A Guest of Celeste

Wow. You guys won’t believe what happened to me last month. I
posted this completely made-up piece about how I’d imagined that
Celeste kept a mountain hideaway somewhere, a time-share condo, let’s
say, where she went to get away from it all and to get time to write
her reviews. From time to time (I speculated) she would call on some
likely youth to come visit and help her do her research; after all,
one aspect of rating fiction is by its plausibility, and sometimes you
can’t tell how plausible a given act is until you’ve tried it out
yourself. I imagined that Celeste had invited little old me to be her
experimental boy-toy of the week, and when I got there I was barely
out of my coat before I was treated to a rousing three-way with her
and her previous boy-toy. It was such a wild night that Celeste made
us both stick around for a while, even though she usually made do with
only one subject at a time. It was my first posting to A.S.S.; it was
fun, it got a friendly response, and that, I figured, was the end of
it.

Well, imagine my surprise when I got an e-mail message from
someone claiming to be Celeste. (Forget it, guys, I promised I
wouldn’t tell what address it came from.) This person, whoever it was,
said, and I quote, “OK, you have some explaining to do. That piece
came uncannily close to reality: the cabin, the boys, even the kind of
computer I use. And the ways I really like to do it: how did you know?
Has my husband been kissing and telling?”

This kind of freaked me out. I have no idea who Celeste’s
husband is; I just made all this stuff up. And besides, I remembered
that in her mostly positive review of my little piece, the real
Celeste (I think) had cautioned, “If anyone purporting to be Celeste
sends you e-mail that invites you to spend a weekend in a mountain
retreat being my sextoy, it’s really not me.” Which I thought went
without saying. I mean, really.

And yet, this person went on to do just that. “I’ve asked a
couple of other readers over for a weekend lesson in creative writing
at my cabin, and in light of your little story, I thought perhaps
you’d like to join us,” she wrote.

Of course I fired off a reply denying that she could possibly
be Celeste, but I already knew before I finished sending it that I
would go anyway, whoever she was. Who could pass up a mystery like
this? She wrote back with directions to get there, and just like in my
story, I dropped everything and caught a flight.

Once I got there, though, it wasn’t like my story at all. For
one thing, it was late at night when I rang the doorbell and the woman
who answered the door, claiming to be Celeste of course, just put me
right to bed in a basement guest room. Nothing happened all night, or
if it did I slept right through it. I do remember thinking, though, as
I watched her lead me down the hall, that she was certainly built much
like the Celeste I’d imagined. Again, I’ve promised not to get too
specific about that – Celeste doesn’t need people recognizing her on
the street – but you can pretty much imagine, I’m sure. Let me just
say there were the bright, friendly eyes, and the vaguest outline of a
rather shapely rear end visible through her bathrobe. And that white
terry robe did look sort of familiar, the way it fell open just a bit
to reveal the beginnings of what had to be the very nicest soft, pale
bosom. I made myself look away. Come on, that was nothing but a
fantasy, I reminded myself.

I woke alone, rose slowly and took a nice long hot shower. I
put on a bathrobe I found hanging near the bathroom door and walked
barefoot down the hall to the kitchen, where Celeste – I decided to
just go ahead and call her that, until I knew better – was whistling
while she cooked up a big batch of pancakes and bacon. Across the
room, a young man in shorts, sandals and a sweatshirt was sitting at
one end of a wooden table. It was one of those stout-looking, narrow
oblong tables that look like they were made from a ship’s timbers. He
was sipping from a large mug of coffee, and across the table from him
was a woman about my age in a long skirt and a baggy black sweater,
her wavy brown hair drawn back in a loose pony tail.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Celeste said brightly. “Ted, meet
Amy. Amy, Ted is the guy whose story I showed you last week.” Amy
looked up, blushing, and smiled. “Hi,” she said. “Nice work.” I nodded
groggily.

“And this is Bruce. Judging from what you’ve written, you seem
to know Bruce from somewhere,” she said, looking at me strangely. He
did look vaguely familiar. He would have fit right into the story in
question. And he had the same name. This was weird.

I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table,
stealing a glance at Amy over the rim of my mug. She looked like
nothing so much as a nice conservative twentysomething junior business
type on vacation. She wasn’t outrageously attractive, but she had a
certain fresh air to her that made her seem quite pretty.

Celeste brought the grub over and sat down. The sun was
streaming in through the light curtains, reflecting off the snow
outside, and the scene could hardly have been more wholesome, except
that I was having breakfast with almost complete strangers. Well, not
complete, but you know what I mean.

“Amy recently started contributing stories to the stories news
group,” Celeste explained between bites of pancake. Amy blushed again.
“I thought her ideas were quite good,” Celeste went on, “but I
couldn’t rate her work as highly as I wanted to because it just didn’t
seem, you know… real.”

“Oh, I know how that is,” I tell her. “It’s not easy. When I
wrote that thing about you in that cabin, for example, I don’t know
how many rounds of rewriting it took to make it sound like something
that actually happened. And I write for a living.” Now it was
Celeste’s turn to blush. “Really,” she said. “It was that hard?”

Amy nodded. “It’s hard, all right. I found myself having a lot
of trouble describing things in a way that made them seem tangible.”

“I think it has something to do with experience,” Bruce said,
putting down his cup. “I mean, imagine how many of the people who send
in those stories fit your basic profile of the socially inept computer
geek who hasn’t been laid in his life. And look at the results. I’m
not a writer myself, but I can read, and my God, most of that stuff is
so awful I wouldn’t feed it to my dog.”

“Well, yes, but,” said Amy. “I mean, I don’t see myself as
especially trashy, or a slut or anything – I’m not very experienced at
all – but I really like what I do know of it, and I think that comes
out in my writing.” I was getting anxious to see some of this writing,
as you can imagine.

“Well, it’s beginning to,” Celeste said. “I think there’s
potential there. Not to mention the fact that you can spell, which is
saying something these days.” Amy smiled.

“The thing is, pornography is about the senses,” Bruce
declared, waving his fork in the air. “So it seems reasonable that it
should go ahead and appeal to the senses, for Christ’s sake. Good
smut should tell us all about sounds, smells, tastes, tactile stuff.”
He pressed his fingers into the tabletop. “It’s not just numbers and
measurements.”

“Which brings me to what I’d like to do this morning,” Celeste
said finally, pushing away her plate. “I’d like for us to help each
other get acquainted with some of the basic principles of description
in an erotic story.” Uh oh, I thought: this sounds like work. I rose
and began gathering the empty dishes.

“One way – not the only way, but an important one – for a
writer to establish credibility is by knowing whereof she speaks,”
Celeste told Amy. “I’ve printed out your last story, and I thought
we’d walk through it scene by scene.” She reached over to the counter
for a few pages of laser paper. “Ted, would you like to read it, so
you know where we’re at? Bruce and I have already looked at it.”

I wiped my hands and took the sheaf of paper. I skimmed the
story. It was one of those “With Sue” pieces, where a reader writes a
fantasy based on one of Sue’s usually excellent stories. I hadn’t
noticed it on A.S.S. before, but given the giant volume on that news
group I wasn’t surprised to have missed it. The protaganist was a
preacher’s wife who goes for a weekend trip with another man, and
meets Sue and another fellow Sue is hanging out with. The preacher’s
wife finds herself attracted to all three of her new friends, and has
intense, grueling sex with all of them in pretty much every
permutation you can think of.

I had to admit that the story was pretty hot, especially for a
beginner. There was a lot of detail, and even the rudiments of an
actual plot. I looked at Celeste. “I don’t see her problem with
description,” I said, “except maybe here, or… ”

Celeste and Amy weren’t listening. They were looking at each
other and giggling softly. Then Amy looked back at me, but not at my
face. Suddenly I realized that I had been more turned on by her story
than I’d realized. The front of my robe had parted, and my heretofore
well-behaved schlong had stiffened enough to peek its head out like a
little periscope. Amy and Celeste were gazing merrily at it, and Bruce
was politely looking away, trying not to laugh. I hastily covered up
the evidence.

“Awww,” Celeste said disappointedly. “That was going to be
exhibit A.”

“I beg your pardon?” I said, wounded.

“Come here, young man,” Celeste laughed. I put the papers down
and approached her chair. She gestured to Bruce, and out of the corner
of my eye I saw him rise and slip out of the room.

With a practiced motion, Celeste untied the rope around my
robe and threw it open. My erection sprang forward, and she gave it a
welcoming smile. Grasping me firmly in her hand, she pointed me in
Amy’s direction.

“I wasn’t going to start with this, but as long as it’s
offered itself,” Celeste said. “Ever seen one this close, my dear?”
she asked. Amy shook her head. “It’s always too dark,” she replied
sadly. “My husband’s a minister, just like I said in my story, and he
never lets us do anything with the light on.”

“Well, that’s no fun,” Celeste said. “Here. Scootch over this
way. C’mon, right up close.” Amy moved her chair over and leaned in to
my midsection. “Now, softly,” Celeste instructed her, and Amy’s tongue
came out and gave the head of my penis a tentative lick.

I could not believe what was happening. At the touch of Amy’s
tongue, my dick jumped and began to grow from a mildly aroused state
into a real erection. “Mmmm,” Celeste approved, still holding me
firmly. “That’s better. Now open up and get a good taste of him.”
Incredibly, Amy opened her mouth and leaned forward until half the
length of my cock was lodged in her warm mouth. She turned her eyes to
Celeste with a questioning look.

“That’s it,” Celeste murmured. “In and out, now, just a
little.” Amy smiled around my mass and let me slide back out of her
mouth, her cheeks pulling in a little from the suction she was
applying. Her eyes slowly closed as she took me in again, then slipped
me out. Celeste reached under her chin to hold my scrotum. I think she
could tell from the way my balls were tightening up (not to mention
the way my knees were wobbling) that I was on a bit of a short fuse,
because she suddenly held up a finger.

“OK,” she said. “Enough of him for now.” Amy leaned back and I
popped audibly out of her mouth.

“Anything stand out in your mind?” Celeste asked in a
teacherly tone. “Yes… ” Amy said, thinking about it. “He’s a
little… almost sweet,” she said. “I don’t know how to describe that.
And smooth. The head is so soft, but the length of it is hard and
smooth on my tongue.”

“OK,” Celeste said happily. “That’s progress.” She picked up
her pen and jotted something on Amy’s manuscript. “So here, where your
protaganist takes her man in her mouth for the first time, you could
fill that out with some detail on how he tastes, and how it feels.”
Amy nodded.

“Now. Turn around,” Celeste said, patting her student’s
shoulder. Amy turned and gasped, and so did I. While we’d been busy,
Bruce had apparently gone and left his clothes in another room. Naked,
he walked backed into the kitchen and stood next to me, in front of
Amy. His dick, quite erect, bounced slightly in front of her eyes. It
was clear why he was so unimpressed with measurements. His was a
pretty good-sized tool, I had to admit – stiff and veined and pillar-
like.

Amy looked questioningly at Celeste again. Celeste nodded,
wordless, and Amy leaned forward, resting one hand on my belly and one
on Bruce’s for balance. Her jaw dropped and she fitted his large
member between her moistened lips. It would only go in a little way,
being so thick, but she was able to get a good airtight grip on the
head and began to suck determinedly. Her hand left his belly and
snaked its way around the base of his cock, where it tightened and
loosened in rhythm with her sucking.

Bruce’s eyes were closed and he was starting to breathe harder
when Celeste shook her head and said, “OK, OK!” Amy’s eyes opened and
she let Bruce slide out of her mouth. “Are you sure you haven’t done
this before?” Celeste demanded.

Amy wiped her lips and grinned. “I’m sure,” she said. “He was
more salty, I think. His skin tastes more like… I don’t know.
Curry?”

“Sure,” Celeste nodded. “That’ll do. And the texture?”

“Rougher, definitely,” Amy said. “You can feel the veins
sliding up and down your tongue. And when you hold him in your hand,
you can barely get your fingers around him.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Celeste agreed, leaning over to
scribble more notes on Amy’s story. “So in this part here, instead of
just saying, ‘I sucked and sucked on his massive knob,’ you might get
more of an evocative feeling by saying something like, `I luxuriated
in the feeling of the veins on his cock bumping up and down my
tongue.'” Amy nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, that would be much
better. Thanks, Celeste.”

“Oh, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” Celeste said. “Our next
point is even more fun.” She got up and went over to the counter,
where she bent over to consult a yellow notepad she had left next to
the stove. She straightened and turned to beckon Bruce with a finger.
“I’ll need your help on this one, honey,” she smiled, and hiking her
robe up around her thighs, tossed herself up to sit on the countertop.
I sat down next to Amy to see what came next.

“One of the weakest points in your narrative,” Celeste told
Amy as Bruce ambled over to her side, “comes where the heroine first
walks in on the other girl being fucked. It’s a nice setup, but then
the woman just seems to have her orgasm and fade away. The reader
needs more, I think.”

“More what?” Amy asked.

“Well,” Celeste continued. “For one thing, we can always use
facial expressions to hint at what a character is feeling. What
happens to her eyes? Is she smiling? Is she frowning? Is her face
relaxed, or scrunched up? Do you know what I mean?”

Amy nodded uncertainly. “I think so.”

“You think so. Have you ever actually seen a woman come?”
Celeste asked.

Amy flushed bright red. “Um… no, I can’t say I have,” she
admitted. “I guess I’ve been a good girl.”

“Well, there’s good and then there’s good,” Celeste laughed,
and turned Bruce around to face her. “Weren’t we just here a couple of
days ago?” she asked him with a grin. They both laughed. “We try not
to repeat locations too often,” she confided in us over Bruce’s
shoulder. “But we’ll make an exception this time.”

They certainly seemed to have had some practice. Celeste’s
arms went around Bruce’s neck as he untied the belt that held her
bathrobe together. She kissed him, hard, on the lips, and he kissed
back while his fingers ran lightly over her breasts and up and down
her thighs, stopping in between to caress her already-moist entrance.
Then Celeste shifted forward on the counter until she seemed to be
half-hanging from Bruce.

“Good, now… mmmm.” Celeste opened her eyes and looked at us
over Bruce’s shoulder. “Nice shoulders, huh?” She stroked them as he
shuffled forward and picked up one of her thighs in the crook of his
elbow. Celeste looked down and handled something between the two of
them, and then she grinned at us. “But it’s what’s – hmph – inside –
hmph – that counts,” she managed, her voice muffled in his shoulder.
With each “hmph” I saw her hands tighten around Bruce’s shoulders, and
his butt muscles begin to flex. Celeste’s knees drew even further
apart. You could sense Bruce slipping deeper into her with every
thrust.

Quietly, the two of them settled into a mutually satisfying
rhythm. Celeste’s cheeks squirmed back and forth, back and forth on
the countertop. There was a sort of squishy sound of flesh against
moist flesh. Amy looked at me, then tore a piece of paper off
Celeste’s notepad, which was lying on the table between us. She began
writing rapidly. “I’m going to try to write down exactly what this
looks like,” she told me.

“And sounds and smells like?” I asked. She nodded.

Celeste, at the sound of our voices, opened her eyes. “Does it
look like we do this often, you guys?” she asked conversationally.
“Well, I’ve never seen this man before in my life.”

“Yeah, right,” Bruce retorted. “Except last night, and three
times in November, and most of a week in October.”

“Oh yeah,” Celeste giggled. “Was that you in the boat out on
the lake? I thought I was going to fall in the water two or three
times.”

“Mmm hmm, and that was me when the park ranger caught us
fishing out of season up on Mount Boyce,” Bruce said.

“Well, no harm done there,” Celeste mused. “My, he was a cute
man.”

“And a happy one too, after a while,” Bruce added, not
wavering in his rhythm. That was when Celeste fell silent. Her brows
furrowed a little, as if she were trying to remember something.

“Ohhh, here it comes, Bruce,” she told him excitedly. “That
was quick!” Bruce, on cue, picked up his pace, and Celeste held him
even tighter, her lips reaching for his earlobe. One of her hands
snaked its way between his ass cheeks and took a firm grip on him, as
if to get control of the tempo in her own hands. She glanced at Amy.
“Are you writing down what you see?”

Then Celeste’s mouth clamped shut. Something had come over
her. She jerked against Bruce, and her probing hands went still. Her
head tilted back, her jaw went limp, and her face took on a slack,
faraway, searching expression. “Almost, almost, almost… ” she
whispered.

Amy had stopped scribbling, but her pen was still scratching
away. She was tracing some lines on the paper. She looked up at me for
a moment and shrugged. “There’s no way I’m going to get this into
words,” she smiled. “I’m going to have to fall back on drawing.”

I hadn’t suspected she was so multi-talented. A face was
beginning to take shape under her pen: Celeste, neck outstretched,
looking to the heavens, her eyes bright, looking remarkably like one
of those old paintings of Joan of Arc in her moment in glory. With
delicate shading, somehow Amy managed to capture Celeste’s hair flying
back and forth to the rhythm of Bruce’s pelvic motions. Her lips were
pulled back against her teeth as she strained for release. The figure
was so real you could almost hear it murmuring, then moaning, howling,
“Awww… make me come, lover, do it to me, ohhh fuck me fuck me fuck
me fuck me.” (I know it wasn’t that original, but it was her that was
moaning, not me.)

From: an477638@anon.penet.fi
Date: Sun, 18 Feb 1996 03:17:26 UTC
Subject: A Guest of Celeste: [2/2]

A Guest of Celeste
by
Ted
Part Two

With one last gasp, Celeste pulled Bruce into her writhing
body. Her toes curled inward as her legs gripped the backs of Bruce’s
thighs. She shook rapidly two or three times, then paused and shook
again, her head thrown back, keening unintelligibly.

The storm passed as suddenly as it had come. Celeste laid her
head on Bruce’s shoulder and waited for her breathing to slow down.
After a moment, she opened one eye and grinned at Amy and me, still
transfixed. “And that’s how that’s done, honeys,” she said. “Did you
get some good notes, or do we have to show you again?”

“Well, I got something,” Amy said. “But mostly I got this,”
and she rose to hand Celeste the drawing.

“Well, isn’t that something,” Celeste said. She held the paper
out where Bruce could see it. He nodded. “Multiple talents – a good
thing in a writer,” he said approvingly.

Celeste put her hands on Bruce’s chest, and he disengaged
himself and stepped back. She jumped down from the countertop. “OK,”
she said, all business again. “Let me just duck into the bathroom to
clean up a bit, and then we’ll proceed.”

Celeste led Bruce out of the room, and Amy and I sat in
silence for a few minutes. I held Amy’s drawing and stared at it. It
was beautiful. Down the hall a shower began to run, and we heard more
giggling.

It took only about ten minutes for Celeste and Bruce to return
to the kitchen. Celeste took charge right away. “For our next point,
Amy, I need you to climb up and sit on the table. Bruce, would you
take a seat?” Amy hoisted herself up onto the table while Bruce
straddled a chair facing her.

Celeste and Bruce seemed to have discussed this earlier,
because Celeste just said, “Bruce?” He nodded at her with a smile and
picked up Amy’s ankle and brought it to his mouth for a long kiss.
Then his tongue began roaming up her calf. When he stopped to nuzzle
the back of her knee, a little “Mmph” sound escaped from Celeste. I
looked over and caught her staring dreamily at the two of them.

In another moment, Bruce’s head was hidden under the hem of
Amy’s long skirt. I couldn’t stop myself from staring at her face. Her
eyes met mine, and she smiled uncertainly. “Pull it up for me?” she
whispered. I drew the cloth up toward her waist, exposing her long,
smooth thighs and Bruce, who had almost reached their junction.

Amy quickly lifted herself off the tabletop and sat back down,
and in a moment she was wearing no underwear. She had thrown her
weight back on her hands, out behind her, and her knees were spread
far apart as if to welcome Bruce home. One of her feet was wedged
under Bruce’s butt and the other was thrown on another chair three
feet away. I could only stare at her face -it seemed to fill the whole
room with an aura of contentment, and all the man was doing was
kissing her long legs. Her eyes were closed, and she breathed an
occasional “Ahhhh.”

Suddenly she gave a sharp intake of breath, and her face
tightened. Her hands folded into fists on the table. I looked down
sharply., Bruce’s tongue had reached out to touch Amy’s clitoris,
which was protruding ever so slightly from her moistened pussy lips. I
saw his tongue lash out again, and a few more times, and suddenly Amy
was holding him by the back of the head and pulling him into her. Her
head dropped to her chest and she began to pant alarmingly, her eyes
still closed. I watched as her bare bottom, moving hypnotically, edged
one of the coffee mugs along the table top until it fell to the floor
with a crash.

That snapped Celeste out of her reverie. “All right, enough,”
she said cheerfully. “Amy. Amy?” Bruce’s eyes were open now and he had
stopped sucking, but Amy was holding his head so tightly he couldn’t
go anywhere.

Gradually she released him. With a sheepish look at me and
Celeste, she patted her hair back into place, sort of, and began to
climb down off the table.

“No, stay there,” Celeste ordered. “Are you OK?”

“Yeah, but why did you stop him? I was just about to, uh, you
know… ” Amy faltered.

“Oh, there’ll be time for that,” Celeste replied. “For now,
tell me this: can you describe what Bruce was doing to you?”

“Well, you saw. He was, you know… licking my pussy,” Amy
admitted.

“No, I mean the feeling. How would you describe it?”

Amy remembered. “Oh yeah. Writing lesson. Well, now that I
think about it, his tongue is a little bumpy, too. It was almost like
a kitty licking me. And the way he worked his way up my legs so
slowly, that was just heavenly.”

“Hmm,” Celeste said, scribbling on Amy’s manuscript. “Kitty…
heavenly… OK. We’re getting at some stronger descriptive terms here,
aren’t we?” Amy nodded.

“Now can we – ”

Celeste held up a finger. “Ted, will you have a seat?” she
asked me.

I think Amy and I both figured out what was next at the same
moment. We looked at each other, and she quickly slipped off the table
and wriggled her hips. Her long skirt dropped to the floor, and she
was nude from the waist down. Then she tossed her buttocks back up on
the table, placed a foot on each of the two chairs, and gave me an
expectant half-smile.

I sat down between Amy’s legs and looked my gift-horse in the
mouth, so to speak. Then I changed my mind. Maybe I was a guest of
Celeste (or whoever this remarkable woman was), but that didn’t mean I
had to follow her every direction to the letter. I got up again. I
offered Amy my hand. With a doubtful look, she took it and rose. I
guided her onto her hands and knees on the tabletop, then took my
assigned position again. My lips grazed the cleft of her ass, then I
let my tongue flick out and lick deep between her cheeks. I heard a
gasp, but it might have been Celeste.

I tried to keep caressing her inner thighs with my hands, but
it was hard to keep my mind on it with these lovely upturned haunches
squirming in my face. So I just took a firm hold on her legs and let
my tongue do its thing, up and down her crease. Sometimes it seems to
go into automatic, and I’ve learned to just let it go.

After a few moments of that, I sat down. Amy’s pussy hovered
before me, wet and inviting. I took a tentative lick or two, savoring
the salty, faintly metallic effect on my tongue, and then I delved in,
seeking to taste her as deeply as I could. Amy’s body began to shake
and I heard her moaning, “uhhh, uhhhmmm… ” I was losing myself in
her multiple flavors.

I don’t know how long this went on, but suddenly Celeste was
pulling me back by the shoulders. “That’s all we need for now, kids,”
she said. “Let’s try to get back on track here.”

Amy fell to her tummy on the table and cradled her head in her
arms. “Ohhh, so close,” she sighed. Celeste, pen in hand, sat down at
the end of the table where Amy’s head lay. “Anything different there?”
she asked.

“Well… ” Amy mused. “His tongue is smoother, silkier. It may
be longer, too – I felt him deeper inside me than Bruce.” I felt
myself blushing at the compliment. “I felt almost like there was a
light coming toward me in a tunnel,” Amy continued. “You know? Like
an orgasm was just starting to appear… ” She fell silent as Celeste
wrote on the manuscript.

“Well, there was something in a tunnel, but it wasn’t a
light,” Bruce chortled. Amy shot him a wounded look. Celeste laughed.
“Now now, Bruce. Nobody likes a pun war, so hold your tongue. Oops.”
Now everyone was laughing.

Celeste finally got up. “Look at the time,” she said brightly.
“Better move on to the next phase in our studies, lest we be late for
lunch.” Amy, still only half-dressed, looked at her pitifully. “But…
” she began.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Celeste laughed. “A little too far along to
stop now, are you, my dear?” Amy nodded. “Well, we started a little
out of order,” Celeste said. “No harm in being flexible. Bruce, would
you like to help Amy out?” Bruce nodded eagerly and moved to the foot
of the table as Amy, eyes bright, sat down in front of him. Bruce
began his leisurely attention to Amy’s calves again, but she wasn’t
having it. “Oh, skip that,” she groaned. “Just eat me, will you?”

Bruce looked up and smiled, then nudged Amy’s knees aside with
his shoulders and dived into her vulva like it was a hearty entree.
Amy’s thighs immediately clamped themselves around Bruce’s head. After
a few seconds she let herself fall back slowly onto the table, where
she lay with her eyes closed, letting out little cries and moans.

Celeste, facing me across the table over Amy’s head, reached
over and took hold of me by the back of the neck. Gently she pressed
me downward until my cheek rested on Amy’s sweater. I got the idea. My
hand reached out and lifted the hem of her sweater toward me, until it
was bunched around her chest. Under the sweater she was wearing a
white shorty T-shirt, the kind that have been so popular lately. I
slowly raised that too. Her apple-sized breasts were heaving as I took
an experimental lick at one nipple, and she gasped and reached out to
hold my face against her. “Ohhh… that’s it,” she breathed. “Lick me
right th – ”

She was cut off in mid-sentence. Without moving, I glanced to
my right. Celeste had covered Amy’s mouth with her own and locked her
in a deep kiss. I watched, hypnotized, as the two women’s tongues
grappled in each other’s mouth.

Celeste was the first to come up for air. She gently pushed
Amy’s head to the side and began tonguing her ear and nibbling at the
lobe. “Is that what you like, girl? Is that it?” She whispered
urgently. “Mmmm. Mmmm. Uhhhh!” was all Amy could say. Her hips were
writhing so hard now I worried for the health of Bruce’s spine. Now
Celeste was planting little kisses and nibbles all over Amy’s face and
neck, and I just kept licking and kissing her nipples and the soft,
sensitive undersides of her breasts, and let my left hand play with
her belly button and brush through the curly wisps of hair below, near
Bruce’s rapt face.

I don’t need to tell you that after all this buildup, it would
have been a letdown if Amy hadn’t proceeded to come like a train
wreck. She did. Without warning, her whole body went tense. She
grabbed my neck and pulled me into her chest, while with her other arm
she held onto Celeste for dear life. Her hips took a jump off the
table that sent a wave along her body like a whip. It happened again.
And again. I saw her knuckles go white where she was gripping the edge
of the table. Then she drew a deep, quick breath through her mouth and
let out a yell that I immediately realized I would never be able to
transcribe. It was like the “Awwwoooo” that a wolf makes in the wild,
but thicker, full of exultation. It started in a low alto range and
went up until she was a coloratura soprano, and held there, and held
-then broke and skittered downward in a series of moaning yelps, each
softer than the last.

Celeste and I just sat there for a few moments, sort of paying
homage to the event, I guess, as Amy caught her breath. She was
whimpering weakly, eyes still closed, mouth hanging open, and her
hand, which had been hanging limp off the table, came up to wipe the
sweat off her forehead. “Are you with us, Amy?” Celeste murmured. Amy
nodded. She reached down to push away Bruce, who had been busy licking
up the last of the evidence off her inner thighs.

Gradually Amy pulled herself upright and climbed down off the
table. I got up to get a glass of water at the sink. Celeste rose and
gave Amy a quick hug. “Can you handle one more lesson before lunch,
dear?” she asked. “Or shall we call it a morning?”

Amy looked at me, then she looked at Bruce. I tried to look
noncommittal, but it was hard to ignore the boner that the previous
“lessons” had left me with. It was cantilevered out before me like the
arrow of a compass, pointing at what I knew I wanted.

Amy gave me a slow grin, then reached down to pull her sweater
over her head. Her T-shirt followed, and as her breasts bounced free,
her bare body seemed to gather an aura in the bright sunlight from the
window. Oh, great, I thought. Now my erection was in complete control
of me. It was one of those you only have a few times in a year – the
kind that feels like it’s pulling all the b***d from your body into
it, like it’s stretching your skin so hard your toes curl upwards and
your chin drops.

Amy padded across the floor to me and laid a hand on my chest.
Taking my cock in her other hand, she looked at Celeste. “Does it
involve more audio-visual aids?” she asked shyly. Celeste nodded.

“If you boys will sit up the table again, we’ll just get
going,” Celeste instructed. Bruce and I took our places next to each
other, and Celeste helped Amy into a chair in front of Bruce.

“One of the weakest areas of most people’s stories comes when
they describe this part,” Celeste said. “Amy, let’s see if you can get
a response from Bruce first.”

Amy licked her lips and dipped her head to Bruce’s lap. His
cock disappeared into her mouth like an animal entering its lair, and
I watched her cheeks begin to work him as her hand came up to stroke
his balls and the base of his thick rod. Celeste stood behind Amy with
her hands on the younger woman’s shoulders. “Not too enthusiastically,
dear,” she cautioned. “Let’s not make him come yet.” I have to say I
liked hearing the word “yet.” My balls were so tight they were almost
in pain, and the head of my dick seemed to be straining toward Amy’s
face of its own accord.

At a nudge from Celeste, Amy pulled back. A thick drop of
pre-come appeared at the end of Bruce’s dick. Amy looked up at
Celeste, who nodded approvingly. She leaned back in and licked it up,
and did the same with the next drop.

“Well, any words come to mind?” Celeste asked. Amy nodded
thoughtfully. “A little tangy,” she allowed. “A touch of sweatiness,
but I think that was there before. And the texture is very… clear.
Like a bottled water, compared with tap water, let’s say.” Celeste
reached out to scribble more notes.

Amy, without waiting for Celeste’s prompting, shifted over my
way. With a smiling glance into my eyes, she bent to take my cock into
her mouth once again. There was nothing exploratory about her this
time. Her lips clamped my shaft in place while her tongue attacked the
underside of the head like a jackhammer.

It wasn’t thirty seconds before I felt my own pre-come
beginning to flow, and knew I was going over the edge. With what
seemed right then like an enormous effort of will, I gently pushed
Amy’s determinedly sucking face away. Slowly she relinquished me, then
sat back and looked up at Celeste. “You were right!” she reported
excitedly. “It’s so different! His is a little less salty – it tastes
more, I don’t know, sweet?”

“Well, that would be unusual,” Celeste replied. “Are you
sure?”

“Yes, and the texture is thicker, smoother,” Amy said. “It
sits on your tongue a little, like anisette.”

“I don’t even know what that is,” Celeste laughed. “Is it
anything like Bailey’s?” Amy thought for a moment, looking a little
confused.

“Let me see,” Celeste said suddenly. She helped Amy out of the
chair and sat down in her place, took hold of my rock-hard cock with
one hand and leaned her head on the other, her elbow propped on my
knee. “Hmmm,” she observed. “Doesn’t look so out of the ordinary.
Except that it’s” – here she pantomimed knocking on it with her
knuckles – “about as hard as it’s ever been, eh?” And she smiled up at
me. I nodded helplessly and closed my eyes. Will I ever get this
erection tended to? I thought in despair.

Suddenly I felt an indescribably welcome warmth envelop the
head of my long-suffering member. Couldn’t be, I told myself. I’ve had
blow jobs before – was just having one a minute ago, in fact – but it
never felt this good. Slowly, relentlessly, the cottony-soft feeling
advanced up the length of my shaft, until I thought my balls
themselves might get drawn into this warm, gentle inferno. Then it
receded, and the almost painfully engorged head of my pole felt like
it was going to melt, like an M&M – you know, in your mouth, not in
your hand.

There has to be a trick, I kept thinking. I didn’t want to
open my eyes and look at what was going on, for fear that I’d see some
infernal contraption Celeste had been keeping in the basement,
something she had rigged up out of vacuum cleaner parts and leather
straps and hot terry towels. Something out of a Deirdre story.

Not the least of my concerns was, if it felt this good, how
would I ever go back to just plain old oral sex? Giving it and getting
it had been central to my idea of pleasure for so many years; I’d hate
for it to lose its shine.

But I had to look, of course. Slowly I opened my eyes. The
first thing I saw was Amy and Bruce staring at me, their eyes
twinkling. Nothing too scary there. Bruce, grinning, flashed me a
thumbs-up sign. Slowly, I looked down.

Celeste had swallowed my cock almost to its root. Her upper
arms resting on my thighs, her hands were holding her hair back and
out of the way. She let me slide slowly out of her mouth, and then
took me in again, and I thought this time I went even deeper. She was
savoring me, swaying a bit side to side, and sort of humming. She
wasn’t even applying any suction to speak of – just holding me,
bathing me, letting me acclimate to the soft grip of her lips and the
cushion of her satin tongue, smiling to herself, off in her own world
somewhere. I closed my eyes again, threw my head back and just basked
in the glow.

Before long I felt a pair of hands stroking my chest. Amy’s
arms were around me from behind, and she was feeling my hard nipples
with one hand and running the nails of the other through my pubic
hair. With a grunt, she gripped me tight and climbed up behind me so
she was kneeling on the tabletop, her knees on either side of my
thighs, her bottom resting on her ankles, her breasts and her belly
pressing into my back. She nuzzled at my neck and my cheekbones the
way Celeste had done to her just minutes ago, and whispered in my ear
between little licks, “Are you there yet? Are you going to come for
us?”

I couldn’t even nod, for fear that the motion would set me
off. For all that I wanted to come, needed to come, I wanted just as
badly to make it last. Celeste hummed to herself happily. She was so
clearly enjoying this, I wanted to let it go as long as I could for
her. I kept trying to empty my mind, but even when I closed my eyes,
the image of this gloriously pretty woman sitting before me, my cock
planted deep in her welcoming mouth, kept imposing itself on my
imagination.

When Amy shifted against me, and I heard her sudden soft gasp,
I knew somehow what was happening. I felt her lifting her hips just a
bit off the table, and I heard the squishy sound of Bruce’s fingers
gently feeling between her legs for the signal to enter. Her breath
tickled my ear as she whispered, “Yes, Bruce, please… ” she
breathed.

“Yes what?” he asked innocently.

“Yes, get yourself inside me right now!” she ordered him.

I felt the added warmth from his body as he stepped up to the
cleft of Amy’s ass, hanging almost off the narrow table, and fitted
his thick organ into her from behind. As he slid slowly into her, Amy
stiffened and began to move back and forth with him, while her hands,
seemingly on their own now, went on exploring my body. She reached
under my scrotum and scratched me lightly with her fingernails, then
reached out and stroked Celeste’s hollowed cheek.

This must have gone on for ten minutes. I was past the point
of even trying to control myself, leaving it to Celeste to decide my
fate. Celeste had just begun to suck a bit harder on me, pulling
softly with every withdrawal from her mouth, when Amy’s breathing
began to speed up and she squeezed my chest a little tighter with
every thrust from Bruce. She began to whimper and moan a bit, and then
she drew a deep breath and wailed, almost as if it were something
tragic, “Oh, Bruce, I think… I’m gonna come!”

Amy was bucking now, bumping me forward and back, her tits
pressing into me from behind. Bruce stood there and held her, his arms
around her belly, and her arms took an almost painfully firm grip
around my shoulders. The noise she was making roused Celeste from her
hypnotic state, and she let my cock slip from her mouth to look up at
Amy’s face with a big grin. “You go, girl,” she exclaimed, holding my
stiff pole in her hand. “Let it all out now!”

That was the end of my rope. With Amy jerking and wriggling
against my back, my own orgasm overtook me. Suddenly I was one of
those brown dwarf stars, collapsing to a single infinitesimal point of
infinite pressure and then exploding outward until I seemed to fill
the whole universe. My whole body shivered like an epileptic, shaking
apart around the still, small center that was Celeste’s two hands
holding me still against her warm skin. Through half-opened eyes I
saw her startled expression as the pale fluid leapt from my cock and
splashed against her chin and ran down her neck, then spurt again, and
then again, and again.

Her look of surprise turned slowly into a sunny smile as I
came down from my explosion. “What do you know, Ted,” she declared
with a giggle. “That was exactly the way it happened in that bit you
wrote about me.”

“Hmmm?” I asked spacily.

Celeste scooped up a glob of my sperm from her chest with one
finger and held it up for me to see. “‘Spurt after white spurt
splashes against her neck and her chin,'” she recited, “‘as Bruce
pumps into her from beneath and she grips us both just as tight as she
can.’ That’s what you wrote, if I’m not mistaken.” She grinned at me
again as she wiped the thick fluid off on my thigh. “What a
coincidence, eh?”

I looked at her sharply. The review of my little opus had been
positive enough, but I hadn’t suspected that she’d read it so
carefully as to quote it word for word. “Do I take it that
memorization is the sincerest form of flattery?” I asked.

“No,” she smiled regally. “This… is the sincerest form of
flattery,” and she bent again to take the head of my now totally
deflated penis between her lips. I could only nod in exhausted
agreement.

Amy undraped herself from my body and Bruce helped her climb
slowly down off the table. “Wow. My knees are pretty shaky,” she
observed. Celeste rose and came around to take her other arm. “Yeah,
sorry about that,” she said. “I really meant to do all this in that
nice carpeted bedroom down the hall, but once we got under way it
seemed uncivilized to stop.”

Now, in any self-respecting piece of pornography, we would all
have gone on screwing madly the rest of the afternoon. This being real
life, though, every one of us was bone-tired (so to speak) and needed
a rest. Celeste, ever the realist, was the first to recognize it. She
proposed making some sandwiches and driving over to the miniature golf
course to goof off for a while, which sounded to me like a nice way to
recover, even though I’m hopeless at miniature golf. After that, she
said, we’d have some dinner, turn in early and get some sleep, because
there was another lesson plan to cover tomorrow.

“And hey, let’s all make sure we sleep alone, OK?” she
cautioned us all, her eyes twinkling. “It’d be a shame to use up our
supplies of, ah, libido before we need them again,” she said with what
I thought was a glance at my midsection. The way my own equipment was
feeling, I didn’t think that would be any problem.

Well, I may tell you about the rest of the weekend later, if I
get the time. I know most people are not going to believe that any of
this happened. The coincidences are just too weird. (And it’s true
that it never happened to anyone named Bruce, Amy or Ted, because I’ve
changed all those names.)

What people believe isn’t important, though, because I’ve got
my mental movie of that eventful weekend, and that’s all that matters.
That and the piece of paper I keep tucked away in a book on a high
shelf in my office, where I take it down and admire it every time I’m
tempted to doubt my own memory. It’s the pen-and-ink drawing Amy made
of Celeste’s face in the midst of an explosive orgasm. Her eyes are
squinched half-shut, her mouth is open, her hair is flying every which
way, and she is looking at the sky like a saint in the throes of
religious ecstasy. It’s a vision I shall never forget.