It's Sweaty Down South
I recently took a new job at a small university down south. My wife didn’t want to move the kids before the school year ended, so I was commuting home every couple of weeks. I had a little apartment in a complex run by the university for new faculty members and staff. It wasn’t a very good arrangement, but I was enjoying my new job and the neighbors were congenial so the time went pretty fast.
My new job involved coordinating programs across departments, and one afternoon I was in the language department talking to one of the French teachers. She was petite, dark haired, a curvaceous woman in her thirties. It was a hot day, and she was wearing a loose cotton shift that draped over her firm breasts. When she sat at her desk, I could see the strap of her thong through the sheer fabric. I had to work pretty hard to meet her eyes as we talked about designing a French course for my students. Her eyes were deep and brown, and she had an earnest arch to her brow as we talked.
We were making good progress when her officemate entered. She was also new – she lived down the hall from me – and also new to the country, having just come from Germany. Tall and willowy, she had short blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes and a boyish figure, with small, high breasts, slender hips and a flat stomach. We were on friendly terms, having occasionally gone running together in the mornings, and I knew she was in good shape.
“Hi, Kiersten,” I greeted her.
“Hi, Mitch,” she said as she sat at her desk. She swiveled in her chair to face us, her legs casually akimbo. Her short denim skirt gave me just a glimpse of a red silk thong stretched over her mound. She was wearing a cotton tank top that left no doubt she was not wearing a bra. “So you met Brigitte?” Her English was very good, but she had a slightly throaty accent.
“We talk about a course special for her students,” Brigitte volunteered. Brigitte had that fluid French accent, and little grammar mistakes, that I had always found irresistible.
“They should be studying German,” Kiersten said primly, maybe joking.
“I’m sure you can talk them into it if anyone can,” I said lightly. I stood up. “Thank you, Brigitte. Let me look at the schedule and we can settle the details later. I’ll let you get back to work.”
They gave me sunny farewell smiles as I left the room.
That evening, I was working on my lecture for the next day sitting at the table in my little apartment, when there was a knock at the door. I opened it to find Kiersten.
“Hi, Mitch,” she said, handing me a fluted glass of champagne. “Why don’t you come join us for a little drink?” She cocked her head and I looked down the hall to see Brigitte standing in the doorway of Kiersten’s apartment. I thought briefly of my lecture notes, only half done, and my wedding ring, but my dick took over just in time.
“Thanks, I’d love to.” I took the glass and clinked it to hers and took a sip as the door swung closed behind me.
Kiersten’s little apartment had a single small couch, and I sat between them. We talked about university politics and the quality of the students and polished off the champagne. Kiersten went to get another bottle, and Brigitte turned to face me, her back against the arm of the couch and her legs crossed. We were all a little tipsy.
“Ees hot,” she said, lifting the hem of her skirt as though to fan herself and giving me a glimpse of a white cotton thong stretched tight over a voluptuously curved and obviously shaven pussy. She caught me looking and smiled with that arch curve of her brow.
“So, Mitch,” Kiersten said as she returned with a cold bottle of champagne and refilled our glasses. “If Americans are so prudish, why is every TV show about sex?”
She leaned down to refill my glass and let me look down her dress. Her firm little breasts swayed gently inside the loose fabric. She looked up as though to make sure I was looking and smiled when she caught my eye.
“I don’t think we’re prudish,” I said. “I think we’re actually pretty free. Some people wish they could make us prudish, but really I think Americans are pretty fixated on the pleasures of the here and now.”
“Ees eet true that American boys will lick ze, how you say, poussee?” Brigitte said. She pronounced it with the accent on the last syllable: poussEE. She pouted at me, awaiting my answer.
“Yes,” I said. Her shift had ridden up over her splayed thighs and her crotch was clearly visible. There was a small wet spot on her thong. “French boys don’t?”
“Non,” she said. “Only ze girls.”
“The boys just don’t want to take the trouble to give the woman pleasure.”
She squirmed a little, and discreetly ran her hand over her crotch.
“But they all want their, what do you call it, schwanz – tail – sucked.” Kiersten was sitting on the opposite arm of the couch. Her short skirt left no need for imagination. “It’s not nice for the woman.”
“I don’t think you have to think of it that way,” I said. I touched the cool champagne glass to the inside of her thigh and rolled it slowly toward her snatch. She spread her legs a little wider and her eyelids fluttered. “The woman’s mouth is very pleasurable for the man. Most people say “dick”, by the way. The lips and tongue are dynamic in a way that the poossee is not.” I smiled at Brigitte and ran my fingers gently up her thigh. She shivered and her nipples pressed against her bodice. “And if a man knows what he is doing, the man’s mouth can be very pleasurable for the woman. In an even give and take, the whole thing just makes more pleasure for both.”
Brigitte flung one leg over the back of the couch and laid the other across my lap. She scooted down so that her dress rode up past her waist and her thong was taut against her pubis.
“So,” she said, a little breathless. “American boys – do they do eet like a girl?”
“How do we do eet?” I said with a smile. I kissed her thigh and set my glass down. I ran my tongue down the tender inside of the thigh toward her steaming crotch. Leaning down, I nuzzled her slit through the damp fabric. With my nose, I gently prodded her little hooded spot. She breathed deeply and thrust her cunt at me. With the flat of my tongue, I licked along the seams of her thong. She writhed.
Straightening, I used both hands to pull her undies off, carefully disentangling them from her comely feet. Kiersten was watching intently, breathing a bit raggedly as she massaged her own sex through her soaked panties.
Leaning back down, I nuzzled Brigitte’s now naked pussy. The outer lips were full and round and of the same deep olive color as the rest of her body. Her inner lips peeked out deep purple. I ran my tongue flat along the outsides of her outer lips, leaving them glistening. She moaned. I nibbled along the ridges and she moaned some more. With my tongue, I gently separated the other lips from the inner, then nibbled oh-so-lightly at the ruffled edges of her inner lips. She writhed, spreading her legs as far as she could, trying to press herself into my mouth. I ran my tongue up the length of her inner lips, still sealed, and let the tip of my tongue explore gently her mons. She began to pant.
Kiersten got up and when she came into my view she was naked. Her pussy was neatly trimmed, just a powdering of downy blonde fur highlighting her lips and a little patch on her pubis to show the way. She bent over Brigitte and helped her out of her cotton dress, and as Brigitte lay back down, Kiersten unbuckled her bra and massaged her round tits. They kissed.
I continued to run my tongue over the opening to Brigitte’s inner sanctum, gently separating the lips a little further each time. The purple color of the lips gave way to a deep pink toward her opening. I lay my tongue flat along it and massaged it up and down. Kiersten was kissing and fondling her tits, blowing gently on the nipples to make them erect. Brigitte was panting deeply.
Probing with the tip of my tongue, I now found her clitoris. Shy at first, it was now standing up begging for my attention. I licked it gently with my tongue, prodding it after each stroke with the tip.
“Oh! Mon dieu!” she cried. “That’s mahvelous! Wonderful!”
I cupped her little man with my mouth, sealing my lips over her entire mound, and began a rhythmic massage of her clit. Her breath was coming in long, deep pants. I slipped my thumb into the opening of her cunt and slid it slowly in and out, a little deeper each time. She flung her tan legs in the air and began to pant faster.
“Oh! Oui! Oui!”
I pushed my thumb all the way in and tickled her asshole with my pinky, maintaining a steady rhythm on her clit with my tongue. I felt her climax as her pussy gripped my thumb and her body convulsed, her legs taut and quivering, straight in the air. She held her breath for one beat, then two, while the waves of ecstasy subsided, then flopped on the couch.
I gently pulled my thumb out of her and sat back, my face slathered with her juice.
“That is how we do eet,” I said.
“Oh, Mitch,” she moaned. She pronounced it “Meeeetch”. “You are as good as a girl.”
Kiersten was standing before me, her legs parted. I could see her lips swollen and shiny under their downy cloud cover. She ran her hands up her body, cupping her breasts. She knelt and pushed my knees gently apart, running her hands up my thighs, under the baggy legs of my shorts, to where my dick was straining at the fabric. Her erect nipples grazed my legs gently as she reached my big boy and stroked it.
“So, show me how it can be pleasurable?” She tugged at my shorts. I lifted my butt and let her pull them off. My dick sprang free.
“For me or for you?”
“First, for you. Then you’ll show me what give-and-take means.”
“Well, first you have to learn to like it.” She was still stroking me lightly. Brigitte was watching through lidded eyes, her pussy oozing juice.
“That’s right,” I told her gently. “Now kiss it. Kiss it on its little lips.”
She leaned forward and gave my big boy a smooch. Then another, her lips slightly parted. Tentatively, she took an inch or so into her mouth.
She did. What with getting Brigitte off, I was starting to ooze pre-come.
“Yech!” she exclaimed, rocking back on her haunches. Her pussy was open, wet. “It’s salty!”
“I will try eet,” purred Brigitte. She crawled over to me and took my rock-hard dick between her soft lips. Kiersten remained squatting in front of us, watching with a mixture of disgust and envy. She slowly rubbed her own pussy. Brigitte was taking ever deeper strokes, pulling me further and further into her mouth. I could feel my prick probing her throat as she expertly caressed me with her tongue, in and out.
“Oh, Brigitte,” I said with a groan. “You’re really good at eet.”
She stopped sucking long enough to look up at me, smiling sweetly. She stroked my dick with one hand.
“How you say? Practice make perfect?” She went back for more practice. It was perfect.
Kiersten stood now and put one foot on the couch next to me, spreading her tawny pussy and thrusting it at my face.
“Give me what you gave Brigitte,” she said. Her face was flushed.
I lay back on the couch, careful not to move out of Brigitte’s range, and guided Kiersten on top of me. She knelt on the couch, straddling me, and brought her pussy lips to mine. They were pale and delicate, like an orchid, the skin almost translucent. I gently massaged the outer lips with my tongue and heard her moan appreciatively. She spread her legs a little further, sitting further down. I nibbled at her inner lips, which were damp and starting to swell. Using the tip of my tongue, I explored her slit, looking for her little warrior. There she was, peeking out from under her fleshy helmet, stiff and ready. I flicked at her clit. Kiersten tossed her head and moaned. She liked it.
My dick was swelling under Brigitte’s expert attentions. I thrust my hips upward, involuntarily trying to push further in. She met my thrusts, raising herself up to straighten her throat, and I felt my man slide past her tongue into neverland. She gagged only slightly, then slid me almost all the way out, dragging her tongue along the tender thread before swallowing me again, all the way down, no gagging this time.
I kept working on Kiersten. I gripped her ass with both hands, gently spreading her cheeks, and fondled her asshole with one finger.
“Oh!” she cried.
I tightened my lips around her mound and rubbed her clit rhythmically with my tongue. Her breath was ragged as she panted. I pushed my finger carefully into her anus as I picked up the pace with my tongue.
“Oh!” she cried again. “Yes! I can feel…! I’m…!” Her body tensed and she held her breath. I could feel her orgasm coursing through her sex as I massaged her clit and moved my finger gently in and out. She convulsed once, then twice.
The drama of Kiersten’s orgasm was too much. With a groan, I came in Brigitte’s mouth and down her throat. Gamely, she kept sucking me in and out, taking every drop. I could hear her swallowing as I shot my load. As she swallowed, her throat flexed, gripping the tip of my bad boy and heightening the intensity of my orgasm. Kiersten rolled off the couch and crouched on the floor, watching Brigitte suck me, little rivulets of my essence leaking past her lips and down my shaft.
My man was shrinking in Brigitte’s mouth as she let him slip out and sat back on her haunches. She tucked the stray threads of my come into her mouth with a Mona Lisa smile. Kiersten reached for her, drawing her comely face down into a deep, tongue-swapping kiss.
“Mmm,” Kiersten said as they separated, both a little breathless. “That’s not so bad. Kind of like an oyster. Maybe next time, I’ll give and you can take, Mitch.”
Like I said, I was enjoying this new job.