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She lowered her head and started another good kiss, rocking her hips down. My hands naturally slid down to hold her ass. It rocked a couple of more times, and then we came up for air again. She murmured:

“I hope your tongue is that good somewhere else.”

Before I could reply, she was clambering up over me. I hoped so too, and said as much, as she got her knees past my shoulders. I wasn’t surprised, having enjoyed too many videos of face-sitting, just had never done it, never licked a pussy that was turned that way. I looked up at her, and she down at me with an encouraging smile, and then her pussy – her muschi – was on my mouth.

I had wanted to see it first – another time. And it already tasted good. Now I didn’t mind that I recalled the videos, thankful for the images of girls licking each other’s pussy and how they did, remembering that after seeing the first couple, I had recognized that I probably hadn’t been doing it right for my wife and the couple of short-time women-friends. I also hadn’t anticipated that I might ever have the opportunity to try to do it better. Sure, hoping, but not expecting that it could really happen, and then not with someone who promised that if I did it good enough, her pussy – Marge’s muschi – would flood my face.

What a delightful challenge! Of course, she had a well-developed clitoris, if she could come like that. Maybe that wasn’t true; I couldn’t remember the others. But if she could come like that and wanted to, and I did it right, …!

I tried, and Marge encouraged me with words and rocks of her pelvis. I opened my eyes once and saw that she was holding her breasts. I wanted to suck them – another time, like getting to see her muschi. Not both at the same time. Between more words of encouragement, she began to moan, and I hummed in response, hoping it felt as arousing as her moans had for my cock. It seemed so.

This story is really about the group experience, starting in the third person, and then I let slip that it was also a first person experience – for the most obvious reason. She – Marge – had sucked my cock like no one ever had before, and now I was licking her pussy – her muschi, as she liked to call it. And I was doing everything I could to give her an orgasm, hoping that she would flood my face with her love juice. She had told me that it could happen.

I can’t brag. She did, but only by encouraging me and from my experience watching videos of girls giving each other orgasms. But she did! Her love juice running down in my mouth and on my chin. I can’t brag, but I was very pleased with my success, the first time I had given a woman an orgasm that way, and then so good.

She dropped forward on the bed, turning her muschi up from my mouth, still gasping and whimpering. I hadn’t known how good a woman’s orgasm could be, quite chagrined that my wife’s never had been like that, despite our having two sons. I rubbed her ass, licking my lips for a last taste of her love juice.

“Oh shit! That was good! You did that good!” she murmured after a deep breath.

I was almost proud at her confirmation that it had been so good; I owed it to her for what she had done and in respect that we would be spending many more nights together. I had to hope and try to be an equal partner.

She began to move back down over me. Her breasts passed my face, and then hers appeared, and then we both felt my aroused cock touch her between her legs. She snorted and rocked her hips, moving back a little and pressing it down on me. I didn’t think she could want to do anything more, but she rocked her hips, rubbing her muschi on my cock, and where it felt good. It surged. It couldn’t twitch, since it was pressed down on me.

She looked down at me and snorted softly with a slight, wry smile. I guess that I also snorted, returning her smile. She snorted again and murmured:

“To hell with waiting till tonight. I want to fuck; put it in me.”

I was, of course, surprised that she immediately wanted fuck – didn’t like to hear that word either – but it was the only appropriate one. And my cock obviously was suggesting that it want to, too.

I reached down, and she raised her hips, and it slipped very easily into her very wet muschi, tighter than the ones I remembered. Her hips rocked down, making me moan, and she gave a satisfied sounding sigh as she relaxed on me, then licked around my mouth with a snort and murmured:

“Oh, it was good, real good, but a cock in my muschi … It was there, and my muschi wanted it.”

“My cock did too, a little to my surprise. God it feels good, your muschi.”

“Your cock too.”

She chuckled, and her muschi squeezed my cock.

“Mmmm! Even better!”

“For me too,” and she did it again.

I rocked my hips up, and she nodded, but then murmured:

“I want to sit up, have to get my legs up on the bed.”

We rocked our hips from one side to the other, managing to stay coupled as she drew her legs up, both then chuckling at our success. She sat up with a pleased moan and smile as my cock went deeper, pressing against the front of her vagina. I returned her smile and made my cock twitch, and her muschi squeezed it again. We chuckled again, and I murmured:

“I had forgotten how tight a young pussy is.”

“Mmm, thanks for the ‘young’. My brother said something similar.”

“As lucky as I am. … What do you want to do? Anything you want.”

“Not just this,” and her muschi tightened again.

“But that’s good. I may just close my eyes and pretend this is all a wet dream.”

“If you can hold my breasts, while I play with myself.”

“Oooh, of course, anything you want.”

We grinned. I reached up, and her hand slid down her stomach, her fingers creeping between our hair. As I played with her nipples, I felt her knuckles move on my pelvis, pressing on it as her fingertips began to rub. She hummed, not yet an aroused moan, but audibly pleased with what her fingers were doing. I was too, her muschi squeezing my cock every now and then.

Until I started watching videos, it had never occurred to me that a woman would want to help arouse herself when she had a cock in her pussy. But why not? I had told her that I like the idea of the woman being in control, and it was very pleasantly arousing to feel her muschi responding, maintaining a level that I thought could go on for ever, making my cock twitch in response.

I hadn’t closed my eyes, but saw that hers were half closed as she began to moan. And then her hips began to rock. Oooh, more arousing! If I hadn’t already come so good, I thought, I would be about to now. Had she planned all this? Done it like this with her brother? I moaned, and she nodded with another one of her moans, her fingers moving as fast as possible, her eyes now clenched close.

Suddenly they opened, wide, and she dropped down over me and demanded softly:

“Suck them, chew them!”

She shifted her shoulders and pressed a nipple down in my mouth. I didn’t really chew it, but did everything else I could with my tongue and lips and teeth, as my hands slid down to her ass. When she offered me her other breast, she murmured:

“Like in the shower.”

My fingers crept further on her taut ass, into her crevice, finding the base of her spine and then the soft spot below it. She nodded with an encouraging – maybe insistent – “uhn-hnn!” Her asshole contracted when my finger rubbed over it, and she approved with another “uhn-hnn!” It relaxed and contracted again, and my fingertip was on its center. When it contracted again, it felt like it wanted to draw my fingertip in. It pressed, and it relaxed, and the next time it contracted, it was holding it. “Uhnn!” she responded with a nod. Anything she wanted! Like in the videos ….

Clutching my finger and my cock! She gave a great moan and began to move her hips. After a few short strokes up and down on my cock, that was twitching in response to her clutches, she shoved me back and demanded: “Fuck!” and found my mouth with hers, her tongue fucking in my mouth.

Our hips slapped together. I had thought that my situps were just to tighten my stomach, but now I realized that they were for fucking like this: pumping my hips up to thrust my cock in her muschi, as hers slapped down; my cock throbbing as her vagina tried to milk it, and her asshole drew my finger deeper. We were both groaning and panting. God, it had never been like this!

I came, and she came, her warm muschi juice wet on my pubic hair and running down between my legs. We both collapsed, only our heaving stomachs rising and falling against each other as we drew deep breaths and sighed with moans.

When I could think again, I was a little proud – hell, a lot proud – that I had been able to satisfy a much younger woman, and one who had so much more experience than I had; that I had been able to do everything that she had wanted.

Slowly, our breathing returned to normal, more conscious of each others breathing. We chuckled, when we coordinated that one of us exhaled when the other inhaled. My cock was still in her muschi, but about to slip out, when it suddenly occurred to me that she was young enough to get pregnant. I hadn’t had to worry about that in years. At that moment, I probably should have said something about how wonderful it had been, but I said what was on my mind:

“Oh, you’re on the pill?”

She nodded with a snort and replied:

“Should have asked before, no.”


“Scared you? Sorry, not the pill, an IUD.”

“Hmm! No time to ask, not when you were telling me that you wanted to fuck.”

“True. And we sure did!”

“Um-hmmm! Better than I thought I could.”

“As good as I hoped, as good as I wanted.”

“Better than I ever hoped.”

She nodded and kissed me. My cock slipped out, and we snorted, and chuckled when we felt more liquid slip out. She began to move off me, murmuring:

“Before I get a cramp in my legs.”

“And then a real nap.”


We got up and washed, just smiling and smirking at each other, then agreeing that we had to go. She sat down on the toilet and then smirked again and gestured at the washbasin.”

“Like I did this morning,” I responded, turning to use it.

“Oh, you just flushed for effect?”

“Um-hmm, we didn’t know each other so well this morning.”

“We sure do now.”

“Um-hmm. Imagine how it would have been if we had just kept talking.”

“Oooh, fun! Hm-hmm! But I would have jumped in your bed before we talked much longer.”

“Hmm! But we weren’t in it – I wasn’t.”

“You would have been; I would have taken care of that.”

“You did.”

“Hm-hmm! And you did!”

We snickered, while she wiped her muschi, and I rinsed my cock and the washbasin. We returned to my bed and lay down, like we had before. How long before, I wondered, not looking at my watch. This time she didn’t ask if she could hold my cock, and we were silent for a few moments. I recalled seeing my yellow stream flowing in the washbasin, and asked – a little to my surprise:

“Natural champagne?”

“Hmm? Oh? In the bathroom? Hm-hmm! No, I haven’t. Why did you ask? Have you?”

“Just thought of it, seeing it. Don’t know why I asked.”

“Have you? Doesn’t seem like you would have.”

“Hm-hmm. A couple of surprising videos.”

“Haven’t seen them. And …?”

“Hmm. Saw them and was reminded that in India people do, their own.”


“Um-hmm, part of Indian medicine or whatever.”

“Hmm? And …?”

“Well, one night, watching videos – too many – and drinking beer – maybe too many – had to go a couple of times, and was. It was pretty white.”

“Hm-hmm! We women seldom see it, of course.”

“Um-hmm. So – not quite sober – I just grabbed the glass from the washbasin and tasted it.”

“Hm-hmm! You surprise me. And …?”

“Just mildly salty – after so many beers. Probably different when its more yellow.”

“Hm-hm-hmm! Really?”

“A whole lot less strange than what you like to taste.”

“Hmm? Wouldn’t be difficult. Hm-hmm! You want to? Want me to?”

“No, I just thought of it, something to say.”

“Hmm? ‘Something to say’? If you say so. Maybe.”

“I wasn’t suggesting it.”

“Why not, … maybe? If you have?”

“No reason for you to.”

“Something new.”



I rolled towards her, and we got comfortable with our arms around each other and our legs overlapping. We kissed lightly and were silent, soon dozing.

More than just dozing, it was much later when we woke up, the sun in the west, the light in the room different. I think the noise from an airplane awakened us. We rubbed each other’s back with soft hums, opening our eyes and smiling at each other.

“Good morning,” she murmured.

“Good evening.”

“Oh, yes. Nice. Funny, thinking it was morning.”

“Jet lag.”

“Or ’cause we cheated, not waiting till tonight.”

“Maybe, enough sun and fresh air and exertion for it to be the next morning.”

“Hm-hmm! But it isn’t.”

“All the better. What do you think the others are doing?”

“Nothing better. Will we find out?”

“Pretty sure James and Kathleen have.”

“Um-hmm. Will be interesting.”

“Um-hmm, a reason to go to the bar before dinner.”

“For sure!”

We grinned and got up, and got dressed. This time I didn’t wear underpants. She snorted with a grin. She had to brush her hair and put on lipstick, and then we were on our way to the bar, holding hands in the elevator. As the door opened, she smirked at me and asked:

“You want them to think we have?”

“Only if you do.”

She squeezed my hand, and we went to the bar, finding a few of the group. A couple of them smiled, and we smiled back. I wondered if the others were being more tactful, perhaps James and Kathleen, or had the others not smiled like that because they weren’t so compatible yet with their roommates? And those not yet at the bar, still in their rooms, not just taking showers?

We got our drinks and joined the discussion of how the others had spent the afternoon, of course, nothing about what might have happened in their rooms, although someone’s remarking that they had watched the Tour de France on TV could have been an excuse for their not being on the beach.

Soon others joined us, one couple who had had too much sun, letting me wonder if they had avoided going back to their room before they could just get ready for dinner. The two young men didn’t join us. Someone suggested that they were still scouting the field. Sans-culotte and his friend were still with the two women.

Then we went to dinner, not all attempting to sit together, but Marge and I sat with the friend of Sans-culotte and one of the women. He didn’t have a Literotica user name and introduced himself again: “Étienne, you can call me Stephan.” As we were returning to our table from the buffet, two young girls approached a nearby table. When Marge heard them speak German, she went over and spoke to them. They seemed pleased, to be spoken to in their language. She saw our two young men enter the dining room and spoke with the girls. They smiled and nodded, and she beckoned the men over. They also seemed pleased, and we heard them introduce themselves, and the girls replied in English.

Marge returned to our table with a smile, telling that the girls were students and that she had explained that the young men were with our group. During the meal, we occasionally glanced over and saw that they all seemed quite happy with each other’s company.

At our table, we noticed that Stephan and the woman seemed to be better friends now, wondering that they weren’t sitting with their relative roommates, who at another table also seemed to be enjoying each other’s company. After a second glass of wine – and then two drinks at the bar – she glanced at him with wink and said that the four of them had moved to a suite in the hotel. They didn’t mind our smiles, nodding in response. He explained that the hotel had given them the suite for less than the price of two rooms, since it had requests for two standard rooms.

We congratulated them. Marge and I glancing at each other with smiles, and we all then smirked with chuckles.

After dinner, we went for a walk, holding hands and chuckling about each other’s speculations about the other sets of roommates. Suddenly she chuckled and whispered:

“How does it feel without underpants?”

“Hm-hmmm! Great. Don’t look, but it feels like my balls are hanging down to my knees.”

“Oooh! Really?”

“Just feels like it, thank you.”

We chuckled and then stopped at a bar and had a Pernod. As we returned to our hotel, we agreed that it was too early to go to bed, not without an exchange of smirks. In the bar, we ordered a glass of wine, slightly surprised to find Kathleen and James there. They both grinned, having seen us holding hands as we entered the bar. We nodded, and joined them with our wine, and all raised our glasses and drank, smiling again. When Marge held my hand again, James nodded with a smile and murmured:

“Like us?”

“I hope so,” I replied.

Marge squeezed and moved our hands with a nod and smile. Kathleen smirked slightly and rubbed his back, then chuckled and remarked softly:

“Can’t get any closer to a Harvard man.”

We nodded with smiles, and he put his arm around her with an indulgent smile, adding:

“Or closer to South Boston.”

We all chuckled and drank again. Then we told that Sans-culotte and Stephan were sharing a suite with the two women, and they enjoyed hearing that, admitting that they had wondered if the women were lesbian. Maybe just bi, we all agreed. They then told that they had seen Marge introduce our two young men to the girls and enjoyed hearing that she could speak German with them. Marge snorted and said that she had told the girls that they could complain to one of our group if the guys didn’t behave themselves. We all snickered at the question of what the girls might think was misbehaving.

We finished our drinks and with grins agreed that it was time to go to bed. In the elevator together, holding hands, we all smirked, and then wished each other good night, when our floor was reached. Still holding hands, we chuckled and went to our room.

As we undressed, Marge grinned again when she saw that I didn’t have underpants on. Naked, we went to the bathroom, going as we had before. She snickered and asked:

“Natural champagne?”

“Not after red wine and Pernod.”

“Hmm? Maybe not.”

We grinned and brushed our teeth and went to bed, mine, of course. We curled up together like we had for our nap. I was pretty sure that more sex could be disappointing, but since we had talked about it so much, I felt obligated to show my willingness. Besides, it was nice to hold her breast, and I did. She snorted and said:

“I just said that I wanted to sleep in your bed, nothing about touching each other or doing anything else.”

“Thank goodness! I wasn’t sure.” I took my hand away.”

“I didn’t mean it that seriously.”

“Want me to hold it? I do, feels good.”

“Um-hmm, even if my nipple doesn’t pop out.”

“I just want to hold it. Hm-hmm! Almost as much as I like to hold my cock.”

“Oooh! I don’t want that; nothing for me to do.”

“Only almost.”

“Oh, that’s all right. More comfortable if I turn over.”


She did, with my arm around her, and my hand found her breast again. She clasped hers over mine, and I curled up closer behind her, squeezing her breast, and we said good night.

When I rolled back during the night, she followed me, her arm sliding over me. I pleasantly recalled where and with whom I was in bed. I rolled further, on my other side, and her arm drew us closer, her warm body against my back, and I fell asleep again.

I slowly woke up from a nice dream, something about my cock, of course. No wonder, her arm was resting on my waist, and she was holding it. When I snorted, she murmured:

“Awake? Good morning.”

“Good morning, very pleasantly awake. You can’t imagine what I was dreaming. Did you find it in your sleep?”

“No, but when I did, it already wanted to be held.”

“Um-hmm, but you know what that suggests.”

“Mmmm! That it doesn’t just want to be held?”

“Oh, it wants to be – most of the time, but ….”

“I was afraid of that. Me too, now I have to, too.”

We chuckled and got up. She chuckled again as she watched me hold it down to go in the washbasin, remarking:

“You weren’t drinking a lot of beer last night.”

“Nor were you. At home, I usually go in the shower in the morning.”

“Hm-hmm! I always just plump down on the toilet first. Want to see too?”

I smirked with nod, but then remarked:

“But then you’ll probably have to wash your feet.”

“Oh, yeah. Anyway. If I stand at the high end of the tub, ….”

She did, smirking at me for a moment, and then we watched her stream arch out, the same color as mine, of course. She gave me a wry smile. As it began to die down, she leaned forward, supporting herself on the hand bar on the wall, managing not to drip on her feet. She jerked her hips a couple times to try to shake off the last drops, snorting at me with a grin. I gave her my hand to help her stand up and step out of the tub.

“Want me to wash?” she asked, obviously implying that we might do something.

“No. I couldn’t imagine why you asked.”

“Hmmmm! But I could. Remember what you said in bed?”

“Oh, that? That it liked to be held?”

“’Most of the time,’ and not just held.”

“Hm-hmm! True.”

“Sure you don’t want me to wash?”

“I won’t mind. Hm-hmm! Of course, right now could still be an exception to ‘most of the time’.”

She smirked and replied:

“You’re being difficult, making it hard for me.”

We both snickered at her choice of words. I replied:

“I thought I was trying not to.”

“Just trying, I hope. If we don’t, all the day on the beach we’re going to be wishing we had, you know how.”


“Only for you. I’ll just grin and tell you what I wished we had done before breakfast.”

“That’s unfair!”

“Yes. Going naked in public suggests new forms of seduction.”

“Hmm! More like blackmail. And you could cheat on the beach, and tell me what you were hoping to do after our shower.”

“Oh, good idea!”

“Shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

“No, but I won’t if we do now. Promise.”

“Now you’re trying to make it hard for me.”

“Um-hmm!” she grinned, adding: “the best way I know how.”

“Ooooh! Like that? I’ll risk your cheating.”

We chuckled with grins and returned to my bed. She immediately lay down with her feet at the head of the bed, and I joined her. We rolled together, drawing our thighs up under each other’s head.

Of course, I tasted a few drops of her urine, but then I was tasting something better, and she was making it hard for me, as she had said: “the best way I know how,” indescribably good. She couldn’t lick the most sensitive part of my cock, but her finger in my asshole made up for that, and mine was in hers again, to her obvious delight.

Many minutes later, we rolled apart, my face again all wet. After several satisfied sounding sighs from both of us, a Bible verse suddenly occurred to me. I snorted and quoted it:

“And the evening and the morning were the second day.”

“Hm-hm-hmm! Genesis. And the third day?”

“As I remember, just plants and trees, so you can forget about anything that is animal, hasn’t been created yet.”

“Forget, with all the naked flesh on the beach?”

“Just a figment of your prescient imagination.”

“Hm-hmm! Already populating paradise with hundreds of persons.”

“That’s not in Genesis.”

We both chucked. She fondled my flaccid cock, and I fondled her breast. She snorted and remarked:

“Just figments of our imagination.”

“Um-hmm. Shower, breakfast?”

We got up, smiling at each other as we went to the bathroom, and enjoyed a fairly unarousing shower together. We dressed. As we were leaving the room, she glanced back at our beds and remarked:

“I guess housekeeping is accustomed to seeing that both beds were used and then that just one of them is.”

“In all the other rooms of our group, I hope.”


In the dining room, only Sans-culotte and Stephan and their new friends were already there. We sat at the adjoining table, greeting each other, and they included us in their conversation about its seeming that everyone in the group was getting along well. We agreed, exchanging smiles, and they did too, all of us nodding.

Sans-culotte had never introduced himself with his real name, even in the email correspondence. Marge asked why. He glanced around, checking that he couldn’t be overheard, and replied softly that he worked in government ministry, that his name appeared occasionally in the media, but that his face wasn’t known. The women nodded, as though they had asked the same question, maybe having received the same answer, or perhaps not, agreeing not to reveal his name. Marge nodded and said that his Literotica user name was most appropriate, and we all nodded.

Then we saw the German students at the buffet, and that our two young men also appeared, apparently having agreed when to meet again. The others remarked that it looked like they had found each other. Marge explained that she had introduced them, that the girls were German. The others were pleased, admitting that they all had wondered how the two guys would get along in the presence of mostly couples.

Stephan and Sans-culotte agreed, but told that from their experience, that usually worked itself out. The women snorted with smiles, nodding. Since we all seem so comfortable with the situation, I ventured to say to the women:

“I guess we were all wondering a little that you two immediately agreed to share a room.”

They glanced at each other, snorting, and one replied:

“Not ‘immediately’, after a couple of emails.

The other one nodded with a slight smirk and added:

“We know what you probably mean. We decided not to risk it with some man.”

“Not that we would have minded if it had been you,” the other added.

“But, well, after more than a couple of emails, we agreed that we thought we could enjoy each other’s company.”

“If we had to,” the other added.

They both nodded with smirks, and Sans-culotte and Stephan smiled with nods, one remarking:

“Only one night.”

The women snorted and nodded, then glancing at each other, and one murmured:

“We did.”

The other one nodded slightly, maybe blushing. Marge remarked:

“I would have, too. Why not? But I risked it.”

She gave me a smile, and they all smiled, and we changed the subject, agreeing that we were lucky that the weather was so nice. Eventually the other members of our group came to breakfast. After another cup of coffee, we got up, agreeing that we see each other before dinner.

There had been no agreement about meeting after breakfast, and that agreement indicated that we were all on our own for the rest of the day. Marge and I returned to our room and changed for the beach. She had brought a couple of books to read: “in case you turned out to be a real bore.” I snorted and replied:

“I did my best to be a good borer.”

“Oh, you did! I think I can stand you’re being boring like that.”


“Hm-hmm! Maybe not.”

We grinned and she showed me her books: “Josefine Mutzenbacher – Die Lebensgeschicht Eine Wienerische Dirne, Von Ihr selbst Erzählt” and “Fear of Flying.” I snorted, remembering that the book by Erika Jong was about sex, and remarked:

“Erika Jong, in case I was a complete bore? And the other?”

“Hm-hmm! I was hoping even better: Josefine Mutzenbacher – the lifestory of a Viennese whore, told by herself.”

“Oooh! Bedtime reading?”

“If you were a complete bore.”

“Or maybe to let me know what you were thinking about.”

“Um-hmm, that occurred to me too.”

“Too late; I already know.”

“My – our – good luck.”

“Very, but you want to read them on the beach?”

“If there’s nothing else to do.”

“Not the way you might be thinking. Remember, you promised.”

“Oh, okay. I can find an English or German crossword puzzle.”

“Better idea.”

We grinned and I agreed:

“German for you, English for me.”

“Hmm! Sound like an old couple’s day on the beach.”

“That wasn’t flattering.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean it like that, only the second day.”

“I don’t think it will be.”

We smiled and with her beach towels went down and on the beach. It seemed that our group had spread out more, and we also move further from where we had been the previous day. After spreading sunlotion on each other, we lay down. She shoved the English book over to me with a snort, and we both began to read.

I had already read “Fear of Flying,” years ago, but in her company and surrounded by other nude couples – and some attractive single girls – it was new again. I noticed that Marge had stopped reading and was thumbing through the pages of the book. After a glance at the nearest single girls, most of them with another girl, I glanced over and asked:

“Not as good as you hoped?”

“Not yet.”

“That’s cheating.”

“I know. Hm-hmm! You’ve been looking at the girls.”

“Of course, if they want to let me.”

She looked around with a snort and replied:

“Shameless, showing their pussies like that.”

“I like yours better, your muschi.”

“You had to say that. Hmm! She really wants someone to see hers.”

I looked in the direction that she was and saw a girl with her thighs spread. They hadn’t been like that the last time I looked. I snorted and agreed:

“Sure does. Not nicer that yours, but, well, I have to admit that is is a very attractive young pussy.”

“Hmm! You’re too honest.”

“Maybe, but I said yours was nicer.”

“But hers is shaved.”

“I did notice that. … But I like that yours isn’t, that it doesn’t look like you want to show it to everyone.”

“Hmm! You almost saved yourself.”

“Just almost?”

“No, just enough.”

“Thanks, so I can still admit that hers is pretty.”

“Oh, it is; have to admit that, myself.”

“Of course, I have just seen ones on video, … young ones.”

“Me too.”

“Only? At breakfast you suggested that you wouldn’t mind …, well, having a female roommate.”

“Did I? Just to make them feel more comfortable . Maybe not one of them.”

“Hmm? But someone else, … with a pussy like that girl’s?”

“Wouldn’t you want to lick it?”

“And – if you don’t mind too much – put my cock in it. Should I want to lick it? Gladly, but why did you think of that?”

“Hmm? Just looked like it would be good to lick.”

“Very! But you said that.”

I glanced over at her, but she didn’t return my glance. I thought for a moment about how to phrase my next remark, then saying:

“I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to, … also wanted to. “

She still didn’t reply. I thought that it would have been easy for her to say something in response, but she didn’t. After a moment, I did look over at her and asked softly, but directly:

“Have you? I wouldn’t mind. Why not? As much as I enjoy licking yours – your muschi – just dreaming about licking another one.”

Marge didn’t turn her head. I looked back at the girl’s pussy. Was it now a little more open, aroused because she had noticed that we had been looking at it? I heard Marge snort softly, and glanced back over at her, seeing her nod slightly. Then she snorted again with a slight smile, still not looking at me, then after a moment replying:

“Since you don’t mind, yes, … a couple.”

“Nice. I don’t just not mind, like that you have.”


“Not really, maybe from seeing too many videos, sort of assume that was easy to get the idea, easier than for boys.”

“I hope so! Yeah, I think it probably is.”

“At least I was right about that. I’m not going to ask.”

“Hm-hmm! But you’re curious.”

“Of course.”

“We talk about everything else.”

“Time to turn over?”

“Yes, and – hm-hmm! – you can show her your cock.”

“She’ll have to sit up to look, and there probably better ones for her to look at, at least, unaccompanied ones.”

“True, just the last of what you said.”

We sat up and turned to face the sun, away from the girl we had been looking at, but also now at facing the water. Marge looked around, then said:

“Aren’t those our two young men in the water, the ones cavorting with the two girls?”

They were too far away to really identify them, and I couldn’t remember the girls faces, but I thought she was right, agreeing:

“Not sure, but I think you’re right. Looks like you found them the right company.”

“Um-hmm, nice if they hit it off.”

“Like that? Are German girls ‘like that’?”

“Like what? Willing to have some fun? If they come here, probably.”

“Hmm! Like all of us.”


We dropped back on our elbows, enjoying the sun in silence. I didn’t have to look to know that warm sun was making my cock as large as it could be without becoming aroused, resting on my very loose sack. After a few minutes, I asked:

“Does the sun feel as good on your muschi as it does on me?”

“Hmm! I hope so, that it feels as good on you.”


“But we weren’t going to talk about that – my promise.”

“Just the question, hoping it did. Why did you bring those books, not maybe “Fifty shades of Grey” or something more current?”

“I had read it, didn’t finish it; I’m not into all that stuff. And it would have been too obviously suggestive.”

“The others aren’t?”

“Didn’t have show them to you – to my roommate – if I didn’t want to suggest anything. I could have read the German one for fun, if he asked, telling him it was about something else.”

“Hmm! And if he had known some German?”

“Either I would have liked that, or – again – I wouldn’t have had to let him see me reading it.”

“Where did you learn your German?”

“Probably could have at home, but didn’t; took it as my foreign language, which pleased my parents, and then as my major in college, junior year abroad in Heidelberg.”

“Oh, of course: ‘muschi’.”


She gave me a smile, and then snorted and added:

“Not just mine.”

“He slept with other girls? Well, of course, but girls you knew, also junior year abroad?”

She shook her head with a smirk and replied:

“Not him,” and raised her hand and pointed at herself.

“Oh, of course, … well, not of course, but …”

“Like you were curious before.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“No, but I don’t mind telling, already admitted it, and we have to talk about something.”

“Not if you don’t want to.”

“Why not? First time. She had already been at Colby College, Colby-Sawyer in New Hampshire. Lesbian? No, bi; not enough men up there. Hm-hmm! Actually not yet muschis, before we slept with German students, … only a couple.”

“It did sound like it could have been several.”

“’A couple’ doesn’t have to be just two.”

We both smirked, nodding, and I raised my eyebrows, suggesting that she continue.

“So we did. Maybe she talked to others, don’t know, but we did. Of course, I knew what to do, and she sure did.”

“Hopefully not better than the German students.”

“Hmm! Only one of them, and it was only once.”

“He didn’t have much experience?”


We were silent for a while, looking around, no longer seeing our two young men and the girls. Then Marge spoke:

“After that, back at college, well, it was easy, just a couple, really only two. Why not? I wondered if freshman and sophomore years I had not understood what girls were suggesting. The boys didn’t do it, and I wasn’t going to suggest it.”

“Suggest you had more experience than they had.”

“Something like that.”

We smiled at each other and were silent again, soaking up the sun, and I was again aware of its warm rays on my cock and balls, enjoying the nice feeling with the confidence that it didn’t have to become arousing. I already had enough experience with that to be utterly comfortable lying nude, surrounded by others who were nude – but maybe not, if I kept thinking about it. Marge distracted me, suggesting with go in the water.

This time we didn’t have to sidestroke to maintain eye-contact, and I showed that I could crawl, hoping that she would be a little impressed with my physical fitness. She kept right up with me, however, which I liked just as much. We stopped after about a hundred yards and caught our breath, smiling at each other. Then she turned from me and dove under the water, coming up with butterfly strokes. I was impressed, then thinking that it would nice to that from the front, seeing her bare breasts maybe.

As though she had read my thoughts, after several strokes she stood up, grinning at me, and then dove in again, butterflying back towards me. It was nice to watch. I told her so, that it had been just what I had been hoping to see. She grinned again and replied:

“It felt good, and then that also occurred to me. Probably wasn’t the best style; I was trying to make them come up out of the water.”

“Thanks. Must have been strenuous. Want to walk back?”

We returned, looking at the other people on the beach, recognizing a few from the group. We only noticed our young men, when one of the girls waved to us. The one with perky breasts had waved at us, gesturing for us to join them. The other one had fuller breasts, both shaven. They introduced themselves: Petra (perky breasts) and Anna. We introduced ourselves, and they all made space for us on their towels. All of them immediately thanked Marge for having suggested that they sit together at dinner the night before, smiling at each other. It didn’t look like they had paired off. They asked Marge about her German, and she told them, glancing at me with a smile when she mentioned Heidelberg. The girls were friends from school, now at different universities, but together again for their vacation, their second one together. Anna smirked slightly and explained:

“Last year, we were at the Atlantic, near Bordeaux, not quite like here.”

“Hope our parents don’t go on internet,” Petra added: “and get the wrong idea about here.”

We all chuckled, and Anna remarked:

“We’ve already planned what we can tell about sightseeing,” eliciting more chuckles.

“But we’ll tell that we met two nice Americans and could practice out English,” Petra added, smiling at the men, who nodded and returned her smile, one of them remarking:

“And, of course, we’re looking forward to accompanying you on your sightseeing.”

We all chuckled. They thanked Marge again and said that they hoped they would be seeing us around. She and I stood up, Marge, with the final comment:

“When you’re not sightseeing.”

Snickers and grins, and we departed, returning to our towels, then deciding to have something to drink. We picked up our things and went to the beach bar, where I was more comfortable about being nude in the close presence of people with something on. When Marge suggested having a beer, we hardly smirked, I just agreeing:

“Good idea; more liquid and less alcohol.”

We moved away from the bar and commented with smiles about the success of her getting the four together, almost laughing about the girls’ having planned what they would tell their parents. When I suggested a second beer, Marge smirked more broadly, agreeing:

“In Germany the glasses are larger.”

Again we moved away from the bar and speculated how the other roommates were getting on, greeting two couples. who also went to the bar, and then joined us. We all agreed that the idea of the trip was being a success, exchanging nods and smiles that suggested that all of us were individually happy with our respective roommates. I mentioned that Marge had “taken care” that the two young men also had company. One of the couples had seen them together at breakfast and replied with smirks that they had, wondering who the girls were. The other couple hadn’t noticed them, but then also enjoyed Marge’s telling that they were German students and what we had learned about them, all of us chuckling again.

When one of the other men suggested another beer, offering to buy the round, we others agreed – not without Marge and me exchanging smirks – but insisted on paying for our own. We three men went to the bar and paid for our two beers and returned to our roommates. Marge said: “Prost,” and someone said: “Cheers,” and someone else said: “A votre santé,” and we all drank and smiled.

We continued our conversation, finishing our beers. When the others suggested returning to the beach, we followed along, finding a place where we could all lie down together, with a little space between our pairs of towels. Marge and I were lying on our backs, our little fingers linked. Nice warm sun on my cock and balls. But after several minutes, I felt that my cock wanted to do something. Apparently, Marge’s muschi also did; her finger clutched mine.

I looked over and saw that she was looking at me, then smiling slightly, before she murmured:

“I’ve got to go.”

“Me too.”

We grinned, smirked, but then one of the other woman said:

“I do too. We can go in the water.”

Marge scowled with a wry grin. I returned it, nodding. We snorted and got up. When the woman did, the others also did, chuckling, and we all went in the water, splashing about to suggest that we were having fun, but smirking, knowing that we all were going. We splashed a little more, and left the water. Our cocks were again somewhat smaller from the cool water. We returned to our towels, and each couple took turns refreshing sun lotion, the men first, the women lying on their backs.

The other men also massaged their partners’ breasts more than necessary, their partners’ obviously appreciating as much as Marge was, smirking up at their man. The one who had spoken before remarked:

“Of course we have; isn’t that why we’re here?”

Marge replied:

“Not sure. We had a lot of fun talking first.”

The third woman was silent, and other woman, remarked:

“We didn’t talk so much.”

“After all our emails: about the same thing,” her new friend commented.

“After he told me his height and weight.”

“I cheated a couple of pounds.”

“I’m not complaining; I did too.”

“But all in the right places,” he replied, his hands returning to her ample bosom.”

Marge remarked:

“I was worried about that, too. Had good luck, very good luck!” She grinned up at me.

Finally the third woman said something:

“We weren’t sure if we would, emails, agreeing that we could get along together without.”

“Um-hmm,” her partner agreed, smiling down at her, massaging her nice breasts again.”

She smiled up at him, and replied:

“After agreeing about that, … well, … there we were, two adults, knowing that we were going to see each other naked. Hm-hmm! Kind of ticklish in the room the first night.”

“We didn’t.”

“Nice of you not to suggest anything. I liked that.”

“I wanted you to … like that.”

“Isn’t he sweet?! But then, of course, it was foolish to wear anything in our room.”

“But still a little ticklish, just the two of us.”

“And our big beds suggesting …”

“That sleeping alone was also foolish.”

“Something like that. Somehow we agreed about that.”

“You went to bed and left the covers on the side to mine turned back.”

We all smiled at them and nodded. She chuckled with a smile and replied:

“Yours were also turned back, how I got the idea.”

We all chuckled. The women turned over, and we men applied more sunlotion. Then it was their turn. They were a little more discrete about applying it to our cocks and balls, down between our thighs, but we could all see that the other women were. Marge snorted and remarked:

“Have to wash them as good.”

We all snickered with nods and lay down again. I wondered if our young men were getting the same attention, and if they were, if they had managed not to become aroused, and then – if they had – if the girls would have wanted them to. If they had …? Don’t think about it!

After sunning for a while more, turning over a couple of times, someone suggested that we go in the water again. As we did, Marge smirked at me and whispered: “Don’t.” I nodded, returning her smirk. I resisted the inclination to let it flow again in the water, assuming that she was too. That was reinforced, when she suggested on the way back to our towels:

“Another beer, before we go shower?”

The others agreed, and we collected our things. At the bar, we met a couple of other sets of roommates. The conversation was more discrete than it had been with the other two couples. The others had, however, also seen our young men and the girls, and heard Marge’s story again.

We finished our beers and wrapped our towels around ourselves and returned to the hotel. While we all waited for the elevator, Marge moved her legs again, like a little girl who had to go. The others all snorted and let us take the first elevator. As we went to our room, she snorted and murmured:

“I don’t really have to go that bad.”

“But you want to?”

“Oh, of course, I have to, just not that much.”

“Me too.”

I opened our door, and she entered, immediately letting her towel fall before I closed the door. Mine fell, and we smirked. I asked:

“What I think?”

“In the shower? I want to.”

“Yours or mine?”

“Hmm? Mine first. If I like it, then yours.”

We snorted with grins and hurried to the bathroom, stepping into the tub. Her quite pale yellow stream arched out, splashing on my feet. We both snickered, and then mine sprang forth. I rocked my hips, spraying on her thighs.

“Oooh, warm,” she murmured, adding: “Here goes.”

She reached down in her stream, catching a handful, and I also did. We smirked and tasted it, smiling wryly, and then both tasted mine. She snorted and remarked:

“Like you said, cum – semen – is more ‘interesting.’ You drank a glass of it?”

“Half a glass, a couple of times, after drinking more beer and watching videos; both conducive to experimenting.”

“Hmm? I guess. You were right; it doesn’t really taste offensive, not even really strange, just a little raunchy doing it.”

“Yes, but aren’t we a little?”

“Um-hmm. Maybe more than a little.”

She smirked as I nodded, and then we washed each other. There was no question that we were arousing each other, telling each other it felt good when our erogenous zones were fondled. While we were drying ourselves, my cock began to droop, of course, just flopping back and forth on my hand as I dried my balls. She still had to dry her hair, letting me enjoy watching how her raised arms made her breasts move. She snorted with a grin, seeing where I was looking, and remarked:

“We still have a lot of time till dinner.”

“Um-hmm. We could go out for a walk again,” I replied with a facetious smile.”

“Hmm? If you really insist.”

“You have a better idea?”

“Two or three.”

She smirked and made a demonstration of drying her muschi again, her other hand unnecessarily rubbing the other end of her towel over one of her breasts. I snorted and replied:

“Just a suggestion. What were you thinking of?”

“Hm-hmm! As if you didn’t know.”

“Maybe, but if you have two or three ideas, maybe not what you were thinking.”

“Do I have to tell you? You know that I’m shy and modest.”

We both snickered and grinned. As she hung up her towel, I remarked:

“Now you tell me! Thanks for concealing that side of your character so well.”

We laughed, and she turned and stepped closer, rubbing her nipples on my chest, smiling up at me as her hands grasped my ass, and mine, hers. She murmured:


“Um-hmm, more fun; more fun continuing to talk like that, and more fun, not just …, well, you know.”

“Not just having sex as though that’s all we liked to do with each other.”

“Better than I could have expressed it.”

“Hm-hmm! What if we get carried away with talking and talk ourselves out of it?”

“Most unlikely, but that would also be interesting. Still have plenty of days to see if that could happen.”

“Hmmm?! Be fun to try, and see if it worked, if one of us didn’t finally ruin the attempt.”

“Saying something like: ‘Stop talking and lick my muschi!’”

“Oooh! That’s a good idea, but I was thinking of what you might say.”

“I would never be so crude as to say that!”

We snickered, gripping the cheeks of each other’s ass. She replied:

“But I wouldn’t mind that. … One of the things I was thinking about.”

“Oooh! That would be nice! And the other two or three things?”

“Just to make it hard for you, and then – do I have to say it? – turn around and kneel on the bed …”

“Oh! Doggie?!”

I feigned surprise. She grasped my ass tighter again, grinning and remarking:

“You’re not as dumb as I was beginning to think.”

“It’s easier to play dumb than to try to appear more intelligent than I am. But then, the third thing?”

“If we do that, there wouldn’t be a third thing.”

“What a relief!”

We snorted and sealed our agreement with a kiss, one that suggested what her lips and tongue were going to do. It also suggested that they weren’t going to have to take long to make it hard for me – harder for me. We left the bathroom, not getting further than the near side of her bed. She drew back the covers and sat down. She only gave me the briefest glance, and then my cock was in her warm mouth again.

Oh, I have been forgetting that this is about the trip of whole group. It’s very obvious why I have forgotten. Amazing how one can have total recall! And I can’t stop with my cock in her mouth, just maybe not get as carried away with the details and sensations.

I fondled her breasts, and saw that her fingers were pussy [Freudian typo, really!] – were busy on her muschi. When I was beginning to forget about what else she wanted to do, my throbbing cock slipped from between her lips. She looked up at me with an aroused expression and turned around, kneeling on her bed, presenting, offering her open and moist muschi between her thighs. I had seen too many like that in videos, but never live, and hers was as attractive and inviting as any of the others.

I must have looked at it for a moment too long. She demanded softly: “Fuck me!” I did, the head of my cock slipping easily between the open lips of her muschi and plunging into her slippery, tight, warm vagina. “Slippery, tight, warm” in the order of the sensations on my cock.

I couldn’t forget, but I’m getting carried away again.

In brief: I had never before fucked so hard and fast, our hips slapping together. Her fingers touched my balls as long as my sack was still loose and they were swinging as I fucked. Then I felt her fingers touch the base of my cock, and assumed that she was rubbing her clitoris. Her aroused noises let me understand why she liked to be fucked that way, and mine were just as aroused and unrestrained.

Keep it brief: clutching muschi, throbbing cock, a gush of warm muschi juice on my tight sack, dripping off it, spurts – several spurts – deep in her muschi.

She dropped forward on the bed with whimpering groans. My glistening wet cock bobbed, still throbbing. I dropped down over her, managing to get my hands between the mattress and her breasts, holding them.

Total recall, and then only briefly told. Got to stop that, if I want to get back to telling about the group experience. Difficult.

Maybe if I summarize: Marge and I had as much sex as we wanted and every way that we wanted:

always after our showers in the afternoons; always in the mornings, and sometimes after going to bed; and sometimes in the middle of the night – if we hadn’t when we went to bed. Maybe we didn’t in the morning, if we had in the night. No, I am pretty sure we did. Sixty-nine is so easy: don’t have to be aroused to start; just agree to enjoy something with each other; and then, of course, it gets better.

Back to the present, Tuesday evening: at the bar, the German girls greeted us, saying that the men would be along. They smirked, and one of them murmured:

“They had to go back to their room.”

Anna seemed a little embarrassed by this admission, but nodded, and Marge and I also did with smiles. Then Anna said something in German to Marge, who replied, and the girls both nodded with smiles. Their new friends joined us, and we moved away to talk with others from our group.

If possible, it seemed that all of us were even more happy with our choice of roommates. At dinner, we sat with the couple we had talked to at the bar in the afternoon, who had told about how they agreed to sleep with each other.

We all smirked slightly. When does one meet people whom you know have just met, and the only thing you know about them is that they are sleeping with each other? They were smirking for the same reason, of course, although I and apparently Marge had no problem with it. No, she didn’t, her smile at me.

I asked what the girl’s had asked in German. She snorted and replied:

“They wondered if the guys were Jewish, you know, since they were circumcised. I told them that most men in the States are.”

“From your experience?”

“Don’t be fresh; you know that most of them are.

“Sorry. Did they care.”

“No, just curious.”

“And then the guys had to go back to their room.”

We all chuckled. The other woman suggested:

“Could have expected that they would have been in both rooms.”

We chuckled again, then all snorting at the realization that we were assuming that the two couples had probably had sex in one room, and that the girls had suggested that the guys join them in theirs.

“Ah, youth,” the man remarked with a grin. His companion snorted and replied:

“We’re doing pretty well for our age.”

We all nodded with smiles of agreement.

Wednesday and Thursday were more of the same. Marge and I talked with other couples, all of us discretely confiding that we were enjoying sex with our roommates, now bedmates. The German girls seemed to like to confide in Marge, talking to her a couple of times when neither their friends nor I was around.

By then, Marge and I sometimes separated for a while, walking or swimming alone, and then entertaining each other with what we had seen or done, always making it sound a little erotic. That was seldom true, but we enjoyed competing with stories, teasing each other with claims that we had attracted the attention of some sexy member of the opposite sex. The stories got better, claiming that we had sat with someone and only resisted an obvious suggestion to be with each other again.

That was, of course, an implication about what we wanted to do back in our room.

Once, when Marge was by herself, the German girls spoke to her. As she explained, when she smirked slightly and ventured to ask about the young men, the girls also smirked, nodding. Petra with the perky breasts, who was the more outspoken, replied that she and Anna had promised to stay together, no matter what. Anna had again looked a little embarrassed, but nodded, smirking slightly. Marge said:

“Of course, both in your room.”

The girls both blushed, nodding, and Petra replied:

“And in theirs, but don’t tell.”

She did, however, tell me, and we snickered, then wondering if they shared partners. That suggested the general question if maybe any couples had met in one of their rooms after dinner. That in turn led to a humorous conversation about what we would do if another couple suggested that, and then one about which couple we could imagine would suggest something , and which ones we would find attractive.

By then, we had better visual impressions of all the others in our group. When I suggested that I could imagine that it would be nice with Petra, Marge snorted and said that she wasn’t one of the group, but then smirked and said that she thought either of the young men would be good. I replied that Anna would also be just as good, since she didn’t care which of the men she would get. We snickered and agree to only choose members of our group.

When I suggested Kathleen, thinking that she had been very forward about agreeing to share a room with James, Marge grinned and remarked:

“Oooh, yes! James. You probably didn’t look at his nice long cock.”

I had, and tried to change the subject, but she didn’t let me, grinning and saying:

“Just once.”

“Look or do it?”

“Hm-hmm! Maybe twice, both ways. Your fault for suggesting Kathleen. Why?”

“Seemed eager. Your fault for not having immediately wanted a Harvard man.”

“Hmmm! Had one already. Too intellectual.”

“Shouldn’t have talked so much.”

“I was just kidding, … but James, if he can with her?”

“They don’t talk, just hold hands.”

“Hands?! Hm-hmm! She would need both to hold him.”

“Don’t complain!”

“Sorry. Just joking.”

“Hmm? I hope so, but you could be right.”

“I don’t want to just hold yours – with my hand.”

“Keep talking.”

“Maybe I can get eight fingers around it.”

She demonstrated what she was suggesting, and we both snickered. Later that day, she snorted and tried. With some goodwill, pushing her hands down on my balls, the tip of my cock rose above her fingers. We snickered again, and she said:

“I want to suck it, and not one that big.”

She did, as good as she had the first time, and the times since then.

Friday, the weather was cloudy, and a few of us agreed to take two taxis to visit a Romanesque church and a picturesque village, Sans-culotte’s suggestion and a nice change. Marge and I, of course, wonder if what we had seen was on the German girl’s list of sightseeing, Marge whispering that we could fill them in with details.

That evening in the bar, despite the lack of sun, most of the others had been on the beach, especially our two young men and their girls. After a first drink, they smirked at each other, and one of the men remarked:

“In case the rest of you are curious, we went down where things are more liberal.”

We were suddenly all ears, other conversation dying down. He smirked slightly at the effect of his remark, and the girls and his roommate also did. For a moment he seemed to search for the right expression and then said:

“Yeah, well, if you have seen beach videos, like that.”

Apparently most of us had, nodding with smirks. He appreciated our response and added:

“Yeah, a little strange seeing people doing that, knowing that they could be seen. Wouldn’t want to go there by myself, like some of the voyeurs we saw.”

His friend and the girls nodded, smirking. I looked at Anna, who again seemed a little embarrassed by his telling, but Petra seemed openly to enjoy it. I still couldn’t tell if they had paired off. He continued with a smirk of his own:

“But once you’ve become accustomed to it, it’s sort of infectious.”

We all snorted, snickering. Petra and his roommate nodded with grins. That suggested that Anna had also been infected. She then also nodded slightly with a wry smile. Apparently others had noticed her embarrassment. Her bra-less nipples were sticking out. There was a moment of silence in the group, and then Sans-culotte snorted and remarked softly:

“I can imagine. Thanks. Maybe save a couple of us from satisfying our curiosity, … or maybe not.”

The rest of us nodded with mild smiles, leaving it unclear which alternative they might be agreeing with. I thought that the videos I had seen were explicit enough. However, when we finished our second drink and were going to the dining room, Marge took my arm and murmured:

“Why not? Might as well see everything.”

“To tell back home?”

“In case anyone asks; can’t say I was here – we were here – and admit that we weren’t there.”

“Anyone? More than just your brother and his wife?”

She snorted and replied:

“A couple of others, before I understood that we would all be sharing rooms.”

“Hmm? What will they think of that?”

“They’ll have to ask.”

July 2018
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