Los Cinco Hermanos Ch. 11

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Ass Licking

Chapter 11

Wherein a soft screw preludes a trip to Avalon and inspiration for a movie

Author’s note: this is part 11 of a 12-part story arc which I’ve put under Group Sex (see Chapter 1). Like all my stories, it begins with character development and in this case, over several chapters. The chapters can have the elements of a number of different categories and I will try to give advance warning. This one is primarily Group, Bi/Lesbian, Fantasy and Nonsexual touristy-type story. And a gentle reminder: this is all Fiction — Willing Suspension of Disbelief recommended…

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Morning came way too early.

I woke up curled up in front of Aaron, leaking down my thighs with his monster cock wedged between my butt cheeks. I must have gotten truly twisted somewhere in the last couple of weeks, because I was lying there seriously contemplating how to get that “pound of flesh” into me.

He had been the consummate gentleman the night before. I’d grabbed a shower before going to bed, mostly to get the chlorine off, and he joined me, doing a wonderful job of scrubbing my back — and just about everything else. I came, standing in the shower with my hands on his shoulders and his face in my pussy.

Then he gave me a thorough and gentle massage. Vicki was right… he really knew what he was doing. In fact, he did it so well, I fell asleep in the middle of it. Which is why, this morning, I woke to lascivious dreams and a desire to have him in me.

Now, Sandy takes the cake for being able to be over-the-top, but I can be pretty determined, too. Especially when it comes to sexual pleasure. I reached back and found his cock with my hand and bent forward a little, trying to guide it to my slit.

It was too damned long.

So I hitched myself up a little farther in the bed and leaned out some more, trying to line him up. Which is when he spoke.

“May I help you with that?” he asked and lifted my leg, gently spreading my lips and guiding his very turgid member into me.

Oh. My. God. I gave a heavy sigh as I settled down onto him. He felt so damned good! He was about the same thickness as Dave, but longer and with a more pronounce flair to his glans, and God, was it rubbing me in all the right places! I let him pull me back into him as he started a slow, methodical, drive-me-crazy stroking.

“Are you into a long, lazy fuck?” he asked. “Or do you want a blow-you-out-of-the-bed cum?”

“The first one,” I mumbled through my soft gasps as he drove into me.

He adjusted his stroking until he found the depth I could most comfortably take, then reached his hand over my waist and hip, letting his fingers trail across my mons, gently pulling at my lips and clit.

Oh, God, did he know how to stretch it out! He had me humming like the bad transformer outside my condo, and it wasn’t going to pop any time soon. This was long haul, how much pleasure can you take type fucking and he was very, very good at it.

“God, Aaron, you’re marvelous,” I mumbled. “How’d you ever get into porn?”

“University,” he told me with nary a pause in his excellent, excellent fucking.

“University?” I iterated, confused.

“I was scraping my way through, no scholarships or financial aid, working bartender and bouncer and any other odd jobs I could find, trying to get a B.A. in Liberal Arts. One weekend, a few of my buddies and I were doing our version of an orgy — four girls and the four of us guys — at one of the guys’ trailers and one of them told me that hung like I was, I should make porn films. I didn’t believe him until one of the girls concurred. I told them I would probably freeze up on camera, and besides, I had no idea where to start.”

“One of the girls offered to hook me up with a producer friend of hers. Turns out she was turning tricks to get through school and found the acting a lot less hassle for a lot more money. So I let her talk me into it and I was talented enough, it paid my way through my Bachelor’s and my Masters in Art History. I kind of got too busy doing shoots — and then commercial advertising — to go for my Doctorate.”

“Well, I would definitely say,” I smiled, “that I’m getting fucked by a Master.”

“Not at the moment,” he answered with a slightly more serious tone than I was expecting. “But would you like to be?”

I had to think about what he meant… which was a little difficult with his hefty package slamming me into Oblivion. Then the lamp lit.

“If you’re talking Master/Slave,” I told him, “no thanks. A little light Dom/Sub, B&D maybe, but not the heavy stuff. And besides, for BDSM, Sandy’s your girl.”

“Fair enough,” he agreed. “Is it okay with you if I cum?”

“I’d like to get off a few times before you do,” I told him honestly.

“Okay… and afterwards, do you want to get off a few times before the next one?”

The Next One??? Um…

“Define ‘next one’, please,” I told him.

“The second, third, fourth time I orgasm, and so forth,” he answered.

“You bursa escort can do that?”

Okay, I’m a bit naïve in some areas, in spite of the way Los Cinco Hermanos introduced me to the whole object of their attention scene.

“Sure,” he assured me. “I have to pretty much be able to cum on cue when we’re filming.”

“I’m not a job to you, am I?” I was suddenly suspicious.

“Oh, no!” he told me. “Hell no! You’ve got a warm, slick pussy that’s pulsing on me and doing some really nice things to my head — both of them. You are definitely not a job!”

“Can you make me cum on cue?” I really wasn’t sure how this On-Demand thing worked.

“Not make,” he told me, “but certainly encourage you to get off.”

“Then yes, I’d like a couple of cums before you do, each time, for as many as you want to have. I am more than happy just like this, but I’d also be happy reduced to a pile of orgasmic mush.”

Aaron was as good as his word. He’d build me up slowly, between fucking me and diddling my clit and nipples until I was ready, then take me over the top with a fast and furious fucking that damn near made me pass out. And he’d do it two or three times before he’d let himself cum. When he finally did, it was fantastic. He’d get this low growl started just before everything tensed up, and then he’d spasm, hard, filling me with his hot seed until it was dripping out of us.

Absolutely fan-fucking-tastic.

We were still at it when Molly came looking for us.

“Jerry wants me to remind you about what he said about not sleeping in too terribly late,” she told us. “The Wardrobe Department is now officially open.”

Aaron and I managed to get disentangled and showered in fairly short order. Then we went looking for everybody else. It turned out that Jerry had a couple of racks of vintage clothing down in the Studio and people were already pawing their way through the available outfits.

Aaron cut me loose, explaining that he already had his tux for the night, and went to talk to Jerry while I joined Sandy, Vicki and Ginger at the racks. I picked out a bare-backed gown with a halter-type bodice in black satin and matte silk, which was form-fitting to the hips, then flared out to the floor. A mildly sequined jacket to go with it and I thought I was good to go. Until Jerry broke out the jewelry selection.

I think he was trying to make me shit myself. His suggestion for me was a diamond necklace with matching earrings. When I asked him to confirm they were costume, he assured me they were not.

$175,000 not.

“So don’t lose them, okay?” he smiled as he offered the set to me. “They were one of my mother’s favorite sets and I think they will look stunning on you.”

“Is this what we’re wearing to go sailing?” I asked, indicating the outfits everyone was trying on.

“Not at all!” Jerry laughed. “We’ll pack them up and take them with us… we can change onboard once we’re done with the sightseeing, before the ball. For sailing, wear something loose and comfortable, that will protect you from the sun and wind, and that you don’t mind getting wet.”

“Oh, I don’t mind getting wet!” Sandy called over from the rack of clothes… she was still browsing. “Is Aaron coming with us?”

“No, but I’ll meet you there,” he told her. “And speaking of which,” he turned back to Jerry, “yes, I’d be willing to help you out and right now I have to bail. I’ve got a meeting this afternoon before we head out to Avalon. So I’ll catch you later.” He held out his hand and Jerry shook it, then with a wave to everyone else, Aaron left.

“So who’s coming along again?” I asked as we piled into Jerry’s limo for the drive to Marina del Rey.

“Me and Ginger, Dave and you, Paul and Sandy and Ron and Essie. Jackson and Molly can’t make it,” Jerry explained. “We’ll meet Pam and Auggie, and Vicki and Aaron there this evening. They’ll take the ferry. We’re taking Oneiroi.”

“What the hell is an O-Neery?” Sandy piped up. “Sounds like somebody whose cow started a fire.”

“The Oneiroi were the three sons of Hypnos, the Greek god of sleep. They represented the three kinds of dreams — Morpheus was the god of dreams, Phobetor was the god of nightmares and Phantasos was the god of false dreams and illusions. In this case, Oneiroi is the name of my boat.”

“Oh…” Sandy seemed a little confused and a little entranced by the way Jerry could reel off Greek mythology as though he were living it. For my part, I was impressed by the incredible intelligence he kept throttled down around us, and I was willing to bet both he and his sister were certified geniuses.

When we got to Marina del Rey, Jerry wound his way through a confusing maze of wharves and parking lots until he got to one where he stopped.

“Okay, folk, we walk from here,” he announced and we all piled out, following him out onto one of the piers extending into the harbor. It didn’t take long to find his “boat”… a 70′ long Kurt Hughes trimaran.

“Aren’t kestel escort you supposed to call this thing a ‘ship’?” I asked Jerry, looking at the sleek, white craft before us.

“Actually, it’s a ‘vessel’,” Jerry smiled. “The rest of it is open to debate and I don’t. Get aboard and stow your stuff in the lockers below. Ginger, get coffee going — you know where everything is. Dave, help me secure the mooring lines. We’ll motor out of the marina, then raise sail.”

Those who knew what they were doing got going and the rest of us got out of their way. I was incredibly impressed, regardless of what you called this vessel. It didn’t take long before we were skimming our way over the water, headed for Santa Catalina Island.

For my part, on the pretense of going to the galley for a mug of coffee, I did a little prowling and was surprised at how incredibly roomy the boat was. It could sleep eight comfortably, had plenty of lounge space across from the galley, an impressive communications setup including radar and GPS, a fresh water shower in the head and even a place for a rubber boat — Jerry called it a Zodiac — hanging off the stern. See? I even picked up some nautical jargon, like “galley” for the kitchen, “head” for the bathroom and “stern” for the back end of the boat.

There wasn’t much swell as we crossed the Pacific headed south towards Two Harbors. Jerry wanted to show us several attractions in the area before sailing on down to Avalon. At the risk of sounding like an ad for the place, there’s a lot of things to do on the island.

For land-based activities, there’s zip-lining for an aerial view of the surrounding waters, hiking and backpacking up to high terrain for a similar view, and bike or bus tours of the island and its beaches. Water-based attractions included glass-bottom boats, kayak tours, sailing, semi-submersible submarines and so forth. Diving and snorkeling are treats unto themselves, with a wide variety of underwater landscapes, flora and fauna.

And then there’s the flying fish. No shit. I thought Jerry was joking when he told us about them, but honest-to-God they showed up around us as we got nearer the island and were flying all around us. I mean seriously, they can leap out of the water as much as 30 feet and can glide nearly a mile. It is absolutely the weirdest thing I have ever seen. Weirdest natural thing, I should say. As in, not man-made.

We had an absolute blast all day and it only got better that night. Jerry moored in Avalon Harbor and called for a water taxi to take us to the Casino, where the Ball was being held. It was a bit of a zoo below decks as we all tried to get ready in our 1930’s attire, but we managed it, knowing we’d have to “fix our faces” and so forth once we got on land.

We met up with Pam, Vicki and Aaron at the Catalina Coffee and Cookie Company and I got introduced to Augustus, Pam’s husband — and it was definitely a treat. He looks a lot like Sir Patrick Stewart, bald with a silver goatee and definitely had my hormones tugging in his direction. Very trim, twinkly blue eyes, a luscious laugh, and God, did he rock the tux! And Dr. Pam knew I was gawking.

“See something you like?” she teased me, sidling up next to me and putting her arm around my waist.

“You know I do,” I told her in a low voice. “Just because I’m on a diet, doesn’t mean I can’t look at the menu.”

“Who said you were on a diet?” she asked, and that stopped me in my tracks.

“Are you implying…” I drawled.

“No,” she stated, putting her arm around me and leaning into my ear, “I’m stating explicitly. Let us just say that after hearing of some of my exploits and based on the pillow-talk, there is definitely a mutual interest. We can talk about it more later, after we get to the Ball.”

“Be still my beating heart,” I smiled to Pam.

“Oh, no!” she answered in mock horror. “Definitely keep beating! Doctor’s orders. No cardiac arrest allowed!”

I had to laugh. After all, she was a doctor… a nurse with a PhD.

“What’s funny, luv?” Augustus asked, turning from his conversation with Jerry.

“Oh, nothing,” Pam smiled. “Beth was simply contemplating having a heart attack and I instructed her not to…”

Auggie, as he had instructed his friends to call him — and he included Jerry’s entire entourage in that definition — looked a little puzzled for a moment, the brightened.

“Please tell me it wasn’t because you shared parts of our earlier conversation,” he pleaded, affecting concern.

“Um, sorry… can’t do that,” Pam smiled, then took my arm and started dragging me towards the Casino.

“If you and Dave want any of this…” she indicated herself and me, “you’d better get moving and catch up!” And with that she basically took over, guiding me through the queue to enter and giving me the basic rundown on where everything was.

I’m not going to get into a History of Architecture lecture here, but if you don’t know what the Avalon Casino is like, Google gürsu escort it. Seriously. It is absolutely the most gorgeous example of extant art deco I have ever had the pleasure to walk through. For the purposes of the Charity Ball, they had Big Band era entertainment in the form of Dean Mora and his Avalon Ball Orchestra, playing songs from the 1920’s and ’30’s. The food and drink were great, the dance floor was awesome and the view of the ocean from the veranda was spectacular. It was also wickedly titillating — especially when Pam caught Auggie copping a feel.

I had walked out on the balcony, or veranda, or whatever it’s called — I guess they call it a breezeway — that runs around the upper floor of the Ballroom and looks out over both the ocean and parts of the city of Avalon itself. The light breeze was refreshing after several turns around the dance floor with Dave, Paul and Aaron — I hadn’t gotten to Ron and Jerry, yet — and I was leaning out over the rail, letting my tits air out, generally out of sight. I guess my ass might’ve been sticking out a bit because before I realized what was happening, Auggie slid his hand up my ass, then my back, then across my shoulders before he leaned against the rail next to me and smiled, looking down at my cleavage virtually pouring out of the skintight sequined satin dress.

“Hello, Beth,” he smiled and I started to melt. I mean, really… Sir Patrick Stewart six inches from me.

“Hi,” I returned, trying to stuff my tits back in my dress.

“You needn’t do that,” he offered. “I am a great aficionado of erotic art, and right now you definitely qualify.”

I guess I blushed a little. “Thank you,” I told him, “though I think such high praise isn’t deserved.”

“Oh, it’s deserved alright,” he assured me. “I noticed you like to dance, and you’re very good at the vintage dances. I was hoping I might catch your attention.”

“Oh, you caught my attention alright,” I told him. It kind of slipped out of my mouth before my brain could intercept it.

“Really?” he grinned. “As a dance partner?”

“As any kind of partner,” I admitted. Having stuck my foot in my mouth, I figured what the Hell? — I was going to level with him. He grinned even more.

“That is very good to know,” he smiled and reached out to brush some of my errant hair out of my face. “Pam tells me you are a most remarkable woman.”

“I’ve heard that,” I told him, “although I really don’t understand why. I’ve fallen in with a randy crowd who bring out the beast in me… I mean, best. I’m just along for the ride and wondering what rabbit hole I fell down.”

“As I understand it,” he continued to smile, “you are fairly awesome in several areas. Pam says you are the consummate professional, able to teach the most challenging students, an intelligent and well-read friend, able to converse on a wide range of subjects, and that you have the most amazing sexual reactions she’s ever run across — with the possible exception of your friend Sandy. Not to be too crude about it, and… I understand you excite easily and are very apt to have a superfluity of essence — something which, again not trying to be crude — I find very exciting.”

I took a breath and let it out. If I was going to bed this man, imagining what Pam would do as his wife was probably a good start. I was already swollen and ready to start leaking. I decided to chance it.

“Check,” I told him, lifting the front of my dress, facing away from the ballroom.

His eyebrow went up but he only hesitated for a moment before he silently slipped his hand down inside my panties and felt around for my snatch. When he found it, he ran a couple of circles around my clit with his finger, causing me to take a sharp intake of breath. When he moved his hand lower to my slit and parted my labia, I damn near came. Then he inserted a finger.

“Oh, my…” were his quiet words as my juices ran out and around his finger. “That is… incredible.”

“You turn me on,” I told him simply. “Sorry if that offends you.”

“Offends? Not on your life!” he replied, slipping in another finger and feeling around. “And a very swollen G-spot. Nice…”

“You keep that up and I’m going to cum right here, hanging on to the railing,” I warned him.

He didn’t say a word. He just went after my G-spot with his fingers and my clit with his thumb. It was less than thirty seconds before I was holding on to his neck for dear life, my face buried in his tux to keep the moaning as muffled as I could as I came my brains out from his diddling.

“Pam was right,” he told me, still in that soft voice. “You are very… responsive.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” I managed to mutter into his chest. “What gave it away?”

“Would it upset your plans for the evening if I were to ask you to spend a significant amount of time making love with me?” he asked and I knew the answer before he even got the question out.

“I’m going back to Jerry’s with Dave tonight, but he’s never given me shit about sharing with others, so it is, in the polite vernacular, ‘a distinct possibility’ — provided your wife approves. I don’t screw with married couples’ relationships… the only reason I bedded her is because she assured me you would have no problem with it. Hopefully, she’d return the favor.”

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