Chapter 2

Next morning, I awoke to the feel of a warm wet mouth around my penis. It was Bronwen. Roberta was half asleep, next to me, to my right. I suddenly remembered that I was still in the middle of something with two women.

I didn't have much time to consider my surroundings as Bronwen's tongue wrapped itself, then licked my cockhead in dizzying circles of ever heightening pleasure. She stopped then arose gently, shimmied her way over me and once again sheathed me into her cunt. She put her right index finger over her lips as she leaned her head in the direction of Roberta. This was to be our private little morning fuck.

Oh my, this woman could hump!

Up and down and up and down and up and down, her small breasts jiggling rhythmically. I grabbed at them then gently rubbed them between my fingers like I was making the universal gesture for money. The little nubs at her breasts' peaks engorged and hardened. I could see Bronwen's eyes closing with pleasure. I pressed harder. She squeezed my cock almost in sync with my squeezing. She bit her lip; I could tell she was in her own world and wanted to stay there. For myself, I was now feeling an eruption coming and I pincered the nub at the top of her slit to help Bronwen's lift-off before the inevitable. I was coming, I tried to hold for seconds, then all resistance became futile as a rush of hot fluid pushed its way up my penis and into her, delivering to me an ecstatic release. I felt her feel the hot lava inside her then shiver and tremble and shake until she could no longer restrain her voice "Oh, oh, oh! Oooooooooooh!"

Roberta stirred awake. "Hey, you guys..."

I stopped her from saying anything more by placing one of the fingers that had just been in Bronwen's nether parts in her mouth. Almost as if we had discussed it, Bronwen plunged one of hers into Roberta's cunt. Roberta almost bit my finger off from the shock, then went slack, as if to say she was ours to play with.

So we did. Still mounted on me, Bronwen leaned down to suckle on her right breast. Roberta's eyes rolled, she took my finger out and kissed me, regaling me with the taste of Bronwen in her mouth as her tongue almost fucked my mouth. I felt Roberta shiver as Bronwen's finger hit Roberta's sweet spot. Although I was spent, all this action was stirring my loins and making me hot, my erection struggling its way back up as the two women began to peak again, the three of us now a mass of molten jello, shaking and humping and thrusting every which way until I felt drums resounding in Roberta's chest, she grabbed my head mashing her mouth onto mine for an excruciating moment, then releasing.

"Oh, God!" she cried, her eyes rolling shut.

I looked up at Bronwen, who was smiling beatifically. We had all been brought to orgasm again.

Bronwen unmounted and lay down between Roberta and me.

By then we had all disconnected and were splayed out, falling deep into our respective afterglows.

Everyone knew the place as The Greasy Spoon, just around the corner from Bronwen's place. A spread of tea, eggs, bacon, bagels, cream cheese, muffins was before us. I was feeling heady and rambling about pleasure in Hegelian terms that disguised the facts from the ears of nearby customers simply having a cup of morning joe on an ordinary winter Saturday. In my mind, we were in the conservatory of an English summer house, flush with the animal joy of a bacchanalian nocturne and reveille; as we spoke, there sounded in the background trickling piano keys playing a piece by Debussy. Their smiles to one another told me they were in similar states, although their dulling eyes told me they found my rambling a bit boring. What to do when passion fades, when reality intrudes upon the fantastic me I have managed to project in a night and morning?

Eamon to the rescue.

Roberta spotted him and called him to sit beside her. We were in a booth, Bronwen and I facing Roberta and the unevenness had bothered even me.

He was an Irish guy, Irish Irish with brogue and all. Redheaded, bearded but way too tall to be a Leprechaun. It was clear Roberta was besotted with him. Equally clear that the reciprocal was not true, but that they knew each other biblically. I proceeded to interview him. It's what I do when I meet new people. He was funny and oblique and who the hell cared. We rambled about many things at once until it transpired that he had just received something we might all like to try together. Off we went to Eamon's, another creaky small apartment in a row house converted to cheap substandard apartments for young people.

"It's Jamaica's finest, man," he said, as he put the requisite amount of the substance in the bowl of his waterpipe.

Such pipes had the virtue of easing the intake. One could inhale much greater volumes without the sting of the heat. The Jamaican ganja made it all the better, burning almost sweetly and aromatically, with no harshness hitting the mouth. And powerful... ! One hit and I was back with Alice in Wonderland.

Or rather, with Roberta in Frenchland. I suspect she was trying to make Eamon jealous, but the hell with it. If she wanted to kiss me, I would kiss. In minutes we were wrapped against each other, kneading each other with mounting need. I have no idea what Eamon and Bronwen were up to; I was back in fuck machine mode.

Then Roberta stopped things. I looked up and Bronwen and Eamon were nuzzled in his smallish single bed. "Hey guys, let's go to my place. I have a large king-size bed."

Off we went to Roberta's half clad despite the snow. Fortunately, it was only a few doors down, something Eamon, at the lead, seemed to know. Roberta followed him, then Bronwen, lastly me, the rearguard. And, frankly, Bronwen and Roberta had nice globes in their rears.