It had been an intense four weeks, all work and no play. I had overseen the installation of The CPU22 in six of our newest customer's largest branches. It was Friday night and I needed a break. I tried called my wife but she wasn't home; no telling where she was. It had been a month since I'd had sex and it was wearing on me. "It'll be up in twenty-five minutes," the room service operator said. Just enough time to take a shower.
My neck ached from slumping over the keyboard all day and the jets of hot water felt good on my shoulders. Stretching my neck and letting the water massage it my eyes, following the suds down my chest, watched them sluice through my pubic hair and sag down the length of my flaccid and wrinkled penis and dripped from the tip of its head to the shower floor. A far cry from what it can be, I thought as I pushed on the liquid dispenser and squirted a pool of silky white soap into the palm my hand. It looked exactly like the creamy pools I had so often caught when I jerked off. Smoothing the slippery emollient down the length of my arcing cock caused tingles from my balls to my asshole. My fingers closed on my scrotum and tested each testicle then worked the soap over the wrinkled sac.
Rising with the flow of blood, my cock became significant, ironing the wrinkles into smooth, tight skin. I fisted the pulsing shaft, sliding the soap over its length, squeezing gently, simulating the spongy walls of my wife's pussy. Closing my eyes I imagined it slipping in and out of the luscious pocket. Soon, my knees began to weaken and I clamped the cheeks of my ass as my balls convulsed and rose in my scrotum. My knees nearly buckled but I kept stroking until I felt my energy draining with the long stream that coursed from my balls, through my shaft and gathered into a pool in my hand. Bracing myself against the shower wall, I eyed the white puddle. It looked so much like the pool of soap. Bringing my hand to my mouth I dipped the tip of my tongue in my seed, tasting it's salty musk, imagining that I was licking it out of my wife's puffy, red cunt.
I put on a white dress shirt and pulled my tight Levis over my naked ass, fantasizing that I would go out tonight and make eye contact with a beautiful woman, one who would be interested in the pronounced bulge in my crotch. I laughed and thought I was crazy to think that way but, as each day went by with no carnal knowledge; my time each night in the shower had become more desperate.
Earlier I had driven past a trendy bar that looked like it might be a place that women might go dancing...or looking. But it was Friday night and most eligible single women had probably either staked out their weekend prize or just decided to spend the weekend with Bob. My mind was in a high state of fantasy and I resolved to seek a better possibility than my five fingered friend.
It was a cozy bar. There were a lot of people there but the all of the women were coupled with men. I sat down at the bar and asked the bartender for a Samuel Adams. The music was good and I enjoyed the smuddling conversation, punctuated with laughter. Sounds of women's laughter aroused me and I felt my tender head roll against my leg then my shaft pushing against the rough denim of my Levis.
As I raised the half empty bottle to my lips I looked into the mirror and saw them come through the door. They were both casually dressed. The younger woman with long blonde hair, Barbie style, was about the same height as my wife, 5'4". She looked like an angel. Here companion was an older woman, maybe and inch or so shorter. Her hair, light ash blonde, was shorter, done in a flip, kinda like Dorothy Hammill, the Olympic ice skating champion of the seventies. Both women were beauty queens; both wore jeans and western shirts, both wearing cowboy boots.
The younger one's breasts were nicely formed, filling her shirt. I could see the points of her nipples pressing through the soft fabric of her bra. My eyes traveled her body and took in the seam of her jeans which formed over the contours of her lips. My erection grew, pressing harder against the coarse fabric of my jeans. She turned to the woman next to her—maybe her older sister... or mom—and showed me her tight, shapely butt and her elegant hour glass of her figure.
I ordered another beer. Nibbling and toying with the complimentary goldfish, I thought of the project I was working on; I thought of home. I thought about how good it was to masturbate in the shower. But mostly, I thought about the girl and her sister, or was it her mother? I was looking absently into the mirror and became aware that the two women were looking at me. The older one kept saying things to the younger and the younger woman nodded her head. She didn't smile; she seemed to be concentrating. Her eyes seemed like they were in a trance. She was staring at me in the mirror, alright. I returned her gaze and noticed that her nostrils, like an eager Philly's, were flaring.
The older woman put her arm around the back of the younger one. She seemed to be massaging her gently with her open hand. All of a sudden it seemed that the young girl bit her lip and her nostrils flared widely. Her face seemed to flush and just then her sister, or was it her mother, patted her on the back and said something to her. The words she mouthed appeared to be, "Was it good baby?"
I've had heard of women who could squeeze their pussy lips together and compress their clits against the seams of their jeans to cause an orgasm, and I wondered if she had done that. She was looking right at me when she did. As I walked toward them I saw the older one smile at the young woman who seemed to say, "Mom!" as if the mother had said something suggestive.
"Evenin ladies," I said.
"Hello" the older one said.
"You two look like you could be related." I said.
"Kind of," the younger one replied and winked. They both giggled.
I looked at the younger woman and asked, "Is this young lady your sister?"
"Oh you charmer," said the woman.
The young woman said, "Yes," then smiled and blushed.
"My name is Marc. I am in town until Tuesday...just came out to see if I could socialize a bit."
"My name's Dotty," the older one said, extending her hand and shaking mine. "And this is my daughter Silk."
"Dotty, Silk, I'm pleased to meet you," I said. "Is this, ladies night out?"
Silk shook my hand. "Nice to meet you Marc." Her hand was soft and warm.
I noticed how soft her hair loooked and said, "Your name fits you, Silk. Are you two doing the town tonight?"
Silk blushed. "Well, actually, we're just out for some air... to see if anything's going on in town."
