The Senator (TS) excused himself, stating he was going to “drain the lizard” and put on his swimming trunks. My first thought was: Gila monster or skink? My second was: crap, I forgot my board shorts. It wasn’t like I could fake it and swim in my boxers. I was in full commando mode. I mentioned my plight to my remaining two drinking buddies. Bo suggested I had three choices: 1) don’t swim at a swimming party, 2) skinny dip or 3) do what a “normal” person would do and borrow one of the dozen or so laundered suits in the pool house.

I chugged the remaining one finger of Elijah Craig and headed around the pool to a structure as big as a tract home in many neighborhoods. Two adjoining walls were sliding glass, both open. There was a sitting area with love seats and a coffee table. One countered wall was essentially a small kitchen. The other wall had a central fireplace and louvered doors right and left. Outside the door to the left were two giant baskets: one containing towels and the other a variety of swimsuits. I grabbed a pair of 34’s with palm trees and headed in.

Whoops! There was Roy with his pants down around his ankles, his meat in The Senator’s mouth. Roy seemed nonplussed, taking his hand off his cock sucker’s head and motioning me in. I thought: why not? I had to get naked to change into my suit, so why not have a little fun? By the time I had kicked off my flip flops and removed/folded my tee and pants, my dick was rock hard and at its full veiny eight inches.

I stepped over to the lovers (lusters) and squeezed Roy’s ass with my left hand and directed my precum-oozing bratwurst to TS’s cheek. He was jerking Roy furiously with his right fist; but had a free left hand to take my meat, continuing to paint prejizz around his face. The human brain is weird. What came to mind was what a close shave he had!

Roy was a good host and a true gentleman. He pulled his slobbery six inches out of TS’s wet lips and directed my cock into the open and welcoming orifice. This was accomplished like an Olympic relay team, TS not missing a beat. Roy slid behind me and began sliding his spit-lubed dick head up and down my crack. My standing position wasn’t ideal for ass play, so I hiked my left foot up on the nearby toilet seat and leaned forward, bracing myself with my right hand on the wall. The combination of TS’s short stature and his kneeling position put my balls and taint, plus Roy’s ball sack right in his face. He wasted no time ingesting both my eggs.

Similarly, my position change signaled to Roy that I was open (literally) for business. He teased my anus with the very tip of his manhood and lubed it with a combination of precum and TS’s saliva. When he slid his cock head into my “almost” virgin anus, there was surprisingly little discomfort. In fact, I helped him clear the internal sphincter by dipping my torso and raising my ass in a provocative fashion. Roy presumably appreciated this almost feminine maneuver, as he grabbed my pelvis with both hands and exclaimed, “Oh yeah, oh yeah baby; give me that ass.”

I was quickly approaching the boil-over point. I desperately wanted Roy to breed me and I desperately needed to release my scrotal tension. In the same breath, I begged, “Roy, fuck me hard. Cum in my ass,” and beseeched The Senator, “Cock sucker, take my load.”

Both of my lovers responded like champs. TS jacked my meat like a dervish until I was just at the point of no return. Just as I was ready to lose control, Roy grunted, “Baby, I’m cumming.”

He bottomed out his cock with a violent thrust, pushing me forward and forcing my cock down my eater’s throat. The Senator took nearly two-thirds of my hose down his gullet and 100% of my steamy love juice.

And then, “Bravo!” and the clapping of hands. At some point in our lust-making, Bo and Marty had snuck into the changing room and now sported sh*t-eating grins.

Wise-ass Marty laughingly stated, “Don’t let us interrupt you.”

There wasn’t much I could do other than join the laughter; since I couldn’t budge with Roy’s cock skewering my bum and TS milking out every last drop of my essence from my snake. We finally unhooked with a plop of Roy’s cock against the back of my right thigh and similar plop of my glistening semi-erection against TS’s chin.

The two voyeurs were hungry for action and had disrobed in the blink of an eye. Bo sank to his knees, gave The Senator a deep French kiss, and then stuck his tongue out beneath my softening wiener to catch the last seeping drops. Marty was not to be outdone. He assumed a similar position of fealty at my back door and rimmed my anus, cleaning Roy’s oozing seed.

I was developing a cramp in my right thigh. Thankfully Marty had switched licking my ass (and swallowing indirectly Roy’s jizz) for a more direct approach; that is, sucking the remaining cum out of our host’s dangling prick. I squeezed and milked the last drop out of Old Dan onto TS’s tongue and stood up stiffly, feeling like an eighty-year-old perv.

I grabbed my loaner suit and took my leave, heading to the other changing room. It was a carbon copy of the sex den. I took an appraisal of myself. I was sweaty, my hair looked like a wild man, I smelled like a deer in a rut and there was you-know-what leaking out of my butt. Geeze Louise. I turned on the fan and took a hot, then cold shower.

Ten minutes later, I was back out on the pool deck, blinking in the full sun (note to self: retrieve Oakleys from the sex den when the coast is clear). I padded (actually tip-toed on the hot pavers) over to the shade of the covered patio. Where were my Reefs? Add an addendum to “note to self.”

I walked over to Jean and two other women (Meg and Ryan….I’m not kidding), the three standing by a stainless steel outdoor kitchen. Jean’s hand was on one of two tapper handles, having just finished drawing three brewskis. She smiled and asked, “Stella or Goose Island?”

I chose Stella and took a hearty chug, wiping foam off my lips with the back of my hand. Jean just laughed and asked Ryan to give me a house tour while she rustled up hors de oeuvres. Ryan linked her elbow in mine (Do all rich ladies do that?) and said to bring my beer with me. I had the distinct feeling Meg was giving Ryan daggers and that both Ryan and Jean were scoping out my ass.

As you can imagine, the house was both huge and beautiful. By the time we reached the master bedroom, both our beers were gone, plus we had stopped at a bar in Roy’s mahogany-paneled office for shots of D’Usse. I knew I was getting buzzed; so with her small frame, likely Ryan must be loaded. I took a closer look at her. She actually was a pretty hot little piece of ass. She was tiny despite her four-inch CFMs (come fuck me) heels. I’m guessing she was no more than 4’ 11” and maybe 90# soaking wet. She had a boy-like chest behind her swimsuit top and small, athletic hips beneath her sarong. Her most appealing feature was a full head of curly orange-red hair. The first moment I saw her downstairs, I wondered whether she was freckle covered, whether she had a red bush, and whether she’d be a good fuck.

Ryan broke the ice. “This must be where the magic happens.” I laughed. Before I could engage in any more small talk, she blurted out of left field, “Did The Senator suck your cock yet?” She could tell that I almost sh*t my pants, because she added, “Don’t worry, he sucks all the guys. How do you think he gets re-elected?”

I didn’t have time for a response, honest or otherwise. She pivoted ninety degrees, looked up at me with stunning green eyes, and asked what I was waiting for. As I leaned down, she lifted up on her toes to meet my kiss. Her delicious mouth was proportionate to her stature: small. As I probed it with my tongue, I couldn’t help but wonder whether it could handle the girth of my love stick. As we were passionately kissing, she reached down and unhooked her top and unknotted the sarong. Both fell to the floor. She left on her stripper heels. She was buck-naked. This sneaky little elf had at some point in our tour shed her bikini bottom. I envisioned it scrunched into one of Roy’s cognac glasses.

She tore at the Velcro on the front of my suit and pulled it down around my ankles. I kicked it off, the palm tree printed fabric landing on the foot of the king-sized bed. My eyes followed it, ready to move over to this love platform. Ryan had other ideas. She pulled me down into another passionate kiss, then literally jumped up into my arms, her hands around my neck and her legs around my waist, CFMs digging into my back. She reached down and directed my stone-cold boner into her snatch. Her pussy was even tighter than Donna’s (and that says a lot) and was surprisingly wet. She must have been thinking about getting drilled from the time we left the patio.

Ryan was a tiger. She bobbed up and down like a channel buoy on a three-foot swell. She was so hot that I was starting to lose control. I needed to breed her and I needed to do it STAT. I slammed her (with me attached) into the walk-in closet door. She bit my neck and drew blood. She dug her stilettos deeper into my back. By some primal instinct, I hunched forward and upward, driving my battering ram to the depths of her poon. I grunted some unintelligible syllable as I filled her love cave with sperm. She whispered “yes” and collapsed into my arms; both of us having experienced nearly blackout orgasms.

Ryan administered first aid to my neck and back with small Band-Aids, courtesy of the bathroom vanity. We headed down to rejoin the party. As we entered the kitchen, Jean gave Ryan a hug and me a no-no head shake like a school nun before the ruler comes out. I took my leave and joined the guys watching the game: Tech ahead by three in the fourth quarter.

The summer sun was starting to set and I was getting hungry: hungry for the marinated shrimp, mini lamb chops, and charcuterie board I’d seen Jean preparing and hungry for the plus one I had abandoned not once, but twice. As if by magic, Kate appeared. Much like Ryan, she wore a sarong, knotted at the hip; but shockingly (to me anyway) she was topless.

She half sat on, half off the arm of my couch, effectively positioning her torso near my face. She was stunning. She’d removed her Ray-Bans, the cap and ponytail scrunchy. Her thick brown hair was cut bluntly at shoulder length. She was moderately tanned, but with no tan lines around her breasts. I couldn’t help but wonder if the same applied south of the border. Her breasts were near perfect in my opinion: 34C with a hint of teardrop shape. Her areolae and nipples were like Hershey's milk chocolate kisses, amazingly perched nearly horizontally atop her orbs.

She started the conversation. “Where ya’ been, stranger?”

I really didn’t have a PG-13 answer for her. Luckily, she let me off the hook, continuing: “Grab us a couple beers, I’ll get a plate of hors de oeuvres and meet you at the hot tub.”

Not knowing what she’d prefer, I drew one Stella and one Goose Island. I tippy-toed across the hot pavers to the pool and spa. The design was seemingly free-form and naturalized with limestone edging and limestone boulders arranged in a horseshoe to provide a modicum of privacy for those using the spa. I set the brewskis down on a large flat rock and eased myself down into the bubbling water. It was some kind of warm, I’m guessing ninety degrees. I’m not really a bath kinda guy, so this was not my cup of tea.

Kate slowly walked from the kitchen to the pool, holding a plate of protein-enriched hors de oeuvres (you get it, right?). Her gait was truly from a Hollywood shoot. She had ditched her sarong and was naked, save for a tiny black triangle of spandex that I surmised covered a tiny black triangle of carefully sculpted bush.

I took a deep breath and sprang my fifth wood of the day.