Summary of this Story:

June and I prepped our Elm Street house for Laurie’s visit, stashing the new Lush remotes and nipple clamps. Saturday dragged until two, when Laurie arrived nervous in her knee-length skirt. We mixed gin martinis with blue-cheese olives, then the women inserted the vibrating toys, June slicking hers with KY, Laurie already soaked. They headed downtown Main Street, me trailing as guardian against creeps. At the Tap Room, a vigilant bar lady mistook me for a stalker, summoning a cop. June explained our kinky game, defusing the crisis. Back home, they stripped, removed the Lushes with wet pops, and shared a double-ender dildo on the rug, orgasms shuddering through them while I watched, caged no more.

Here is your Story: Trailing doubts in the heat of pursuit

Not a Remote Chance 4

I got back to the house on Elm Street. Empty. June was off somewhere. I set the new Lush on the kitchen counter, stashed the other stuff in my nightstand drawer. That pushy clerk at the adult shop in the mall pushed all kinds of wild gear, but I only grabbed one. She tossed in two pairs of nipple clamps on the house. Saturday’ll tell if I spring those surprises.

June pulled up. I hauled in the grocery bags. She’d snagged a can of Reddi-Wip. Huh. Can’t recall when we last had that around. Then the fresh strawberries and a Sara Lee angel food cake. Mystery solved.

“Grabbed three ribeyes and baking potatoes for tomorrow. Forgot to say Laurie’s coming over?”

I chuckled. “Haven’t forgotten. Forgot to say the new Lush remote’s on the dining table?”

She spun around, wrapped me in a big hug, tits mashed against my chest. Damn fine hug.

“Thanks, hon. Laurie’s gonna love it. She shows at two. Dinner at six.”

“Whoa. Long stretch.”

She shot me a smoky glance. “Sure is.”

Two o’clock Saturday couldn’t hit fast enough.

Saturday mornings mean slacking off. Folgers in mugs, Thomas’ English muffins slathered with Jif peanut butter and Smucker’s strawberry jam. Weekend sports section from the Boston Globe. I tackle the Saturday crossword, the beast of the week. June fires up the oven for chocolate chip cookies with walnuts. My go-to. Then twenty-five minutes in the hot tub, water at 104 degrees, jets pounding our backs. Separate showers after. June lathers up, drags the razor slow over her calves, then her thighs. In my shower stall, she props her right leg on the sink edge, snips at her bush with cuticle scissors. Switches legs, snips from the side. That stance hits me low, her pussy lips peek out, slick and parted. Steam fogs the glass. Probably just condensation.

I towel off, she’s blow-drying her hair. I slide up behind, arms around her waist, lips on her neck. She stops, sighs deep. Hair dryer blasts my face.

“Feels good, but quit it. That dick jabbing my ass is throwing me off.”

Yep, my cock stiffened right into her crack. I grind it up and down once, twice, palms cupping her tits, then back off. Christ, she’s a knockout mornings.

“Oysters for lunch?” I tossed out, grinning.

She cracked up. “Nah. Leftover chicken noodle’s the plan. You pop a Viagra yet, just in case?”

“Damn right. Sky-high hopes today.”

“Figured. Now scram so I finish.”

I tugged on black Levi’s, white Oxford shirt. Her pick for play days. Why fight it? June came down in a black skirt to her knees, loud floral blouse, wedge sandals, highest heels in her closet.

“You look great.”

“Thanks. Wanna peek underneath?”

“Hell yes.”

Skirt up before she sits. No panties. I lunge, she steps back.

“Save it, stud.”

Blouse opens. Nude front-closure push-up bra.

“Fuck,” I said. “Hottest woman alive.”

Lunch hit the spot. Soup thickened up perfect after the microwave zap. Killed time finishing the crossword. Tough bastard, but inked it before two. Pen, naturally.

Downtown Stroll

Knock at two sharp. June bolts to the door. I hang in the living room, play it cool. Cock disagrees. I stand, shift it in my jeans for room. Hand out just as they walk in. Smiles all around. Laurie eyes me, nerves showing.

“Afternoon,” I say. Friendly, not eager beaver.

“Hey Doug, you good?” Her scan drops to my feet, up again. Hoped the bulge stayed tame. I check her out. Knee-length skirt, thin sweater, no bra lines. Drop into my recliner fast, hide the swell.

“Great. You both look sharp.”

June laughs. “Your face says you’re picturing us bare,” she smirks.

“Deny it matter?”

“Nah, I know that grin.” To Laurie: “Ready for liquid courage?”

“Please.”

“Doug, gin martinis for us? Gotta drop the… brakes.”

“On it.” Bolted out.

Kitchen escape. Stemless glasses in the freezer ten minutes. Ice in the cobbler shaker. Two jiggers Bombay Sapphire, vermouth dash. Shake hard, strain cold, two blue-cheese olives per skewer. Doubled. Routine chilled my buzz. Back with one in each fist.

“Ladies. Cheers.”

Laurie and June hip-to-hip on the sofa. Coffee table held the two Lushes, KY bottle. I snag my Dasani.

“To two gorgeous women.”

Glasses clink, sips taken.

“Mmm, smooth,” Laurie says. “Bartender past life?”

“Nah, love a solid martini. Local sling at the Harbor Bar spilled the recipe.”

Chitchat flows. They down theirs quick. Daytime gin packs punch. Voices amp up, giggles loose.

“You tell him?” Laurie asks.

“Sure. Doug, we’re heading downtown, Lushes in. Hanging out. She controls mine, I control hers. Come with, but hang back.”

“Huh?”

“Public freaks us a touch. Daylight too. Trail us quiet. Safer that way.”

“Stalker duty?” I laugh.

“Guardian angel. Backup.”

“Got it. Spotting what?”

“Creeps. Weirdos.”

“One creep hired.”

June and Laurie swap looks, eye the table. June grabs her Lush, lube. Skirt hiked, pussy bare. Squirts KY on palm, slicks the toy, strokes her slit a full minute till she’s wetter. Slides it in slow. Pink tail sticks up over her clit. We stare, rapt.

Laurie’s go. Locks eyes, skirt up. Pussy gleams, soaked.

“No lube for me.”

In smooth, fast. My dick throbs full mast.

“Test remotes,” June says. Hers on, Laurie squeaks sharp.

“Checks out.” Nods to Laurie. June twitches. “Fuck yes.” Eyes me.

“Downtown time. You drive, we ride backseat, act normal.”

Laughter erupts.

“Act normal?” I say. “Doubt it.”

“One more,” June says. Hands Laurie a bandana. “Purse it for later.”

Short hop to Main Street. Cafes like Starbucks, bars, eateries, boutiques crammed four blocks. Coastal town built for tourists. Snag parallel spot, hop out.

“If we split, which we won’t, rendezvous here, ninety minutes.”

I idle till they’re ahead. Then tail. Felt like a gumshoe from Law & Order. They duck into Roasted Bean, perch at the counter. I lag, grab door stool. Watch ’em chat up the barista dude. Laughs, flirty vibes. Stools swivel restless. I smirk. Lattes slurped, scone split. I get drip coffee, cash it. Catch bits, then June yelps mid-sentence, covers with cough. Knew better. Out they go. No glances.

I chug, follow. Two doors down, peering in Ann Taylor window. June flicks eyes my way, check. Laurie talks, they dip inside. I drift past, fake-browse the bookstore next door. Minutes tick. They emerge, brush by me. June mutters close:

“Dripping.”

Hell, I’m raging. Two blocks more, browsing, yakking. Hit the Tap Room bar, snag back booth. I stroll in, bar stool with booth view.

Close Call

“What’ll it be?” bartender grunts.

“Pint hoppiest IPA on tap.”

“Old guy chasing hipster vibes?” Smirk.

I laugh. “Liked Double IPA before those kids hit diapers. They copied me. No beard plans.”

“Fair. What tribe you claim?”

“Groucho Marx: Won’t join any club that’d take me.”

He busts up. “Dig it!”

“Good, tip was iffy.”

More laughs. He pours two martinis. I peek booth, middle-aged woman chats ’em up, back to me. June, Laurie pink-cheeked. Talk wraps, she shifts to door table. I sip the Stone IPA, piney bite, glance their way. Occasional yelp, cough cover. Tab time, peel off a ten.

“Cheers, bud.”

Nurse till they bounce. Last gulp, tail out. They veer left, storefront gazing. I lag. Hand clamps my shoulder. Spin, bar lady.

“Pervert! Stalking those women?”

“What?”

“Trailing ’em. Cops en route.”

“Lady, wrong guy. Not stalking.”

“Don’t bolt. Snapped your pic, creep!”

“Chill. I’m staying. Let me—”

June, Laurie appear.

“Trouble?” June asks.

“This freak tailed you. Cops coming.”

“Over here?” June pulls her aside, whispers.

Cop car rolls up. Female officer steps out, hand on holster.

“Freeze. Stalker report. You?”

“Not budging.” Nod to the pair. “She called. Talking my wife now. Her pal.” Point Laurie, face ashen.

June and lady approach cop.

“Sorry,” lady says. “Mix-up. They’re hitched. Bad call. Wasted your time.” To me: “Sorry for the names.”

Cop scans us, eyes lady. “World’s jumpy. Good instinct protecting ’em. Another call, hope it’s this smooth. Day.” Gone.

Lady sheepish-glances, hustles off.

“Total mood killer,” June says. “Home time.”

“Buzz works,” Laurie says. “Thanks for handling her. Warpath city. What’d you say?”

“Truth. Lushes buzzing our pussies, him guarding. Shocked her, then grilled brand, store.”

“Brightened her day.”

“Yep. Back to car, yip!”

Laurie jolts. Remote war restarts. Three blocks: yelps, gasps, laughs. Pedestrians gawk, baffled.

Car reached. Back door open. Laurie first. I block her.

“Wait. Can’t sit like that.”

“Huh?”

“Juice down your thighs. Bandana wipe.”

She checks, grins. “Shit, yep, eee!—and June too.”

June’s legs glisten. Purses out, bandanas drawn. Comedy watching one-hand wipes amid remote jabs. Finally in. I circle, slide behind wheel.

Backseat check. Soggy bandanas under squirming asses. Pleasure writhes.

“Who finishes home?” I kid.

June first. Legs clamp, lifts off seat shaking, moaning loud. Passerby peers, our bar lady. I crank passenger window.

“Who’s stalking now?”

Grin up. “Smoking hot! Lucky bas—”

Laurie cuts in, panting hard, legs wide, cum drenching seat.

“Oh fuck!” she gasps.

“Move before spectacle.”

Wave her off, peel out. Bet she’s Google-bound for Lush. Garage home, door down. Quiet recovery ride.

“First orgasms today, ladies?”

“Nah,” June says. “Three mine.”

“Two me.”

“Anyone twig except arrest lady?”

“Stares, sure. Secret holds.”

“Fucking intense!” Laurie bursts. “Addicted. Exposure edge, pussy buzzes random. Tormenting June? Gold. Again soon, bigger town maybe. Cop stare iced me.”

“You did zip wrong, her view.”

“True, Doug. Inside.”

House entered.

“Guest bath first right,” June tells Laurie. “Master for me.”

Bedroom dash, toys grabbed, couch-stashed. Plop, wait. June first, buck naked. Pink tail protrudes from her pussy. Laurie seconds later. Eyes June, strips fast. Lush packed tight.

“Knight deserves payback.”

“Yeah,” Laurie. “Kept us safe, arrest risk. Big debt.”

“What you want, stud?”

Think. “Clothes off first. Two hours caged hard-on sucks.”

They swarm, jeans, shirt gone. Cock springs free. June lips mine, Laurie kisses the head.

“Show first. Ditch vibes.”

Curious stares, comply. Wet pops echo. I fish behind couch. Gasps.

“Always wondered mechanics,” I say, hand ’em the double-ender.

June grips one end. Pink Lush tail discarded on the oak coffee table. Laurie’s fingers steady the other. Both stare at the veined silicone, then lock eyes. The Bombay Sapphire bottle sweats beads in the kitchen sink.

June inches forward first, knees spread on the rug. The dildo tip nudges her soaked folds, slides in halfway with a slick sound. Laurie’s breath quickens; she mirrors, pushing back till six inches vanish inside her. They rock tentative, hips syncing to the shared length. Grunts mix with the creak of the sofa springs under my weight. Laurie’s tits bounce free, nipples peaked from the cool air off the AC vent. June’s ass cheeks flex, sweat sheening her lower back. I palm my cock, stroking slow to their rhythm. “Deeper,” June mutters through gritted teeth. They grind harder, the toy disappearing fully now, balls-deep in both. Laurie’s hand claws the carpet fibers; June’s nails dig Laurie’s thigh. Moans build ragged, no holding back. The walnut cookie tray from breakfast sits forgotten on the side table, crumbs scattered like confetti. Laurie’s eyes roll back first, she bucks wild, flooding the dildo. June follows seconds later, body shuddering, pussy clenching audible. They collapse panting, the double-ender slick between ’em, gleaming under the lamp. I stand, cock in hand, ready.