“G - got - to - be - k - kidding - mmee - ohhh!”
The blonde guy (prospect no. 3) was so obviously phony in his attempt at bad ballad singing that Tami’s appraisal was echoed by the TL’s.
“You got that right, mi amor,” Rosaria said, looking sideways at the TV as she plunged her tongue deep into the pink cave between the lower lips that she was spreading with her fingers.
“He’s better than number 1 though,” Myra said, sitting next to Rosaria, bending forward to suck one of the upturned nipples while rubbing the other one between her fingers. “Number 1 wasn’t even as good a faker.”
Jeane, on the other side of Rosaria, smacked her lips as she interrupted her sucking of Tami’s toes. “You should have seen last night. I’m surprised the three guys didn’t turn that bimbo into a dedicated lesbian.”
“Maybe she was a lesbian,” Melissa said, sitting on the floor, resting her head next to Tami’s, sucking on one of the smoothies Tami had made for them, now and then handing it up to Tami’s lips so she could have a sip. “This is all a fake, you know.”
Responding to Jeane, Tami said, “Th - this is on every night??”
“Three nights a week,” Jeane said. “I admit I’m hooked.”
“You must l - lose three IQ points every time you watch this -- ohhh,” Tami said. Rosaria had just inserted her greased thumb into her anus and was turning it round and round inside her. Then she sucked Tami’s clit hard in between her teeth.
“Khhh! Chkkk! Gaaahh! Ohhhh!” The whole couch rocked as Tami exploded again, the four TL’s grabbing whatever part of her that was handy with a mixture of lust and tenderness.
“I think -- ” Melissa was about to say something but waited as Tami kicked through one last, unexpected spasm. “I think a lot of lesbians watch this.”
“Like us,” Myra said with a snort. Among them only Spica, who was not there tonight, was a declared lesbian. But the standing joke was they made an exception for licking and sucking Tami.
Tami, catching her breath, said, “Jeane . . . Doesn’t this show make you stupid?”
“It’s just fun.”
“I suppose so . . . A waste of time though . . . ohh . . .”
The three TL’s on the couch turned Tami over, once again. This gave Melissa another chance to do some deep-tongue kissing as she turned her head up to Tami’s. Rosaria, recently inducted into the delights of licking Tami’s rear entrance, stuck her tongue into the orifice that Tami had cleaned via enema earlier, performing the ablutions in the bathroom as the TL’s stood around and watched. At Rosaria’s request Tami had done an extra strawberry enema she had brought. As a result Tami was scrumptious! Jeane got to licking the toes on the other foot, trying out the taste of a grapefruit-scented lotion she had bought. As for Myra, she contented herself with tracing her fingers over the beautifully formed, tanned back, running her fingers down to the sacral dimples and onto each butt cheek, then back up to the shoulders, making Tami shiver.
They had been like this for over an hour, another “girls’ night in” at Tami’s place, on a night when Rod was working late. At Tami’s request it was always a low-key affair. “Let’s just hang out like we’re in the dorm,” she said the first time. “I kind of miss those days.” So they either watched TV or sat around chatting. Though there were probably no hang-out sessions in dorms where one girl was naked and constantly being licked and sucked, propped up, spread out, or like tonight munched on like a five-foot-five hero sandwich, all the while chatting with the rest to the extent she could.
Tonight began with sitting on the floor, in their stocking feet (except for Tami, of course), over potato chips and smoothies, moved to an intense session with Tami pinned on top of the kitchen counter, her ankles up past her face, from whence they carried her recovering body to the couch to watch the latest “reality” show.
“When is the Spring Zing?” Jeane said in between licks of “Isis” (Tami’s right third toe) and “Osiris” (the fourth toe).
“N - next Th - thursday . . . Seven o’clock in the M - multipurpose roommm . . . R - reception later . . . ohhh . . . But it’s at the air - port . . .”
“The airport?”
“The -- ffaculty -- cafe is under c - construction -- so -- th-there’s a nnnice -- ohhh! -- restaurant there -- the C - county airport . . .”
“County airport?” Melissa said.
“It’s about five miles down Route 218,” Myra said.
Jeane said, “What’s your entry going to be like? A dress? Or a sports outfit?”
“I’m not tellin’ -- ohhh -- God, what a creep!”
Prospect no. 2 had just said to an off-camera interviewer, “I think like girls just like want to be basically controlled?”
“I’m not going out with him,” Myra said, grabbing Tami’s right butt cheek forcefully.
Rosaria, diddling Tami’s clit from below, extracted her tongue to say, “He’s just brave in saying what a lot of guys think.”
“You can let them think they’re in control even when they’re not,” Jeane said. “It flatters their ego.”
“But if you do th -- that,” Tami said, “th - they might get into the -- ohhh” -- Rosaria was diddling her clit more and more furiously now, and the others quickened their attentions to bring Tami up to another crest -- “habit -- OHHH!”
Tami bucked and bucked as the TL’s held on. Rosaria timed her diddles at 0.8 seconds and then, judging her time carefully, decelerated very slightly. This extended her orgasm as hoped.
“Ohh -- ohhh -- oh hi -- Roddd!!”
Rod, standing there in his suit and briefcase, smiled and kissed the gasping face of his wife.
As Tami quieted down again, Jeane said, “What do you think, Rod?”
Rod enjoyed watching his wife “come down” and waited until she was back at what, having been educated by the TL’s, he had learned to call her “plateau” stage. He thought for a moment. “I think you shouldn’t let the guy get away with thinking he’s in control if he isn’t. The important thing is to be honest.”
“Sometimes it’s diplomatic to lie a little,” Jeane said, pensively licking Tami’s little toe like it was a lollipop.
“Well you don’t have to be honest right away,” Rod said, speaking louder as he retreated to the kitchen and took off his coat. “The church I went to as a kid, the preacher would say, ‘Never go to bed with a argument unsettled.’ That’s bullshit, of course. Just get some rest and things will look better in the morning.”
As he returned, he said, “What he meant was, don’t keep secrets, if there’s a disagreement, deal with it, and soon.”
He had no jealousy about the TL’s involvement in his wife’s life. He was actually glad there was someone else to have Tami’s needs taken care of, now that work was heating up and he had to come home late and tired.
The only restriction, which he and Tami agreed on, was that the TL’s couldn’t use the tail inside her. That touch-pad was incredibly powerful and he was afraid Tami might injure herself jumping around like that. And both of them were a little unsure that the TL’s could be trusted to be gentle in inserting such a huge object in such a vulnerable place.
Even he himself was wary about the touch pad. Though its operation was silent, it seemed too much like torture, like whipping her from the inside. He conceded it was his own hang-up; Tami herself felt nothing but intense pleasure. But he much preferred the more mellow delights afforded by the purple button, which turned the tail into a simple vibrator. Sunday afternoon had been particularly pleasant. He had sat on the porch, taking in the sunshine, watching the last of the snow melt, the remote in his hand, as Tami writhed on the floor next to him, periodically spasming and moaning, the buzzing inside her faintly audible. Trent had stopped by and the two men had chatted about this and that, idly watching Tami as she climbed one orgasmic peak after another, lost in her own world.
Now he sat in the big chair, sipping an orange juice, and watched the TL’s feast on her. He was impressed with their dedication to her. And he remembered what Georgene said once. “Tami is our feminist hero. Men stripped her, but she came back in her nakedness and defeated them.” Sounded almost like Jen.
He looked up at the TV and said, “Oh God. Not again.” That idiotic dating show.
“Their p - plan to make me s - stupid,” Tami said.
“For you, Tam, that would take a long long time.” Rod said. He snorted as he saw Prospect Number 2 try to sweep tonight’s bimbo off her feet and fall on his butt.
And now the big moment when the bimbo made her selection. Would it be Prospect No. 1, Prospect No. 2, or Prospect No. 3? Unfortunately Tami was cresting again. Rosaria had turned her onto her side and her bare foot flung out, blocking Myra’s view. Myra tried to reach out and push it out of the way.
Biting her lip the blonde on the screen said, “I pick -- “
“Ohhhh . . . ohhhh! OHH!”
“Shhhhh!!” the TL’s said in unison.
“Mmmphh . . . mmphhh . . . mmphhh . . .” Tami stifled her remaining spasms with a mighty effort.
The bimbo lingered speechless for an excruciatingly long time. Then she said, “Number 2!”
“Give me a break!” the four TL’s said together. Tami, catching her breath, said, “That girl is stuuuu - pid!” Sounding like her 19-year-old friends, except for the orgasmic moans, of course.
Now the credits rolled onto the screen and Tami caught her breath and staggered to her feet and sat in the big chair with Rod, her bare leg draped over his knee. The TL’s knew it was time to go. By the time Rod came home they could hang out for a bit but not too long.
After they left, Tami curled up in Rod’s lap like a satisfied cat. Strong as she was, she knew how to act like she needed his protection. It made him feel good, pretense though it was.
Tami stroked the limp package within the pants. “You want some tonight, Baby?”
“Maybe I can dream about it, Babe. Sorry but I’m just about pooped.”
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