2 comments/ 58009 views/ 6 favorites An Alley Of Earthly Delights By: Victor_Pollack As the streets move out to the river from the center of the city the buildings become smaller and older. Here, where the end of 57th Street meets Second Avenue, all the buildings are only three or four stories and narrow. Rental space is expensive and antique dealers, up-scale boutiques, decorator lighting stores and pricey specialty shops occupy every floor. Bustling during the day, late at night only an infrequent cross-town bus or an occasional person walking to or from Second Avenue interrupts the pristine scene. At midnight the store interiors and recessed doorways go dark. Street lamps illuminate some store windows, sending shadows of naked branches across others, and leave the rest in the city's darkness. It is a chilly night made worse by a wind coming off the river unimpeded by buildings between there and the water. This block leads to the stop where I often wait with Diane for the bus that takes her over the bridge and home. She almost always goes home when we are out together on a weekday and today is Wednesday. Curfew for our friends on a weekday was usually midnight but Diane and I sometimes continued on our own for a couple or more additional hours. There were a few times we partied until five or six in the morning giving us just enough time to go home, shower, change clothes, and get to work. Staying the night at my place was not practical because she didn't keep a change of business clothes there. And showing up at work wearing the same outfit worn yesterday was similar to having a dozen red roses delivered to your office; both broadcasts you got laid last night. Receiving roses says you were especially pleasing. Coming to work in the same outfit says you were out last night whoring. Although there is nothing wrong with a woman doing either it is usually not good office etiquette to advertise. I'd rather she went home anyway. Keeping some of her clothes at my apartment smacked too much of commitment. I wasn't ready now nor did I think I would ever be ready to see her exclusively. Unfortunately, that was exactly the idea I had led her to believe and there was almost nothing Diane wouldn't do to keep it going. I hardly ever have Diane stay at my place on a weekday. She never seems to run out of energy and ways to expend it. The first thing she does when we get to my place is pour us drinks—as if we usually didn't already have enough. Then she cooks us something quick and spicy from whatever I have, or, if that's not possible, she orders Szechwan. Spicier is always better no matter how many times I ask her to turn the heat down. By the time we have finished our "snack" it is three o'clock in the morning or later and this old guy—I'm thirty-six now—likes a couple hours of sex followed by some sleep. Diane is only twenty-seven and even at three o'clock in the morning with too many drinks in her system and a full day of work facing her she will fuck me or suck my dick until I insist she stop. She can arrive at work later in the morning than I can; I have to get to my office on time. When it comes to sex Diane gets right to it; there is little foreplay and less romance. I know what to expect from her and if I want a more tender experience I see someone else. She loves to cover my cock with something tasty—I'll follow suite when I go down on her—but the absence of a "topping" never diminishes her enthusiasm, at least not that I can tell. I like watching her head bob up and down while I run my hands through her shoulder-length, auburn hair. Thank God for contacts, without them I couldn't see her glistening full lips encircling my shaft. Diane is easier to deal with on the weekend when it doesn't matter what time we get out of bed. Yet there are times even on the weekend when I will send her home early in the morning by taxi. Diane has an enormous appetite for sex and liquor. She has satisfied many of my "drunk woman" fantasies but after she passes out she is just a sleeping drunk. And she's not very appealing when she awakes hung over. If I think she might crash I'll get some coffee in her and call a cab. She always looks great when we go out. I don't know how she does it; she doesn't have time to go home first and the outfits I see her in are inappropriate for the conservative company she works for. Maybe she keeps a change of clothes in the large Coach bag that is always on her shoulder. I know it's an expensive bag because she told me how much it cost. I also know her travel bag is expensive because she also told me what it cost. The more I see Diane the more I learn about the prices of women's fine accessories. I wear a suit to work so I'm always dressed appropriately. Although, during a time when I was consulting north of the city everyday was "casual Friday" but I had time to stop by my apartment and change, before heading downtown. I'd often just wear a sport coat and maybe leave off the tie. On occasion I'd wear a turtleneck. Our evenings together often, but not always, started the same way: we would meet at a hotel bar, have a drink or two, then move on to a club or restaurant where there was food and drink. If there was dancing, that was a huge plus. Diane knew many of the ritzy hotels with bars so she usually suggested one we haven't been to together. I got hung up at the office with my manager. He was antsy about my largest project and called me to his office so he could micromanage the parts that were going fine without him. Despite this, he was actually one of the better managers I worked under. When he needed to, without hesitation, he would get the right person on the phone and set things up for me to follow through on or resolve an issue that was holding me back. He was authoritative but always pleasant with me and we got along well. There was no doubt in my mind he valued my talents highly because of the double-digit raises and other perks. So while I thought I might be able to leave around six o'clock it was now closer to seven and we weren't slowing down. I excused myself for a hygiene break and called Diane on her cell,. "Hello?" she answered. "Hi. It's me. I'm hung up at the office. I'll be there as soon as I can." "Oh, that's okay. I just got here myself. I haven't even ordered a drink yet." "I'm sorry. I thought I would be able to skip out a little early." "Don't worry about it. This is a great place. You should see what they're wearing." "What? Who?" "The women of course. Men's clothes are boring." "Oh." "Not you, sweetie. You always look delicious." "Thanks. I'll call you again before I leave." "Do you just want to meet at the restaurant?" "Give me a half hour or so. I'll call." "Okay, I'll wait here. It's 'Happy Hour' so there's free food and the drinks are cheap." "Fine. I've got to get back. Pace yourself." "Don't worry about me. Just get here soon; I hate drinking alone." "As soon as I can, Babe. Bye." I wanted to tell her not to drink too much but I couldn't think of any way to phrase that without appearing prematurely judgmental. When I got back to my manager's office, I noticed he had taken out a couple of bottles of single malt scotch he kept in the credenza behind his desk. He would invite those in the meeting to have a taste whenever a meeting went on until 7:00 PM or later. Being a single malt aficionado myself and wanting to keep the golden goose happy, I would make sure the scotch supply never wanted for a new label. Breaking out the scotch was a signal that the meeting was ending. It didn't take long for us to feel the whiskey on an empty stomach. By then the meeting became less productive and we reached a point where we were talking more about the Scottish highlands, Canadian accents, and old "war stories" than whatever the subject of the meeting was. My manager was facing a two-hour train ride home so we adjourned. I called Diane to let her know I was on my way. Diane was seated at the bar when I finally got there. I walked up behind her, put my arms around her waist, and kissed her several times on the neck. She swiveled around, smiled, enthusiastically, said "Hi," and kissed me on the ear as I was sitting down on the adjacent stool. I don't like when she kisses my ear because she always plants it in the center leaving an annoying ringing. I've told her not to do it but she thinks it's cute and smiles at my protests. I didn't say anything to her this time because I should have known better and worn ear protection. Diane could be hard on a guy. She had been waiting a while for me and was finishing off her second drink. The scotch I had at the office added up to about one drink so I ordered another. She ordered another so we would both have a fresh drink. Diane told me what transpired in her office today including the family members, medical histories, and attire of everyone involved. She laughed when she told some stories and took a serious tone telling others. This cued me on when to smile and when to shake my head. Getting a word in edgewise wasn't an option even if I had wanted to. I didn't know or care about the people, wasn't interested in what tragic illness had befallen them or one of their family members, and definitely had no interest in what the gay mail room guy wore. Diane can talk on and on but I will still get enough 'air time' to tell her about my day. I work in a technical field and few people—even those in the same profession—understand what I really do. Therefore, our conversation—if you can call it that—at the bar consists of Diane going on about things I could care less about and me telling her things she doesn't understand. There will be plenty of time later to broaden the scope of our conversation but for now all I wanted to do was sip my scotch and look at her cleavage. When it was time to go all I had to do was interrupt her and say, "We should leave now." Diane would stop talking in mid-sentence and reply, "Oh, okay," and we'd be off. Diane was really a sweet kid and we danced well together. Play almost any music that lent itself to partner dancing and we could put on a show. Finding a place to dance the quicker Latin and swing dances was not difficult but locating a club that played slower music like Foxtrot, Rumba, or Tango was not so easy. Argentine Tango was the exception. With a revival of the dance brought on by Hollywood and Broadway there were several exclusively Argentine Tango places. Unfortunately, Diane didn't dance 'Tango Argentine,' as it was sometimes called. Diane is five foot six and I'm five foot eight, but in her dance shoes she's taller than me. It doesn't matter to her or me and apparently not to many other women either. Very often, although we would arrive and leave together, we would dance with other people. On occasion, the woman would dance breast to chest or leg to groin, rubbing her body against mine. If they're that bold they'll follow-up with their name and phone number. Diane knows I collect the slips of paper, napkins and matchbook covers for possible future 'play dates.' but she no longer says anything. Maybe it's insensitive, but I never ask for their names and addresses; they pass them to me unsolicited. Rather than being ill mannered I simply stuff the paper in a pocket and when I later undress throw it in a drawer of my nightstand. Perhaps days or weeks later I might call one of the women. It's not like I'm a rock star; I'm not deluged with offers. And it is not as if I'm cheating on Diane. So why do I feel like a son of a bitch? Once, as I came off the dance floor after dancing several dances with the same woman, Diane pointedly said, "I thought I was going to have to cut you two apart with a knife." I wanted to distract her and avoid a scene. "Come on. I'll buy you a drink," I said as I took her arm. "I have a drink." "Well, I need one," I said as we walked toward the bar in silence. We stood at the bar with drinks in hand. "She won't fuck you, you know. Not the way I would. Not here, Not now." "Here and now?" I realized she hadn't been dancing with other men but instead had been watching me and, of course, drinking. "Yes. Here and now. I'll fuck you right here, right now." "Shhh Diane, Calm down and lower your voice." In a whispered voice she said, "I don't need to calm down. You're the one who is excited." She grabbed my cock and continued, "See, you're still hard. I saw the bulge in your pants when you came off the floor." "Okay, okay," I said pushing her hand away. "So what's it gonna be? Are you going to fuck me or are you going to wait for that bitch you were dancing with?" I paused. "Come with me," I said as I took Diane by the hand. I led her through the darkened hallway to the Men's Room; it was the only place I thought we might get away with this. I had been to the Men's Room here before and I knew there was an attendant. Relying on tips the attendant turns on and off the sink water, hands the patron a towel, and has a variety of grooming products with which to freshen up. I'd have to gain his cooperation to 'rent' one of 'his' stalls and that was going to cost me. I hoped twenty dollars would do it so I peeled off a bill and held it in my hand. I left Diane in the hall while I quickly popped in to see if there were any other men, besides the attendant, inside. There weren't. "This is the Men's Room," Diane told me. "I know. Just come with me," I responded as we entered. "Hey, you can't come in here," the attendant warned but I ignored him and took Diane to the last stall. I passed him the twenty-dollar bill and asked if it was enough. He said, "Forty," so I gave him another twenty, went back to Diane, and locked the stall door. I gave her a deep kiss and whispered, "Suck me off." "You don't want me to fuck you?" she sounded disappointed. "Not now. Now I want you to suck my cock." She started to go down on her knees but stopped and asked, "Is the floor clean?" "Of course," I assured her, "The guy keeps it clean." Diane got on her knees. I unzipped my pants but my cock was too erect and I had to unbuckle my belt and let my slacks drop to the floor. I hoped what I said about the attendant keeping the stalls clean was true. She took my cock in her mouth and went at it enthusiastically. I was already hot from grinding with the other woman on the dance floor and I envisioned it was she, not Diane, who was giving me the blowjob. Her hand was jerking me off while her lips and tongue attended to my knob. Someone entered the Men's Room and started pissing in the urinal. I heard, "Brraaappppp," followed by a self-congratulatory, "Ahhh," and I tried desperately to control a case of the giggles that threatened to erupt uncontrollably. Biting my fist muffled the audio portion but I couldn't do much for my midsection, which was now convulsing. My cock shook in Diane's mouth. She stopped and looked up at me with her brown eyes. I was still biting my hand so I motioned for her to wait a minute. After I heard the urinal flush and the door open and close I regained my composure except for the huge grin that lingered on. I know the giggling annoyed her on a couple of levels but she took my cock back in her mouth and went on. My limbs were disappearing; my reality becoming centered in my cock and I was caught up in an unstoppable ascent to some mystical height. I was close to exploding in Diane's mouth but I wanted so much to fuck her, not Diane, but the woman I had danced with. I had Diane stand as I sat on the toilet. I lifted her dress to pull down her panties but she was wearing pantyhose, which I detest as much as a vampire turns away from a crucifix. Eroticism took a crippling blow when garters and stockings were all but eliminated by practical and ugly pantyhose. Holding my cock in my hand I told her to, "Sit on it." She took care of her detestable pantyhose and panties without any further instructions from me. I made no pretense at foreplay. I merely guided my cock into her pussy as she straddled me. Although it looked awkward, she humped like a champion, In short order, sitting in a men's toilet with my eyes closed, I reached, for just a moment, an affinity with the infinite as my cock spurt hot cum inside the other woman's cunt. It was after this that Diane stopped saying anything about other women I might dance with. We knew all the dance studios and when they had their weekly group practice sessions, we would sometimes get our dance fix by crashing them. Unfortunately, they didn't serve alcohol and since we were both good dancers we stood out, were found out, and were asked to leave. There were some studios we never bothered stopping by because they trained mostly women of means for International Style competition. We were totally out of our league at these places that cater mostly to obnoxious Russian bitches. Besides, there was no food at studio parties except for pretzels and potato chips that sometimes had to keep us until ten o'clock or so. Dancing was a much-desired part of our evening, but there were some nights where it was just not possible. This was one of those nights. We stayed at the hotel bar for almost an hour and then left to meet up with some of our friends at an Irish bar and grill. One couple, Edie and Ralph, are a generation older than Diane and me but we enjoy each other's company. Theresa and Chris, the other married couple, work for an investment bank. The lone single woman, Tatiana, is a married Russian lady whose older husband no longer takes her anywhere. I never quite understand what she is talking about, partly because of her accent but mostly because she's a bit of a loon. While the others talked above the din of the bar, Chris and I laughed at his latest batch of political jokes. Everyone there knew Diane longer than I did. In fact, it was Chris who introduced me to her. Other than Edie and Ralph who ate proper meals, we chowed down on an assortment of fried bar food. And we drank. Tatiana drank straight Vodka exclusively. I stayed with scotch and began to pace myself as soon as I started to loose feeling in my fingertips. As was her custom, Diane upgraded her libation to Courvoisier or Remy. At eighteen dollars per drink I'm lucky her taste for distilled spirits is self-financed. We were there for at least three hours. During that time most of the other customers left so when we got up to dance to the piped-in music, no one objected. The owner, however, could have been fined for not having a cabaret license. We all danced with each other. Tatiana often danced by herself because everything she danced looked like a Russian Cossack regardless of what was playing. Tatiana was a group project since she tended to do table-dance solos. She's not a looker but she's not too hard on the eyes either. It's not too difficult to keep an eye on her especially with her on a table and me seated—everyman is part voyeur. As the evening went on she became bolder and began pressing herself against whomever she danced with. This didn't sit well with Edie and Teresa. Edie spoke to Diane saying, "Tatiana is doing her 'bump and grind' routine again. Besides it's getting late. Maybe we should call it a night." Edie, of course, was being rhetorical. Diane minimized her concern, "Oh, she's alright." "It's not alright with me—or Ralph." "She's not hurting anyone. I don't mind if she dances with Dougie." Teresa overheard and added, "I don't think Doug likes being called 'Dougie.'" "Oh sure he does," Diane countered. She walked over to me and sat on my lap, hanging one arm around my neck. "He doesn't mind," she repeated. "I don't mind what?" I asked. "When Tatiana rubs against you, you don't mind?" she went on, "It doesn't bother me. You're still my Dougie." "I don't like that name. I've told you. Call me Doug, okay?" "Okay, okay. You're my little Doug," she said as she got up in a huff. Diane, changing the subject, grabbed Ralph for a dance. An Alley Of Earthly Delights I had no more time for Tatiana. Diane was off balance, missing steps and bumping into tables. I interrupted her and Ralph and said to her sternly, "Diane, you're too loaded to dance anymore. Go sit down. I'll get you some coffee." She sloughed off my concern slightly slurring, "Oh no, I'm fine. I don't need any coffee." But I reemphasized, "Dancing time is over. Go sit down." Diane pouted but did as she was told. Sulking, she drank the coffee; unfortunately, she also found it necessary to finish off a double cognac she had ordered only minutes earlier. Everyone knew Diane was tipsy; it wasn't the first time. It was time to leave and it was up to me to see she got home. Goodbyes and kisses exchanged, Theresa and Chris poured Tatiana into a cab. I put my arm around Diane's waist more to hold her steady than to show affection. She had her arm around my waist but I think it was more affection than to steady herself. With our arms around each other's waists walking was more difficult than it had to be. I had too much but I still felt safe walking Diane to her bus stop. Muggers looked for drunken targets but I didn't think I looked drunk. We were soon on the last block of 57th Street. Diane wasn't that far gone that she didn't know where she was. and realized that she would soon be on a bus home and if she wanted to end the evening on a better note she would have to do something soon. As we came upon an antiques store she pulled me into its recessed entry, threw her arms around me, and planted one on my lips. She was in her aggressive mode and she drove her tongue in my mouth. At the same time she opened the fur coat she had borrowed from her mother, took hold of my left hand, and placed it firmly on one of her breasts. With her other hand she unbuttoned her blouse almost to her waist, slipped the strap of her bra off her shoulder, and freed her breast from its confines. The same alcohol that made my fingertips numb allowed me to lay aside any thought of consequences and I vigorously returned her tongue's advances while I slipped the other bra strap down her arm. Without unhooking her bra I pulled it down enough to let both breasts free and fondled them roughly. Diane responded by pulling my head to her breasts. I worked her nipples with my mouth while my hands found their way under her skirt and up her legs. The cold wind blew into the doorway and I slipped both hands into her panties from behind and pulled her into me as I squeezed her cheeks. There are city ordinances against such public displays but we didn't care. That was until a car's headlights illuminated the doorway and the two young men in the car cheered me on yelling, "Go for it!" They drove off and I looked around to see if there were any other observers. Confident we were alone again, I kept her mouth and tongue occupied while I started to pull off her panties. The waistband of her skirt provided a little resistance but I was able to get her panties down around her knees easily. I slid my right hand between her legs and fondled her pussy with my fingers. Diane stopped me briefly and used both hands to pull her panties down the rest of the way. She stepped out of them while I lifted her skirt and watched with delight. All this time her fur coat shielded us from the wind but was not as effective at keeping prying eyes at bay. Our mouths separated. She threw her head back as she wrapped a leg around me. I licked one finger and finger-fuck her while I wondered just how far we would go in this doorway. Diane showed no signs of flagging. Just then I was startled to hear someone quite close ask, "Need a hand?" It was the two guys that had passed by only minutes before. They must have driven around the block and parked while I had my face buried in Diane's fur. I hesitated—trying to size up the situation. Diane was likewise silent. We were trapped in the doorway; the two guys standing between the street and us. If I can change this, if I can maneuver around to their side, I might be able to pull Diane from the doorway and run toward Second Avenue. "Come on, fellas," I said in a tone that implied just the opposite. With my back now to the wall I began to move to the doorway opening when the taller of the two guys said, "I think your friend has different ideas." Diane had her coat opened like an invitation. Stepping back and closing her coat I repeated myself, "Come on, fellas—," then added "She's had too much to drink." But Diane said loudly, "No I have not." "Oh yes you have," I told her in a low voice. "They look like nice guys," she said smiling, but I know what she saw was fuzzy at best. "Do you want to get raped—, I whispered, "Or worse?" "Oh please," she said incredulously. Again the taller guy, who had moved next to me, said, "Look, if we wanted to rob you we would have done it already. We don't want to hurt either of you." A moment later he added, "You give us the word and we're outta here." I stood there looking at him. Several seconds passed. My mind was empty, unplugged. Then I said, "I want you to leave—please," hoping that a stern yet polite request would get them to go without trouble. But Diane, with a defiant tone, countered, "Come on, it'll be fine." Although she was always eager to experience new things sexually, she would never have agreed to anything like this if it weren't for the alcohol. In fact, without alcohol she was quite a conservative Catholic girl. However, two or three drinks and Diane's sexual appetite roamed unchained. The taller guy—he appeared to be the spokesman of the two—said, "Not here though. Let's see what's around back." He took Diane by the hand and the four of us walked into the alley on the side of the antiques store. "Eros must be having fun with us. What are the odds that the only alley on the block, an alley I had not seen before, was next to the very store where Diane and I were engaged in amorous behavior?" At the end of the alley was another wider dead-end alley that ran behind several of the buildings. The only illumination was from two security lights, one in the alley from the street and the other at the far end of the connecting alley. In back of the buildings were only remnants of any wind out on the street. "This looks okay, doesn't it?" asked the tall guy. "I don't know. It looks dirty back here," I said, "How about your car? It's got to be cleaner than this." "Hey Ken, what do you think?" "Either place is fine, I don't care" said Ken in a hurried tone. "It would be warmer in the car," I added, trying to strengthen my case for getting out of that alley. Diane spoke up, "Damn! Do I have to do this myself?" She grabbed the tall guy by the hand and pulled him into the shadows. It was stupid to let myself be led into such a vulnerable position so I stayed at the juncture of the two alleys to facilitate a run for help should it become necessary. Diane was a few feet away in the shadows, her back against the brick wall, under a fire escape. The guy—I still didn't know his name—who escorted Diane was between her and me, partially obscuring my vision of what was happening. I was, however, able to see that he was stroking Diane's hair with one hand while exploring inside her coat with the other. Being preoccupied with what was going on to my right I lost track of where the second guy was. "Cigarette?" he asked. He startled me. I started smoking in my teens and had quit a couple of years back but this seemed like a good time to resume the habit, at least for tonight. "Thanks," I said as I took the smokes from him. With a flick of my wrist one-cigarette rose from the pack—how I was always able to do that I don't know. "Got a light?" I asked as I put the cigarette in my mouth and lit mine from the butt he was smoking. He smoked one of those light cigarettes that require you to draw so deeply that you worry about your head caving in. What I wouldn't have given for a Winston! "I'm Ken. That's Jeff. We're seniors at City College," he told me, "Believe me, mister, we're just playing this by ear." My anxiety level went down appreciably when he added, "I'm not too crazy about being back here." "You think I am?" I replied, "She's had too much to drink and we're taking advantage of her. This is crazy. I should be getting her home." Ken didn't say anything but the hypocrisy in what I said was palpable. After sucking on that miserable cigarette for a short time I looked over at Diane. Jeff had pulled open her coat. Her blouse and bra were down around her arms; in essence she was naked from just above her waist up. Her hand was behind his head bringing their mouths together. Jeff was vigorously fondling her breasts. Jeff and Diane were primal, acting like animals. He dominated her and she obeyed. The night, the dark, the alley, the cold, and the quiet conspired against me; I had the taste of rape in my mouth. It wasn't bitter as I expected but neither was it sweet. The scene seemed foreign and surreal and I felt as if I were two people, one observing, the other pushing her up against that wall and squeezing her tits. This night had become exciting beyond my wildest expectations. I was caught up in it and needed to be closer. While I covered the short distance to where they were, burning embers swirled around from my cigarette hitting the ground. "She's cold, Jeff!" I exclaimed directly to him and I think that my using his name gave him a start. But it was Diane who answered after breaking the hold she had on his lips. "I'm fine!" she countered in a way that put me in my place. I watched as their mouths engaged again and his hands moved from her breasts to her ass lifting her skirt high in the back. When I stepped back her coat covered the rear action but left her skirt visible at mid-thigh in front. I enjoyed watching them more than I could admit to myself. Ken walked back and forth, his eyes locked on Diane and his friend except for peering down the side alley at the end of every other trip and the occasional glance my way. I couldn't tell if he was eagerly waiting his turn or wishing Jeff would finish so they both could get out of there. Jeff was now standing slightly to Diane's side with one hand behind her and the other between her legs. Diane's head was tilted slightly back and to one side as she began to swoon. Shadows hid the details until the hand he had behind her finished unbuttoning and unzipping Diane's skirt. It dropped on the folded cardboard cartons they were standing on. Jeff opened her fur and looked in our direction so we could admire his handiwork. Jeff was grinning. My erection was now uncomfortably hard. My primal brain was exerting influence. Without thinking I said to Jeff, "I want to fuck her—now." He nodded. Jeff wanted her to kneel so he pushed down on her shoulders but she didn't understand. "Kneel down." he said calmly and she did. He unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock in front of her face. This she understood and eagerly took his cock in her mouth. As she gave him head, Jeff held up his index finger to me and I waited impatiently for his lead. He stopped Diane and got down on his knees himself. She leaned forward until she was on all fours and took his cock back in her mouth. Giving head was her favorite sexual activity and neither the cold nor the fact that she had a stranger's cock in her mouth made her any less energetic. Of course the alcohol had a part in numbing the cold and eliminating any inhibitions she may have had. I could read on Jeff's face his appreciation for her fervor. He lifted his chin in a reverse nod signaling an end to my wait. Much more time had passed than the one-minute sign he gave me earlier. Glancing quickly in Ken's direction, I came up behind Diane and placed one hand on her ass as someone working with a large animal might do so as not to spook it. Then, taking the handkerchief from my back pocket, I laid it on the ground and kneeled on it. I slipped my hand under her coat and between her legs. She was warm and moist and ready, but I needed to feel her more before I took her. Her thighs were ample and I would have to spread her legs before I could get more than a finger inside her. Diane had been hefty, maybe corpulent, but that was in the past. Now she'd be considered Rubenesque except for a few trouble spots: one, or two depending on how you count, was her thighs and buttocks that bore too much flesh and were marked by cellulite. The other distressing part of Diane's anatomy was her breasts. I surmise she was actually quite flat chested but her pubescent baby fat gave the appearance of a handsome set of tits. In her later life, after she lost a lot of weight, the fatty tits remained without the supporting breast tissue, which gave her tits an unfortunate mushy feel. The alley's darkness and the beast in my pants assuaged any disturbing visions of Diane from this angle that could have spoiled the moment in a different situation. As I spread her legs apart her rear dropped a few inches and I was able to massage her womanhood inside and out. With my other hand I unbuckled my pants but I needed both hands to unzip and drop my pants and shorts down. So I wouldn't get Diane's juices on my clothes, I wiped my hand on her hip and made a mental note to go back later and clean that up. While I held on to her thighs my cock found the entrance to her cunt and I pushed it in an inch or more at a time until I was hitting my hips against her ass. But there was still more cock to bury so I pushed down on her rear which moved her knees farther apart on our cardboard love nest. Diane made a muffled noise; I suppose her legs were now at an uncomfortable angle. Anyway, that did the trick and I was able to get all but a very small length of cock inside. I started to get my rhythm going but I found it was more physically demanding than I anticipated. Normally Diane would have pushed into me as I thrust into her but she was still on her hands and knees giving Jeff a blowjob which meant she had to move her whole body, not just her head, in time to Jeff's rhythm. I couldn't pull her in one direction while her blowjob rhythm dictated she go in the other. From the sounds both of them were making it sounded like Jeff was about to cum and it followed that afterwards my humping rhythm would dominate. To my surprise, and owing perhaps to the cooperative nature of the brotherhood of men, Jeff adjusted his rhythm—and I in turn modified mine, as best we could, to our mutual satisfaction. Like two lumberjacks working a two-handed saw, we pulled and pushed in concert and bonded for a while as males. And blessed Diane was the conduit for our transcendent relationship. It seemed much more enjoyable than if Jeff and I had danced around a campfire with a dozen other guys to the beating of drums. My face glistened with perspiration and droplets were running down my back when Jeff came in her mouth. Diane coughed once then panted. I started pulling her into me and she joined in by pushing while I pulled. When she had almost caught her breath Diane tried to look behind her to see who was inside her. I wasn't sure if she could see it was I in that alley. Jeff zipped up his pants and motioned for Ken to come over. He hesitated at first, but then unzipped his pants and started to get on his knees. Noticing the swap, Diane stopped him by saying, "Wait—a—minute," between thrusts. My cock became more and more sensitive to her vagina that surrounded and caressed it with every stroke. I was humping faster but shallower as I felt an ejaculation building. One, two, three, four strokes later, I thrust deeply, and came in several waves. I pulled out and cleaned up with my handkerchief. Diane raised her head and looked at Ken; he knew it was his time. So Diane went about giving Ken a blowjob. Maybe because he was second or she liked his face, she gave Ken something extra; she licked his balls. She also asked him to cum on her face which he did but looked uncomfortable doing. Later he said it felt degrading, like pissing on someone. Jeff wasn't done. While Ken was getting his deluxe blowjob Jeff was getting ready to have anal sex with Diane. At first he couldn't find a condom and asked if I had an extra. I lied; I told him I didn't. At last he found where he had stashed his own and ripped one open applying some of the lubricant to his finger. Diane was startled when Jeff put his finger in her anus and let out another muffled sound. I knew she hadn't had anal sex before and I didn't know if she knew what was coming. Jeff worked her anus until two fingers could slide in and out easily. This took a few minutes and gave Ken time to cum on Diane's face. She didn't resist when Jeff positioned his condom-covered cock between her cheeks, on her anus, but she began to protest with a shrill sound when he started to penetrate her rectum. Ken, in a spirit of self-preservation, cupped his hand over her mouth and tried to comfort her with, "Shhhsh. It's okay. Shhhsh," but the sound of a muffled scream was still audible to the three of us. Jeff continued fucking her in the ass but before very long he saw she was sobbing and he stopped. However, all this excited me greatly and I became hard again. I had to have her that way. Dropping my pants again and donning a fresh condom I penetrated her again and again while Ken tried to keep her calm. Her ass was tight, similar to how her cunt felt when she gave me her cherry. I never came, I simply ran out of steam and froze my ass in the cold. It's strange what comes into a person's mind during sex. While I was pounding Diane's ass, an observation came to mind the source of which I've forgotten—it was probably my ex-wife, she had something to say about everything, "Men will put their finger or dick in any hole they find." Aside from being pejorative—another trait of my ex-wife—I think there might be some truth in that statement. And then it was finished, with a bang and a whimper. Neither Jeff nor Ken indicated they wanted more. Their breaths formed clouds in the cold air. Diane didn't say anything. "But maybe I don't want to stop. There were more ways, more interesting ways, to have her. We could take turns holding her down, in different positions, while one of us fucked her. Maybe we should get a room or all go back to my place?" Although I could see getting great pleasure from the bondage and submissive scenarios that were multiplying in my head, it was definitely time to stop—for tonight. Diane lay on the cardboard. Her arms kept her coat closed around her in an attempt at faux modesty. The "boys" had a smoke while Diane tried to reassemble herself. She used the panties she stuffed in her coat to wipe off her face, her rear, and her crotch before tossing them aside. She found her skirt and put it on. She adjusted her bra and blouse. An old window, made reflective from the grime and darkness behind it, and covered with steel security mesh served as her mirror while she fixed her makeup and hair. The only item of clothing that didn't need fixing was her black shoes. I offered Diane one of Ken's cigarettes. She nodded. Ken introduced himself with a simple, "Hi, I'm Ken," which seemed a bit moronic given how she had serviced him. She lit up. The four of us walked together out to the street. "Well," Jeff said. I nodded. "Well," I said. Both Jeff and Ken nodded. They each kissed Diane on the cheek, got in their car and, and with a wave goodbye, drove off. I asked Diane if she wanted to take a taxi. She nodded but followed with, "But first I want a drink. Will you buy me a drink"? Although it was way past closing time for most bars there was an all-night club two blocks away. We walked together silently. It was no surprise that she ordered a cognac and I scotch. She downed the first and asked that I order her another while she went to the Ladies' Room. Diane was Humpty-Dump and there were no king's horses or king's men to put her back together. She was gone for some time but when she returned she was again presentable. She drank the second drink slowly. I didn't know what to say or what she might say so I thought it best that I just keep quiet. An Alley Of Earthly Delights "Do you have another cigarette?" she asked. "No, I don't, but I'll get us some." I walked three stores down to the twenty-four hour convenience store, walked up to the Indian clerk and was about to ask for a pack of cigarettes when I realized I hadn't seen Diane smoke before tonight and didn't know what brand she preferred. Whatever I got had to be better than what Ken carried around. "Marlboro Lights," I said and laid a ten-dollar bill on the counter. The cost of cigarettes had skyrocketed but how high? Hopefully it wouldn'cost more than ten dollars and I wouldn't look "uncool" in front of the clerk. Getting back to the table we both lit up and sat quietly drinking and smoking. She didn't actually smoke much and half her cigarette had burned to ash when she asked, "Aren't you going to say anything?" I started to say, "I'm so sorry ...," but Diane interrupted me. "Oh, no, that's not what I meant. I want to know—did you have a good time?" She was looking down when she asked me and I saw it was a serious question and she wanted an honest answer. But women are hard to understand at the best of times and she had just been at the center of a mini-gangbang. What was she really asking? "Do you think I had a good time?" I asked. Diane answered in one word, "Yes." I followed with, "Would it bother you if I did have a good time tonight?" Her answer surprised me, "No. I hope you enjoyed yourself—I mean it." I confessed, "Actually, I enjoyed it very much." She smiled and said, "Good! I'll do whatever you want, anytime, anywhere. Now call me a cab, lover." She downed the rest of her drink and I flagged down a cab but before she got in she kissed me deeply, rubbed my crotch, and whispered, "Call me." As she drove off I realized, I let her pay for her own cab. But then again, I did pay for her two cognacs and dry cleaning this suit is going to cost me. I flagged down another cab, gave him my address and directions, and asked him to get me home before sunrise.