2 comments/ 9967 views/ 7 favorites Mountain West By: stfloyd56 I worked the entire summer – the hottest one on record – outside, mowing lawns at the hospital in the blistering heat. That is, the lawns that I could actually get to grow grass. It was also the driest summer on record, and the hospital grounds didn't have a sprinkler system. I had to use hoses to maintain the grass in close proximity to the building itself. The hoses wouldn't reach farther than about 100 feet from the building in any direction, but because of my efforts, that left a fairly large area of the grounds lush with thick grass. The rest turned gold, except for a thin pale green area in between the dark green and the bright gold that would catch a little, but not enough, of the sprinklers' spray. I worked at the hospital with my roommate and best friend Greg. Greg was an EMT. We were both ostensibly saving money for school, but by August the heat had wilted our aspirations for fiscal pragmatism. If we had any hopes to make it successfully through our final year of college when it began in September, we need some relief – from the heat and the daily grind of having to rise each morning at 6:00 a.m. to endure work, most days suffering from massive hangovers and very little sleep. So, on August 1, we both put in our two weeks notice and began making plans for a trip to the Mountain West, into the Rockies where the temperature and the pace of life was certain to plummet as precipitously as the slopes that fell from its impressive peaks. We had been told that the little window of time that we had planned for our visit promised fair weather, but what we hadn't planned on was the fairer sex. For a span of three weeks, I was exposed to a variety of beautiful girls with whom I experienced unparalleled sexual gratification. Greg and I really only had one planned destination on our itinerary, the Cloud Peak Wilderness Area in the Big Horn Mountains of Wyoming. We intended to hike there for a week. The remaining two weeks of our trip we would wing it, traveling wherever the wind blew us and our limited savings could take us. We planned to camp as often as we could to save money. Our only real expense would be gasoline. So as long as we avoided eating in restaurants, shopping for useless shit that we did not need, and drinking in bars, we might actually make it back to school with a little money left in the bank. But we had two weeks to go before we finished work, and we still had to suffer through the dog days of August. The next weekend, Greg and I drove to my parent's house. I needed to pick up my camping equipment. I didn't keep it at school. On Saturday night after we had grabbed my stuff, we stopped over to visit some friends of mine from high school. They were asking us about our upcoming trip, where we intended to go, and if there was anyone we might try to stop and see along the way. "Well, we'll stop in the Hills, and there are plenty of people there that we know," I said. "We can always stay at Jake's or at Greg's brother's place. But other than my sister out in Washington, I don't anybody who lives out west. "Ellie's out in Montana. She just left to go back there yesterday. You could stop and see her," my buddy Tim said. "Who's Ellie?" I asked. I was unfamiliar with anyone by that name; it certainly wasn't anyone that I had gone to school with. "Ellie Lundberg. You know her don't you?" Mark Fleming asked. "She went to Kennedy. She would definitely show you a good time." Kennedy was the high school on the east side of town. I didn't know all that many kids that went there. "Did she 'show you a good time' last weekend, Mark?" Tim asked chuckling. "Nah, I wish. She sure is cute, though, and a hell of a lotta fun – we partied for two days straight! That girl can keep up with any guy in town! I can't believe you don't know her, Steve." "She's better than cute. She's fuckin' beautiful," Tim said. He turned to me. "She's been home from school the entire summer, and all of us have been hanging out with her and a couple of her friends. She's a cool chick, and Mark's right, she can party with the best of them." "Ellie Lundberg? I've never heard that name," I said. "What does she look like? Maybe I've seen her at one of your parties, but didn't know it." "She's really tall, like as tall as I am, and she has long, blonde hair and big tits. She's a knockout," said Rollie. "You banged her, didn't you, Rollie?" asked Tim, laughing again. "Fuck you, Tim. If I had, I wouldn't tell you anyway! Why is it that you're always asking everybody else who they have or have not fucked?" "'Cause he never bangs anyone himself, so he's got to live vicariously through the rest of us," said Mark laughing. "She doesn't sound familiar," I said. "But she does sound hot," said Greg. "Too bad we don't know her." "How do you guys know her?" I asked. "Remember when we went skiing out in Montana last winter?" Tim asked. "We ran into her at Big Sky. She goes to school out there, but I think she's more of a ski bum than a student. Mark knew her when she went to Kennedy, so when we ran into her in the lodge out there, we started partying with her. We've been in touch ever since, and this summer, she and her friends from Kennedy hung out with us all the time. I'm telling you, Steve, she is hot and really a lot of fun. You should look her up. I've got her number, and I'm going to give it to you, no matter what you say." He wrote it down on a tiny piece of paper and handed it to me. "I'm not going to call up someone up that I've never met before in my life who lives a thousand miles away from here. She'd probably think I was the creepiest guy in the world if I did that," I said, but I accepted the paper and tucked it into my wallet anyway. "Besides, who's to say we'll even get close to Bozeman." "Suit yourself," said Tim, "but I think you're wrong; she'd love it if you gave her a call. Just mention that you're friends with all of us. I'm telling ya she's a really cool chick, and it would be worth your while to look her up if you're anywhere near Bozeman." "Maybe next time," I said. "I'll probably meet her some time anyway. Then, I wouldn't feel weird about calling her up. On the second Friday in August, our last day of work, we had Greg's car packed with all of our camping gear, and as soon as the clock struck 3:30 p.m., we hit the road and headed west. We knew we could make it to the Hills that night, and we would stay at our buddy Jake's house, and then get an early start for the Big Horns, which was about three or four more hours west. Both Greg and I had lived with Jake before he quit school and moved to the Hills. He was a crazy guy and a lot of fun. He knew everyone and could sniff out a party like a bloodhound. Even though we wouldn't get there until almost 9:00 p.m., Jake was at his house waiting for us. There was a party at his friend's place downtown, in a flat above an insurance office. We didn't intend to stay late, because we needed to hit the road pretty early. We had a good three hour hike from the trailhead once we got to Cloud Peak, so we needed to be on the road by 8:00 or 9:00 a.m. But both Greg and I were used to getting three or four hours of sleep after partying, so we could easily stay up until about midnight or a little later. Though the party was small, it was pretty fun. Just before midnight, I found myself sitting on a couch next to a pretty, redheaded girl with milky white skin, who I suspected was a few years older than I was. She was talking to Greg, who was sitting on the couch on her other side. Greg introduced her to me. Her name was Syndee Nelson, and Greg had gone to high school with her, though she was senior when he was a freshman. Greg mentioned that he also knew her sister Patty, who was a year younger than he was. In the course of the conversation, Syndee, I came to learn, had been married, for several years, but was now a 24 year old eligible divorcée, and a really nice-looking one at that. Greg was telling her about our trip west, and she seemed unusually interested in what he was saying. She was asking a lot of questions about when and where we were going and when we would return. Then, Syndee mentioned that she too was headed west. As it turned out, Patty was now going to school at Montana State in, coincidentally, Bozeman, Montana, and Syndee was leaving in 10 days to visit her. She had a ride to Bozeman with a girlfriend who was on her way to Seattle and had agreed to drop her off in Bozeman, but she didn't, as yet, know how she would be getting back home. I started to see the general direction of Syndee's questions, and knowing Greg as I did, I could also see where his perverted thinking was headed. To make a long story short, it was soon decided that at some point in our trip we would be visiting Bozeman, and when we were ready to come back home, Syndee would be riding with us. Syndee gave Greg several phone numbers, including Patty's number in Bozeman, and then we left the party just after midnight. On the way home, Greg and Jake explained to me that Patty was even prettier than her sister, and that she was supposedly living with a houseful of girls in Bozeman. By stopping there, we would not only ensure ourselves a 12 hour ride with a very hot redhead, but potentially much more. Now, our itinerary was beginning to organize itself based on the two geographical destinations that we had committed ourselves to. After we were done hiking in Cloud Peak, we would drive west to the Tetons, and from there north to Yellowstone, camping along the way. Bozeman was only two hours north of there. By the time we got to Bozeman, Syndee would be there. Then, we would still have another week to decide whether we wanted to continue on to Glacier and points west before returning home with Syndee. We hit the road about 8:30 the next morning and arrived at West Tensleep Lake trailhead on the southwest end of Cloud Peak Wilderness Area around 12:30 in the afternoon. We were just a little disappointed to find one other car parked in the parking area. We thought we might have the whole wilderness area or at least that trailhead to ourselves. We organized all of our gear, and then started up the trail. Our gear was heavy. We had brought more than enough food for eight days, most of it in boxes, but quite a few canned items as well – probably too much canned food, but it made life a lot easier at the end of a long day of hiking. This was wilderness camping, which meant we were abiding by "leave no trace" principles – every thing we carried in, we carried out. While spent boxes could be burned in campfires, a can had to be carted out as garbage. We also intended to supplement the food we brought with fresh fish, so we'd brought our fishing gear as well. We knew that each day the hiking would get easier, as we began the process of whittling down our provisions, but that first day's hike was a challenge – we were each climbing with 35-40 pound packs on our backs. Though it was probably not advisable, we only brought enough water to fill both of our canteens. That would get us into the mountains, and once there, there were plenty of lakes and streams, with no cattle grazing, so we reasoned that the water was probably safe. Just to be a little more careful, we tried to only take water from quick moving streams. We could have been even more careful and boiled all of our drinking water, but that was a real hassle. Besides, nothing tastes better than ice cold water from a mountain stream. We also brought a small, Coleman camping stove that Jake loaned us. Our hiking would take us above 12,000 feet elevation, which in Cloud Peak almost certainly ensured being above the timber line. The stove guaranteed that we could cook meals, even if we didn't have firewood. We set off up the trail, climbing steadily. It was incredibly beautiful country that blended an infinite variety of scenic wonders – meadows of lush green mixed-grasses and wild flowers, dense forests of pine and spruce, hundreds of beautiful lakes that drained into miles of streams and wetlands, and rugged rock cliffs and outcroppings. It was wild, clean, and pristine, just what we were looking for to unwind from a summer of work. After three and half hours of hiking, it was late in the afternoon, and after walking the length of it, we decided to set up camp at the far end of Mirror Lake, a beautiful, mountain pond, fed by a half dozen streams and surrounded by a dense pine forest. On the opposite side of the lake, a steep canyon wall rose 800 feet above the water. In part because of that protection from the wind, Mirror Lake was so unbelievably placid that the name was perfectly apropos. We found the prettiest spot on the water, tucked between the edge of the woods, a pristine mountain stream, and a sunny meadow. We had everything we needed here: fresh, clean water; plenty of firewood, a nice spot for our tent in the shade; and a prospective dinner of freshwater fish. Once we erected our tent and laid out our sleeping bags, we got out our fishing gear. Greg opened a can of corn, which would hopefully be a nice side dish for dinner, but until then would serve as our bait. We cast our lines into the perfectly calm surface of the crystalline water and watched our lines despoil its faultless stillness, sending out concentric circles from their landing spots 35 feet from shore. In five minutes, Greg had caught a nice, two pound, lake trout, and five minutes later, I snagged a modest sized perch. That was all we needed. Greg cleaned the fish, while I gathered firewood and got our campfire started. Soon, I had a roaring blaze, and nice pile of glowing coals. When Greg had finishing slicing up four nice filets, he brought out a box of Egg Beaters, the fake egg product. When he had packed that, I made a point of reminding him that I didn't eat eggs, but he assured me that there were plenty of other uses for this product, and that I would be grateful that we had allotted some space in our backpacks for it. In a minute, he proved his point. Using some water to mix with the Egg Beaters, he quickly had a soupy mixture concocted, to which he added a half a sleeve of crushed saltine crackers, and some pepper. Then, I laid a metal grill out on my pile of coals and poured the can of corn into a small pot. Greg coated the filets in his breading mixture, and laid them carefully into a frying pan, to which he had added a little bit of oil and set it on the grill next to the pot of corn. In ten minutes, we enjoyed an amazing meal, which we topped off with a can of apricots. By the time we finished eating and cleaning up our pots, pans, dishes, and silverware, the sun had fallen behind the mountains, and we turned in early. I slept like a rock. We awoke before the sun rose, and I started another fire. I made coffee, using an old percolating pot. Gathering wood and making fires, hauling water, as well as attending to little tasks like making coffee and tea was about the extent of my contribution to our sustenance. That's because Greg had unofficially designated himself our chef, and he proved himself worthy of that distinction. For breakfast, he made pancakes, again using the Egg Beaters, and adding freeze dried blueberries to the batter. In addition, he opened a can of Spam, which he fried up in the same pan. I had always considered that stuff truly suspect, but for some reason, cooked in a pan over an open fire, while breathing in cool, clean air, tinged with the scent of pine trees, I couldn't deny how delicious it was. Between what we had brought with us, and the fish that we caught, I don't think I have eaten better in my life than I did that week. We continued hiking a number of trails, some of which took us above the timber line. We were still able to always find camping spots next to lakes or streams, but on two nights, our campsites were illuminated only by our lanterns, and we had to cook our meals on the stove. Early in the afternoon of our sixth day of hiking, we followed a new trail back down the mountain in the direction of the trailhead from which we had started. We planned to reach Mirror Lake, where we had camped the first night, and from there we intended to hike to the West Tensleep Lake trailhead the next morning. As we were hiking through some rocky outcroppings, we came around a bend in the trail, beyond which a shear rock face, rose from a flat, stone ledge about 20 feet wide. As we did, we simultaneously heard girlish giggles and smelled a pungent and familiar aroma. Seated with their backs to the rock face, were two girls about our age, smoking a joint. From their vista, they had a spectacular view overlooking a convergence of two incredibly scenic valleys. We startled them, but instead of trying to conceal their wickedness, they just laughed even louder and smiled at us both. "Care to take a load off and join us?" asked a well-built brunette, in a white halter top, that was straining to conceal her bosom. She had a long, straight dark chocolate mane that fell about her shoulders and down her ample chest, masking what appeared to be rather impressive cleavage. She was also wearing cutoff jean shorts and hiking boots. Her dark brown eyes smiled brightly, and I was surprised to see that despite being in some of the wildest country in the lower 48, she wore makeup! She sported a dark tan face, with a shapely nose that turned up a bit at the tip, thin lips, and full, thick, dark, sensuous eyebrows. "Sure!" Greg and I answered simultaneously. We didn't need to be asked twice. We pulled off our backpacks, both of which were now a good 10 pounds lighter than when we started our hike six days earlier, and laid them down on the stone ledge next to the girls' packs. "Want a hit?" asked a very pretty, short-haired blonde, as she extended a large blunt toward Greg at arm's length. She was much slighter built than her friend, but undeniably cute. Greg sat down next to her, and accepted the joint, took a long hit and passed it back to her. I parked myself next to the shapely brunette and introduced us, "Hi, I'm Steve, and that's Greg. How long have you girls been hiking here?" The brunette smiled, taking the joint from her blonde friend, and passed it to me. "I'm Alison, and this is Coral. We've been out here a week." I took a deep toke, and passed it back to her. "Thanks. Did you guys come in on the West Tensleep Lake trailhead?" "Yeah, how did you know that?" Alison asked. "I think we saw your car parked there. We came in the day after you did. You're the only people we've seen in the six days we've been up here." "Ditto," said Coral, passing the blunt back to Greg. "Where you guys from?" "South Dakota," Greg answered tersely. "How 'bout you?" "Chicago. Wheaton, actually. Hey, you know last year we hiked in the Hills. That's pretty cool country." Shaking his head in agreement, Greg asked. "What do you think of Cloud Peak?" "Fuckin' incredible," Alison answered. "This is the best hiking we've ever done, and nobody knows about this place. That is, nobody, except you two." "When are you headed back to the trailhead?" Greg asked. "Tomorrow," Coral answered, passing him a plastic container of trail mix. "How about you?" "The same. Where were you planning to camp tonight?" he asked. I could see where he was headed. Alison stood up, and I admired her tight ass in her tiny cutoffs. She pointed toward the center of the valley on the left. "See that lake down there – the one on the left? That's Mirror Lake. That's where we're headed now." I laughed. "What's so funny?" she asked smiling at me. Mountain West "That's exactly where we're going! We camped there on our first night in. Whadaya think, Greg? I say that was the nicest camping spot we've had on this trip." "Definitely! Did you girls stay there on your first night here?" "No," Coral said. "We got to the trailhead pretty early in the morning. We hiked right passed it." "We found a great camping spot there, with the best fishing that we've had during the whole trip. Tonight we intend to have a real feast for dinner." "You've been catching fish for dinner?" Coral asked, sounding half surprised and half jealous. "Every night, and for two or three lunches as well," Greg said proudly. Then, he paused and asked, "You mean you haven't fished at all? What have you been eating?" "We're not really fishermen," said Alison. "Mostly, we've eaten a lot of Top Ramen noodles, rice, macaroni and cheese, energy bars, and nuts." I knew what Greg was thinking, before he said it. "Why don't you camp with us tonight, and we'll treat you to an incredible meal? Whadaya say?" The girls stared at each other with kind of innocent looks on their faces. They seemed to know where this decision could lead them, but I sensed that both of them had already been considering those possibilities before we even mentioned camping. It was obvious that there was very little question what they would say, but Greg was going to clinch the deal regardless. "Come on, we have to pay you back for this fine herb!" he said enthusiastically, taking another long drag off the joint that was now whittled down to a large roach attached to a clip. "That sounds really nice," Coral smiled brightly. When she did, her beauty was indisputable. She was slender, with a trim figure – small breasts, tiny waist, and skinny butt. Her dark blonde hair was cut into a stylish, sort of choppy shag. Like her friend, she was wearing makeup, which I found unusual so far out here in the wilderness. "It sure does!" Alison said smiling at me. Then, it struck me. Coral was exactly Greg's type, and Alison seemed handcrafted to my tastes. Without so much as a word having been spoken, an agreeable pairing off had somehow been achieved to everyone's liking. They asked us if we had eaten lunch, and when we said no, Coral bent over her pack to pull out some energy bars and nuts to complement the trail mix. I could see Greg staring with excitement at her tiny ass as she leaned over. This snack was enough to hold us over until we got to Mirror Lake. After the joint, our hunger was palpable, so we ate greedily. I looked at the sun in the southern sky, and realized we had better get moving. We probably had at least three hours more hiking to get to Mirror Lake, and then we needed more light for fishing and cooking. It was after 1 p.m., so I suggested that we get started moving. We all donned our packs and started down from the ledge. Most of the hike was downhill, and so we made good time. Our camping spot was also on the closer end of the lake, so we got there a little before 4:30 p.m. We started by setting up camp. We erected our two tents a good distance away from each other. That was more a consideration for the girls that they might be afforded more privacy, but I know that I was hoping for a different sleeping arrangement that would also be enhanced by as much privacy as possible. Then, while the girls gathered firewood, Greg and I headed to our fishing hole. We had had better luck at this spot than at any other lake or stream in our nearly week long trek, so we were hopeful that our fortunes would be good. Appropriately, luck was a lady that night. After ten minutes of casting, again using corn as our bait, I got a major strike. This was not going to be as easy as my earlier catches – small to medium sized perch or smallish lake trout, but I knew before I had even seen what I'd hooked that the reward would be greater for my extra work. What I finally reeled in surprised both Greg and me. It was nice-sized walleye pike, and as soon as Greg saw it, he was amazed. "I didn't know there were walleyes in these lakes! I thought you had to be in bigger water to catch something like that. Wow! This is going to be a great meal!" While I unhooked my catch, he reeled in his line again. Adding some more corn to his hook, he cast out again, as far as he could into the still water. In five more minutes, Greg was reeling in his own walleye, albeit one a little smaller than mine. When we returned to our camp, proudly displaying our triumphs, the girls had a roaring fire going, and so Greg began to work his magic. He gutted and cleaned the walleyes, so that we had four magnificent filets. Then, again using his Egg Beaters, pepper and crushed saltine crackers, he whipped up his breading mix, and after coating the filets, threw them into the frying pan with a little oil. Then, he opened a can of green beans, poured out the water, and asked Coral for some of the almonds that we had had for lunch. He asked me to heat up the can of corn to which I added salt and pepper, and a can of mushroom soup to which I added the green beans. He also asked me to prepare a box of rice pilaf, that the girls had produced, and in 20 minutes, we dished out a meal that any five-star restaurant in the country would have been proud to serve. The main dish was walleye filet almondine, served over a bed of rice pilaf that was covered in a green bean/mushroom sauce. The entree was served with a side of corn, and for dessert, Greg had brought out the last of our freeze-dried strawberries and blueberries, to which he added a little water, sugar, and syrup. Then, he heated all of that up to make a kind of compote, which he topped with crumbled almond cookies. Alison and Coral found the whole thing so freaking amazing that they both said it was the best meal they'd ever had. I think not having eaten real food for seven days had something to do with that, but I was pretty darn impressed myself. Greg even knew how to effect a chef's presentation with colors and placement on the plates. It didn't matter that we were eating off plastic plates and using plastic cutlery, we felt like true connoisseurs, and the ambiance of Mirror Lake at dusk made the whole experience perfect. If they weren't already, these girls were now primed for some romance. By the time we finished eating and cleaning up our pots, pans, plates, and silverware, it was pretty dark. So we sat around the campfire on a couple of big logs that Greg and I dragged to our campsite and passed a couple of joints around, talking and laughing, pretty darn satisfied with our lives here at Cloud Peak. I sat with Alison on one log, and Greg and Coral took the other. A pair of loons was romancing each other out on Mirror Lake, and we took our cues from them. Pretty soon I was hugging and kissing Alison passionately and feeling up her big tits. I wasn't paying attention to Greg and Coral – I literally had my hands full with Alison, but then I heard Coral moaning, and I assumed Greg was, as usual, ahead of me. In a minute or two, he led her into our tent, and so a minute later, I picked up one of our lanterns, and grabbing Alison's hand, we made our way to the girls' tent. I set the lantern down on the ground outside the tent, and we climbed inside. I realized that I had gotten the long end of the straw when we laid down on Alison and Coral's down-filled sleeping bags. Each girl had a two inch foam cushion under their bag, and after a week of sleeping on the hard ground, it felt like we had just checked in to the Marriott. We took off our boots and Gregets, zipped the two bags together, and got under the covers; it was starting to get cold. The lantern light shone through the fabric of the red tent and set a perfect, romantic mood – rose-tinted light bathed the inside of the tent, so that it was just light enough for me to see every inch of Alison's spectacular body. Below her white halter, she was wearing a pair of extremely tiny, cut-off jean shorts that barely contained her round butt. Her legs were long, tan, and maintained just a little thickness in the thighs, which seemed to be contrasted by her muscular calves. She told me the next morning that she was a competitive figure skater, and once I heard that, the shape of her lower body made perfect sense. I removed the halter, revealing a baby blue bra with salmon colored trim, accented with a flowered pattern, but for now I left her bra on. Even though they were not fully exposed, I could tell that her tits were really spectacular, just as I had suspected, and big and beautifully natural, certainly at least a D cup. They were still straining the bra, which looked to me to be at least one size too small. We started kissing again really passionately, our mouths dancing together in a kind of oral mambo, until I moved my mouth to her ears and neck, licking and biting them, while I started squeezing and rubbing her breasts through her bra. Then, I reached down to her cut-off shorts, unbuttoned the top button, unzipped her zipper, and stuck my hand inside her panties. When my fingers slid past her mound, I was surprised to find it smooth. I could feel that her only pubic hair was the tiny stubble that I guessed was the result of the seven days at Cloud Peak. I kept going, and when my digits found her sex, she let out a low moan. At the same moment, I heard Coral's soft groans coming from the other tent 100 feet away and a little closer to the lake. The groans echoed across the still waters. Without removing Alison's shorts or her panties, I first very gently ran my index and middle fingers the length of her slick lips. Then, I began to trace a line up one side of her labia, and then down the other. After I had made a half dozen circles around her wetness, I entered her with just the tip of my middle finger between her slippery lips and then slid my finger back and forth, unleashing a flood of arousal from her pussy. Alison let out a deep, throaty groan, so loud that she scared herself. I kept going. "I'm sorry," she whispered, "but that feels so good. Oh, my god, yes! Yes! I'm getting so wet!" After a minute or two, I inserted my index finger as well, but now I slowly slid both fingers into her more deeply, and Alison began to grind her hips against my hand. Then, I moved both fingers down, to the base of that pussy, and with my fingers fully extended inside her, I began to push downward hard with them, toward her asshole, and when I did, she screamed, "Oh my god, yes! Oh god, yes!" Again, she quieted herself and began to whisper, "My god, you just filled me up. I can't believe you're doing that with just your fingers. It feels so amazing." I slowly withdrew my drenched fingers, but I wasn't done with them. I slid her shorts and panties down to her knees. I put my left arm under Alison's neck and drew her face to mine. I kissed her long and hard, gently biting her upper lip, pulling it toward me with my teeth. Then, I did the same to her ear, and began kissing down her naked neck. Now, I made a "V," a Vulcan salute, with my wet hand, separating my index and middle from my ring and pinky fingers, and with the palm of my hand covering her moist mound, I wrapped the "V" around her vulva and squeezed my fingers together, pinching her so that I could see her quivering clit poke out from her wet Greget. Then, I began rubbing the "V" up and down her mons, while maintaining the pressure with my pincers. Alison began to writhe and squirm under me, and she could no longer whisper. "Oh, Jesus, yes!" she yelped, her volume growing with each word. "You're gonna make me cum, oh yes! Oh my god, yes! Oh my god, yes! Oh, Jesus! Oh, Jesus! Oh, Jesus Christ, yes!" Then, she began bucking wildly, but I refused to slow my rubbing or stop my squeezing until a scream escaped from deep within her, "Ooooooohhhhhhh! Yes! Yes! Yes!!" Her shriek echoed off the canyon wall across the lake and continued reverberating for at least five seconds. As her convulsions swept through her, the loons fell silent, as did our fellow campers, and I knew two sets of ears 100 feet away had listened with rapt attention to Alison's concert. I suspected that her outburst had embarrassed her again, but it didn't embarrass me – for once I had beaten Greg to the punch. She didn't say anything for a minute, but in the dim, rose-colored light, I could see that her face and upper chest were flushed. Finally, she whispered, "I'm sorry, Steve," she said still breathing quickly. "They heard me, didn't they?" "Probably," I murmured, diplomatically, "but who cares? They're in there doing the same thing we are." I leaned over to kiss her with passion, as I pulled my wet hand from her sex, raising it to stroke her face. I could smell her musky aroma. Our body heat was raising the temperature inside the tent, and as she slid her shorts and panties down her legs and off, I could tell she was comfortable without the cover of the sleeping bags. I heard Greg's low moan, and I guess he was now inside Coral. Things were heating up everywhere. "I want to taste you," Alison said in a low voice, and she pushed me down onto the sleeping bags. She unbuckled my belt, unbuttoned and then unzipped my jeans, and pulled them down to my ankles. In one motion, she pulled both my jeans and shorts off me with one hand. A smile grew on her face, as I unbuttoned my shirt. I lay back in the red light with my stiff erection, standing at attention. Now, I could hear a slow percussive rhythm from the other tent. Then, Alison crawled between my legs and toward me, forcing my legs wider apart, and pulling my tent pole into a vertical position with her right hand, her head dove for my balls. She began to lick and suck them greedily. I was a little embarrassed. It had been a warm day, and our hiking had had me sweating. Then, the cool night air had dried that sweat on my crotch. I figured I probably smelled badly. Apparently, Alison did not think so. "Oh, I love the way you smell and taste," she cooed quietly. "You're both sweet and salty!" Then, she slid her tongue up my length and quickly enveloped my head with her wet mouth. She was gripping me tightly with her right hand around the base of my shaft, while her left hand caressed my chest. Suddenly, her lips slid down the top half of my length until they reached the ring she had made with her index finger and thumb around the thickest point of my shaft. Alison increased the rhythm of her bobbing head and the amount of suction that her mouth was applying to my cock head and upper shaft. Now, I was the one doing the groaning, "Oh my god... Alison..., that feels... really... good..." Sensing that she had me fully aroused now, she pulled her mouth from my cock, as she continued to stroke me with her hand vigorously. 100 feet away, I could hear Coral's tortured groans now coming in quicker succession. "Do you want to cum in my mouth," Alison asked over her friend's rhythmic grunts, "or do you want to be inside me?" I wasn't used to being given the choice, and I was starting to get really close, so I was glad she had posed the question. "I want to be inside you," I said breathlessly, "but... I... I don't... have... a condom." I realized that this was why I had not succeeded as a Boy Scout: I had failed at the cardinal rule of scouting to always "Be Prepared." Greg and I had a box of Trojans in the glove box of his car back at the trailhead, but I know I never expected to stumble across a girl in the middle of the wilderness, certainly not one so unbelievably hot and willing, so we didn't bring it with us. It would have been just more thing to carry for seven days. Then again, I knew Greg was also without a sheath, and it didn't seem to be stopping him from pounding Coral's pussy. I didn't know him when we were kids, but I guessed that Greg too was a failure as a Boy Scout, if he'd been one at all. "That's okay, it's a good time for me, but it's probably best if you pull out when you're ready to cum, okay? I want to taste you anyway," Alison admitted. How would you like to take me?" she whispered bending low, close to my ear. "Can I get on top of you?" I responded as quietly as I could. I don't know why I was whispering, because Coral's moaning was non-stop now. "That's what I was hoping you would say," she smiled, letting go of my erection. She seemed oblivious to the lusty sounds coming from the other tent now, but I suspected that they were turning her on as much as they were me. I sat up, and reached behind her to undo her bra. I still hadn't seen her tits yet, and I knew that the sight of them would really excite me. I undid the clasps in the back, and Alison slid her flowery cups down her arms and off. I grasped them with both hands, and they were incredibly soft to my touch. I was surprised that her areolas were as small as they were, considering the size of her breasts. But below those areolas, her tits hung seductively, and her nipples were really aroused, erect and protruding, so I dropped my head to lick and suck them momentarily, as Alison let out another audible groan. I put the upright side of my finger to my mouth, and smiling, I said quietly and sarcastically, "Shhhh!" Just as I did, I heard Greg commanding loudly, "Yeah, ride me baby! Oh yeah, yeah!" Then, I lay Alison back against the sleeping bags and crawled between her legs, kneeling before her altar. But before I entered her, I wanted a quick taste, so I leaned down to lick her slit. Just as she had described my taste and aroma, she too was a heady mixture of both salty and sweet, a pungent spiciness that made me dizzy. I stuck my tongue between her lips and then my mouth enveloped her. She gasped, but instead of staying there I just left as much saliva on her opening as I could. Then, I grabbed my shaft with my right hand, and bracing the weight of my upper body on my extended left arm, I slid my head just inside Alison's slippery lips and then up and down her wetness. When I had myself coated with her juices, I slowly entered her, pushing my way into her wet pussy until I felt my balls kiss her slick lips. I was balls to the walls now, and so she bent her knees and spread herself as wide as she could to accept my offering. Alison grabbed me around my hips, and pulling me into her she gasped again, this time really loudly, "On my god, you're big." I knew that Coral and Greg could hear, but I was rather proud of the advertisement. Besides, I suspected that our soundtrack was turning them on as much as theirs was having the same effect upon us. All four of us had stopped caring about privacy. Now, I began to slowly increase my rhythm, plunging with long, steady strokes into Alison's pussy. Her hands left my hips and she grabbed my butt cheeks, pulling me into her with every downward thrust. Her breathing was becoming more ragged now, and I knew that both of us were approaching climaxes. Apparently, things in the other tent were progressing similarly, "Oh, oh, oh. I'm going to cum. I'm going to cum," I heard Coral scream, and then a long, high-pitched shriek, "Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!" I took her declaration as a challenge. Friends should do things together. So, now I pounded Alison with everything I had. It was incredibly erotic to be able to watch in the dim rose-colored light as this sensuous young woman became so overcome with the pleasure that I was providing for her. Her soft tits were bouncing back and forth uncontrollably. Then, I saw her open her mouth as if surprised, and as she stared into my eyes, she lifted her thick eyebrows to signal her impending climax, "Oh... my... god... I'm... cum... ming...! Yes...! Yes...! Yes...! Yessssssssssssss!" She quaked hysterically under me, and I could hear our whole tent shaking. 100 feet away, I heard rustling inside the other tent, a throaty murmur from Greg, and then Coral's girlish voice saying, "Yeah, cum in my mouth." Mountain West And then I realized that an almost symbiotic outcome had taken shape – in domino fashion, Coral's orgasm had led Alison to hers, and Alison's climax brought Greg to his peak. I listened now to Greg's feverish grunting, "Oh... oh... oh... ohhhhhh!" and I knew I was only seconds behind. "Can I come between your tits," I pleaded without warning. Alison smiled with ecstatic pleasure, "Yes, baby, fuck my tits!" So she dropped her legs from mine, and I scrambled forward straddling her big breasts. My cock was dripping with her juices and that was more than enough lubrication. I knew I would only need a few strokes. So as Alison pushed her fat tits together, making a tunnel for me, and I slid my length into it. Her tits were so soft, warm, and inviting that eight or nine quick pumps was all I needed. Soon, I announced the inevitable. "I'm cumming. Oooooooooohhhhhhhhhh!" I closed my eyes and groaned, as I deposited spurt after spurt of semen on Alison's neck and chin. When I opened my eyes, I could see that a little lake had formed in the hollow notch of her neck, and as she released my shaft from its fleshy prison, her tongue reached down to her chin to lick my seed from it. Then, she reached a finger into the milky lake on her neck, and scooping more of my spunk from it, carried it to her waiting mouth. She licked her finger clean. "You taste good," she said smiling. I found my jeans. I had a bandana in one of my pockets, and I handed it to her. "I made a mess on you," I apologized. Without saying anything, she reached her finger back to her neck, dragging more of my cum to her mouth. "A tasty mess!" she said, smiling even more brightly. I lean over and kissed her hard on her lips, on which I could taste my salty cum. She wiped the rest of my deposit up with the bandana. Then, I reached out of the door to the tent and turned off the lantern. Without putting our clothes back on, we slipped naked back inside the down sleeping bags, zipped them up around our necks, and quickly fell asleep in each other's arms. When I awoke, it was just getting light in the eastern sky, and Alison was already to work, lying next to me, stroking my excited member. When she had me fully aroused, she unzipped just enough of the sleeping bag, so that she could climb on top of me. She lay her big breasts on my chest, and kissed me really passionately, while she humped me faster and faster, moaning and groaning her way toward another climax. Then, I could hear some activity in the other distant tent and knew that Alison had again incited our fellow campers. I reached my hands to her round, firm ass cheeks, and grabbing them tightly, I began to slam that tight ass harder on the stiff dick on which it was impaled. Alison came really quickly and loudly. Then, without a word, she unzipped the bag just a little more, and withdrew my thickness from her wet hole. Spinning around on top of me, she planted her open pussy on my face, and leaned over to take me in her warm mouth. While I sucked her sex into my mouth, Alison used her hands, along with my deep thrusts into her throat to bring me to ecstasy in only a couple of minutes. Soon, I quietly growled my intentions, "I'm cumming." After last night, I knew she was intent on swallowing my entire load, and so as she grabbed me with both hands around the base of my ball sack, she milked at least 10 jets from my engorged penis, each one shot deep into her waiting throat. She took everything. She hadn't even released my sex from her lips when my whole mouth coaxed another climax from her pussy. She moaned a string of muffled obscenities into the bottom half of those down-filled bags, and then she shuddered for another 30 seconds grinding her pussy wildly on my face as my lips, tongue and mouth brought her to a second orgasm that unleashed another flood of arousal. When she raised herself from my face, I must have looked a little bit like a glazed donut! As Greg and Coral finished their morning calisthenics, Alison and I snuggled in our sleeping bags, each of us getting dressed inside the warm and cozy confines. When they seemed to have finished, we got up, slipped on our Gregets, and went out to our campfire. I restarted the blaze, and just as the sun rose over the mountain, its flames began to produce enough warmth to make us comfortable again. I made coffee, and when Greg and Coral emerged sheepishly from their tent, we sat silently on the logs and drank greedily from metal cups. We were out of freeze-dried fruit, but the girls brought out some more nuts which Greg ground up and added to his pancake batter, and opening another can of Spam, he fried us up another big breakfast. After we ate, we each took turns cleaning up, shampooing our hair and taking quick cold baths in Mirror Lake, before changing our clothes in our tents. Then we cleaned and packed up our camp, put out our campfire, and started hiking down the trail, two couples hand-in-hand, headed back toward the West Tensleep Lake trailhead. We got to the trailhead just before noon, and I knew an emotional farewell was imminent. Alison and Coral were crying, each of them hugging us closely and kissing us passionately. It seemed odd; we hadn't even known each other for 24 hours, and now it was nearly impossible to say goodbye. They were headed back to Chicago, and we were on our way farther west. I pretty much knew that meant that we would never see them again, despite everyone's repeated promises that we get together next summer. We exchanged phone numbers and addresses and then we got into our respective cars and drove in opposite directions. Greg was quiet for about two miles. Then, his sardonic wit got the better of him. "Alison was a busy little beaver last night, huh, buddy?" I looked at him like I couldn't believe he was going there. "Yeah, and Coral slept the night away like an angel, right?" He paused, and then he said what we were both thinking, "How the hell did we stumble onto that! Jesus, those two were incredible! We're the two luckiest fucks on the planet!" I started laughing. "You're right, but you know what? If we're so lucky, how come they're driving in the other direction? Why didn't we go with 'em, Greg?" "Because we've got other hot girls that we have to meet." "But we don't need other hot girls, and I don't think we could find any that were hotter than those two anyway. Jesus, Greg, they were both fucking perfect, and they really liked us." "They really liked us because at the moment that they found us, we were the only two other people in their world. And we gave them what they didn't have – food and sex. Those are pretty basic needs. Of course they liked us! But back in the real world, I suspect we're pretty unremarkable." "So you don't want to call 'em? You don't want to try to get together with 'em?" "I didn't say that! I just think we need to be realistic. I doubt that things could ever be exactly the same. Still, what do we have to lose? And you're right; Alison and Coral were pretty close to perfect!" I didn't say anything for a while. I was thinking about what Greg had said. He was a pretty philosophical guy, Greg, and he was probably right. But now I didn't want to think about what might or might not happen some day; instead, I was thinking about what had just happened. "So could you hear us last night?" I asked only half sarcastically. "Every fucking word! How many times did you make her cum, 'big' guy?" he asked, winking at me. "I thought you heard 'every fucking word?' You tell me!" "That Alison was really something; man, she was hot for you! I think you'd have a better chance with her, than I would with Coral." "I don't know about that. But god, Coral was really beautiful, wasn't she?" "Yes, she was." Both of us stopped talking for the next 50 miles. We were both remembering. We arrived in Gregson, Wyoming, about 7:30 p.m. We had no idea where we were going to stay. We just knew that Gregson was that day's final destination, and that neither of us had had a drink for a week. So, our first stop was perhaps Gregson's most famous location – The Million Dollar Cowboy Bar. It was only a little more than an hour before sunset, but we naively ignored that reality in favor of whiskey and beer. Our week of deprivation resulted in an embarrassing kind of gluttony. We started with beers and after we had consumed three or four of those, we began doing shots of Wild Turkey Liquor. By 10:30 p.m. we were soused and stumbled out of The Million Dollar like motherless children. We had nowhere to go. Thank god Greg was driving. I didn't have any desire to test the local yokels. For a few minutes, we just sat in the car trying to sober up a bit. Then, Greg started the engine and drove out of downtown Gregson and managed to find a road heading out of town. He only drove about a half a mile, before he pulled off on the shoulder, stopped the car, and turned off the ignition. "What are you doin'?" His head was turned, and he was looking out his driver's side window at a split rail fence across the road. There appeared to be a big open meadow, inside the fenced off area. "This looks like as good a place as any," he said. "Greg, that's private property. We can't stay there. Besides, won't someone see our tent pretty easily?" "We're too drunk to put up the tent. Let's just grab our bags, climb the fence, and sleep right there. The sun will wake us up really early. We'll be gone before anyone knows we were ever here." I was too intoxicated to argue, much less come up with a better idea. So, Greg opened the trunk, we unhooked our bags from the bottoms of our packs, and we crossed the road and hopped the fence. We each took our boots off, and then just crawled into the bags, pulled them over our heads and fell asleep. I awoke first. The sun had not yet climbed over the horizon, but it was light enough to see. When I pulled my head out of my bag, I could barely make out an enormous brown form hunched over the ground, barely moving, a short distance from me. I had to readjust my eyes; I was hungover, and barely awake. It took about five seconds for the form to come into focus, and when it did, I nearly jumped out of my sleeping bag involuntarily. A huge elk buck with a massive 12 point rack was feeding not 20 feet from me on my left. Then, I saw the others; another 20 or so of his buddies were following his lead, 30 feet behind him. When he saw me move, he stopped enjoying his breakfast and stared at me menacingly. He easily weighed 600 pounds, and though I knew little about the habits of the male elk, he didn't seem to appreciate my presence. I spied my boots just a foot or two away from me, so I slowly and carefully unzipped my bag, then reached for them and brought them inside. Then, I slowly slipped each one on. I didn't bother tying them, but tucked the laces inside, so that there was no chance I would trip over them. Then, I saw Greg's bag on my other side. He was huddled inside, his head not visible. He appeared to still be asleep. "Greg!" I whispered loudly. I don't know why I did that, but I got the absurd feeling that I was trespassing on my brown friend's turf, and that if I was doing so, I should at least be stealthy about it. Greg didn't move. "Greg! Greg! I whispered more loudly. I saw the bag move, and in a second, Greg poked his head out to look at me. "What?" he said annoyed. "I think we better leave, like right now! We've got visitors!" I whispered more loudly. He turned his head and jerked a little when he saw the massive creatures. For a brief moment, he didn't do anything, just lay there staring at the herd. He seemed to be thinking. Then, suddenly, he unzipped his bag, grabbed his boots, and slipped them on. Like me, he didn't bother tying them. But unlike me, he made no effort not to startle our brown friends. Then, he stood up grabbed his bag, and started walking toward the split rail fence. I looked at the elk. They stood there chewing, but didn't move. So, I stood up, and like Greg, grabbed my bag and started walking. I'll confess that I think I walked a lot faster than Greg. We both reached the fence at the same time and crawled over. As we were crossing the road to get to our car, I turned and looked back at the herd beyond the fence. Then, I saw the sign, only a few feet in front of the split rail fence. It was 20 feet across – National Elk Preserve. How we missed that the night before I will never know. "Greg, check it out," I said pointing to the sign. "Huh. Probably should have noticed that last night! Oh well, they seemed pretty domesticated. It's not like they were going to hurt us or anything." We threw our bags in the trunk, jumped into the car, and drove to a grocery store to stock up on provisions. We ate a dry breakfast. Then, we got back in the car and headed north to Grand Teton National Park, where for the next two days we camped at Jenny Lake Campground. Jenny Lake was beautiful, with views of the snowcapped, jagged peaks of the Tetons across the lake, but after seven days in the wilderness, it was a little too tame for Greg and me. We weren't used to neighbors. So, two days there was plenty of time. We packed up our camp again, and headed north – this time bound for Yellowstone National Park. We continued north on US 191, intending to find a similar camping spot in Yellowstone, but the road was so crowded with people that we knew there was very little chance that we would find any place to camp. We didn't even bother asking. We drove agonizingly slowly by Old Faithful and the Grand Canyons of the Yellowstone. It took us nearly six hours to drive through the park, and after doing so, we wanted more than anything else to get the hell out of there. We arrived Gardiner, Montana, just outside of the north gate of Yellowstone, about 4:00 p.m. It was only another hour and a half to Bozeman. Greg figured that worst possible scenario was we would end up camping in Patty's backyard. Syndee was scheduled to arrive the next day. So, as I stood by listening, Greg called Patty's house from a pay phone outside a grocery store. A girl answered, and Greg asked if Patty was there. When he was told "no," he mentioned Syndee and told the voice on the other end of the phone his story about coming to pick her up. She seemed to know all about it. "Would you like to talk to her?" the friendly, female voice had said, "She's right here!" We didn't expect Syndee to arrive until the following day, so with Patty gone, this was fortuitous. Syndee's voice came on the line. "Hi, Syndee, this is Greg... I thought you weren't arriving in Bozeman until tomorrow?... Oh, I see! Well, that's good... I just wanted to tell you that Steve and I just drove through Yellowstone, and we're only an hour and a half away from Bozeman now." "We were thinking of driving up this afternoon. Is that okay; are you going to be there?... Would you mind asking Patty if we could camp in her backyard?... What? Really?... Are you sure?... Well, we've been sleeping on the ground for a week and half so, yeah... What condition?... Seems like a pretty weird bargain, but yeah, I'm sure we could do that... We're not promising anything. Neither one of us is Fred Astaire!... How many?... Okay, well... Alright, we're leaving right now. We should be there by about 6:00 p.m... Alright, we'll see you soon!... Goodbye!" "What did she say?" "Well, first, Syndee's ride left a day early, so she got there today instead of tomorrow. Second, she said that Patty and her roommates have got plenty of room, and that we're invited to stay at their house. They've got bedrooms for both of us." "Wow! That sounds pretty good about now! What else? What about Fred Astaire? What was that all about?" "Well, there's a catch! It seems that we have to dance with all of the girls!" "What girls?" "Patty and all of her roommates and friends. Plus Syndee of couse." "What kind of dancing?" "Jitterbugging." "I don't know how to jitterbug!" "Yes, you do. I've seen you plenty of times. At The Tiki. You can dance as well as I do." "Not really, but at least there it's with some girl I know – someone who doesn't expect much of me." "Well, you don't have to. I guess you can always sleep in the backyard!" he said, laughing." I should explain. Western swing music was a short-lived craze around that time, especially in our neck of the woods. Bands like Asleep at the Wheel, Commander Cody and His Lost Planet Airmen, and others had revived classic acts like Bob Wills and the Texas Playboys and Spade Cooley that wed traditional western music with big band jazz. The dance of choice anytime a western swing band was playing was the jitterbug, or at least a western version of the swing dancing that accompanied big band music during my parents' time. If we went to clubs, most people were jitterbugging. I didn't really know what I was doing, but my technique was simply to go so fast that no one could figure out I didn't know what I was doing. I was nervous that these girls would find out my ruse. We jumped back in the car, headed up US 89 to Livingston, and then we turned west on Interstate 90. We had no trouble finding Patty's house. Bozeman wasn't a very big town. We turned onto Grand Avenue and soon pulled up to a huge, white Victorian home, replete with a turret and several second story gables. We walked up the front sidewalk and onto a huge wraparound porch. When we knocked on the ornate front door, we discovered that Patty had returned. She had apparently been at work. When she greeted us at the door, I immediately realized that Greg and Jake were right – she was a knockout. She had long, straight brunette hair with just enough curl to wrap seductively around her shoulders. She looked like she spent a lot of time in the sun because her dark locks had turned naturally blonde in places, and her face, arms, and legs glowed with a tan that could have come only from time spent in the sun. She was wearing a tan button up shirt that was emblazoned with the letters USFS, green khaki shorts, and a pair of hiking boots – we learned later that she was spending the summer working for the US Forest Service. She was more slender than her sister, and not as well endowed, but she could only be described with one word – beautiful. She had a face that could rival any successful model at the time, though she was probably not tall enough to be considered for such work. After Greg introduced me to Patty, Syndee joined her at the door. It was the first time that I really got a good look at her. She was just a little smaller than Patty, and her curling, flowing red hair was a little longer than her sister's. She had a more mature and buxom figure; still, there wasn't an ounce of surplus flesh on her hourglass frame. She was wearing a flannel shirt that was tied underneath her fine rack. She had it unbuttoned on her chest to reveal a white tube top from which her creamy boobs spilled. Her bare midriff exposed an incredibly trim waistline that was featured above the shortest pair of Daisy Dukes I had ever seen. She also had pale, milky white skin that presented a sharp contrast with Patty's dark tan, but the get up she was wearing screamed sexy, farmer's daughter, and you had to wonder if she had planned to come off that way, or whether she was unaware of the cliché. We went inside and entered the living room. It was like walking onto the set of a Russ Meyer movie. Besides Patty and Syndee, there were four other handsome women variously seated or standing around a large Victorian library room decorated with built-in hardwood bookshelves and cabinets, and a huge fireplace and elaborate mantle. An extremely tall blonde, wearing tight jeans and an oversized flannel shirt that was seated on a worn out Queen Anne sofa spoke first, "So, are these our guinea pigs!" All the girls laughed. Mountain West "Yes, they are!" answered Syndee with a wry smile. "I think they will prove quite satisfactory for our purposes! I'm told they've cut rugs across the better part of the Upper Midwest!" she bragged sarcastically. "Now, hold on," Greg argued back, smiling as he did so. "I never said anything of the sort!" "I'm just teasing you, sweetie!" Syndee said. And with that, she and Patty began introducing us to the other girls. The tall blonde was Heather, and she lived with Patty. She was an education major from somewhere out west, Boise maybe, but I gathered she had really come to Montana State to ski. She was long and lean, and hidden beneath her oversized shirt were, I would soon come to learn, a pair of surprisingly modest breasts. Next to Heather on the sofa was Patty's other roommate, a short-haired brunette named Dillon, who was named after the town in Montana which she called home. She was really petite, but she sported a cute face, and a wicked sense of humor. She was dressed more like a coed that the others – wearing a plaid skirt and a dark sweater that covered a conservative patterned blouse. Two other friends were also scattered around the room. The one that caught my attention was a tall, wavy-haired brunette seated in a gaudy, red wingchair named Sylvie. Sylvie was wearing a stylish pair of brown, riding boots, high-waisted bellbottomed jeans, and a sleeveless, low-cut, vest-like blouse with only the middle two of its four buttons buttoned. Sylvie's spectacular cleavage jutted out from the blouse, making her appear as an absurdly younger version of Wonder Woman Lynda Carter! At one point, I think she caught me staring at her prodigious pair. The only girl in the room that was standing was Kylie, who was leaning against one of the oak bookcases. She was short, had medium length blonde hair, and was far and away the most quiet and reserved of the bunch. Though she was appealing enough, she was the only one that I would not have described as hot, though in any other setting, I'm sure I would have been attracted to her. Her hair was dirty blonde, and not terribly stylish, but underneath her plain clothing lurked what I could tell was a remarkable body. She seemed very nice, and smiled warmly when we were introduced to her. After the introductions, Patty went on to explain that a band was playing the following Saturday night in Big Sky at the famous ski resort there. The Castle Mountain Jug Band was a local favorite in Montana, and though they did not exactly play western swing music, the audience would surely be jitterbugging away the night. It appeared to be a big time event for the girls, and with the university largely deserted over the summer, they were seriously lacking male dance companions. That is apparently where we came in. Without Greg and I having anything to say whatsoever about the matter, it had been decided that we would be accompanying all six girls to Big Sky on Saturday. Not that we wouldn't have accepted the offer had we been consulted. We would have been crazy to say no – two guys and six girls; those were pretty good odds. Patty determined that we had four days to practice for the big event, and so without further ado, some furniture was moved around; a Commander Cody album was thrown on the stereo; and Greg and I took our places on the makeshift dance floor. I was jealous when Greg was first paired up with Patty, while the consolation prize was Heather. She grabbed me by the hands, and waited for the first song to come on. I only knew about two or three jitterbug moves, a simple right hand twirl in which you spin your partner under your right arm, the exact same move, except done with the left hand, a behind the back glide, wherein you release your partner's hand as you spin around and then catch her other hand behind her back with your opposite hand. I was at least grateful when the first song was "Hot Rod Lincoln," a cover of an obscure 1950s rockabilly tune, that the Commander had had a minor hit with three or four years before, and one that was played at breakneck speed. Heather had no idea what she had gotten herself into. By the time the three minutes was up, she was glistening with sweat, and her roommates were screaming their approval. "Holy shit, Steve! Take it easy on a girl!" she said breathlessly afterward, and then she surrendered her spot on the dance floor to Syndee, while Greg was paired with Dillon. I figured that pretty well evened the score between Greg and me. The next song was a Cajun classic, another cover, this time of an early 60s country song by Rusty and Doug called "Diggy Liggy Lo," which I was familiar with through Doug Kershaw's later solo version. It was also extremely fast, and I can't say that I was displeased watching Syndee's big tits bounce as I spun her all over the room. When I was doing the behind the back glide, on several occasions my hand slide along Syndee's tight ass which was barely concealed by her Daisy Dukes until I caught her opposite hand. The first time she may have thought it was an accident, but after I did it two or three more times, she was pretty sure of my intentions. When we finished, she smiled at me seductively before sitting down in a big recliner. In the next round, Sylvie jumped up to take Syndee's place, and Kylie joined Greg. I sensed that Sylvie wanted to get thrown around like Heather and Syndee had. When I first clasped hands with her, I looked down on her blouse/vest to realize that she was not wearing a bra beneath it. I suspected that meant that everyone was going to get a show. But instead the classic Buck Owens song, "Crying Time" came on, and so rather than bouncing her tits all over the room in a feverish jitterbug, I was pressed up against them in a sensual, slow dance. I could feel her hard nipples through her blouse. For the rest of the night, this routine played itself out over and over again with the girls teaching us a whole collection of really complex jitterbugging moves to complement the simple ones we already had down. Just before I was about to turn in, I went upstairs to use the bathroom, only to find it occupied. I waited patiently in the hallway, and a minute or two later, the door opened to reveal Sylvie standing in the doorway. When she saw me, a depraved look swept across her face, and she grabbed me by the hand and pulled me into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind us. Without saying a word, she dropped to her knees. It took her no more than five seconds to unbuckle my belt, unzip my jeans, and pull them and my shorts around my ankles. She quickly engulfed my flaccid cock with her mouth, taking all of me inside her wet orifice, so that her unbelievably soft lips were pinned up against my pubic mound. Then, applying as much suction as she could muster, she began to pull her head back, sliding her lips exceedingly slowly backward down my cock while she maintained a vacuum cleaner-like suction on my dick, until suddenly an audible "pop" escaped her when her lips released my head. My nearly erect cock fell out of her mouth and was pointing directly at her face. It had taken her one stroke to make me hard. Then, Sylvie dropped her hands to her vest to unbutton it. She only needed to unfasten two buttons until she was able to slide it from her slender shoulders and drop it to the bathroom floor. My cock stiffened fully the moment I saw them. Her tits were stunning, the biggest I had ever seen in real life, and so perfectly round that I could not tell whether they were the genuine article or not. Her areolas and nipples were dark, almost ruby-colored and big. At first, she said nothing. Then, she grabbed my spear, and taking two steps backward, sat down on the lid of the toilet. My cock was level now with her tits. She looked up at me with her incredibly sensual, bright, blue eyes, and slid my phallus between her massive globes. Her tits were so soft that I was quickly able to draw a conclusion about their origin – they were real alright. Finally, she broke the silence, "I saw you staring at my tits tonight! You want to fuck them don't you?" It seemed like a rhetorical question, so I didn't bother answering. Then, Sylvie pushed her tits together, making a tight channel at the base of those orbs for me to fuck, and I started sliding my length into that tight canal, so that my head nearly left her tits' warm embrace on the underside before plunging back into that conduit until my head and an inch of my shaft burst through her cleavage at the top. Her fleshy boobs were so soft that I didn't need lubrication to continue my thrusting. She stared into my eyes for 10 solid thrusts, and that, in and of itself, almost brought me off, but then, Sylvie dropped her head to begin taking me into her wet mouth on every upstroke. I came to learn that the tit fucking was only a prelude; it was in her mouth where she really wanted me. But now I worried that maybe this wasn't the ideal location for this liaison. I didn't want anyone to find us. Besides, the bedroom that I had been given was just down the hall. So, in between my quick breaths, I posed a stuttering question, "Sylvie... maybe... we should... go into... my bedroom." She looked up at me again and shook her head. "Why bother? I'm just going to give you some quick head; I'll have you cumming in two minutes. We'll save the bedroom for later, okay?" "Okay," I said, breathlessly. And with that she released her tit hold of me and began to take me deeply into her throat, while she used one hand to massage my balls and the other to Greg my shaft. I had my doubts about the two minute challenge. She seemed overly confident. But when she started throating me so deeply and using her hands on me as well, she quickly had me on the verge. "Oh my god!" I soon said, "I'm really close." I was involuntarily thrusting into her throat now, and I began to wonder how this would end – did she want me to cum in her mouth? But there was no time for the question to be asked, much less answered. All I could do was to announce the inevitable. "Oooohhhh," I grunted, "I'm gonna cum." As soon as the words left my lips, she pulled me from her throat and began Greging me in front of her chest with both hands, saying, "I want to see all your cum! Shoot it on my big tits!" It wasn't like I had any control of this situation; again my actions were involuntary, but I complied with her demand nonetheless. Rope after rope of thick jizz erupted from my cock head, coating her sexy cleavage and ruby-colored areolas and nipples. She kept Greging me for a least another minute even after my juddering subsided, milking nearly every drop of spunk from me. Then, she dropped my spent cannon, and said arrogantly, "I told you it wouldn't take two minutes, and you shot a lot more cum than most guys do." Then, she picked up her blouse, stood up, used a big wad of toilet paper to wipe my cumshot from her tits, threw the paper in the toilet, wrapped the blouse around her, buttoned the two middle buttons, unlocked the door, and opening it, walked out. She left me standing there with the door open, my jeans and shorts around my ankles, and my vulgar, depleted erection losing its last drop of cum to the bathroom floor. At that very same moment, Syndee, having just passed Sylvie on the stairs, arrived on the landing at the top of the carpeted staircase. The landing led down the hallway past the bathroom to the second floor bedrooms. As she turned her head, Syndee got a quick peek of my de-pants frame through the open bathroom door, before I lunged to close it, nearly tripping myself with my pants around my ankles. I quickly pulled up my pants and fastened my belt. I knew Syndee was standing outside the door waiting for me, so I figured I had to do something. I peed, which, by the way, is a messy proposition when your dick is half erect and residual cum is still inside it. I used some toilet paper to wipe up my errant spray, washed my hands in the sink, dried them, and opened the door and started to exit. Syndee was leaning against the railing on the other side of the hallway with a wry smile on her face. "That goddamn, Sylvie," she said shaking her head, "she works fast! I was kind of hoping I would beat her to the punch! But I see I've failed again! I thought after the way you were feeling up my ass, it was going to be my lucky night, not hers!" I didn't really know how to process what had just happened to me, but I knew that I was really attracted to Syndee and didn't want to spoil any chances that I might have had with her. Because I didn't really know what to say, I thought it best to say nothing at all. I mean, I had just literally been caught with my pants down. So instead, I just smiled lamely and walked downstairs again to say good night to the others. By the time, I got there Sylvie and Kylie were gone. We spent nearly all of the next few days dancing. Sylvie and Kylie came back each day, and a couple of other female friends stopped over as well. There was a lot of sexual tension running through that house, and on the second night there, Greg spent the night with Patty, and I was jealous. I kept thinking that Syndee was going to pull me into her bedroom, but it hadn't happened yet. In addition, Sylvie sent me no more overt signs that she intended to 'go into my bedroom' with me. Finally, Saturday night rolled around, and about 7:15, we all piled into Heather's old, massive boat of a car for the drive to Big Sky. It's about an hour's drive, but the highway climbs 2500 feet before you reach the famous ski village. With eight people in the car, the strain was just too much. About five miles outside of Big Sky, Heather's Oldsmobile started making an alarming sound, began spitting out thick smoke, and finally just died. It became obvious to all of us, it had driven its last mile. So Heather put the hazard lights on; we all got out of the car, and in the mountain gloaming, we tried to decide what we should do. It was too far to walk at that time of the day, and we had no way of calling for road assistance. We would have to flag down the next car that came by. Before anyone had even vocalized that idea, a cream-colored Pontiac hatchback came rolling toward us and pulled over. It hadn't yet come to a stop, when I recognized its South Dakota plates. At the time, South Dakota labeled all of its license plates with a number that designated its county of registration. Minnesosha County, from which I hailed, was the most populous in the state, so it was numbered – 1. The Pontiac also sported a 1, indicating Minnesosha County. We ran to the passenger's side of the cream-colored hatchback, and a tall, pretty, blonde woman greeted us, "Car trouble, huh? Are you headed to Big Sky?" "Yes," responded a chorus of voices. "Are you going to see Castle Mountain?" "Yes," we said again in unison. "Hop in," she said, "It'll be a tight fit, but we can do it." We looked in the backseat, which was now occupied by a beautiful, pure white Samoyed, of considerable size. "Blue! Jump in the back," the blonde commanded the dog, pointing and snapping her fingers. The dog obeyed dutifully. "I can get two people up here with me," said the blonde woman, "preferably tall ones." We sized up our group. "Well, the guys are the tallest," Patty said. "No, keep them in the backseat," said the blonde, somebody is going to have to lie across them." Greg and I looked at each other, and we both had the same thought – we were sure to get a lapful of something good. It was quickly agreed that Heather and Sylvie were the two tallest females. They joined the blonde up front. "Now, the two shortest are going to have to jump in the hatchback with Blue," she ordered from the driver's seat. We looked at the remaining four girls, and it was obvious that Dillon and Kylie fit the bill. I opened the hatch, and the two crawled in on either side of Blue. Other than having to bend their knees, they didn't look overly uncomfortable. That left the two sisters, Greg and me. "Whoever is the shortest between the last two girls should lie across the top. The other one can get in between the two guys," our blonde Samaritan explained. Patty was just a little taller than Syndee, so she crawled into the middle of the back seat. Greg walked around to the driver's side door and took his seat on Patty's left, and I took a seat on the other side of Patty and closed the door. Syndee followed Greg in crawling her way toward me, and lay down on her back. Greg closed the door. I didn't think it would be possible, but we were all in. The blonde started up the engine, and we crawled tentatively out on to the highway. Small conversations started as we continued climbing. Dillon was talking to Kylie about Blue. Heather and Sylvie were also talking, but about what, I could not tell. Meanwhile, Syndee's head was in my lap, and I had a good view of her big boobs spilling from her low-cut blouse. While Patty and Greg began an intimate tête-á-tête, no doubt picking up where they left off a few nights ago, Syndee looked up at me with a devilish grin, and said, "Too bad you're not sporting that rocket like you were the other night! All I'd have to do is turn my head to get a face full!" I was certain the whole car could hear her, though I doubt that anyone except our blonde driver did. Everyone else was talking. But I still recognized that it would be wise to change the subject. Besides, no one was talking to our host. "So are you from Duluth?" I asked the pretty blonde whose face I could see in the rear view mirror. "Yeah," she said, kind of surprised, "how did you know?" "I saw you had Minnesosha County plates." "I do? I didn't know that. How do you know Minnesosha County?" she asked "I'm from Duluth too." I answered. "Where did you go to high school?" she asked, obviously interested now. "O'Brien," I said, figuring that would bring a swift conclusion to our little conversation. "I know tons of guys from there!" she answered excitedly. "Who do you know?" I questioned. "God! A whole bunch of guys! Let's see - Mark Fleming, Tim Hannigan, Rollie Prince, Steve Minton, Tom Threadwell... I could keep going." "I graduated with all those guys," I said excitedly. "Most of them are really good friends of mine! How do you know them?" I asked with genuine interest. "I knew some of the when I was high school, but more recently I've been skiing with a big group of them out here in Montana, in fact, at Big Sky. And I just spent the summer in Duluth, and hung out with them almost every night." This all sounded oh-so-familiar. "Where did you go to high school?" I asked as the picture began to reveal itself to me. "Kennedy," she answered. What were the odds? I tried to calculate them. I was 1000 miles from home. Our car had broken down on the highway, and who is in the first car to drive by...? "You're going to think this is pretty weird, but are you by any chance Ellie Lundberg?" "How the hell did you know that?" Ellie screamed incredulously. She was looking at me now in the rear view mirror, and I knew that something had just happened that would prove fortuitous at some time in the future. When exactly – I had no idea. "I don't know. We just saw those guys a few days before we started our trip out west, and they we're all talking about you. They kept telling me that I should look you up. I think I have your phone number in my wallet." "All of you guys are from Duluth?" She seemed stunned. "No, just me, but let's see, half of us" – I counted, Patty, Syndee, Greg, and me – "are from South Dakota." "What's your name?" Ellie asked. Mountain West "Steve Byars," I answered. "Oh, sure! I've heard all of those guys talking about you. I can't believe I've never met you." "Maybe you have." "No, I would have remembered that!" We were pulling into Big Sky now, and eventually into the parking lot of the ski resort, which was nearly half full already. Heather and Greg each threw open their doors, and Syndee crawled off of us and opened the hatch, so all of the rest of the girls and Blue crawled out in the dim twilight. I walked around the Pontiac to talk to Ellie. My buddies were right! She was fucking hot! She was in so many ways the classic Scandinavian beauty – golden blonde hair, brilliant blue eyes, and a dark tan. She was wearing a white, cowl neck sweater, tight blue jean skirt, and sandals. The sweater was thick enough to leave me guessing as to what exactly was hidden underneath it. I already knew what I'd been told, but that truth was confirmed when she reached out and gave me a warm hug. I wasn't ready for that. Neither were the six females that had their designs on me as a dance partner for the night. Ellie gave Blue a bone, and locked him back in the Pontiac. She promised him she'd come out two or three times to let him run around for a couple of minutes. We went inside a huge dancehall that was capable of accommodating what looked to be about 3,000 people, and though a big crowd was assembled, I doubted that the place was more than half full. When we arrived, the band was still tuning up, so Greg headed straight to one of the five massive bars that surrounded the stage on three sides. He seemed, for some unfathomable reason, to be intent on getting totally drunk. This was bothersome to me on two counts. First, when Greg got really drunk, it usually fell to me to babysit him. And second, there were six girls that expected the two of us to dance with them all night long. If he was drunk, I had all six, and a possibly a seventh to have to worry about. As for the seventh, right after we walked through the door, Ellie wandered off and found some of her friends. But as soon as the music started, my dance card was full. It didn't take me long to figure out that Castle Mountain wasn't a jug band. They had a pedal steel guitar player for god sakes! Instead, they played a fairly pedestrian form of country rock music – some originals and a lot of covers – that tended to lean far toward all of the excesses of that genre and few of its virtues. But the crowd, mostly natives and students from the university, loved everything they were dishing out. Soon, I was as busy showing off all of the new moves I'd been taught, as I was spinning all six of the girls all over the dance floor at breakneck speed. First, Syndee, then Sylvie, then Dillon, Kylie, Patty, and Heather. For some reason, the girls really liked dancing with me. Greg was actually a much better dancer than I was, but I guessed that the girls liked being spun really fast, and that's what I did. There was no reason now for me to dance that way – I actually knew what I was doing, but I was getting too much positive reinforcement for speed, so I kept it up. Greg was right near me for all six of those songs, but he'd already had four shots, I knew he wouldn't last for the whole night. He already seemed a little tipsy. After six dances, I needed a cold one, and so I went to the nearest bar to grab one. Standing at the bar with a crowd of guys around her was Ellie. I would come to learn that this was an unusually common occurrence. I was jealous; I admit it. She seemed to attract men like moths to a flame. She'd taken off her sweater – it was about a hundred degrees in the room now – and she was wearing a black, loose-fitting, shear blouse through which I could see her toned stomach. Under it, she wore a decorative black and white lace bra, from which her big breasts bubbled over. I was already aroused. I figured I would try to talk to her, so I pushed my way through the crowd to get near the bar. Soon I found myself face to face with Ellie. To her credit, the moment I showed up, she ignored all of the other guys. "Well, Steve Byars! Haven't you been cutting the rug!" she said smiling slyly. "Why didn't you tell me you were a dancer?" "That's the reason they brought me," I said sarcastically. "You don't think I'm here for my good looks, do you?" "Dancer or no dancer, I think your good looks stand on their own. When are you gonna give me a go 'round?" "Well, Ellie Lundberg, as soon as I can order a beer and guzzle it down, I'm ready for you! Would you like one?" I asked, smiling hopefully. "Sure," she said, and she pointed one finger in the air, and within three seconds a bartender was taking our order. I've always been amazed by that. A guy can stand at a bar for 15 minutes, waving bills in his face and no bartender ever even looks his way, but a pretty girl snaps her fingers or points a finger to the sky, and every bartender from here to Katmandu comes running! He brought back two big mugs, and I paid him. Ellie offered a toast, "To clairvoyance and dancing," she said clinking our glasses together. We both drank greedily. "I'm not clairvoyant," I said, "just lucky, I guess," and I smiled at her. "Maybe, I'll get lucky too," she said wryly before pouring back a huge final gulp of her beer. "You ready to dance?" I chugged the rest of my beer, put our glasses on the bar, grabbed Ellie by the hand, and led her out onto the dance floor. It was pleasant watching her tits bounce around in her shear blouse. I could see the edges of her black lace bra underneath her top. She was the only girl that I had ever jitterbugged with that wasn't half a step behind me. That's why I tended to throw them all over the dance floor, because every time I grasped a hand at the last second, it was almost like whiplash when I spun them into the next move. Ellie seemed to anticipate where I was going before I went there. Dancing with her was effortless and fun. At the same time, I watched as Greg took his turns with the other girls, and while I was watching Greg, I got the feeling that five sets of female eyes were trained on Ellie in haughty rivalry. I danced with all of them at least once more, and Sylvie and Syndee several more times, and because she was the quietest and nicest, I asked Kylie to dance for four straight songs. But soon all of the girls found their own dance partners, so I didn't feel so committed anymore. By now Greg was nowhere to be seen, and so when the band took its second break, I went looking for him. I looked everywhere. He wasn't in the dancehall at all, so I went looking in the restrooms. When I couldn't find him by the urinals, I started checking the stalls one by one. I found him in the very last one, passed out on the floor next to the toilet. "Jesus Christ, Greg! What the hell are you doing here?" I said, shaking his lifeless body. I could see that he had puked into the toilet before passing out. He was basically a mess. There were a number of dudes in the john at that time, and all of them were laughing at us – Greg for being totally drunk, and me for being so concerned about a total drunk. A few suggested that I just leave him there to sleep it off. But Greg had saved my ass a lot of times, and now it was my turn to save his. I flushed the toilet, got some paper towels, soaked them in cold water and cleaned up his face and some chunky spittle from his shirt. After I had him cleaned up, I got more wet paper towels and held them to his face. Pretty soon, he started coming around. "Whadaya say, Steve! Ya been dancin' withat hot chick?" he slurred. I got him to his feet and helped him over to one of the sinks. First, I made him wash his face and his hands with soap. God knows what he'd been wallowing in on the floor of that stall. Then, I filled up the sink with cold water and made him stick his face in it. Pretty soon, he was only three sheets to the wind. His hair and his shirt were wet now, but after I dried him off as best I could, he was at least halfway presentable. So I threw his arm over my shoulder, and I put my arm around his waist and dragged him out of the restroom. Then I found him an upright chair where he could sit leaning against the wall near one of the bars. While I watched him, I went to the bar, and asked if they served coffee. They did, so I got a big cupful, and brought it back to Greg. He drank it as fast as he could, considering how hot it was. Then, I got him another cup, and in a half an hour, he was almost a human being. It was well after midnight now, and the band was just finishing up its last few tunes. Most of the girls had found rides back to Bozeman with their friends. I found Ellie, and she asked if I wanted a ride back with her. I said yes. Patty and Syndee were still there, though they were just about to leave as well. I asked them if they would take Greg back to Patty's place with them. Their ride agreed, and so I helped Greg out of the dancehall and to their car and saw them all off. Freed up now from any responsibilities, I invited Ellie to dance again. Two of the last three songs were slowed down blues numbers that afforded me the opportunity to slow dance with her. As I held her tightly, she whispered into my ear, "You're a good guy, Steve Byars." "Why do you say that?" I asked. "Because you're loyal to your friends, and you keep your promises." "You mean, Greg?" "Yeah, a guy I know told me what you did for him in the restroom. Most people I know would never have done that. That's loyalty, and that's a virtue I hold in pretty high regard. But then there were also the girls. I knew you wanted to dance with me, but you had promised them first. And you kept your promise. That's a good guy." "But I'm not so much good as I am clairvoyant, right?" I asked sarcastically. "No, not clairvoyant, just lucky – your words, not mine, remember?" The Castle Mountain Jug Band finished the night with a rousing version of "Six Days on the Road," and Ellie and I wandered out into cold mountain air, and back to her Pontiac. She let Blue run around for a few minutes in the parking lot before we got back in the car and drove down the mountain to Bozeman. While we were driving, I asked Ellie how long she'd lived there, and found out that she'd been enrolled at Montana State for three years. She explained that she'd initially gone to school there to ski, but that she was now taking college seriously. She wanted to be a teacher. When we got back to town, I didn't know what Ellie was thinking, and I didn't want to assume anything. It seemed that she wanted to spend the night with me, but she had not said anything definitive on that score. I could have waited to see what she was going to do, but instead I thought I would give her the option. When we reached a residential area, I mentioned that Patty and her roommates lived on Grand Avenue. She slowed the car, pulled over to the curb, and turned and looked at me with a quizzical smile, "Steve, I want to sleep with you. I'm taking you back to my place so that we can do that. Let me be more specific: I want to have sex with you. Do you want to have sex with me, Steve Byars?" No one could say she was mealy-mouthed. "Of course, I do; I just didn't want to be presumptuous. It would have been wrong of me to have assumed that." She stared at me and didn't say anything for a long time. Then, she smiled, "You're a good guy, Steve Byars." "You keep repeating yourself, Ellie Lundberg," I said, returning her smile. She started the car, drove another block and turned right, and then pulled into a driveway several houses down. These were newer homes than the Victorians in the old part of town, and they weren't as large, but when we climbed the front porch and went inside, I thought to myself that it was the nicest place I'd ever seen a college student live in. "Do you have roommates, Ellie?" I asked wondering how she afforded such luxury. "Nope, not unless you count Blue." She opened the door, and we went inside. "Would you like a beer?" "Sure," I said, "as long as you're having one." Ellie put some music on the stereo, and soon the strains of Joni Mitchell's "A Case of You" – a song about infatuation, which seemed to perfectly capture the moment – spilled from the speakers on either side of the living room. She later told me that she named her dog after the title of that album. Then, she went to the kitchen and pulled a couple of longnecks out the refrigerator, popped the caps, and brought them back and handed them both to me. Then, she excused herself for a few minutes and went to the bathroom. When she returned, she had removed her cowl neck sweater, shear blouse, and jeans skirt, and replaced her blouse with an even shearer pink robe and her scandals with a pair of black high heels. She'd pulled her hair off the side of her head into a pony tail, and she was now wearing a pearl necklace and a matching pearl earrings. I was getting hard. She sat down next to me on the couch and her pink shear robe did not even begin to conceal her fancy black and white lace bra and a skimpy pair of matching panties. Her outfit matched this house, but it was inconsistent with the picture that I had of her as this cool, hippie chick. She grabbed her beer from the coffee table, took a big swig, set it down, and leaned over and kissed me. "Are you as turned on right now as I am, Steve?" "Yeah, I have been since the moment you walked in this room," I said. "You look really beautiful, Ellie." She looked at me and smiled, but then a kind of pained expression washed over her face. "I can't wait. Forget these beers. Come on, follow me," she said, standing up and quickly walking out of the room. I followed 20 feet behind her. When I got to her dimly lit bedroom, she had already mounted the bed facing the footboard, and she was on all fours leaning over with her big tits falling out of that fancy bra. She looked like a mountain lion just about to strike. "Take your clothes off, Steve, and come over here. I want to suck your cock." It was an imperative, that I understood, but it was done in such soft, lazy, almost lackadaisical tone that I was happy to comply. When I approached the foot of the bed, she took my semi-erect cock into her mouth through the decorative wrought iron of the footboard and then using just her mouth pulled me toward her with tremendous suction. Then, once she had me positioned where she wanted me, she attacked my dick from the side with just her lips. I stood there with my balls pressed up against the decorative swirls of cold metal that formed the footboard, with Ellie's warm mouth sliding back and forth the length of my erection from the side – her upper lip draped across the top of my stiffness and her bottom lip and tongue hugging its bottom side. I was rock hard now. "Come lay down here on the bed, Steve. I want to see how much you can take." I didn't know whether to take that as a threat or a challenge. I guess it didn't really matter! I extricated my thickness from between the smooth, cold, wrought iron swirls and lay down next to Ellie on her soft bed. Now, she attacked my cock and balls – first sucking my balls into her mouth and running her dizzying tongue all over the crinkled surface of my ball sack, and then, slowly but surely working from my engorged head, she kept going down, down, down, until she had me deep into her throat. My cock and balls were awash in her saliva now, and I was taking in shallower and faster breaths. After her initial aggressiveness, now I couldn't stop myself from thrusting into her tight throat. She was staring into my eyes now each time she pulled my spit-soaked erection from her throat, and each time a new thread of spittle clung to my mushroom head, and new tears trickled down her cheeks. "You're no pushover, Steve!" Ellie said with admiration. "Looks like I'm going to have to crank it up a notch!" "Okay," I said, "but I want to taste you at the same time." It seemed like a pretty equitable proposition, so Ellie spun around, knelt astride my shoulders, and dropped her warm pussy to my face. Then, she went back to work on me with her mouth and her hands. Meanwhile, I was content at first to just breathe her in for a few moments. Women always smell great, each one so unique, so inexplicable, so ineffably perfect, but Ellie... oh my god! Her scent was beyond description, something both sweet and pungent, aromatic and organic, delicate and overpowering, hot and fresh as morning dew. I started kissing my way all around those tiny panties she called underwear, and then I started using my tongue and teeth to lick and gently bite her inner thighs and butt. Then, I started blowing my hot, moist breath through the fabric of her panties and onto her sex. Each time I did, I could feel her shudder just a little. Now, I wanted to see her flower unfold. So, I brought both of my hands to Ellie's tight, exposed cheeks, and using the fingers from my right hand, I pulled her panties to the side and ran my tongue up the length of her vulva. Then, I moved my left hand from her ass and very slowly and gently inserted two fingers into her sex. It took me a good two minutes to get them deep into Ellie's tight pussy, but once I did I started moving them up and down inside her, which produced a sensual groan and a rush of arousal from her peach. The moment her juices began flowing, Ellie's sex began to swell. What had initially appeared to me to be a nice, bourgeois kitty, with slender, petite folds, grew into the most wicked and licentious pussy since Mata Hari's! As if by magic, her labia spread themselves apart and puffed outward until they became thick and fleshy lips that seemed poised to swallow any invading entity whole. Her long, lean clit hood became distended and from it protruded an engorged clitoris as big as the end of my thumb. In essence, her whole sex opened up. In later dalliances with Ellie, I would learn that when this happened she became a powder keg that was about to explode, but I didn't know this at the time. She was still busy at her own work. Using as much spittle as she could produce she was using both hands to simultaneously stroke my length. Then, removing one of her hands, she went back to taking me as deeply into her throat as the fist at the base of cock would allow. And she then she would concentrate on my head, licking around it and rubbing it on her cheek. But I was so attuned to the attention I was paying to her pussy that I think it kept me from exploding in her mouth. So with that incredibly aroused pussy staring me in the face, I decide to finish the job. With my fingers still inside her, I wrapped my whole mouth around her distended clitoral hood, and I just started suckling, and using as much saliva as I could, I began pulling her fat clit in and out of my mouth, like a baby sucking a pacifier. She involuntarily released my erection from her mouth, as her orgasm swept her body. Then, she lost control, "Oh no, oh, oh, oh no, Steve, oh my god, Steve, oh... don't... oh my god, Steve... Oh, Jesus, Steve... ooooooooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" And then she exploded. She squirted wildly all over my face – four, maybe five jets bathed me, while Ellie ground her pussy hard against my face. She continued whimpering and trembling uncontrollably for nearly two more minutes, and when both slowed, I could tell she was ashamed to look at me. She thought I might be disgusted by her outburst. She was wrong. I was turned on, really turned on. I had never seen a woman cum like that, and it made me want to fuck... even more. But first I had some healing to do. Ellie crawled off me and hiding her face, she started to apologize. "Steve, I'm sorry. I can't believe I..., and all over you... I'm so embarrassed... I'm so... sorry..." Apologies have a way of deflating erections like pins deflate balloons, so I had to stop her. Mountain West "Ellie, I want to sleep with you," I interrupted. "Let me be more specific: I want to have sex with you. Do you want to have sex with me, Ellie Lundberg?" She started laughing. Then, she looked up at me and saw the mess she'd left on my face, and then she couldn't stop laughing. It took her longer to recover from the joke than it had taken her to recover from her orgasm. She finally got up from the bed, went into the bathroom, and returned with a towel for my face. As I wiped it off, she hugged me and said, "You're a good guy, Steve Byars." "Did anyone ever tell you you're a rotten conversationalist?" I said, smiling at her. "The same tired lines over and over again!" Ellie laughed once more, but she never let go of her embrace. Her comforter was drenched with her explosion, so I pulled it back exposing the cozy, dry sheets. Then, we lay down next to each other on the bed, and she kissed me with great passion and intensity. For the next ten minutes, all we did was kiss, all over each other's faces, ears, necks, and shoulders. Then, she began stroking my cock back to life, and I removed her bra and her drenched panties and crawled between her legs. I had a condom in my jeans – I'd learned my earlier lesson – and so I reached for them on the floor to retrieve it, but Ellie stopped me. "It's okay. I have protection, and I want you inside me." So, I placed the head of my cock between her meaty lips, and I slowly eased myself into Ellie's warm, wet pussy. She groaned quietly and sensually. Then, I stayed where I was for just a little bit, so she could acclimate herself to my being inside her. Then, I started pumping. We developed a rhythm together – she would meet my thrusts, and it was like we were dancing again – she knew when I would change my cadence, speed things up or slow them down – she was right there with me the whole time. Our breaths were coming more rapidly and were shorter. Then, Ellie wrapped her legs around me and began pulling my hips into her with her feet. She managed to generate an incredible amount of leverage using this technique, and each time I achieved my deepest penetration, she would rotate her hips in a circular motion to grind herself against me. From there we continued to build our rhythm faster and faster, until we were both groaning loudly. Then, Ellie's satiny voice carried us both over the edge, "Oh... fuck me deep, baby! Oh... you're gonna make me... cum again! Oh my god..., that feels... incredible! Keep... stroking me... baby! Oh, my god... I can feel... the head of your cock! Oh... let's... cum... together! Oh... I'm... almost there! Oh... one more... deep stroke...! That's it...! That's it...! Oh, god... oh my god! I'm... cumming! I'm... cumming again! Oh, baby..., shoot your... load... inside me! Shoot... your hot... cum deep inside me!" That was it. At the very instant I heard the word "load" my first spurt exploded deep inside Ellie's pussy. "Oh, baby... I can... feel your cum...! Fill me... up...! Keep... shooting... your load! I... felt you... again...! I can feel... your cock... pulsing! Oh, give me more... more cum... more cum... more cum... more cum... more cum..." Her voice trailed off into whispers and then finally her lips were moving, but no words were coming out. Her eyes were closed; she was smiling. She was in another world. I just kept stroking into her – long after my cock had stopped shooting its load – matching the slowing, wistful rhythm of her words 'more cum... more cum... more cum...' Finally, I stopped moving, and slowly, dreamily, Ellie came back to the world. She slowly opened her eyes and looked up at me, smiling, as I hovered over her. Then, she reached out both of her arms, grasped my face, and pulled me to her lips. She kissed me with every ounce of emotion she could muster for as long as she could muster it, until finally my strength was gone, and I collapsed next to her on the bed. We were both drained. Neither of us had anything left. I managed to pull the covers over us, and we just lay there in each others arms and fell asleep. When I awoke it was morning – by the looks of it, late morning. Ellie was still in my arms, and she was awake, staring at me, smiling. When I opened my eyes, she kissed me puckishly, like a naughty schoolgirl. "I've been waiting for you to wake up," she said. "How long have you been awake?" I asked. "Probably an hour." I was confused. "Why didn't you get up?" I wondered. "What have you been doing all that time?" "Watching you sleep." "You could have been here a long time! I was tired!" I said, smiling at her. She looked so much younger now. "Isn't that pretty boring?" "Not at all. In fact, I could lie here all day watching you." "You're easily amused, Ellie Lundberg!" I said, laughing. "You're a good guy, Steve Byars." "Oh god, no! Not that again!" I laughed. "How about some breakfast?" she asked. "Pancakes and bacon?" "That sounds great! Do you mind if I take a shower?" "No, I guess I owe you one, right?" I didn't take the bait. We both knew what she was talking about. I took a long, hot shower, and then put my dirty clothes back on. I knew I would change again into fresh ones as soon as I got back to Patty's. But that seemed like a potential landmine that needed to be addressed. I think Ellie thought that I was here to stay, and Greg and I were still on vacation. We had more country to see. When I stumbled out into the living room, I saw our nearly full bottles of beer sitting on the coffee table. "That was a waste of two perfectly good beers," I said. "Oh well!" she said from the kitchen, "The alternative was much better!" "Yes, it was." I paused. "Ellie, we never talked last night. So I never explained what I've... what we've been doing." I was trying to explain Greg and my vacation, etc. "Look, Steve, you don't have to explain anything to me. You're free to have sex with whomever you want to. I know those girls were looking to get into your pants last night!" "No, no Ellie, listen! Greg and I have been traveling around; we're on vacation. We've got one more week, and then we have to head back home before school starts. We weren't even planning on coming to Bozeman! It was just a coincidence that we ran into one of the girls on our way out west. We just met the rest of those girls earlier this week. We kind of stumbled into staying at their place, but other than dancing, that's all." "Listen, last night. That was really good! Unbelievably good! I like you... a lot. Really a lot. And I thought we were really good together. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not proposing marriage, but I'd like to see you again. Do you think that you'd like to see me again?" She had just finished plating our breakfasts, and she walked to the dining room table carrying the two plates loaded with cakes and bacon, and motioned for me to sit down. She set down her cargo, and then she looked at me and smiled, "You're a good guy, Steve Byars." "Oh my god," I said with frustration. "No, now you listen to me, Steve! I'm kind of a crazy girl, a party girl. I ain't exactly celibate. But Steve, I've gotta like the people that I sleep with, or it isn't worth it to me. I like you too... a lot, really a lot, and you're right we are really good together, and that was really good last night, despite my, well... overexcitement." I just sat back to listen. She was a really interesting girl. "And yes, I want to keep seeing you too, but I'm a realist. We live a thousand miles away from each other, and I just met you a few hours ago. I don't expect anything from you, Steve, except for one thing – just keep being a good guy. That's important to me." "Last night, that was a weird fluke that we met, but weird fluke or not, I think you're a pretty cool guy. You've got your head screwed on right. You've got your shit together. You could've been an asshole about a dozen different times last night, and you weren't, and while you were trying really hard not to be an asshole, you rocked my world pretty damn good! So yeah, I want to have sex with you again, Steve, and next time I get back home, or next time you come out here, we'll do that okay? And I promise; I wanna stay in touch." "That sounds really good, Ellie. Thank you!" "You can thank me after breakfast, but right now you need to start eating before this food gets any colder." We finished breakfast. I was so hungry; I ate everything she put in front of me. I thanked for breakfast, like she said. Then, we exchanged information. I was half in love with her when she dropped me off at Patty's an hour later. This time, I was the one that didn't want to let go of her. We hugged outside her Pontiac in the middle of Grand Avenue for ten minutes. Neither one of us said a word. Greg was actually up and moving when I went inside the house. He seemed surprisingly upbeat. "You ready to head to Glacier, buddy?" he asked me with a big smile on his face. "Yeah, Greg. I'm ready. I just have to change my clothes." I gathered my things together, threw on a clean pair of underwear, socks, jeans, and shirt. Then, I dragged my backpack downstairs. Sylvie was gone when we left. I never got to say goodbye to her, and we never got to bedroom together, like she had said. I didn't even know her last name. We said goodbye to all of the other girls, and promised we would be back to pick up Syndee in a few days. Then, we headed west on the Interstate. We got to West Glacier about 6:00 p.m. and had time to buy food and find a camping spot inside the park at a place called Sprague Creek on Lake McDonald. Then, we followed Going to the Sun Road through Glacier National Park, and camped the second night at Avalanche Campground. Our third night, we spent at a place called Clement Mountain, which required a little hiking. It was incredibly scenic, probably the most amazing place I've ever visited. On Thursday, we drove from Glacier into the panhandle of Idaho. We camped at a place called Springy Point on Lake Pend Orielle. The next day Thursday we drove into Washington, cutting down to Spokane, where we decided we'd reached the end of our line; we headed back east on Interstate 90. We'd visited five states, three National Parks, and had camped at nearly a dozen different places. Of the 19 days we'd gone, we'd spent 14 of them camping. And we were still 1200 miles from home. We crossed back into Idaho, and then into Montana, and at Missoula, we called back to Patty's place, and told them we'd be back there that night. We reminded Syndee that we needed to get up bright and early to leave the next morning, and that she should be packed and ready to go. We arrived back in Bozeman about 7:00 p.m. Dillon and Heather were working, and Sylvie and Kylie weren't there, so we asked Patty and Syndee if they'd eaten yet. They hadn't. So, we invited them out for dinner, just the four of us wherever they wanted to go. We wanted to pay them back for their hospitality. We went to a steak house just up the highway west of Bozeman. It was the only restaurant we visited on our entire trip. We had a great meal. During the course of the meal, Patty invited us to come and visit any time. She said that she'd be in Bozeman for at least two more years. It would take her that long to graduate. Syndee got up just as we were finishing up our steaks and excused herself to go to the bathroom. When she came back, our waitress wandered by, and Greg asked for our check. The waitress looked shyly back at Syndee and explained that the check had already been taken care of compliments of the gracious redhead. Syndee said that she owed us, not the other way around. We thanked her, and headed back to Patty's for our last night in Montana. On Friday morning, we were up early, each accepting a big mug of coffee from Patty who was already awake and headed to work, and then we hit the highway about 8:00 a.m. We need to drop off Jake's camping equipment with him when we got to the Hills, and then we were headed to Chambers, half way across South Dakota, where Syndee lived. After we dropped her off, we had another three and half hours of driving to go. We figured the whole trip would take us about thirteen hours. If we were lucky we'd be home by 11:00 p.m. We arrived in the Hills about mid-afternoon and spent a little while in Spearfish with Jake. When we got to Syndee's house, it was already nearly 8:00 p.m. and we'd been on the road already for 12 hours. Syndee had a two bedroom home just north of town near the river. Living alone as she did, she'd turned the second bedroom into a small gym, where she worked out, so the only bed in the place was in her bedroom, a massive Cal-king, the last vestiges of her marriage to her ex-husband. Syndee insisted, but I know I had already thought it would be nice if this was the end of the road for the day. Greg was less sure of that offer. With only one bed, the sleeping arrangements would be awkward to say the least. Especially considering that both of us had shared with the other our thoughts about sleeping with Syndee, and she had intimated to her sister her desire to sleep with each of us. We both knew these details. Greg had overheard what she said to me in Ellie's car on the highway heading into Big Sky. What did she mean, he'd asked, when she'd announced her desire "for a face full"? So I had explained to him the whole scene in the bathroom at Patty's, when Sylvie had left me with my pants down and my fat erection hanging there for Syndee to see. And Greg had told me what Syndee had said to Patty about him. How she'd asked Patty for details about his cock, and how she'd already told Patty that she wanted us both. He was right, either we both agreed to forego Syndee for the night and were okay with camping out on her living room floor, or one of us was going to get his feelings hurt, sleeping on the couch listening to the other guy banging away on Syndee. The only other option was to just keep driving and get home sometime around midnight. I think Syndee may have sensed all these complex machinations going on in both our heads, but when she voiced a fourth option, "Guys, I've got a huge bed! There's plenty of room for all three of us," our jaws hit the floor simultaneously. "Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?" Greg asked naïvely. "I'm not suggesting anything," Syndee said. "I think I've made it clear to both of you that I'm interested in you sexually. Either one or the other or both or neither of you are interested. It's entirely up to you." Greg and I were both 21 at the time, and not only had neither of us been involved in a ménage à trois, I don't think that either of us had ever really contemplated the logistics of such an endeavor. Now, one was being proffered, and by a beautiful older and sexually experienced woman, and all we really had to do was say, "Yes, we'd love to sleep with you in your bed tonight, Syndee!" So that's exactly what we said. But first Syndee said there were a few preparations that needed to be made. She said that she was going to take a long bath, and she showed us where a second bathroom was and suggested that we each shower before joining her in her bedroom. I showered first, and Greg followed me. We each changed into clean underwear and then waited around awkwardly in her bedroom for her to finish her bath. There is something disconcerting about standing around in your underwear with another guy in his underwear. On the other hand, I think we were both nervous about the moment when the underwear would inevitably come off. I was looking at and reading just a little from some books she had on her night stand, and Greg was looking at some photographs of Syndee and her family members that she had in a box on top of her dresser. We waited... a long time. It took Syndee at least an hour to prepare herself, but I guess the wait was worth it. When she sauntered seductively back into the bedroom, she was transformed. The sexy farmer's daughter had turned into Lady Chatterley! Her outfit was so complex that it is even hard to describe. It seemed to me to be lingerie from a sort of post-Victorian or Edwardian era. It consisted of a bustier, with these underwire bands that ran vertically up Syndee's torso and made the thing cinch her waist so tightly I don't know how she could breathe. In between each of the bands, the fabric of the bustier featured a pattern of flowers in pastel shades that added just a bit of color to its otherwise off-white cream. She had tucked the cups of the bustier under her big, beautiful breasts so that her milky white orbs were pushed heavenward by the underwire supports, but because of their size, spilled over the top and outward. The bustier featured several matching items – garters that connected to pure white thigh- high stockings that rose to lace holdups that hugged Syndee's slender thighs. She also wore a pair of matching panties that featured tiny thin lace straps that fully exposed her exquisite ass. Finally, she wore a lace choker – made of the same fabric – tightly around her delicate neck, but which featured tiny, flower buttons in pink and pale blue. The whole outfit was covered by a shear peach-colored robe with long sleeves that she hadn't bothered to tie, but which wouldn't have concealed anything even if she had. Her bustier was framed by its flowing satin. But the coup de grâce was a pair of ankle-length, laced-up Victorian high heels that were cut at a rakish angle at the tops and matched the rest of her outfit. The whole menagerie was accented by a pearl bracelet and the longest pearl necklace I believe I've ever seen. Besides the incredibly erotic lingerie, Syndee had pulled some, but not all of her hair up into a kind of up 'do. She also wore bright pink lipstick that made her plump lips look even fatter, and which presented a jarring contrast with her piercing blue eyes and pale skin. I looked at Greg, his briefs completely unable to hide his growing erection. When I looked down, my boxers were failing even more miserably as my cock had already begun to stick out of the fly. We both walked toward her in the center of the room with our stiffening members leading the way. "Can a girl get a fella to help her with her robe?" she said, as she came to a stop between us. We each pulled the loose robe off her shoulders and down her arms which hung at her sides. I tossed it over the arms of armchair in the corner of the room. The sight of her standing there was enough that I would have been content to just grab my dick and starting jerking myself off. Her complexion was unreal. Absolutely flawless, everywhere on her body. And her tits, they big and white and natural, with fat, pink areolas that jutted out to the ends of her nipples, just the way I liked them. Her skin was so pale that the veins in her tits, especially around her areolas were noticeable. "You boys both look excited to see me," she said dropping to her knees, and with that she pulled Greg's briefs down his legs and off him, before doing the same to my boxer shorts. We stood on either side of her shamelessly exposing our erections. It's a weird feeling seeing another man's erect cock for the first time before your very eyes. I can't speak for Greg, but I know that I, for one, couldn't help but to attempt to draw some comparisons. I was relieved to discover that we were both almost the exact same length, and from what Syndee was about to say, I could only guess that that length was quite sufficient. If I had to guess I would have said that my prick was a little bit thicker than Greg's, but I probably wasn't the most objective assessor. Mountain West Syndee began stroking each of us simultaneously, and as each of grew even larger in her hands, she said provocatively. "Oh my, boys, these are two of the nicest sized cocks I've seen in long, long time. Can you get even bigger?" She kept stroking, a little faster and with even a tighter grip. My heart was beating out of my chest. "Oh, decisions, decisions, which one to taste first?" I was standing to Syndee's right and Greg to her left, and I guessed that because she was right-handed, I got the nod. While she continued stroking Greg, she wrapped her soft, plump lips tightly around my mushroom head, and then she slid half way down my pole, while she continued to use her hand to stroke and knead my balls. Instantaneously, I let out an audible groan, and I saw Greg look at me, just before I closed my eyes. Syndee had my erection sopping wet with copious amounts of saliva, before she pulled her head off my cock with an audible "pop" and turned her oral attentions to Greg. While she slid her mouth over Greg's head, she went back to Greging me off, this time a little more insistently than before. Greg now had his eyes closed, and he too was obviously enjoying Syndee's talented ministrations. "Oh my god," Greg exclaimed involuntarily. Greg's words reminded me of another interesting twist on the threesome dynamic – what about vocalizing one's wishes or simply talking dirty? How did that play when there was another member of your gender nearby? I could scarcely believe that Syndee's licentiousness would be tamed in our little triumvirate. But what about Greg? I could still hear him urging Coral on – "yeah, ride me baby!" I like to talk my lovers, and I knew Greg did too. Would that continue? I would soon have the answer to my question. "Let's move to the bed," Syndee said almost timidly. And both Greg and I helped her to feet. Greg moved to the side of the bed standing with his big cock out in front of him, while I lay Syndee down on her back on the foot of the bed. I left her legs dangling over the edge of the mattress with those sexy heels touching the floor, and when she turned her head to take Greg back in her mouth, I reached around her hips and pulled her tiny panties off her. Then, I got on my knees, and spread Syndee's legs apart, revealing her ginger bush and leaking pussy. I started by kissing, licking, and nibbling everything but her sex. Then, I blew my hot, moist breath directly on her wet opening, and her whole body shuddered. When I began to lick the length of her slender labia minora, she pulled her head away from Greg's cock, and let out a low growl, "Oh baby, you eat my pussy so good!" Now, I was adding as much saliva to my licking as possible, and Syndee's ladylike pussy wasn't looking so ladylike any more. With a pungent mix of juices pouring from it, it seemed to beg for some penetration, so I stuck my index finger inside that peach, and when I did, a gush of arousal ran out of her sex and down her taint, filling the dent that held her tight asshole. Meanwhile, my pussy eating had Syndee more excited than ever. She was going to town on Greg's cock, alternately deep throating him and sucking his balls into her mouth. Greg's face was flushed, and when she took him into her throat, he would thrust himself into her in some garish face fucking that was producing some incredibly vulgar sounds from deep within Syndee. They say it is better to give than to receive, and that became my motto for the next five minutes. I knew that Greg was close to exploding. Maybe my own competitive juices were flowing like the arousal from Syndee's pussy, but I was in a race now with Syndee to see who could produce the first orgasm of the night. So, I added another finger to her dripping hole, and once Syndee seemed to accommodate the extra digit, I spread my fingers apart to open her up wider and pushed them inside her as deeply as I could. I moved my fingers down, to the bottom of Syndee's pussy, closest to her asshole. Using both fingers, I pressed down, with my fingers deeply inside her, nearly as hard as could push toward her tight, little backdoor. "Oh my fucking god! Is that just your fingers? It feels incredible, like your big cock is inside me! Oh, keep doing that baby! You're gonna make me cum!" That, I was. But I wasn't going to stop with my just my digits. While I continued pressing up and down with my fingers, my mouth dropped to the top of Syndee's vulva, and I sucked as much of her mound as I could take into my hot, wet orifice. I pulled her entire clitoral hood into my mouth, and I began sucking it in and out with my lips just as I had done to Ellie almost a week earlier. Syndee went wild. She began writhing and thrashing about, and screaming, "Fuck, I'm cumming. Oh, my god, I'm cumming. Oh... oh... my... my... god... I'mmmm cummmm... iiiinnnnggggg...!" To her credit, through all her screaming, she never stopping stroking Greg's massive erection. Now, she pushed off on those sexy Victorian high heels, raised her hips from the bed, and began grinding her ginger bush against my face! From my position on my knees, I could see Greg's face twist into a tortured grimace, and I knew that Syndee's orgasm had a big effect on him. I suspected that Syndee had intended to take Greg's cum in her mouth, but she was so overcome with her own climax that her mouth had fallen away from the head of his dick. So when he announced his intentions, "I'm cumming! I'm gonna shoot my load all over your face!" she turned away just an inch or so to accept his spunk on her cheek. It went there and most everywhere else! Greg had built up quite a load since fucking Syndee's sister a week and a half ago. His first spurts landed on those red tresses, the next four or five ropes coated her forehead, nose, cheeks, and chin! Syndee continued stroking him, until his cock had dispensed all of its cargo. I let my cum buddies ease their way back to reality. Finally, Syndee sat up, cum dripping from her face and kissed me. I had never tasted another man's cum, so this was a first. But it was only the beginning. "Steve, that was some unbelievable pussy eating! You just earned yourself a special treat. But before that, I want you in my pussy!" I grabbed a box of tissues from the night stand and offered it to Syndee. She waved it away as unnecessary, as if to say "there will soon be more of that flying, and I'm bound to catch a good bit more of it. Why bother cleaning up now?" Besides, I think she liked it. I pulled Syndee up onto the middle of the bed. In the meantime, Greg took a seat in the armchair in the corner with his wilting dick in his hand. From that vantage point, he had a bird's eye view of me fucking Syndee. I crawled between Syndee's creamy thighs, and placed my engorged head between her slippery, wet lips. I was rock hard. Then, I leaned over, and placing my weight on my outstretched arms, I began rocking slowly back and forth, gaining a half an inch with each successive plunge. Her pussy was so warm and wet that I almost came inside her after a dozen strokes, but I managed to hold off. After Greg's cumshot, I wanted something spectacular. Syndee's breathing was building and began to match the rhythm of our fucking. I was now burying my length inside her with each long stroke. Pretty soon she was groaning loudly, and urging my own with hers, "Oh, fuck me deep! Oh god, keep fucking me deeper, deeper! You're gonna make me cum again with that big fucking cock!" And with that she wrapped her legs around me so I had a better angle to plumb her depths. If deep was what Syndee wanted, then deep is what I was going to give her. I brought my arms just a few inches closer to me, and lifted my knees from the mattress. Now, I could pound all the way into her seemingly bottomless hole. I was watching Syndee's beautiful tits and that long pearl necklace bounce back and forth and up and down now when I plunged in to the hilt, and I could tell she was close again. She wasn't speaking, just making vulgar grunting sounds. But I didn't think I could keep this up. My arms and legs were going numb, and I didn't think they would last. I just hoped to be bring Syndee off again. So I kept going, each stroke pulling all of my length out of her wet chasm, except for the very tip of my head, and then when I had her whimpering for more, I would slammed back in until my pubic mound was grinding against her excited clit. And then I felt it! The tip of my cock was now touching her spongy cervix on every in stroke. Then Syndee, closed her eyes and began quaking up and down against my stiffness, screaming again, not words but guttural sounds, as another orgasm washed over her, "Oohh!! Ooohhh!! Oooohhhh!! Ooooohhhhh!! Oooooohhhhhh!!" I dropped back to knees, though I kept moving in and out of Syndee's pussy. It was so wet and sloppy now that I couldn't really feel anything anyway. Besides, my arms and legs were so numb they didn't feel like they belonged to me. Slowly, Syndee opened her eyes to see me moving above her. She smiled with gratitude, and I was pleased that I had brought to another climax, but now I wanted to cum... badly. "Syndee? Can I fuck your tits?" she looked up at me with curiosity and a little confusion. "You need to blow your load, Steve! And my tits are a fine place to do it!" She reached to her night stand, and pulled open the top drawer and pulled out a tube of lubricant. After she squirted some of the lube between her fine tits, she pushed them together for me. Then, I moved my legs, so I was kneeling over her impressive chest, and I slid inside the slick tent she had made with her tits. Meanwhile, Greg was rock hard again, and when I started tit fucking Syndee, he moved behind me on the bed, so he could enter Syndee's pussy for the first time. "Jesus, your pussy is soaked. Did Steve do that to you?" Syndee's tits were so soft, warm and lubed up that I didn't have much trouble bringing myself to a climax between them. I used my free hands to wrap them around Syndee's hands as she held her tits in place, and I thrust for all I was worth into that warm, wet tunnel. Pretty soon, my balls started to twitch, and I could feel the cum rising from my sack. "I'm gonna cum," I announced. "I'm gonna cum." Syndee became animated and excited. "Yeah, give me that hot cum on my face! Yeah, baby, shoot it all! I want every drop! Give it to me! Yeah, give it to me!" And just as my first rope was rising up my cock, Syndee released her hold on her tits, and my cannon sprung from its fleshy tunnel. The first spurt shot up, up, up, high over her face and landed a foot beyond her head on the bedcover, but the next three spurts all rose six inches over her chin before landing on her forehead and in her beautiful red hair. My final four spurts coated her chin and mouth, and she scooped as much of it as she could into her waiting mouth. "Um, um, um! Your cum tastes nice!" I crawled off Syndee's chest. I sensed that I was in the way. And this is one of the problems with threesomes – somebody's always in the way. It's kind of impossible not to be, with very few exceptions. I sat down in the armchair to watch, and to recharge my fading erection. So it was Greg's turn to fuck Syndee, and he settled into the task industriously. First, he bent her knees and set those sexy high heels flat on the mattress. Then, he lifted her fine ass until her drenched hole was level with his engorged head. Then, he re-entered her and began to thrust steadily into her. He built a good rhythm, and Syndee was clearly responding to it. When he grabbed her around her hips, he was able to plunge more deeply, and she met his deeper strokes with vocal encouragement, "Yeah, baby, I love your deep thrusts! Keep fucking me like that and you'll make me cum again!" But suddenly he seemed to change his mind, and with one quick, adept, and seamless motion, Greg lifted Syndee's hips off his stiffness, and he flipped her over onto her hands and knees, and entered her from behind. Then, he grabbed her hips again, and pushed himself into her until his bone fully disappeared. Syndee was moaning uncontrollably now, and when I looked down, I realized I was stroking my rock hard penis. Having been turned around where she was now facing me, I looked up to find Syndee staring at me. There was passion in her eyes, and it was being directed at me. "I want to be spit roasted," she demanded. I didn't know what that meant at the time, but I knew what I wanted, and I knew what role Syndee could play in that desire. So I went with my instincts and crawled back on to the bed. I knelt in front of her, and she gratefully took my fat cock in her mouth. I figured my instincts were pretty good. Greg was pounding for all he was worth now, and I could see the sweat dripping off his chest and onto Syndee's ass. I knew he was close. Meanwhile, despite the slamming she was taking, Syndee was all over my cock, alternating between taking it deeply into her throat and licking my sensitive crown. And her oral talents were apparently bringing her closer to the edge as well. Suddenly, Greg grunted his announcement, "I'm cumming in your pussy." And with that Syndee too was gone. She dropped my cock from her mouth, and throwing her head back, she started slamming backward on Greg's spike and spitting vulgarities, "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! I'm cumming again." Greg sort of collapsed onto Syndee's back, and both of them rode out their climaxes in a heap in the middle of the huge bed. When Greg crawled off her, Syndee decided it was time for the grand finale. She disappeared into the bathroom momentarily and returned with two hand towels. "You're in for a show," she said. "For now, you two can just sit back and watch. And stroke your big tools for me while you're at it!" Then, she lay back against a pile of pillows stacked against the headboard, and spread her fine legs, bending her knees, and planting those sexy Victorian heels flat on the mattress. Her ass and pussy were completely exposed to us now. Then, she reached for the lube on the night stand. She squirted just a tiny dollop of lube on the tip of her right index finger, and using her left hand to spread her ass cheeks wide apart, she delicately rubbed the tip on her anal opening. When she had it nice and wet, she squeezed more lube onto her index finger, and then slowly and deliberately, she began sliding that finger into her ass. It took a minute or two to fully penetrate herself with that digit. Then, almost as slowly as she had inserted it, Syndee began withdrawing her finger from her puckered behind. "This takes time, boys, but if we're going to do this, we're going to do it right! Just keep getting yourselves ready. I want you hard when the time is right!" Then, she added a new dollop of lube, but this time to both her index and middle fingers. Again, she slowly inserted the pair into her ass. When she was in to the hilt, she again slowly and sensually pulled her greased digits from her widening backdoor. She was becoming more and more vocal as the demonstration continued Now the routine was familiar. More lube, three fingers, slowly in until all but her knuckles disappeared, then out just as slowly. Wider. Moans. Now four fingers, in... out... Wider yet. Louder moans. But I don't think that either Greg or I thought she would or could go all the way. All five... slowly, slowly... in... and then with guttural groans deeper, deeper... until her entire hand disappeared! I assumed this was the end of the show, but when Syndee slowly removed her hand, I remembered that I had been promised a treat. And when she jumped up from the bed, grabbed the hand towels and cleaned off her hand with both of them, she turned to me, "Lay back on the pillows, Steve. Spread your legs." I did as I was told. I always obeyed my elders, even when I was being led into virgin territory. This would be my first experience with anal sex, and it proved to be one that I would not soon forget. I lay back with my rock hard erection in my hand, and Syndee straddled me, again with heels flat on the mattress. Ever so slowly, she lowered her greased anus onto my spike. Even when my head, entered her opening, I couldn't believe how tight it was, how quickly her ass had shrunk. She was really excited now, each inch gained elicited a new round of groans. "Oh Jesus, Steve! You're so fucking big inside me! Oh, you feel so good!" I started rocking my hips into Syndee's slippery opening. It was a feeling that's hard to describe, but suffice to say she was unbelievably tight – her ass hugged my shaft on every thrust, configuring itself to stroke with equal alacrity the thickest and the narrowest parts of my cock. I was so into it, there wasn't much I could say. I just kept repeating, "Oh my god, that's good! Oh, god! Oh, god! Oh, god!" I knew I would be cumming soon. "Okay, Greg. I'm ready for you," Syndee invited. Greg had been biting his lip as he stroked his fully aroused shaft. He was ready to join the party. So he climbed onto the bed and knelt between Syndee's widely spread legs. Then, he placed his engorged head between her pussy lips and pushed his way into her wetness. She went wild! "Oh, Jesus Christ! Oh, my god! Oh, my god! Oh, I've never had two cocks inside me at the same time! Oh, Jesus Christ, I'm... full! I'm... full! I'm... full!" She was bucking against me now, but uncontrollably. Her rhythm was sporadic, spasmodic. So I grabbed Syndee by the hips, so I could slam her down on my shaft steadily, and soon we developed a rhythm. I would raise Syndee's hip, so that only my cock head was left inside her, and at that very moment Greg slid into her pussy to the hilt. Then, as I pulled her hips down onto my distended erection, Greg would begin to withdraw, and when my pubic bone made contact with her anal opening, only Greg's mushroom head remained inside Syndee's effervescent pussy. Then, the next stroke commenced, and the process was repeated over and over and over again. I could feel Greg's shaft through the thin membrane that separated her two orifices, and I am certain he could feel me as well. As for Syndee, she was simply in different world, another planet where climaxes came in pairs, and pleasure was immeasurable. All three of us were breathing raggedly, and we were all headed inevitably and simultaneously toward the same conclusion. None of us could form words. Instead grunts, groans, moans, shouts, hisses, and wet slurping, slapping sounds punctuated our fucking. The sounds grew slowly, steadily in volume until they reached a crescendo. We all reached our orgasms at exactly the same moment. I shot load after load deep into Syndee's asshole, while Greg pulsed warm jets into her already sopping sex. Syndee was experiencing two orgasms simultaneously – one that I stimulated from her g-spot deep within her, and the other a clitoral one that Greg brought off with his pussy pounding. Greg collapsed onto Syndee, and she was pinned between me and him. It was one hot mess, and it was perfect! It was ten minutes before any of us could speak, and even then there didn't seem to be anything to say. It was an experience that beggared description. Finally, Syndee invited us both to join her in the big shower in the master bath, where she had prepared herself so assiduously for this ménage à trios. When we finished cleaning ourselves up, we didn't bother getting fully dressed. It was after midnight by now and we were exhausted. We were also famished. So Syndee cooked us a light dinner, and we returned to the scene of the crime. Syndee had changed the sheets, so all three of us climbed into their crisp coolness, and with Syndee in the middle, we all three fell asleep. We awoke at about 9:00 a.m. It was 22 days since we'd left Bradford. School started the day after tomorrow.