Ch. 12 the After-Effects of Poison Ivy

I.

IN LOCO PARENTIS (AND OTHER LATIN PHRASES)

You can call me Carl, although I'm Mr. Gillett to my students at the suburban high school where I'm Head of Social Studies.

I made the mistake of marrying a beautiful woman, physically beautiful, that is—the “prom queen” type. She was a willowy blond with tits like apples. For the purpose of this survey, I'll call her Ivy the Heiress. Our pre-marital romance was promising and our sex life was okay for the first three years, although she thought oral sex—giving or receiving--was disgusting. One problem was she was always preening and primping. She went to a manicurist and had her hair done practically every month; and, of course, she didn't want me to muss it up during sex.

When we went on trips, one suitcase was entirely reserved for beauty aids. The last four years I was lucky to get laid once a month. Thank God, we did not have any kids. During our last fight I yelled at her, "Where the hell do you get your hair done? At the funeral parlor?" and she kicked me out of the house. I sucked it up and resolved that I'd get along on my teaching salary. Actually, the pay scale at my new school was pretty good.

My new school, my new life, my new love. The place was to become for me a happy family of serious students, half of which were beautiful girls. I couldn't have known, that first September, that my wife Ursula was sitting in the front row of my senior history section. She was an average-looking buxom girl, with glasses, more industrious than she was creative, I thought, and most pleasant. It was her overall attitude that was most endearing. She'd erase the blackboard and joke with me at the end of the school day. Then she was right there that first day of my fall tennis practice--determined to make the team. And that was the fateful beginning of things: I was impressed by the serious mind; she was my funny friend; but then, seeing her in her short tennis dress, I knew I was in love with the whole person. This tall girl had the most delicious-looking legs I could ever hope to see. The balls of her calf muscles were just prominent enough to lend the thick legs most appealing lines and harmonized with the fullness of her curvaceous thighs. I had to restrain myself from falling on my knees before her to hold their smooth loveliness to my cheeks, thence to kiss and tongue my Ursula from her sport socks to her crotch.

I had a problem with coaching and drooling at the same time. I do, nonetheless, take my role of teacher and friend seriously: I am in a true sense

in loco parentis

. I do admit to dispensing a short hug of congratulation or farewell, and even a quick peck of a kiss on special occasions. But I continue to follow the advice of my wise old methods teacher: "Carl, don't fuck the customers!" With Ursula, a short peck of a kiss two months into the school year turned into a lengthy, open-mouth expression of our lust for each other. Damn it, I had crossed my own line. Further, I was married.

I knew that she was dating a greaser who'd been out of school for some time--certainly not good enough for her--and, even though it was none of my business, I was jealous. I know I could have regained my equanimity if Ursula hadn’t been such a tease. One fatal day in April she appeared in class without a bra. Unbound, her big pointy tits had a delightful wag to them. Through the light texture of her shirt, I divined dark halos spreading about the tips of her tits. Ursula's eyes, furthermore, said they were for me. The professional educator had to revamp his standards. She and I wanted me to touch and handle her individual breasts--and in the worst way!

When she turned eighteen in May, my rationalization fuzzily elevated her to adulthood, and I made love to her above the waist. However, I would not sink to adultery. It was hard, but Ursula understood where I was coming from. Nonetheless, discovering her sexual appetites fired my attraction to her. She had told me about the loss of her virginity recently to this older guy with a reputation of being bad actor. He had demanded that she omit underwear in dressing for their dates. Further she said that, while their sex together was rough, Ron’s fucking was something she loved and needed. That confession didn’t do much for my morale. But I thanked our lucky stars that soon, she’d be taking her loveliness off to a fine small college, even though she had no intentions of becoming celibate. Nonetheless, we remained in love--still treading the high wire, sexual desire pulling from the left, moral imperatives from the right. I dearly hoped that she would find a fine young man to love her with tenderness and concern for her well-being.

With my marriage going poorly, my sex life was weakly fulfilled in my love letters to Ursula. She was so sweet to put up with them, even as she had fallen for a graduate student whose company she was enjoying. Nonetheless, her sweet and frequently very sexy responses seduced hell out of me--such as her telling about Paul's big cock and how she imagined it was mine to aid her in reaching orgasm. And she was glad to learn that I jerked off when writing to her or receiving her letters. Certainly we were still in love.

I drove to visit her twice within the next two years. While continuing to abstain from intercourse at the motel where we lived in the nude for two days at a time, Ursula's loving was fantastic. I had written her about the effect of her beautiful legs on me, and she invited me, after I had sucked her tits adequately, to do her completely, without sport socks. Slowly, up toward the beautiful loins, I kissed and licked. She elevated her hips and pubis to accept my stiffened tongue in search of the center of her heat; I drank the flow of her sex; I nibbled and sucked the erect clit.

Our friends agree that Ursula has the sweetest pussy to suck of all our partners. One of my greatest turn-ons is watching her approach her peak while being eaten. She screams softly and pants audibly before she arches. Then she contorts as wave upon shuddering wave undo her completely. In that final phase, her great thighs quiver in her complete ecstasy, as they did in response to her first oral sex, fifteen years ago in our country motel.

II SAFETY AND NUMBERS

Some of the kinky things we did in our pre-marital period, I guess, sparked our interests in opening our marriage to special people. I agree, it's been a switch for "straight-laced Carl Gillett."

Shortly after my divorce from the heiress came through, we made complete and beautiful love, got pregnant, and got married, forcing my darling to pick up her senior credits two years later at a city university near us. As I'd always known, she is bright and determined. Her accomplishments and personality are much appreciated by the Board of the local library, where she's the Associate Librarian. She laughs when I say she looks like a librarian. Not so with her clothes off! She's still a beautiful girl. Her tits are a little longer, but they don't hang! They merely branch out at a lower level.

I'm trying to get to our expanded sex life. The setting then is our cozy little suburban home. The time is four years after our marriage. I am thirty-eight and Ursula is twenty-six. Of course, we must analyze the circumstances, which are the fun part.

Back at college, Ursula's primary sex mate had been Paul, her biologist friend. I'd met him and I could immediately see the attraction. One of our sex games was for Ursula to tell me all about him and them in her letters; and later we had several three-way phone conversations, which we found highly erotic. Can you imagine celibate Carl lying on his single cot at eleven at night and Ursula's voice in his ear: "Now he's filling my pussy with his big cock and I want him to come in me." Well, that was enough to lead a thirty-three-year-old man to jack off!

Paul’s annual Christmas cards told that his work on the west coast seemed to be going well and that he had married and was looking forward to raising a family. Some time in August he wrote that his young wife of three years, four months pregnant with their first child, had been killed in a traffic accident. It was so very sad.

Shortly after hearing that distressing news, Ursula sat up in bed one night. "Honey," she said, "let's invite Paul to Christmas." That was something to think about, and I did in living color and cinemascope. I thought of Paul tall, strong and naked. I wanted to see the big cock that gave Ursula so much pleasure. I imagined her kneeling before it in love and Paul returning the favor to her delight. My own dong began to rise in contemplation of those images.

"Do you think he'd come?" I finally said.

"I think if he were here, he would," she laughed.

"Oh, darling, would you want him to fuck you?"

"Uh-huh ... with your permission. You were deprived of the threesome that you proposed in your letters. I would like very much to fuck Paul while you watch. Wouldn't you like that? My being on the pill and all--we could really enjoy ourselves."

"Oh, yes," I returned, "and I'd like to see you suck his cock big and hard before that, and afterwards I'd want to fuck you strongly and add my load to Paul's. Wouldn't you love to have two guys come in you one after the other?"

"Yes, I would," Ursula responded thoughtfully. "What would be your reaction to three guys coming in me in a row?"

"I'd be out of my mind. I would love it," I confessed. "Who else could we get?"

"You are the sexy one," Ursula chided. "Let's see how it goes with Paul--if he's agreeable. Number Three should be extra special--someone that you pick. Are there any big cocks in the faculty locker room that we could toy with for a while in our fantasies?"

That was too close to home, I thought. "You're right,” I said, “Let's wait. But I do want it for you. Darling, please suck me a little bit while I tell you what I'd like Paul and the new wrestling coach to do with you."

"Oh, yummy. I'd love to."

My fantasy concluded, we had the greatest fuck ever.

Paul did come at Christmas, and we came and came and came. Again the following year, Paul brought us Christmas cheer. Then he dropped out of our lives again. The wrestling coach, furthermore, was not about to be taken down!

A seeker for Mr. Right usually does not find him. Ten years passed. By then our rising salaries permitted us to purchase a more commodious house on a quiet circle in a really nice residential section of town. After moving in, I was surveying the neighborhood from my top floor study window when I saw Mrs. Right, sunning herself.

Evidently our neighbors had a double lot with extensive flower gardens on our side bounded by a seven-foot stockade fence, over which I could see from my vantage point into the garden's heart. Mrs. Whoever-she-was had stretched out entirely naked on a beach towel on the grass. After changing her position once, she rose, strode gracefully to another area of the garden and came back with a hose and nozzle sprinkling the beginning buds and blooms of May. Of what I could see she was moderately heavy of build, the triangular pubic bush was really dark and her jugs were ponderous. I noted that she had short dark hair and wore dark glasses. I checked my watch; it was 11 a.m. on a Monday. I returned to my post when I could and caught three more shows that early summer, during two of which the lady opened her pussy to admit the strong sunlight and a perfect view from my study window before she masturbated for perhaps ten minutes.

After we got settled, we did meet our neighbors: Mr. and Mrs. Herbert Wood. The gentleman was a sales executive for a big company; and Ursula was excited to recognize the wife as one of her own high school generation--the former Lianne Parker. When we met, there was a distinct twinkle in Lianne's brown eyes as she said, "It's nice to meet you in person, Mr. Gillett."

"Likewise," I blurted, "Let's see more of each other."

The Woods were a friendly couple. They invited us for cocktails a couple of times. It turned out that Lianne and Ursula had quite a bit in common, including two earlier boyfriends. I gathered that business was good for Herb, as in mid-summer workmen and earth-movers rolled in, After three or four weeks, behold: there was a swimming pool behind the stockade fence.

The following spring the pool area had been beautifully landscaped, and we were invited to swim one late afternoon. Ursula was gorgeous in her bright, brief bikini, and Lianne filled the top of hers to overflowing. The skimpy, triangular material below permitted the escape of black pubic curls from three sides of the triangle.

After we took our initial dips, we sat at the shallow end while Lianne swam a few laps. Returning to our end, she stood up to her navel in the clear water and launched into a monologue: "What a day! Honey, I'd say the screening boxwoods are doing the job. The water's so nice, though so much nicer without a bathing suit. Herbie and I don't usually wear ours. Would it be all right with you folks if I took mine off?"

I spoke for the Gilletts, "Please do, Lianne."

"And I hope you'll join us if you're so inclined. Come on, Herbert!" she commanded, drawing out the tie that bound her. Over her head came the top, and she flung it in happy liberation across the deck. Down came the thong. She parried its ankle tackle with a somersault, disrobing as she turned. With only her head above the surface, she duck-waddled up to us, and then sprang up with outstretched arms only to fall backward and float--baring the extensive bush that had caught my attention earlier. Regaining her feet, she slogged and swayed toward her audience and stood smiling widely. "Golly," she exalted, "It's wonderful! I still have my stretch marks," she babbled, showing us the lighter lines. Ursula kept the small talk going: "I like your belly-button, Lianne. It's an outie."

Lianne teased, "What do you like, Carl?"

"You have the most gloriously beautiful breasts, Lianne." They were heavy and lengthy. Low on their beautiful hanging, the taut nipples jutted; and about them dark brown pebbled areas spread in wide circles. In the late afternoon sunlight I detected beyond their rims a few little dark hairs sprouting.

"I see you're a tit-man--like Herbie," Lianne giggled. Then, noticing my fix on her nipples, she added, "I'm a very hairy person." She lifted her full breasts with her hands for our inspection.

"I have the same thing," Ursula volunteered, "When I went braless a lot in college, the hairs wore away, but now they're growing back because I'm into bras for my library job."

Lianne: "I can't go braless. It causes too much commotion."

Herb: "We considered shaving before our week at the nude beaches. But our friends discouraged that. Furthermore, Li's hair about the high points of her sex accentuates them. I'm proud of her natural beauty."

I joined the small talk, playing out some aesthetic bullshit I had heard and more or less believed. "That which is perfect is less interesting than the suggestion of perfection. I've felt in Ursula's case, her heavy thighs go beyond the norm for Miss America candidates, but living with her is my extraordinary blessing, and I’m proud that others can enjoy maximum views of those sexy legs."

Ursula: "With Carl's encouragement I'm no longer self-conscious of my heavy legs. I'm into mini-skirts again. Isn't that brazen of me?"

Lianne: "Absolutely not, Ursula, your legs are positively beautiful; and Carl's pride in your loveliness is understandable.. But, as one of your admirers, I must confess your legs trigger my desire to see more! But we know how that is, don't we, dear? I love to tease. And , being an exhibitionist, I’m already in Heaven, being married to a voyeur! Actually, Herb likes guys to see me nude, probably because he's then free to do some ogling himself.”

Herb: "I don't deny it."

Lianne: "And furthermore, Ursula, the naughty boy is dying to see your tits. He told me so."

"Lianne!" Herb groaned.

Ursula leaned toward my ear. "Should I?" she whispered.

"Sure, go ahead."

Ursula rose and stood before our host. "Herbie, is that really true?"

"Uh-huh."

"Okay. Maybe you should know that I like naughty boys," Ursula added devilishly, unhooking her bra. Her lovely dubes wagged out in new freedom, at which her audience lapsed into a moment of open-mouthed silence. Then she continued, "And, you two guys, drop your drawers. Don't be party-poopers. We want to see your imperfections!"

As always, I was super-proud of my beautiful Ursula. And what a good sport she was! That swimming party broke the ice. I simply had to fuck Lianne Wood; her tits held me in their sway.

III. URSULA'S FULFILLMENT

In bed that night Ursula and I replayed the afternoon's dialogue. We laughed in amazement at what was said, especially what we had said. Lianne was certainly the soul of candor!

Four nights later, Ursula was brimming with a new story. The two gals had had a long talk during which Lianne asked if we had experimented with sex outside of our marriage. "So I told her about Paul and us. That got her laughing. She said similar circumstances brought them to swap with one of her first lovers and his wife. Then she mentioned that Herb gets off on seeing her fuck guys with big dicks. Her theory is that, as guys are prone to visual arousal, they like to see beautiful women nude, to see us move and dance, and masturbate. Here’s the way she put it: ‘When I fuck for him, I have my pleasure and he has his. It's an extension of our love for each other.' Now honestly, Carl, I think the same factors figured in our affair with Paul. Don't you, dear? Anyhow, now they swing."

"I agree," I said, " Paul's being so well-hung was a turn-on for me." I had noticed Herb's similar endowments. Secretly, I wanted to watch him with Ursula. It was so interesting that the Woods were swingers! I did recall their long and happy looks once I stepped out of my trunks. The ball was rolling. "I suppose they want me to fuck Lianne?" I tried to yawn.

"Yes!" Ursula half-screamed, "and I said I'd ask you. Don't say no. She said I could watch with Herb. It's so terribly exciting. Would you?"

"Okay ... yes," I responded, "but might you find Herb attractive enough that you might fuck him--for my pleasure?"

"Yes, baby. I've been wild for it since I showed him my tits!"

Lianne indeed was a great organizer. Because the watchers would be as important as the fuckers, the first time should be a closed practice, she explained. Herb was to spend the night at our house, and I at theirs. Two nights later, the exhibitions.

Lianne and I got along very well. She was as aggressive in her loving as in the planning. "Perhaps Ursula told you that I find your body irresistible--your arms and chest, that lean, hard stomach, your gorgeous buns," she went on while literally undressing me," and your magnificent cock. I just love the way the pink head peeps from its foreskin collar when you're soft. I'm dying to make it big and hard. Lie back, sweetie."

She started crawling up, the big tits playing footsie, then sweeping up my legs, up and back. Then after straddling my aroused cock briefly, she advanced, the hot wet pussy trailing the long tits, with which she batted my face. Then back again, now it was her head and face massaging my genitals, massaging and teasing. Then she gave me four jerks and said, "Your turn. And then, I want to be on top."

I really had known only two women intimately, but Lianne's pussy was something else. Nuzzling her aromatic bush, I played nosies with her distended clit and then sucked it.

With Li on top I didn't have to strain for my mouthfuls. "I love light biting when you suck," she told me, "and just before I climax please pinch my nipples really hard."

"Oh, Carl," she said afterwards. "You know, Herbie’s being able to watch us means so much to both of us. And to have Ursula with us will be especially nice. Don’t you think that she and I are kindred souls? Our husbands’ pleasures are paramount. You must love watching her.” “Darling Lianne,” I took her in my arms, “this evening has been a beautiful beginning. And yes, Ursula has been wild to fuck Herb, and your permission means worlds to us.”