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Harmony Hill Ch. 02

By: steamer5139



Sunday and Monday were my nominal weekends, my consecutive days off from tending bar at the Sweet Spot. Since Harmony moved in six weeks earlier, I often spent part of one or both of these days and many nights fucking her. 

We were friends and neighbors but first and foremost we were fuck buddies. 

Often when the telephone in my apartment rang, I answered and heard Harmony's sultry voice sounding like honey tastes. Her voice as intimate as a priest's penance to a penitent, its timbre, its texture, and its temperature tickled my ear trickled directly to my dick and always summoned an erection with an astonishing swiftness. 

"Dwight, come over, I will suck your cock and then you can fuck me."

I knew of at least four men my age fucking her regularly and yet she continued to fuck me as though she had gone without sex for months. 

The first time she called, three days after she moved in, I answered on the second ring.

"Dwight, I am sitting here playing with my pussy, my fingers are tired but I still have an itch. Can you come over and give me some relief?"

"Be there in ten seconds," I said as I wiped shaving cream from my jaw. Bare chested, bare foot, wearing blue jeans buckled with a worn black leather belt, I dropped the telephone in its cradle, took several steps from my place, felt the hemp welcome mat in front of her door under my heels and toes, knocked on the door and rang the door bell simultaneously. 

Harmony opened the door. She was attired in a balconet bra and thong pale pink in color, thigh high hosiery polished looking yet the same hue of pink as her bra and thong. She teetered on four inch hot pink pumps, fuck me pumps. Her full and firm breasts thrusting from the bra's cups displayed an abundance of cleavage worthy of an 18th century French courtesan. 

The perfection of her legs, her tits popping from the bra, the high heels and the thong, a sliver of fabric covering her pudenda and strung through the cleft between the globes of her butt, presented such a prurient picture I found it difficult not to fuck her in the apartment door way. 

A buxom woman in fuck me pumps always the stuff of my masturbatory fantasies and now next door no fantasy but a real woman of insatiable desire and unquenchable hunger for cock in general, my cock in particular. 

I entered her apartment and noticed everything was in its place and there was a place for everything. Not one cardboard container anywhere, no wrapping paper, no slivers of tape left on the floor, no rectangular depressions in the carpet from the impression of heavy boxes. Grinning, she backed up as I approached her, silently said "fuck me" as she settled on the sofa, leaned back, and inserted her right hand under the thong.

My cock prodded the front of my Levis. Hastily, as though something nasty was crawling across my ass and needed to be removed immediately if not sooner, I unzipped and unbuckled, pushed the jeans toward my knees, grabbed at my erection, enjoyed its hardness, its satiny texture in the palm of my left hand, stroked it between my thumb and index finger as I watched the three middle fingers of Harmony's right hand busily toiling in the cleft between her legs. 

"A young man, 22 or 23, named Tim spent all night fucking me. He had a sweet little cow lick in his blond hair, a deep notch in his chin like Kirk Douglas and a cock the diameter of a beer can, I am full of his semen and I still want more cock." She removed her hand from her slit, showed me her wetness, the fluid of Tim Beer Can's semen soaking her fingertips. "I am such a slut, a whore, a nymphomaniac." 

"No, no, no. You are just highly sexed and I love it," I said. I did not say I felt sorry for her pain. Being such a self centered ass hole, my sympathy did not stop me from wanting to fuck her. 

By the time the word "it" emerged from my mouth, I had yanked the thong off Harmony, tossed her legs back, and socketed myself into her pussy, my cock tearing into the trove so recently visited by Tim, the cow-licked, notched chin fuck buddy with the huge tool. 

Her wetness, the surfeit of Tim's sperm bubbling from her twat enveloped my cock. I pushed into her, the pressure of my loins nudging against the hard surface of her pubic ridge. My hands found purchase on her calves, their satin texture, and the strength of the muscles under the smooth skin noticeable to my touch. Ripping into her, a quick lunging movement, I started moving in and out of her in a steady rhythm. As I fucked Harmony, I enjoyed the view of her bust barely contained on the lacey shelf of the bra, the flat expanse of her tummy, the indentation of her belly button holding a tiny sparkling diamond. 

No doubt wetness spilling from her womb made an irregular shaped smudge on the sofa cushion. Harmony's lithe body flowed across the sofa like a lazily constructed fallen on its back C. Curls of her blond hair fell across her face, a strand here, a strand there touching her cheek, the corner of her painted mouth. Her hips nearly off the front of the sofa, she held her legs high in the air, supporting them with her slim arms, the rest of her body bracing against my angle of attack. I fucked, jammed my cock into the core of her vault. Amidst all the moisture, friction remained as she gripped me with her vaginal muscles. Her pushing, my prodding made my cock swell to its fullest proportions. To know I was visiting an arena so recently visited by another man added a fillip of excitement. 

Harmony pushed her pubis toward my cock. 

Fucking like two animals in heat, the idea of another man, a legion of men with such free access to this woman's delights spurred me on.

Hugo Hill, the most cuckolded husband in history had reaped the whirlwind when Harmony's Marine son died in Iraq. According to an acquaintance of mine, a guy by the name of Bobby Lockyear, a grease monkey at Goodyear and a Purple Heart winner in Afghanistan, Harmony while never faithful to Hugo, had gone off the deep end when her son came home in an aluminum coffin. She was serial adulterer throughout her marriage but shortly after her son's interment, she restricted her fucking to men around the age of her son. No longer did her husband have the access she accorded to so many others.

Bobby fucked Harmony and in all likelihood continued to fuck her since he was not yet 24.

My cock moved about inside Harmony. Up and down, in and out, forward and backwards. She moaned. Her hands continued to support her legs as I fucked her. 

"Give it to me hard, give to me hard."

I complied.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, you are hitting the sweet spot." She panted, wailed, moaned and grunted. All the sounds of fulfilled lust. My own sounds mingled with hers as our bodies collided. She came, a series of orgasms charging through her, then a chain of bursts that made her jump. I came and my semen, a thick copious stream flooded into Harmony. 

This 55 year old woman with the body of a 30 year old amazed me by her unremitting hunger for my member. No sooner then I erupted inside her, my semen, Tim's sperm meeting in the darkness of her insides, we adjourned to her bed.

Such a bed. She called it a sleigh bed and it did look like a sleigh pulled by a team of hefty, snorting horses. Made of oak I think, hand tooled, sculpted with grinning cherubs, coy looking angels and playful cupids, the bed was dressed in black silk sheets with a slick looking black duvet neatly folded at its foot. 

Ebony furniture--a dresser, bedside tables and vanity table--lacquered to a high sheen occupied the room. Curtains, black curtains of course, draped the window. At the foot of the bed angled between the east and southern walls sat a black leather wing backed chair. The bed and all the furniture rested on a deep pile carpet as white as a little girl's communion dress. 

On the dresser an eight by ten glossy photograph in a silver frame showed a blond haired and square jawed man, an extremely young man, in Marine dress blues, the butter bars of a Second Lieutenant on his solid shoulders. Another silver frame contained the glossy photograph of Harmony's daughter, an exquisitely gorgeous young woman with clear blue eyes and blond hair draping her shoulders.

I wondered if a mirror hidden away in a closet reflected Harmony's true self: a sad looking older woman covered in wattles and wrinkles, her thighs pock marked with Cellulite, pendulous sacs of breasts falling toward her ripe gut, all the physical deterioration of aging captured inside the mirror and no where else.

Maybe not a mirror but a painting of her was tucked away behind the water heater or draped with a cloth behind all her sexy garments. Each brush stroke, every whorl of color, the substance of shadow, the excitement of the artist's talent depicted a woman not necessarily ugly but definitely not beautiful, an average woman whose body had ripened to maturity and now time and gravity relentlessly attacked, spurred her toward the final darkness of death. I did not really give a shit if such a mirror or painting existed. I was fucking Harmony as I and the world saw her not some oil painting or looking glass might depict her. Furthermore, I was sorry she lost her son in Iraq but that did not diminish my lust for her. 

Still wearing her fuck me pumps, the bra barely contained her lovely boobs, she sprawled on the surface of the bed. The firm bands of her ass rested against the cool sheets, her cum filled pussy no doubt dribbled sperm on the drum head tight fabric covering the bed. Harmony inserted the index finger of her left hand between her legs long enough to dab at the wetness inside. Then she licked the finger like it was cake frosting or sauce simmering in a pan. 

"Eat me, lick the sperm from me nasty boy and I will suck your cock."

I fell on the bed, jacked Harmony's legs apart, they formed an inverted v, the heels of her fuck me pumps poked the black silk sheets. Her calves while toned were not too muscular. Under the flesh of her firm thighs, thighs as smooth as a baby's derrière, an assembly of hard muscle and flexible sinew delighted my eyes. Her shapely ankles beguiled me as did the tops of her feet rising from the pumps at a severe angle. I made a mental note to sit in the leather chair and beat off while she strutted about the bedroom in nothing but heels. 

"No, before you eat me, reach in the night stand, the top drawer and remove the feather. I want you to tickle my clit with its tip." 

In the same manner I instantly obeyed Sergeant Bremer when he said, "Porter, get your damned head down," I reached into the top drawer of the night stand and removed a twelve inch blue feather. I rubbed its edge against the helmet of my cock, reveled in its soft and supple texture.

My cock jerked in reaction to the feel of the feather.

"Now me," Harmony said. "Touch my clit, it feels so good."

Holding the feather by its shaft with my left hand, I used the fingers of my right hand to find her clit, to touch the inflamed nub with one of my digits before brushing it with the feather. 

I imagined her clit a fragile soap bubble. To lap at it too forcefully would burst its delicate skin. I needed to move the feather gingerly and deftly. In such a manner I wished to excite her, to make her clit swell much like a leach becomes bloated with blood. I wanted to use the feather as a precision tool to drive her to the edge of madness, a madness of lust that needed immediate placating by cock, Coke bottle, anything sturdy enough to soothe her inflamed state and trigger ripples of pleasurable waves coursing through her body. 

I was a master of the feather as used to arouse a woman's body. I knew the precise way to touch the clit, to whisk it across a nipple, to let it float across the flat plain of the stomach, to poke at the puckered portal of the anus. 

The feather touched her clit. Slowly, relentlessly, I used the feather's tip to navigate across her feminine penis in search of the invisible line between pleasure and pain. She moaned, screeched, the sound of a woman giving birth. Harmony lifted her hips, moved toward the feather seeking the little death of orgasm not reaching it, me managing to stall her release. 

Amidst the groans, the moans, the swift breathing she said, "Oh my God, that feels so good. You could make a dead woman come." 

Her body, flexible as a snake, rolled about the bed as I tried with great difficulty to maintain contact with her clit. She grabbed my wrist with her right hand, clamped down on it, squeezed and jerked my arm and the feather from its efforts.

"Get that cock of yours in me now." Her voice, deep, scratchy, commanding, sounded like the girl filled with the devil in the movie The Exorcist. 

"Fuck me now."

Promptly my cock dipped into her pussy. Her legs clutched around my back, her thighs touching my flanks. Within seconds as our groins bumped into each other, we both came.

"Honey, between you and Beer Can Man, I have had little sleep in the last 24 hours. I am going to take a nap."

"I am going back to my place to shower," I said.

By the time I dressed which meant slipping into my jeans, Harmony slept in the sleigh bed. She mumbled something about a Jason. I wondered if Jason was a lover or her son. Did fucking me, did fucking the other men, peers of her son, bring him closer or did it drive his ghost away.

I left her apartment and knew I would fuck her as much as possible before age made me ineligible. 

As I entered my apartment the phone rang. Answering it, I heard Angela's voice. Angela who broke up with me shortly before Harmony moved in. Without saying a word, I hung up on her. 

Harmony Hill Ch. 03



In the darkest part of night with the Venetian blinds closed and the door shut tight the bedroom's interior was as dark as the bottom of a covered well. In the even darker delta between Harmony's legs, my dusky tongue, lapped at her equally dusky clit. From between the lips of her womb a delicious wetness tasting of limes, lemons and oranges with a dash of mouth wash, a hint of something like cough syrup, coated my lips, cheeks, nose and forehead with a slick patina. 

My tongue undulated like a slithering snake, its tip spelling H-A-R-M-O-N-Y in great florid sweeps on the stalk of her clit.

In the realm of darkness I discovered how blindness shores up the other senses, makes them more sensitive, eager to take up the slack. My sense of taste, touch, hearing roared, delighted me with their heightened impulses.

Harmony moaned. Flat on the bed's black silk sheets, her buxom dancer's body covered by the room's inky murkiness, my fingers and hands roved about her carriage, a toned and curvaceous edifice worthy of a porno queen. While delving into her gash, my mouth and tongue laboring to please her as my cock always did, the palms of my hands glided over the soft, buttery texture of her long, shapely legs as they angled upward and outward off the bed; my fingers stroked the smooth roundness of her heels, held on to them as my tongue probed at her clit. My hands, soft as her heels from constantly washing shot glasses and beer mugs under the tap behind the bar at work, meandered over her breasts, tapped at the firm balloons on her chest, squeezed them together, letting one massive tit bump the other. Between my thumb and index finger, I kneaded her nipples. They stood erect their texture feeling like canisters of spent chewing gum. Her black hair absorbed the room's darkness, pooled on the pillows. My fingers sallied forth to the plain of her flat tummy, my fingertips softly scratching, gently stroking her before dipping my left index finger into the indentation of her belly button. My fingers cradled the soft flesh under her knees before gripping the silken skin stretching over her ankles. While my tongue brushed about inside her sopping wet vault, my fingers then explored her toes, nudged between them. Touching them, feeling the indentations between and the cool hardness of her toe nails jabbed my mind with a memory of her using those toes and the velvety soles of her feet to make me come.                                                                                                                                    

As I licked her center, I realized all those Tootsie Pops licked as a kid had made me into a talented cunnilingal artiste. How many licks to get to the Tootsie Roll center was the advertising slogan and I wondered how many licks to make Harmony come.

Her fingers squeezed the engorged nipples of her huge, firm breasts, the breasts of a 25-year-old not a 55-year-old. She caressed her thighs, stroked the hair on the top of my head as my mouth stimulated her vulva and clitoris. Her muscular thighs, smooth as grape skin, soft as goose down, snapped at my head, confined me closer to her center. As I sucked on her clit, she often grabbed the back of my head, purchased her hands on my ears, and pulled me violently toward her furrow. I reckoned she wanted to force my entire head into the soaking wet trench between her legs. On these occasions, I found it difficult to breathe but I continued to eat her. 

She would have said something like "Fuck me, lover" or "Give me that good head" but her mouth was full of Eric's cock. She sucked his cock as ardently as I sucked her clit. Tall and skinny Eric, the third body in the room cloaked by the room's darkness, stood over Harmony, his hands pressed against the wall; his knees bent slightly, his tall and skinny cock buried to its hilt in her mouth. 

From my vantage point I could not see Harmony sucking cock but from the positioning of their bodies, the sound of Harmony's wet suctioning, Eric bumping the wall, I knew he was deep inside Harmony's mouth. No one sucked a better cock then Harmony Hill. This was Eric's latest sojourn into Harmony's mouth and from his moans and groans; he loved her cock sucking capabilities as much as I did.

I had lost count of the number of times Harmony and I fucked as a couple, a pair, a man and a woman coupling in this bed and all about this apartment. This was my first experience fucking ménage a trios, as Josh Lembert, a friend of mine always said, with Harmony and a third party. 

Several hours earlier I had knocked on the jamb to the left of Harmony's door.

"Come in Dwight," Harmony said.

As I opened the door, I smelled the fresh paint applied to cover the deep scratches made by a sharp implement. A few days earlier, someone, probably the ex-husband, maybe a spurned lover no longer within the prescribed age parameters established by Harmony, had scratched YOU FUCKING CUNT BITCH across the door's surface. The depth of the lettering, the especially deep etching of the words cunt and bitch showed a quality and quantity of anger fearful to behold. I entered the apartment, shut the door behind me, and tried not to think of the person toting a knife, scissors, a switchblade and filled with such rage. On the sofa a tall and lanky young man, thin almost to the point of emaciation, sat on the right end of the living room sofa with Harmony sprawled to his right. A movie with Meg Ryan played on the television. Illumination from the television screen, the only light in the room, flickered like candle light on the living room walls, formed shadows on the naked body of the man and Harmony's busy efforts. His head rested on the back of the sofa, his eyes focused toward the lazily spinning ceiling fan, not interested in the least about the plot or characters in the movie. Harmony, on her right side, legs curled up toward her chest, her knees nearly touching the mounds of her breasts, sucked his thick cock, in the manner of hungry baby supping at a milk engorged tit. Her relaxed pose showed her lack of concern about the comment etched in the door, her disdain for whoever welded the tool. 

Skin tight black pants, toreador or maybe they were called Capri pants, adhered to her legs, stopped well above her ankles, encased her flaring hips and flowed like skin or something sprayed on over the globes of her bottom. A white blouse, no a tee shirt, cut in wide v to show lots of cleavage stuck to her tits and seemed glued to her abdomen. Black high heels, sandals with four inch heels held on to her feet with the slenderest of straps called attention to her pretty feet and showed off her painted toenails. A black wig covered her blond hair and for a moment I wondered if another woman now used Harmony's apartment as a fuck pad. No it was Harmony. I recognized her voice, knew the woman sucking cock on the sofa was Harmony but the black wig or the dye job made her look different enough I could pretend she was Harmony's sister, a sibling who fornicated just as feverishly.

Harmony knew how gorgeous her body was; she was vain and had much to be vain about. Every time she saw her reflection she checked her self out. When I saw her leaving or returning from work she wore sensible flat shoes, creased and comfortable looking slacks, lose blouses and blue smocks. Alone, the two of us eventually fucking somewhere in the apartment, her garments were invariably sexy, designed to arouse, to engorge my member, to make me want to plunge my cock into one or all of her orifices.

I had seen her in a wide assortment of fuck me pumps ranging from Lucite heeled slides to mules with the tallest heels and a froth of pink plumage. At other times she wore thigh high hose, garter belts, crotchless panties, and balconette bras with cut outs for the nipples. She favored pink, black or blue nighties barely covering her ass. Another garment, black in color, made of latex with a hidden zipper in back, shiny as wet seal skin, covered her body from neck to ankles. Strategically placed holes exposed her nipples. Another stoma, not made by a surgeon but a seamstress, created an aperture for her pussy and a similar hole cleared the way for me to poke my cock into her ass. While she was bound in by this garment, I enjoyed the smell of the rubber, the way the material rubbed against my skin, the squeaky sound it made as we fucked. 

Her dresses, just as sexy as the thongs, the pastel panties, the fuck me pumps, were also designed from the get go to induce ravishing. One dress in particular always drove me into frenzy. The color of lime sherbet, crocheted in all likelihood with knitting needles, the dress clutched the curves of her body, did not go three inches below her hips and showed much tanned skin between its weave and lots of cleavage to boot. A pair of pumps with three inch heels and matching the color of the dress corded her legs and thrust out the firm hemispheres of her ass. Even barefoot though, the heels plucked off or kicked aside, she drove me mad with desire when she wore this beguiling garment as she pranced around the apartment on tip toes. Invariably, whether in this dress, a simple white tee shirt, in anything designed to cause a ruckus in me or any other man she dallied with, I fucked her, we fucked her. 

The black and white ensemble in its tightness, its exposure of her breasts, the way it accentuated the lush curves of her anatomy was no less sexy then anything else in her wardrobe.

Without lifting her mouth from the man's penis, she lifted her ass, signaling an invitation for my invasion from the rear. 

I removed the high heels from her petite feet, quickly and unceremoniously yanked the tight black pants off her in the same sure fire sweeping motion a bullfighter brandishes his cape in front of a bull.

Never losing her connection with the cock, her bottom off the sofa, angled outward, nearly dangling off the edge of the sofa to allow me to easily penetrate her.

As I striped out of my clothing, I wondered if I should introduce myself to the man on the sofa, attempt to shake his hand, wink at him, or give him the high five. What was the appropriate protocol for such carnal cavorting? 

He seemed oblivious to me as he moaned and whimpered and clutched at Harmony's head.

I chose to ignore him for the moment, to focus on ramming my cock into one of Harmony's orifices available to me. Her mouth occupied by the gentleman caller at the moment, I considered entering her through the tight stricture of her anus, chickened out and plunged my cock into her pussy. 

She groaned, continued to suck, as I pounded my cock into her. The tee shirt remained in place and drew attention to her nudity, extended an open invitation for my ravishment.

Light from the television across the room flickered on the walls, cast shadows on this elbow, that knee, the underside of the man's chin, possibly on the back of my straining neck and flexing knees. Meg Ryan's voice and Kevin Kline's more then adequate French accent so clear and close they could be in the room sipping cocktails, watching the three of us fuck on the denim clad sofa. 

Always amazing the way her pussy clutched at my cock.

Its tightness not much different then the several virgins I had managed to deflower. She, no virgin, close to what I considered a nymphomaniac, did not repel me in the least. I had no desire to marry Harmony, to live in wedded bliss. As long as she wished to fuck me, I would freely reciprocate her favors. Since Nine Eleven, my tour in Iraq, seeing good men die, nearly dying myself, often wondering if I might come home in the same type of aluminum coffin that ferried Harmony's son from the Middle East, I did not seek love or a long term commitment.

Harmony allowed me to get my rocks off, to fuck, to forego self gratification, to tarry with the sexiest woman this side of the porno industry.

I may have been a simple bartender eking out a living in a trendy tavern but I was no fool. At some point our rutting around like two beasts in heat would have ramifications. Hopefully, I would survive this eventuality as I survived combat. Before reaching such a point in our relationship, I might be blown up by a suicidal bomber or an aneurysm could rupture deep inside my brain. For now I was content to enjoy Harmony's occasional company, to fuck her at every opportunity. 

With all my carnal knowledge of her, Harmony remained a cipher. I once read the entire print collection of the Library of Congress would require no more then 10 terabytes of computer memory. In regards to what I did not know about Harmony 10 terabytes would not be sufficient.

No matter how deeply my cock probed one of her orifices, regardless of the depths of our depravity, the copious exchange of body fluids on a continuing basis, Harmony maintained a reserve, insisted on an interval between us that never diminished in all our coupling. We never made love, we fucked. Our purely physical relationship always veered away from anything resembling affection or an emotional connection. I scratched her itch, fulfilled her on some level but on other levels she offered no access. 

Harmony approach to fucking resembled a glutton's digging into chow. She grabbed, gobbled, consumed with no thought of consequence. She sucked sperm down her throat, absorbed it with her pussy and through the slop chute in her ass. She licked at the wet or dry semen on her lips like the stuff was sugar. When I came on her face, in the channel between her tits or one of her orifices, she often dipped a finger into the mess and sucked it into her mouth, swallowed it and sighed as though the sperm salved a hurt or acted as a palliative for pain. Ultimately, she fucked as though each act of carnality subtracted from the finite sum of fucking allocated her.  

I leaned in, slid my cock into her pussy, fucking her doggy style, her bitch in heat mating to my male dog just as hot to fuck. I planted my hands on the smooth skin of her firm ass as she sucked cock and griped another cock at the same time. 

As I moved in and out of her I had the urge to smack her butt. I did. Not a soft tap but a hard wallop that turned her ass cheeks red.

Harmony, sucking, her cheeks puckering, let the cock pop from her mouth and tried looking back at me.

"Damn baby, that feels so good." 

Within ten or fifteen minutes, Meg and Kevin still talking, I expelled my sperm into Harmony and almost simultaneously the man on the sofa shot his wad into her mouth. 

Only then did I learn the other man's name, be properly introduced. His name was Eric Lawson, a former star center on the high school basketball team, a former Army helicopter pilot bearing scars on his back and buttocks from the experience. Eric went through Harmony's check-out line three times. First, he purchased a large bottle of mouthwash; second, Harmony rang up a red box of Durex Warming Pleasure condoms and finally, she weighed a hefty dark green cucumber and he paid for it.

No one standing in line, classical music flowing from ceiling speakers, the vast room filled with row after row of groceries, bright lights not permitting the smallest shadow, Harmony leaned over and whispered her name in Eric's ear, gave him her address, told him to bring the items by about ten p.m. Most definitely bring the condoms and they might find a use for the cucumber.

After Eric arrived at Harmony's place, without either of them speaking, she went down on him while he pushed the cucumber into her pussy. Then he broke open the box of condoms, she slipped it over his cock and they fucked. Only when his sperm pooled in the nose of the rubber did Harmony learn his name, a brief synopsis of his life, what he did for a living, for leisure. Not that it mattered to her in the least other then the fact he was 24 years old and clearly a soldier, a sailor, a marine, a brother in arms to her fallen son. 

Harmony had issues no doubt. A weird psychological dynamic motivated her. Eric, the legion of other, including me, all of us veterans, men back from harm's way had no scruples about using that dynamic to our advantage. If she wished to give her body to us so freely, we gladly accepted the gift. 

After all our fucking, me coming in her mouth, Eric's semen already there, following the deposit of more semen in her pussy, both of eating her, a gloomy gray light, then a more convivial buttery morning light seeped through the Venetian blinds. 

Lying between us, Harmony reached over to the bedside table, lifted the cordless phone, pushed a button and held it to her right ear.

"I got your message. Right now I am lying in the black silk sheets, you remember the black silk sheets? I have been fucking two young fellows all night. I sucked their cocks and they fucked me until I cannot move. After I hang up we are going to fuck some more."

She ended the call, returned the pale blue telephone to its cradle. "Fuck me one more time guys." 



Harmony Hill Ch. 04



After hearing the clatter of the telephone handset smacking into its cradle, the three of us, exhausted from fucking for hours on the denim covered sofa and the sprawling bed, settled under shiny black silk sheets, sheets unable to lose their cool tactility no matter what sort of friction might be applied to them. I was wrung out, went out like a light, as though pole-axed by a Mickey Finn, clobbered by the right hook from the ham fist of a heavy weight boxer. Eric and Harmony may have fucked after I fell asleep. For that matter every male living in the state of Washington between the age of 21 and 27, 28 tops, could have fucked Harmony Hill, had a veritable orgy, and I would have slept through it. I was that weary. Harmony, her insatiable demands, her ceaseless desires had worn me out. My own insatiable appetite and ravenous hunger were no less responsible for my exhaustion. 

Hours later, I awakened, my stomach rumbling, felt hungry, ached for a stack of syrup laden pancakes, a rasher of crisp bacon, and a pot of steaming black coffee. Harmony lay on her left side, her silken right leg draped across my legs, her right arm flung across my groin, her wrist flattening my damp pubic hair, her hand softly gripping my cock. She snored. In the quiet of the bedroom the snoring did not sound raucous. She did not snort or make sounds like a motor with no muffler, imitate the creak of a rusty barn door. Her snores, a rhythm of noisy exhalations, a clicking sound uttered sotto voce barely qualified as snoring. 

Her eyelids fluttered and her long silky eyelashes danced. Did she dream incessantly of young men with hard cocks and ceaseless erections or did she dream solely of one lost young man, a youngster buried under a simple white cross in the Quiet Nation cemetery near Puyallup? In her waking hours did her relentless need for sex with young men blot out the image, the memory of her dead son?

Shut the fuck up, I thought. I did not need to pollute this perfect situation by wondering what drove Harmony to sexual excess. At some point I hoped to find a woman to love, to share a life with, a woman who needed me as much as I needed her. Harmony Hill, a 55 year old vixen with issues was not this woman. At this moment in my life, I enjoyed my shallow life. It may have hurt my writing but I was no later day Hemingway, no one even considered me a manqué of F. Scott Fitzgerald. I lived simply, worked at a job not unduly stressful, shared laughs with good friends loved to read, go to the movies, watched Turner Classic Movies religiously, played football with my buddies on tepid fall afternoons, took in an occasional Mariners game during the season and get in as much fucking as humanly possible. Harmony bounced into my life one morning and one morning or one evening she would bounce out of my life just as quickly. As long as she desired to fuck me, I would be ready, willing and able. What good did it do to practice lay psychoanalysis or speculate on why she did what she did? As soon as I started trying to get in her head I could kiss her body good bye. Plenty of other men would gladly fill in for me. I knew our affair was transitory, a temporary liaison and nothing more. If nothing else the memory of her free wheeling persona, her endless quest to gratify and be gratified, her luscious body, its perfect curves, the moist and supple orifices I plied with regularity and her Nordic visage, its naughty mien, promised to delight me long into my dotage.

I still could not help wondering who scratched the graffiti on the front door, who she called early that same morning. I suspected her ex-husband Hugo, but could not be sure. Why call this person, why torture him? I had no doubt the person she called was a man. To me, it signaled a tremendous hate, a boiling rage. I did not wish to be pounding my cock into her one day and have some enraged behemoth burst into the room, a shotgun already pumped, a calloused finger on the trigger, the artillery aimed at our humping bodies. The last thing I would hear as I stroked in and out, the blast of the gun.

Raising my head off the pillow, peering across the contours of Harmony's body, I could see Eric had vamoosed. The quiet apartment absorbed the sounds of giggling children playing outside, a car starting smoothly, a car door slamming and a lawn mower off in the distance.

My head dropped back on the pillow, for several minutes I studied the whirls of painted brush strokes on the ceiling and like Robert the Bruce in his cave, I watched a small spider in the ceiling's left corner hard at work weaving its web. 

Harmony's snoring stopped. Her hand, the one gripping my cock, jerked slightly, much like a hose suddenly charged with water. She applied pressure. I closed my eyes, feigning sleep. She removed her hand quickly as though my cock was suddenly sizzling hot. Immediately, she made a necklace around my prick with her thumb and index finger. Her fingers, soft and smooth as satin, slid up and down my length in the same way I masturbated with my left hand. Being a south paw, my right hand was unable to establish the proper rhythm stimulating myself. It felt awkward. Harmony's right hand did fine beating me off and my cock quickly responded to her stimulation. 

For a few minutes she stroked slowly, her fingers moving up and down my stalk at a fast enough pace to sustain my hardness but not so swiftly to make me erupt over her the knuckles. Even after all the previous fucking, I still felt like fucking. Thoughts of chow easily forgotten, I wished to bury my cock in the vault between the juncture of Harmony's legs, to drive my shaft deep into her mouth. 

My eyes remained closed. Harmony removed her hand from my cock, shifted her leg from over mine, and smoothly twirled her body down under the sheets like a diver plunging into an Olympic-sized pool. A mound under the black sheets, she positioned herself over me. I felt her heavy breasts mashing down on my thighs, nipples poking into my flesh. 

She took my cock into her mouth, swallowed its length, her lips buried in my pubic hair. Did it tickle, I wondered. She sucked. Not gently but greedily. She licked. Not like tasting it as a test of flavor but more like tearing into it, her favorite treat. Harmony never tired of giving me head, always dispensed it as a gift. Her warm mouth, its moist innards, the texture of her lips, the manner of blowing and inhaling cock by turns made her the ultimate fellatrix.

One of my former bedmates, a brunette named Angela, loved to suck my cock, any cock for that matter. She delighted in going down on me while I slept. Nothing felt finer then having Angela suck me off while I slept.Since the first time Angela applied her full lips to my cock and I awakened to the pressure, the pleasure of her cock sucking, I liked nothing better then opening my eyes after a night of restful sleep, looking down and seeing a female, any female's head bobbing up and down. It was nearly indescribable, the feeling that burst in my loins before I opened my eyes. Awakening, my pleasure center not buried in my brain but busy in its annex, the cylinder between my legs. Jolts like electricity, the pleasing sensation of an itch satisfied, a thrill, something similar to a junkie's high but healthier welled up in my cock head, spewed through my body in the most delicious waves of contentment. 

Nothing else matter while this woman or that woman sucked, nothing else existed except my cock and her connection to it. 

Getting hard, a woman on her knees noisily sucking me from under a desk, in a car, the windows steamed over, her rising and falling head narrowly missing the steering wheel sucking me off. Sitting in a rocker recliner, the movie Silverado playing on the tube, fucking a woman's mouth to the sound of Winchesters blazing and clopping horse hooves, then coming. All these situations, more, added a fillip of excitement but the best head came from having it administered on my soft cock while I slept, the suction bringing my cock alive, a woman's cheeks, her mouth, her tongue all working in concert to bring ecstasy, ecstasy unfurling with infinite slowness. Like wetness infiltrating a paper towel every molecule in my being sopped up the pleasure of her mouth. In real sleep, not the faux state I practiced now, the suction of Harmony's mouth, any woman's mouth, jolted me into consciousness, felt like being born in a heaven where ecstasy was so pervasive that orgasms came merely by touching anything, breathing the air, tasting any flavor, hearing any sound or seeing any scene. 

Harmony's mouth made noises like a baby plastered against mother's tit or guzzling on the nipple of a bottle. Not opening my eyes, a smile creasing my lips, I imagined one of her fingers or all of them fitted together like a spade digging away inside her pussy while she ardently sucked me 

"Fuck, that feels good," I said, letting her know I was awake and tired of play acting. 

My sperm shot into Harmony's mouth, she released me and then patted the head of my cock like it was a well behaved puppy. The room's stale air smelled of spent semen, the musky scent of Harmony's drippings, sweat and silk. 

"Good morning. Our partner in crime seems to have left the building. Are you up for coming in my mouth again? She laughed at her little joke looking at my readily apparent upness, tapped her index finger on the drumhead tightness at the summit of my cock. "I am going to suck really really hard. I want to taste your warm sperm, swallow it into my belly." Her voice sounded so sexy, so relaxed and so gentle.

"You young guys never stop, never need a breather. Your sperm is a tonic for this old girl. My skin is softer, my teeth whiter, my hair shinier, my pussy tighter. I think my boobs may be bigger too."

Harmony's mouth returned to my cock, swallowed it, and sucked exactly as she said she would. 

Deep inside me, in the place where my sperm lived, but not for long since losing my virginity to Emily Proctor, the entire colony lined up, bumped into one another, jostled, slid down the chute in my cock, and filled Harmony's mouth. In the pleasure of their passing, ecstasy in the form of tumultuous waves of bliss and delightful explosions of joy radiated through me. I watched her swallow my little Dwights and when she finally lifted her mouth off me and I saw my glistening semen dribbling from her lips, I nearly called up another squad of underdeveloped troopers to send her way. 

For several minutes after my prodigious ejaculation into her mouth we enjoyed the greatest byproduct of intimacy: comfortable silence. Then in an explosion of movement combining elements of a gymnast's fluid range of motion, a cat's limberness, a dancer's innate rhythm, Harmony bounded from between my legs and stood on the floor next to the sleigh bed. 

As she turned on her slender ankles toward the bathroom, the morning light painted her alabaster flesh in a golden hue. She turned in my direction, offered me a stupendous view of her profile and a face on shot of her body in its entire splendor. She yanked the black wig from her head, threw it on the chair, and removed a series of bobby pins from her blond hair; let it cascade on to her shoulders. As she massaged her scalp with her fingers and brought life back to the blond tresses smothered under the wig, she said: "Lover, I just realized your face and body's remarkable resemblance to Brad Pitt."

I was bowled over by the compliment but I could not see any resemblance. On my eighteenth birthday my grandfather smeared butter on my nose. He always did this on my birthday, my brother's birthday, my mother's birthday. It was some sort of ancient Druid ritual I think. Six months and two days later I fucked Emily Proctor, a first year law student with a gap between her two front teeth and a giant intellect to boot. Did she fuck me because I resembled Mr. Pitt? Did I owe all my other conquests following Ms Proctor to Mr. Pitt? What did it matter? I was the one getting to fuck Emily and Tiffany and Sharon and Gwen and Helga and another Emily and Dawn and Laurie and Connie and Edwina and Suzanne and Mirabelle and Katrina and Megan and Angela and Frankie and several Janes and Janet and a well preserved 62 year old by the name of Mildred and Donna and Pam and Shirley and Sarah and Sara. I fucked one woman after another, getting my fill of them, enjoying the thrill of a new liaison before moving into another woman's bed. Sometimes I managed to get into the pants of several women during the same period of time. On Monday night I might fuck Daphne, Wednesday I formed a two backed beast with Sheila and Saturday night found me between the thighs of Amber. If all those women opened themselves to me, including Harmony, let me plow into them so freely due to my resemblance to Brad then all I could say was, "Thank you Brad." 

"I am going to take a quick shower and if you have no other plans, I want to come back to bed and ride your cock. I want to be on top, ride you like a cowboy, and have you suck my tits. While you are waiting there is food and soft drinks, water in the fridge. I have no clue what time it is and it may be too early but I also have rum, whiskey, vodka and fixings in the cabinet to the right of the sink." 

She blew me a kiss, entered the bathroom, shut the door, the shower soon running.

Naked, I walked to the guest bathroom, peed copiously, washed my hands in Yardley lavender soap and walked to the kitchen. No sign of Eric anywhere.

As I opened the refrigerator, I heard no singing in the bathroom. I did hear one or two sighs, verbal expressions uttered no doubt as the hot water pummeled her body. Come to think of it, other then the occasional double entendre in her speech, the little joke she made earlier about me being "up" Harmony's sole joy seemed to come from sex. At other times her attitude, her expressions were nearly vapid. Other then her sexual turn ons, I had no idea what she liked or disliked, what her political beliefs might be, what she liked to read or listen to, what delighted or infuriated her. Other then a few facts culled from several less then reliable sources and a few sexual vignettes told by Harmony, every point of reference in our relationship was plotted inside the confines of this luxuriously appointed apartment. 

The extent of my knowledge of Harmony Hill was confined to the topography of her body as learned in our sexual dalliances. Virtually every memory of us together was physical and sexual. She knew as little of me as I knew of her for that matter. When she was in a fever to fuck she fucked. Apparently, the only governor on this lust a self imposed and scrupulously obeyed rule to screw men with certain physical characteristics and be between the ages of 21 and 27 or 28. Perhaps an older man might be able to fuck her if he was youthful looking, intelligent, lean, slightly muscled, had an edge about him yet retained a nugget of innocence no matter what level of depravity he experienced.

I poured two percent milk out of a half gallon plastic jug into a tall glass, quickly fixed a sandwich by slathering creamy peanut butter and grape jelly on white bread, dropping it on a robin's egg blue plate next to a scattering of stale nachos and a nearly overripe banana. Standing naked in front of the double basined sink, a modern day Adam cast out of one paradise and finding refuge in another, I quickly ate the sandwich, the nachos, and the banana after striping its skin and finally polished off the glass of milk in three gulps. 

Harmony remained in the bathroom, the shower still running. I returned to the bed, covered myself with the sheets and positioned several pillows under my head. The time spent waiting for a woman to finish her ablutions, to prepare herself for sex passes with an infuriating slowness. It is akin to being struck in a traffic jam or confined inside a plane's fuselage after it lands and waiting and waiting some more and watching and watching some more as passengers eke down the aisle and out through the door at glacial speed. 

Hearing the shower stop a good sign. Now some time spent looking in the mirror, applying this and that to restore what was rubbed off when Eric was in this hole and I was in another. Lotions, unguents, powders, gloss, perfume applied here and there. I could see her studying her reflection, dabbing at her lips, plucking eye brows that sort of thing. 

Waiting, I stroked my cock, ran my fingers across the tightness of my nut sack. 

The bathroom door opened. A procession of scents: Jean Nate' bath splash, floral odors, citrus smells, the sharp aroma of aloe and a dash of Channel Number Five advanced in front of Harmony. She emerged as a flash of flesh and turned to the left. The fading sound of her bare feet padding across the carpeted floor reached my ears. The door of the refrigerator opened and quickly closed. Harmony, her alabaster skin suffused with a lobster's red color from the hot shower, returned to the bedroom, stood at the foot of the bed smiling at me, a naughty glint sparkled in her blue eyes. She held a large plastic jar of honey in her right hand. Her blond hair, a waterfall of wheat, flowed down on to her shoulders. Her breasts, a Nordic milkmaid's huge breasts, pointed at me. Note to self: fuck Harmony while she wears a lace up bustier, her tits spilling over the top of the thing, a mini skirt with an attached apron bordered in lace trim, a duplicate of the costume Helga wore in Munich when I first fucked her. Erect nipples the color of mahogany centered in areolas looking like walnut stained saucers. Under the swell of her breasts, a flat plain over her stomach, a tiny waist, flaring hips, its landscape only appreciated under the tiniest panties or naked like now. My eyes feasted on the bald cleft, the camel toe looking thing between her legs. Then my eyes licked over her smooth long legs and her wonderfully sexy feet their toes painted a garish pink. 

Harmony leaned most all her weight on her left leg, cocked her right leg as posing for an erotic shot. She stared at me reclining under the silk sheets, the fingers of her right hand stroking the nipple of her left breast as counterpoint to the stroking of my cock. 

"Lie flat on your back lover," she said.

I removed my hand from my cock, pushed the sheets back exposing the length of my Brad Pitt like body. She moved to the left, climbed in the bed. Framed by the black silk sheets her flesh appeared blindingly white, the areolas on her breasts more significant, the pink slit between her legs that much more enthralling. She straddled me, squatted down on my shaft. Perched on the prong of my cock, she lifted her head toward the ceiling. 

"Ah," she said. 

She lifted the container, opened its plastic cap with the flick of her thumb, turned the bottle upside down, and squeezed its sides. The honey's amber color ejaculated from the bottle and landed on to the surface of her tits in a jagged string that glistened on her flesh as it spelled the word SLUT. 

I pushed my loins toward her, she dipped toward me. Not my favorite position for fucking but it did allow me to play with her tits, and in this case, to lick the honey trickling down over her skin and dripping on to my heaving chest. Squatting on me she then lifted herself. Nearly letting my hardness slip from inside, she then dropped back, letting my cock fill her full once more. Keeping to this cycle with the efficiency and precision, I lapped at the honey on her down stroke and gradually erased the sweet nectar with the brush of my tongue.

She moaned.

The telephone ringing disrupted our rhythm. Harmony leaned over, picked the telephone off its cradle, and dialed a number as she continued to ride my cock.

"It's me," she said into the phone.

"Right now, I am getting fucked by the nicest and hardest cock. It feels so good going into me. Fuck me lover." 




Harmony Hill Ch. 04



Harmony winked at me. "Last night, this morning I had two cocks in me. All night I sucked one while the other one fucked me. I am so full of sperm." She groaned. That sound as clear no doubt as her voice.

Harmony leaned over, placed the telephone on the surface of the nightstand. 

"Give me that cock, fuck me," she said to me and whoever was listening.

"Suck my tits lover. Does that feel good, does my pussy feel hot?" Harmony said.

"Oh yes," I said. I barely whispered.

Harmony, continuing to ride me, covered the lower part of the phone, leaned down and whispered in my left ear.

"Talk louder lover. Let's drive him nuts, right round the bend."

Harmony picked up the handset and held it to her ear after pushing her hair out of the way, a simple yet sexy gesture. 

"What?" Harmony said into the telephone. She still bounced on me, her hips rolled across my loins fluidly yet for a moment she focused on whatever the person on the other end of the telephone line said. 

This person's words have the momentary effect of deflating her. I saw defeat pass fleetingly through her eyes. For an instance she was a wounded soldier, the last survivor left standing after a vicious fire fight. Bruised, battled, and drained of blood and spirit with nothing left to give except for the jerk of an arm to raise the white flag before passing out. 

"Fuck you." The handset slammed down on its base.

Harmony her indomitable spirit restored as quickly as it vanished drove herself down on my cock.

"Fuck me lover, fuck me lover. Keep giving me that good hard hot cock." 



Harmony Hill Ch. 05



"Dwight, my mother used the word "dreamy" when she was a teenager. I know what she meant when I saw him climbing out of the pool. Red Speedos, pecs dripping water, green swimming goggles over his brown eyes, a flat belly oily with sunscreen, his black hair slicked back. Sleek as an otter, gorgeous as Mark Spitz or Greg Louganis, the same sparse v-shaped physique sculpted by swimming. Muscles popping out all over him. Sitting in the chaise lounge I was so wet, not from the water in the pool, let me tell you. I had to restrain myself from sticking a finger in my twat."

At sundown when many of us may have an alcoholic beverage without guilt, Harmony and I sat on the sofa in her living room, a piece of furniture as familiar to me as my own divan. She drank a gin and tonic with a twist of lime; I had sipped rum and Coke splashed with lemon juice. Both glasses now empty, the ice cubes taking their time to melt. Her short black skirt rolled up around her waist, no panties, and my finger, no two fingers, the index and middle finger of my left hand deep inside her pussy. My knuckles flexed and bumped against her velvet lining, the tips of my digits rolled around inside her vault. My white linen shirt, its sleeves rolled up above my elbows, was unbuttoned, black Levis frayed on the left leg unzipped, loosened around my waist, belt unbuckled.

Harmony's head lolled back on the sofa, her silky smooth long legs spread wide, her heels planted in the deep pile carpet, her bare feet angled outward, pointed skyward. Her eyes fluttered. She spoke slowly, in a monotone. Her voice almost in a trance, her speech sometimes glided to a stop like a car running out of gas. A look of total bliss, the flushed look of a religious zealot masked her face. While my fingers sought out the nub of her clit, her right hand in my pants, inside the slit of my pale blue boxers, stroked me, her slender fingers moved up and down at a leisurely pace.

"I looked so hot wearing my yellow bikini. My tits springing up out of the bra, the bottom barely covering my cunt, my pussy shaved and doused with a lavender scent. Sunglasses covered my eyes so he could not see me staring at him as he climbed out of the pool. Around the pool three other men, one with his wife, all wearing sunglasses looked at me just as surreptitiously as I looked at him. They wanted to fuck me. I wanted to fuck him."

I removed my fingers from inside her and worked my fist into her, the entire fist. My hand looked chopped off, eaten up by her gash.

"Damn, a fist fuck. Wow. Feels like a cock with knobs." 

Harmony's pussy could take the biggest cock; surrender itself to the smallest hard penis. Incredible.

"Do you want me to tell you about fucking him? Do you want to know how long before he was inside me? First, I sucked his cock; his sperm filled my mouth, spilled from between my lips, dripped down my chin. Then his cock plowed into my pussy. 'Give me that hot stuff' I said. 'Fuck me' I said. 'Fuck that pussy' I said. Not 15 minutes after seeing the lump of his cock in his Speedos, we were fucking in the middle of this floor. See that damp spot over there. Of course he had no chance. After he fucked me I found out his name was John Ray Thomas. Three first names. My biggest concern was that he might be gay. If he had been I would have grabbed one of those guys at the pool, fucked him in the bushes. I was that desperate to fuck. 

"Dwight, stick your cock in me but take your fist out first."

I removed my fist, flexed my fingers, her wetness trickled down my wrist.

"Is your swimmer a GI?" I asked.

"Not yet. He leaves for Marine boot camp the day after tomorrow. I am going to fuck him before he leaves but right now I want you to fuck me."

"Of course. Here?

"No, let's fuck in the bed." 

Harmony and I had settled into a comfortable relationship. She always found time to fuck me no matter how frequently she might be fucking other young studs.Often she fixed me dinner before we had sex.

To give her new dining room table the proper baptism, Harmony had invited me for dinner three nights earlier, a week after Eric and I had fucked her. We ate baked brook trout with cucumbers and tomatoes vinaigrette, followed by the main entrée, roast leg of lamb with sautéed mushrooms and side dishes of wild rice and carrots. First, with the trout we drank pinot Gris. Then Harmony opened a bottle of California Cabernet Sauvignon, the perfect wine to serve with the rich, succulent lamb. After dessert Harmony filled the bathtub, a cream colored oval shaped basin big enough for four persons. We immersed ourselves in the water; I refilled our glasses with the Cabernet. After Harmony slid down on my cock, I picked the wine bottle up, poured what was left of the Cabernet on the roundness of her heavy breasts. The liquid splashed, dripped off her body and formed momentary red blossoms on the water before dissolving. I sucked the tart nectar from her nipples and water sloshed out of the tub as she bounced up and down on my cock. 

After we fucked, Harmony, her hair wet, all the combing and brushing for naught, lay back against my chest, my soft cock cradled by the crack of her ass. The hot water lapping against the underside of her breasts, made them look bigger, bolder and redder. I stroked them, toyed with her nipples and finally gathered enough courage to ask about her son.

For a lifetime she said nothing.

Finally, she spoke. Her voice ballasted with a seriousness I had not heard before.

"Jason was killed in Iraq when a bomb exploded under his vehicle. The blast killed him and six of his Marines. He was a Second Lieutenant, a Shave Tail you guys call them. He was Third platoon leader in Lima Company of the 3rd Battalion, 5th Marines, 1st Marine Division leading his platoon in a town called Haditha. The town, full of waving palm trees and swirling dust, is near the Euphrates River. Not much of a place really. I imagine it smells like camel shit, sweat and spices. Jason said in one of his letters the average temperature hovered at about 120 degrees. You know, you were there."

"I remember the smell of camel shit and every other kind of shit human and animal. I remember the stink of sour milk, burning trash. None of the locals used deodorant. The Iraqis like their food pickled or fried. I remember seeing one woman pickling something in a horse trough. It smelled like rotten eggs and vinegar. I gagged, wondered if the bitch stewed an American in the slop." I said. 

"My God, she wasn't doing that." Harmony said.

I shook my back and forth to show no American found his way into the horse trough. I remained mute about the fate of the woman and her young daughter. Killed by a suicide bomber two days later, they looked to be asleep, no injuries visible, murdered by the blast's shock wave. 

A look of horror and revulsion roiled across her face and for the first time I saw her not as a sexpot, a receptacle for my lust but as a human being, a mother mourning her fallen son, a woman of merit stomped in the gut. In our coupling I had scratched my itch, given her something she needed. Until this moment I had no idea of her complexity, the pain, the suffering she endured. At that moment some of my own wounds started healing. Like a snake shedding its skin some of my own superficiality peeled off me and I suddenly felt tired of my hollow feeling, the shallowness of my life. All the nasty shit dammed up inside me for too long started flowing. I remembered the stink of fear, the scream of buddies dying in the heat and dust, yelling for a Mom unable to hear them, yearning for a wife now forever unreachable. I remembered our closeness and how we counted on each other. Our greatest fear was fucking up, letting your buddies down. Our greatest strength was in each other. 

From bath to bed barely taking time to dry, to strip the bed of its black silk, replace them with white linen hastily ripped from their plastic cover. In making the bed Harmony bent forward, her heavy breasts beckoned me, her flaring hips inflamed me. The tip of my hard cock caught the whip of the top sheet as we raced to tuck its edges under the mattress. We slipped between these unused, virginal sheets smelling of plastic. Neither one of us wanted to merely fuck. This time, maybe the only time, we made love, sought sustenance in each other, to salve each other's wounds. We kissed tenderly. My cock entered her. I pretended no one had passed through his gate, that a membrane still curtained the portal's opening, needed to be opened as painlessly as possible. Her heat soaked into me; my warmth seeped into her. Under me she trembled. Honestly, I did too. Unlike our fucking all over the bed we remained in the center of bed this time, as though less motion and less movement signaled more intimacy. My cock moved in and out of her slowly and gently, the soft and cool belly of her forearms touched my back, her hands stroked my back with feathery movements. This was baby making love. In our gentle touching, the gentle busses on each others flesh we did not collide we conjoined. My tongue licked the satin surface on the back side of her ears, took each earlobe in my mouth and sucked the cartilage, blew on them. 

In the depths of the darkness my hands dipped into her clean smelling blond hair, its soft texture flowed across my fingers felt as sensuous and sexy as any other element of Harmony's voluptuous body. In touching her hair, in stroking the rounded orbs of her breasts, slipping a finger into her interior, kissing her lips all these actions were meted out to soothe, to treat her body and being respectfully, to guide her to a safe landing. 

In focusing on a sector of skin at her throat, a segment of flesh on her thigh, in showing attention to the flat plain of her abdomen, I loved and made love to every inch of her. She responded in kind. Her lovemaking was as gentle as a nurse's touch. She caressed me, her fingers floated across my flesh, rubbed me in the same gentle fashion a mother applies a Band Aid to a child's skinned knee. In her giving I got my own relief. A sense of well being, a comfortable feeling penetrated every portion of my anatomy. In riding her I galloped toward nirvana. As she sucked my cock I felt purified, at peace. 

Eventually the need for sleep overcame the need for sexual satiation. Flat on my back, her head on my chest, I stroked her shoulders. We slept. 

Now, several days later, after removing my fist from inside her, we quickly stripped out of what little clothes we wore. Harmony's minimal skirt fell next to the sofa, the tee shirt in the hallway. Garments selected with the sole purpose of enticement and then pushed aside or flung away when the enticement fostered the proper response. My clothes, more utilitarian and much less erotic, formed a pile in the bedroom floor. There is such eroticism in a woman's clothing and accessories dropped, flung, and tossed as a prelude to potting a prick in a pussy. One high heel upright and instantly ready for a nylon clad foot, the other shoe on its side like a sinking ship ready to roll over. A flimsy and filmy bra thrown over a lampshade, a tart's flag made radiant, sexier looking from the light's backlighting. Hosiery unclipped from a garter belt, rolled off a fetching leg, unceremoniously deposited on a bureau, most of its length dangling toward the floor. Panties, wet in the crotch, lost under the bed. 

Hopefully, Harmony would find no reason to use the telephone. To me it signified how off-kilter this situation was. Delighted on one hand and dubious on the other hand. I never looked a gift horse in the mouth naturally but sometimes I wondered what I had stumbled into. I had no desire to be the protagonist in a Tales of the Crypt story where I was a traveling salesman lured in to a buxom farmer's daughter's bed long enough to fuck her and then in the last scene a dismembered corpse with a smile on his face, relegated to a dark and foreboding basement or shed. 

We fell on the bed once more covered with black silk sheets. Like boxers going to their corners before a bout, Harmony sprawled on the left side of the bed and I reclined on the right side. As I reached out to touch her breasts, my opening sally in our latest coupling, wishing to fuck her tits, slide my cock through her cleavage into her mouth, she pushed me away, swiveled on her hips, reached into the top drawer of the nightstand and removed a turquoise dildo resembling a cock. One end shaped like the helmet of a cock head, the other end a threaded black cap. Alone Harmony filled the device with hot water and fucked herself with it. When she pushed the toy into her pussy, she particularly loved the way the shaped plastic extrusion simulating the balls tickled her below her slit, the way it brushed against the sensitive islet between her vagina and anus. 

"I want you to fuck me with this little guy while I go down on you. Fill it with hot water." Harmony handed me the toy as though it was a baton.

"I thought Sergeant Bremer knew how to give orders."

"Who was Sergeant Bremer?" Harmony asked.

"He was my Sergeant while I was in Iraq." I did not tell her he died when a rocket propelled grenade hit him not far from where her son died.

"Sorry, I guess that did sound like an order."

"No problem." I said as I walked to the bathroom, the turquoise dildo in my left hand. I ran the water into the sink basin, let it get hot, not boiling hot by any means but hot enough for the dildo. I had filled squirt guns before but never a turquoise dildo or any other kind of dildo for that matter. 

I returned to the bedroom and fell on the bed tingling with anticipation.

As she lowered her head over my cock, closed her eyes, I pushed the dildo into her pussy with one lunge, the balls slapped against her.

In reaction, she moaned, pushed her bottom toward the cylinder and sucked me into her mouth. Harmony's cheeks puckered. Her blond hair flipped forward over her face, periodically; she attempted to push it out of the way.

Harmony's cock sucking ability amazed me. Her passion in going down on me or any man was the real turn on. While the pleasure of oral sex is heavily weighed in the recipient's favor whether male or female, Harmony acted as though she was in reality what Linda Lovelace pretended to be in Deep Throat, the triple X porno classic, a woman with her clitoris in her throat, not in its normal spot. I believed she had a clit deep in her throat and another between her legs. When she went down on one man and fucked another she seemed to explode with simultaneous orgasms at both ends of her luscious body. 

I pushed the dildo into her until only the black cap showed at her entrance. Pulled it out, pushed it back in, pulled it out, and pushed it back in. I maintained a steady cycle as she sucked me. I noticed when the dildo went in she sucked me harder. When I extracted it, she lessened her suction. 

"Twirl it around some," said Harmony.

I complied.

Harmony paused, removed her mouth from my shaft, and looked at me through hooded eyes twinkling with lust. I turned the dildo clockwise, and then counterclockwise, she looked up at the ceiling as though she might bay at the moon. She shifted her weight, backed her ass toward the dildo. I pushed it into her and at the same time twisted it in a circular motion. She did not bay at the moon. She did howl. Hopefully, any neighbors hearing her screech would chalk it off to a loud TV. As I fucked her with the toy, she moaned, said "Fuck me." A few seconds later, "Shove it in me tiger." Followed by "Damn damn damn." After uttering the third damn, she said, "Pound the shit out of my baby." Finally, she said, "you are hitting the sweet spot, I'm coming." Fucking Harmony stimulated all my senses especially my sense of hearing when she talked in such a fashion.

As she gyrated on the dildo, I had trouble keeping it in position. Harmony bent over licked the head of my cock, took my balls into her mouth.

In late February of 2003 I arrived at Camp Doha outside of Kuwait City. Had someone told me that a few years later I would be routinely fucking a sexpot within spitting distance of social security, I would have laughed in their face, asked what kind of drugs they snorted or wanted their sanity verified. 

Harmony grabbed my left hand, shoved it aside and yanked the dildo from between her legs and tossed it across the room. "Fuck me; fuck me with your cock, you cock hound. Fuck me now."

She sprawled on the bed, spread her legs. "Get in me, I need fucking." 

I grabbed her thighs, imagined Sophia Loren's and Raquel Welch's flesh no less tight, just as smooth and just as free of Cellulite blistering. My hands, damp from using the dildo, slid under the hard roundness of her ass. I pulled and lifted at the same time, impaled her on my cock. I was a satyr and her warm, succulent pussy was the source of my satisfaction. Me, the beast, the animal consumed with lust stomped into her, wished to ravage her, to have my fill of her and then spurt my semen into her receptive body.

"Fuck me." Harmony clawed at my back, pushed her loins toward my stiffness.

Several nights earlier we made love on this bed covered in white linen.

Now, in the same bed covered in black silk, we fucked. I scratched her ass. I sucked her nipples. I held her arms down and out; she looked like a body on a crucifix. In this hard, rough fucking frenzy I was a beast from a netherworld, my hands talons, and my cock, a dog's red and raw prick. Impaled on my hardness, she was raw meat and my lust to consume this delectable morsel threatened to devour me. Semen erupted from my cock, filled her, flooded out of the forward passage between her legs, and formed a glistening white pond on the black plateau under us. 

Both of us breathing as though we had run a long race, both of us sweating severely, we separated, looked at the ceiling, our eyes still burning brightly with post coital lust.

Incredibly, as our breathing calmed and our perspiration dried, Harmony said, "John Ray Thomas is going to fuck me again and this time I get to fuck his younger brother, a 19 year old virgin. Do you want to do me at the same time?" 

The telephone remained on its cradle and I still possessed all my parts. Why not.



Harmony Hill Ch. 06



Harmony looked spectacular and quite naked under the gossamer gown. The word sublime came to mind. Her hair, the color of champagne, dispersed in loose waves down toward her shoulders and as the early afternoon sunlight entered the room, it homed in on Harmony's head, disembarked across her tresses as sparkling streaks of light; her oval face was as radiant as a new bride's visage. Adroitly applied mascara, a deft blend of aquamarine and chestnut eye shadow complimented her blue eyes, made them look like blue opals. Pink gloss coated her lips and as the fragrance of bath splash and the scent of Navy perfume coursed through my nostrils, I kissed her, tasted the same scents in my mouth and all our intimacy, the fucking, the sucking, the fluid exchanges between us flavored my mouth.

The contours composing Harmony's face: the petite nose, the prominent cheek bones, the sweep of her chin, the cut of her jaw, the blue eyes, and the sensuous fullness of her lips were arranged in a flawless symmetry. The definition of her beauty found in its perfect balance, its easy acceptance by the eye, its imposition on the senses, its pleasing nature the garb of its mastery over most any man. 

In anticipation of the festivities, its centerpiece, the act of taking a young man's virginity, Harmony had washed her hair, styled it, artfully applied make-up and then slipped into a nearly transparent gown, the special costume she had chosen for conducting a rite of passage.

Barefoot, oh those wonderfully sexy bare feet, Harmony stood at the foot of the sleigh bed in her bedroom. The filmy peignoir, nothing but a veil of mesh, closely covered her body, fell to her ankles. The material, thin and translucent as mosquito netting did nothing to camouflage or conceal her body. If anything it accentuated her nudity. Her large, over-sized bust, a beer maiden's ripe bosom, the slate flat stomach, the shaved delta between her legs, and the pleasing curve and swell of her hips, the long legs no less perfect then her plump breasts all seemed more enticing, elegant, sexier and bawdier under the netting.

"When they get here, you and John Ray will give us some privacy. I want this to be a special memory for the young man."

It definitely would be. The mesh pressed against her breasts made them appear larger, rounder, and perkier. The fabric drawn across Harmony's lush body called to my mind the image of a woman's moist lips mouthing obscenities jammed against a house's screen door, breasts flattened into white platters pressed against the pane of finely woven metal threads, labia forced against the screen lattice, its pink folds bleached white, stamping an oval shaped wet spot on the mesh. Touching the garment, thrilled by the material's visual appeal spurred my imagination, filled in details of the picture in my mind. I saw a white craftsman cottage squatting on a patch of wind swept prairie, the nearest house miles away. Solidly built, fronted with a porch holding a wooden sofa sized swing dangling on silver chains and several scattered pots of geraniums, a tinkling wind chime blown by a boisterous wind the only sound to be heard. A carnival roustabout, a wanderer or a farm hand, a rough hewn man too long without a woman, consumed with lust, stands on the porch, looks at all that flesh taunting him. With a pocket knife or his calloused bare hands, he rips through the screen, forces the woman down on the polished hardwood floor and amidst the country quiet, the chatter of the zipper's teeth in the front of his pants sounds as boisterous as a whispered curse uttered in a moment of silence during a church service. He paws his prick from his pants, forces his way into her wet slit, finds release as the woman, a stranger to him, says "fuck me."

Standing in front of Harmony, I reached out, took hold of the mesh molded over her body, lifted it, pushed her back on the bed. My intention was to gather the material just high enough to allow me access, to fuck her on the end of the bed with her beautiful bare feet still in contact with the carpeted floor, a touch and go fuck. 

She resisted. "No lover. The young man, John Ray's brother, gets a fresh pussy to fuck. I will give you head though; it will take the edge off. The way you are looking at me, I better give you some relief or you might decide to rape me." She smiled. "Sit down in the chair."

Of course, I sat down in the chair. She settled on the floor in front of me, assumed the thunderbolt or diamond pose practiced in yoga, Vajra-asana in Sanskrit. I always found this posture or asana densely erotic to look at. The setting down on the knees, the straightened back, breasts thrusting forward, the heels of smooth bare feet pressed against naked buttocks, calves flat against the floor delighted me. Harmony unbuckled my belt, unbuttoned my jeans, unzipped me and then quickly unhinged me with her mouth. The pleasure she induced with simple suction, frequent blowing, by relentlessly licking my stalk, in raking her teeth across the helmet of my cock never failed to astonish me. Her mouth in a serious assault on the cock of a president, a prime minister, a premier could be a secret weapon used to turn the tide of history. 

Now, seeing all of her exposed under the mesh, the veiled slash soon to be visited by a virgin made her fellatio more exciting, more delicious. Captured in the sheer material she electrified me with her eroticism.

With perfect timing as the door bell chimed, I came in Harmony's mouth.

For less then one hour, not enough time to watch CSI or Law and Order, Harmony and I were the paltry population of our carnal colony, a veritable empire of the senses. Now, the arrival of two dark young men, one nearly my age, the other one slightly younger, sped us back, all too soon, in my estimation from our erotic expedition. In the past I had shared Harmony, planted my flag on a portion of her anatomy so to speak, and took my turn. For the first time in my relationship with Harmony Hill I felt these two buff fellows, one 21 or 22 years old and the other 19, now standing in the apartment were interlopers. 

For the next hour we drank lemonade, extremely sweet lemonade from tall plain plastic tumblers. Desmond Elliot Thomas, John Ray's younger brother was old enough to fuck a mature woman, not yet old enough to drink alcohol with the same middle aged woman. 

I expected Desmond to show nervousness, maybe a bashful innocence. He was too poised and if he suffered from any anxiety, he camouflaged it quite well. His brother seemed the more nervous of the two. Maybe it was the proximity of his younger sibling. I sat quietly in the easy chair, watched Harmony interact with the two newest callers to her domicile. Sitting between the two she acted as though she might be wearing the type of pants suit my mother favored instead of such a salacious garment packed with such eye popping appeal. Hardened nipples poking against the mesh, the runny nose shininess at the mouth of her womb were two in your face physical manifestations compliments of the sheer material. She was as turned on by the gown as we were.

She talked, asked John Ray about boot camp, whether it made him nervous. She kept me in the conversational loop by asking me about my job at the bar. It thrilled me to know my semen coated her throat. She turned toward Desmond, asked him if he liked what he saw. She leaned over, kissed him firmly on the lips, a chaste kiss, reached out and patted him on the front of his pants.

John Ray leered at Harmony, touched her right tit, and seemed to enjoy the texture of the material riding over her breast. Desmond copied his brother's action, looked at her more lovingly, with a charming altar boy's innocence, played with her left breast. I sipped my lemonade and shifted my weight, adjusted my posture to allow my stiff cock to rise.

The boys took turns stroking her hair, they simultaneously bussed her throat. John Ray, the senior of the two in age and in experiencing the adventure of her body, lifted the peignoir up past her breasts. He took her right nipple in his mouth, sucked it. I expected Desmond to imitate his brother; he surprised me by inserting his index finger into her pussy.

Watching this tableau I considered unzipping my trousers, stroking my cock, a definite ice breaker, but I continued to sit in the chair with both my feet firmly planted on the floor and my arms resting on the chair's arms. I might be occupying a chair in a doctor's waiting room or, if such a contraption still existed, strapped in "Ole Sparky" in a penitentiary's death house.

Harmony mouthed a kiss in my direction, kissed Desmond and then John Ray. She moaned in response to Desmond's probing. Desmond stopped momentarily, removed his digit from inside her and licked the finger. He looked more like a devil wallowing in debauchery then an innocent man-child experiencing a woman's body for the first time. He learned fast apparently.

John Ray, not to be out done, bit down on her nipple, licked her breast.

Without warning Harmony stood, the garment fell, dropped to her bare ankles. She reached out, took Desmond's left hand in hers.

"Gentlemen, please entertain your selves while Master Desmond and I entertain ourselves." She sounded like a queen leaving the room to discuss affairs of state with a prime minister carrying a satchel brimming over with documents needing review and signatures.

Moses leading his people to the Promised Land could not have looked surer of himself then Harmony did as she led Desmond to her bedroom. 

The bedroom door closed with a solid click. John Ray and I looked at one another, thick syrup of silence pouring through the walls, seeping out of the floor, dripping from the ceiling. This was the pregnant pause, the traditional punctuation for such a situation. 

Did we break out a deck of playing cards, turn on the television, leap to our feet and give each other the high five to celebrate our good luck in being here, patiently waiting our turn to experience Harmony's charms? 

The silence in the living room also emerged from the bedroom. I imagined Harmony was already flat on her back, Desmond over top of her. I saw her taking his cock gently in her hand, treating it as tenderly as a newborn, positioning it in its proper place? At some point she would give him head. No way did he have the opportunity to eat her yet. Naturally, that came later, a bonus in climbing aboard. Harmony, the patient teacher, would be gentle, take her time, and let him have his way with her. He would lead and she would follow. Some day he might have his head blown off and fall into a muddy ditch, he might be an innocent airline passenger flung into the side of a building or he might topple over after a cerebral aneurysm exploded deep inside his brain. She wanted his first sexual experience with a woman to reside in him permanently, to bring a smile to his face as he remembered the event in his dotage, to cause a residual charge long after he was capable of getting an erection and fucking a woman with spirit and total abandon. 

"Harmony said you like to swim," I said to John Ray.

"Yes." He said. We could not help but be competitors, the dynamics of this social situation demanded it.

"You will lose the hair when you get to San Diego," I said.

"I know." John Ray said as he took a gulp of lemonade.

From the bedroom came sounds of fucking. I could hear Harmony making familiar noises. Desmond's moans a new sound to my ears. The bed squeaked. Desmond was going now. Was he still a virgin? Had he come yet? He had no hymen to break, just semen to expel. The sounds emitted from the room could be the audio of a triple x video playing too loudly.

The silence in the living room was a perfect medium piping sound from the bedroom. I heard Harmony say "fuck me." I heard Desmond utter the same two words. He rode Harmony or she rode him. Probably, he was in the superior position, his cock deep inside Ms Hill, her legs wrapped around him, her feet digging into his back or flung high in the air. Before they finished she would fuck missionary style, let him have her as a dog humps his bitch. She would squat down on his cock, ride him, he the stallion, she the bronco rider hanging on as he bucked under her. 

I remembered a night in Georgia, a rainy night. I sat in a room decorated by cheap furniture and potted plastic plants occasionally visited by scantily clad cheap looking women trolling for customers. The place was downright seedy, smelled of hairspray, cigarettes, Lysol and an undertone of spilt semen. I did not lose my virginity there thank God and it turned me off to the possibilities of commercial sex no matter how desperate I might be. Fucking a slack breasted woman after she ripped the wrapper off a package of Necco wafers, chomped on one after another, showed little to no imagination, not a hint of eroticism and was about as active as dead road kill was no way to dispense with one's virginity. Already Desmond was one up on those unfortunate souls paying to become men.

I did have one buddy who specialized in fucking whores, street tramps and such. The tawdrier the better in his estimation and he considered class and cleanliness liabilities. If he ever married a woman she was a sad eyed trollop who once took on all comers for a pittance and slept on a pallet in a stall resembling a corn crib.

John Ray and I continued to lurch along having a constipated conversation.

Harmony and Desmond cavorted in the bedroom. By now Harmony must have sucked his schlong. I never cared for that word describing a penis. The worst one, the word I hated to hear as a synonym for cock was peter. Men who used the word peter when making a reference to their penis were rude, crude, mean men. They probably fucked their mothers on occasion, junked cars on concrete blocks sat in their front yards, they moved their lips when they read and when they used the word "peter" they sounded more like a pervert or a predator then a partner proffering pleasure to his partner.

My imagination continued to entertain me if John Ray did not. Closing my eyes I remembered the texture of her breasts, their firm yet flexible consistency, their oil veneer smoothness. My cock, definitely no peter, throbbed; it remembered the spongy feel of Harmony's cunt. I could feel the knob of one or both her ankles brushing against the calves of my legs, the green house humidity of her mouth around my cock, the salacious grin turning up the corners of her lips when she jumped on the bed, spread her legs and told me to fuck her. 

Right now all the sights, sounds, sexual delights so bountifully present in possessing Harmony's body allowed Desmond to dump remembrances in his memory bank.

It seemed as if Harmony and Desmond had been in the bedroom forever. How many times had they fucked, did she suck his cock an equal number of times, did he now know the sweetness, the tart taste of Harmony's pussy?

The bedroom now sounded like a long closed tomb, a strong indication of post-coital silence, the cooling of their jets. I trusted they would not fall asleep and leave me and motor mouth sitting in the living staring at one another. 

The bedroom door opened and the two of them swept into the room. She looked soft and pretty, a veteran coming in after a long siege; he looked sated, a kid returning from his first firefight.

Harmony still wore the mesh fuck me togs.

After lolling about in the living room for a time, letting the lust rise to a nearly explosive level, the four of us returned to the bedroom. 

Harmony fucked John Ray. Dark, evenly tanned, good looking, a compact frame covered by toned muscle, no hair visible on his body except for the nest of fine black hair around his cock and combed back over his skull. I could see him plunging off a cliff in Acapulco, and then plugging nubile young maidens.

From my vantage point, besides being laconic, he seemed distracted, never in sync with his surroundings. Like me, his fucking of Harmony may have seemed a dream, a fantasy spewed in the smoke wafting from a genie's lamp. In his red Speedos, his wet pectorals sparkling in the sunlight, his hard flat stomach dripping chlorinated water, this guy had to net his share of young fillies. However, to climb out of an apartment pool after a leisurely swim and within a quarter of an hour find himself fucking a woman 35 years his senior, a woman blessed with the body of a 25 year old Playmate centerfold, must have shocked him as much as it did me the first time I fucked Harmony. 

Then I fucked Harmony.

Climbing off Harmony, lifting myself out of the bed, I watched John Ray and Desmond go at her with a renewed zest. After shedding her ethereal white garment, a degree more naked now, positioned on her left side, the huge spheres of her breasts captured my attention. John Ray fucked her mouth, his brother fucked her pussy, I squatted down in front of her breasts and while she continued to suck one cock and another cock fucked her, I lowered my cock between her breasts. Using both my hands, I pushed at the orbs, kneaded them against my penis. Her mouth, obstructed by John Ray's cock, my cock unable to follow the track of her cleavage into her mouth, I contented myself with fucking her tits, a natural event when coupling with such a big breasted wench. 

I did not come. I paused.

John Ray continued to squat over Harmony's head, his uncircumcised cock, big, out of proportion to his compact body. Holding on to the bed's headboard, leaning forward, he the diver ready to spring off a board, his cock making swan dives into Harmony's mouth. 

Between Harmony's legs, Desmond, no longer a virgin thanks to Harmony's intercession, moved in and out of the channel between her legs. His cock never seemed to diminish in its hardness even after coming twice in rapid succession. Every few seconds he lifted his waist, backed his cock out of her, its head nearly free. Immediately his loins flattened, a snapping movement, he bounded back into her. The silent in and out movement of his cock was followed by the clapping sound of his balls slapping against her. A virgin a few hours earlier, comfortable with stroke books and the pleasures of his hand, he now displayed an instinctive grasp for the mechanics of sexual intercourse. He fucked like a skilled gigolo schooled in pleasuring a woman. 

Desmond, a long distance runner was taller and lankier then his brother. Longer in his legs and endowed with less cock, he had the same sharp chin and swept back ears, I noted on his older sibling. His spiked black hair was a distraction; he was too cocky for my taste.

I had moved to the wing chair, stroked my cock, and watched the Thomas boys fuck. I yanked at my cock with enough motion to keep it motivated. 

John Ray fucked Harmony's mouth and Desmond fucked her pussy. In the past I had fucked a woman with another man sharing the sexual encounter, including several episodes with Harmony's body as the succulent sandwich meat, the creamy filling, the luscious morsel we supped on with such relish. I decided to enter the one orifice accessible to me: her anus. I had ass fucked women in the past but never while another cock occupied the woman's pussy and only a slender membrane separated our two pricks from meeting in the gelatinous filled pot of the woman's sexual anatomy. Harmony's haunches twisted and turned, she bucked as Desmond punched into her. A slick, shiny coat of saliva covered John Ray's cock. Her breasts, her neck, her abdomen were splattered with patches of fixed semen looking like dried flour. Lustrous tendrils of freshly ejected sperm trailed through her hair, across her chin and pooled at the edge of her lips. She whimpered, moaned and mumbled the lingo spoken in such a sexual maelstrom. John and Desmond perspired from their ravenous assaults on her orifices. I felt sticky from their skin brushing against me while I played with her tits. Harmony was covered in cool sweat. With her blond hair plastered against the back of her neck, sticking to her forehead, she looked like a woman who had just given birth, an angel fallen from on high, now a mere mortal rutting around in a mussed bed, craving cock, addicted to uncontrollable urges. 




Harmony Hill Ch. 06



I opened the top drawer of the bedside table to the left of the bed, made a racket trying to find some K-Y jelly, anything to lubricate Harmony; plastic sexual toys in a rainbow of colors bumped against metal implements looking more painful then pleasurable, other devices, made of rubber, ominously black in color, quietly rolled around in the drawer. In the drawer I saw a Hitachi magic wand vibrator, an Iron Maiden black vibrator, a flesh colored butt cock, Julie Ashton's pocket missile still in the package, a pearl beaded cock ring, a bottle of lavender scented massage lotion. Under a crystal dildo and a string of black pleasure beads, I also discovered a VHS tape labeled with a blue and white sticker centered between the windows over the reels. With a red pen, one I had seen her use before, Harmony had written the name Roy and a date on the label. I saw the K-Y jelly, ignored it for a moment as I closed the drawer and opened the one below it, saw it was filled with two rows of neatly aligned VHS tapes, each one labeled with a name, many of them mine, and various dates. I wanted to ask Harmony about this collection, but not now. 

I closed the bottom drawer, re-opened the top drawer, found the jelly again, removed the cap, and smeared a large glob of the goop on Harmony's anus. She jumped as though I had squirted skin cream on her without bothering to warm it first in the palm of my hand. 

Her ass allowed me easy access after the initial resistance to my invasion. I slid in, her anal ring offering little resistance, she squealed, the sound harsher then the usual noise she made when I penetrated her pussy. The channel's tightness must have been what her pussy felt like when she still retained her virginity. She remained surprisingly tight in her pussy but there was slight give from all the cocks visiting, staying for a while.

I fucked Harmony's ass. John Ray fucked her mouth and Desmond fucked her other hole. The sun now down, the room now dark, our cocks pounded into her various orifices. It reminded me of fucking Harmony with Eric in tow, the classic ménage a trios favored by the adventuresome. Now, with three eager men fucking her was this a gang bang? How many constituted a gang bang? A woman such as Harmony who allowed two men into her bed simultaneously had no trouble fucking three men at the same time. However, most women, I suspected, did not take on more then three men at one time. That number was probably the cut off, the maximum capacity allowed before closing the doors. Like committing a murder, it took a major leap, a total break with any sense of morality, for a woman to sprawl in a bed and allow a legion of men standing in line to have sex with her one after the other. In Harmony's case, I could see her taking on all comers if she found herself in a barrack populated with young airmen, marines, sailors or soldiers going in harm's way.

The chute in Harmony's ass gripped my cock as I forced a projectile into a sheath too small for its dimensions. In the disturbance of a tube I did not think was accustomed to such a penetration, by its texture and tightness, I experienced sensations in this opening not accorded my cock in the other two major openings in her body. She flexed her butt checks and my prick found itself under even greater tension. The miracle of Harmony's anatomy was her ability to give adequate attention to whatever orifice was being penetrated. In addition to her working with me to achieve the greatest pleasure for both of us, she did the same thing with the cock lunging into her mouth and one savaging her pussy. 

This kind of pleasure, its intensity made me wonder what it might feel like to have my ass fucked. Not fucked by another male, not me, but by a strap on cock. Did Harmony possess such a device? I hoped so. The thought of Harmony behind me, wearing a flesh colored fake cock, fucking me with it, made me come. 

Finally the four of us stopped, sheer exhaustion overcoming us and all our busyness in the sleigh bed gradually wound down. We sprawled about the bed and napped but before I fell asleep, I decided to do a recon mission in Harmony's crib while she worked the service counter at work. Not a break-in as portentous as the one taking place in the Watergate Apartments more than three decades earlier, just a quick tour of the premises to gather some information for my own peace of mind. Harmony did not know it and hopefully no else did, but I sometimes supplemented my income from The Sweep Spot with the occasional cat burglary. My income from standing behind a bar, the anemic payoffs from the occasional published story did not go far enough to pay for my apartment next door or the flashy car sitting in the parking lot. I also loved the danger, the excitement, the prowling around in the dark while someone slept a few feet away. 

Questions about VHS tapes, mysterious callers and angry lovers spelling out their agony on Harmony's front door would not go away. Instead of wearing at midnight a black sweat suit, black soft soled loafers and a black ski mask with eye and mouth openings, my cat burglar suit, I could enter Harmony's place at mid day in whatever I happened to be wearing, take my time prospecting for answers instead of babbles and beads worth a king's ransom.