass very closely, and probably with an eye tainted by the consumption of the vodka martinis. I found nothing wanting with what we were doing. We were consenting adults, and we could do whatever the fuck we wanted about sex.

Paul was feeding Sheila lots of cock, and she obviously loved it. They were bouncing all over her part of the sectional sofa. For that matter, I was too.

"I want to get on top," I told Mike.

Seconds later, Mike and Paul were on their backs and Sheila and I kept changing places with them as we rode them cowgirl style. Somehow, they were holding off their orgasms. I was having one every time I switched, from Mike and then from Paul, and then repeated that cycle. Sheila seemed to be doing pretty well on the orgasm count too.

We were blatantly fucking each other creating a peak exhibitionist-voyeur experience. Every time we changed partners I felt happy about the experience and the night, and my friends.

Paul finally blasted a load of cum up inside me when I was riding him. I think we let the entire townhouse complex know we'd just orgasmed together. Mike and Sheila followed suit a couple of minutes later.

I lay there on Paul's chest panting, but I raised my head and started to make out with him. I was ready for more.

Paul said, "God, you are magnificent. I never want to let you out of my sight."

"I'm ready to go some more," I told him.

Sheila spoke to me from her similar position atop Mike, "I think we killed them. My guy's out of juice too, at least for a few minutes."

"Oh, well." I sat up, and started to use a cocktail napkin to staunch the flow of cum from inside me.

Sheila lit up, "Hey, maybe you and I can play together. Wanna try?"

I burbled out, "I've never done anything with a woman."

Sheila pledged, "Neither have I, but maybe it'd be fun to try." She teased, "After all, these guys thought we were lezzies for a few months anyway."

"I wouldn't know where to begin."

Mike said, "Why don't you two sixty-nine? You could sample each other's drips, or is that too gross?"

Sheila took a minute to think about that suggestion. Since I didn't want to make the decision, I figured I'd go along with whatever she decided. She said, "Oh, it's not too gross for me. I love swallowing cum, but I've never gotten it from a girl's pussy."

Sheila rolled off Mike, and the pair sat up.

Before Mike could move, I had his cock in my mouth cleaning up the residual juices on him. He tasted divine, and somehow I felt the taste went with the martinis.

Mike moved, and I approached Sheila. She lay back, held her arms up to me, and I straddled her body, carefully lowering my pussy right onto her mouth. I felt her tongue start to lap at me, and I know I gave out a long, low moan of pleasure. This was a good idea someone had had. I wondered if cave women had done this.

Sheila said from between my legs, "Jane, you taste so good. I think I love cum and pussy juice mixed together. I want all you can give me. You guys make a great sex cocktail together."

I had to sample that too, so I dove into Sheila's drippy twat with my tongue searching for dribs and drabs of Mike's cum and her pussy juice. I found copious quantities of each, so I started to suck down the fluids. Sheila generated more pussy juice as I cleaned her snatch.

Paul and Mike urged us on, but not in a lewd way. The each made little suggestions for how we could please each other.

Sheila started to moan at an increased rate. I realized in my lapping, I was licking her clit more and more. I used a couple of fingers inside her, focused on her clit some more, and two minutes later, Sheila exploded in another orgasm.

"Jane, you're a natural," Paul teased. "Maybe you guys should become lesbians."

"Maybe we will, but I don't want to give up on you guys either. I guess we just became bisexual tonight."

Sheila made me lie on my back, and she attacked my pussy and clit until I came. I couldn't ever recall having so many orgasms, even years earlier on my honeymoon all added together. Maybe it was the right combination of guys and girls and martinis.

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Fa/Fa / Mult / Romantic / Fiction / Group Sex / Cream Pie /