Mint Green Parts

Alright, so posing for “Hugely Hung!” magazine was a bad idea. I really needed the money, though, and it was time for my uncommon anatomy to be an asset rather than a setback. So I took the $300, and they took their pictures. And no one was the wiser, right?

When the request for the private photo-shoot arrived in my mailbox, I should have been worried. I had never given the magazine my real name, but there it was, right next to a $2000 advance! My secondary thinking organ took over–my wallet, I mean–and the next thing I new, I was in my car, lost in upstate New York.

The address for the shoot was a large, private estate in the middle of nowhere. I parked my mint green Dodge Dart (did I mention I could really use some more money?) in the gravel driveway, and looked around: a huge house of stucco on a manicured lawn, with high hedgerows to hide from the neighbors, if there were any; a custom Ford Bronco with monster truck wheels and tinted windows; an uninviting set of double-doors, of blue beveled glass.

Porno-producer heaven, I naively thought.

I wormed out of the Dart and headed for the door, in an unflattering swagger that only 2% of the male population can sympathize with. With my full payment, I knew, I could get that reduction surgery I had always wanted.

I rang the doorbell, and a hulking shadow lurched into view, obscured by the beveled glass. I flinched as the door burst outward. My mind had ordered up a “Sorry, wrong address; obviously you have plenty of Watchtower issues already,” but when the figure in the doorway came into full view, I think my mouth managed a clever, “Duh-whuh?”

A titan of a woman filled the entire doorframe like a Jane Mansfield clone gone horribly awry. At my modest height, my chin came up just to the bottom swell of her chest, which was wrapped in a blue, velvety material that pinched and puckered at every curve. “Kevin?” she asked, in a voice that could melt a monk.

Said I, “Uh. Yeah.”

Her lips, fuller than any airbrushed dream-girl’s, crooked into a knowing smile. “C’mon in.”

She stepped back, and I was drawn into the foyer by her wake.

Like everything outside, the inside of the house was gaudily big, in old Vegas style. I must admit I was not paying much attention as she gestured down a hallway in a liquid motion that could have slam-dunked a basketball for a three point shot.

I lead the way, in body at least. I felt the radiant heat of her closeness behind me, the occasional brush of a hand, and a velvet softness that gently bumped my neck. The susurrus of her incredible dress was the only sound as we padded across the shag carpet into a room dominated by a huge sofa and a coffee table that could qualify as a dining table in my apartment.

On the couch, curled around a double-sized cappuccino mug, sat the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Her skin as dusky as her coffee, her hair in corn-rows lazily framing a glorious heart-shaped face. Looking to us, to the pair of eyes behind and above my head, she gave a now-familiar, crooked smile, and placed her mug on the table.

And stood up.

I was in trouble.

Two large hands swallowed my shoulders, reassuring but firm, as the dark, lovely, inhuman creature unfurled out of the plush couch. She wore a pair of purple silk pajamas that could have comfortably housed an Olympic shot-putter, but strained to contain her impossible harmony of tight musculature, voluptuous flesh, and massive bone. She walked closer, and closer, never taking her eyes away from the woman behind me. I started back up when I realized she was not going to stop until she arrived deep inside my personal-space zone, but those hands on my shoulders grew into arms that snaked down to my belly. I felt the delicious softness of the body behind me, from my enveloped neck to my pressed-forward knees, and a forest of platinum blonde hair tumbled down to obscure my view. The dark women reached out both hands to me, around me, past me, and leaned forward to plant a kiss somewhere far above my head. I was lost in a world of blonde curls, baby powder, breasts, and the bombastic beats of their hearts.

They broke their deep kiss, and the dark woman stepped back, looking at me for the first time.

“You can run away now, if you like,” she said.

“No.” I said softly, regaining my composure. Then, “No way. Not ever.”

She laughed. “It’s just a job, Kevin. The oldest profession.”

I had to smile, but then stooped as the seductive fog cleared and delayed pain signals entered my brain from a 16 inch curse in a pair of custom jeans designed to dress it, concealed, to the left.

The dark woman looked down, raised an eyebrow. “Well, maybe two or three jobs.”

Some hidden signal past between the two women, and I was released from my incredible prison, and physically encouraged to turn around. I had to hop to do so.

“Mother of God,” the blond woman said. “The best find yet.”

That brought the worry back, and I tensed.

The dark woman must have noticed, and she quickly said, “Kevin, you can leave at any time–up to a certain point. And you will be paid in full by tonight, I promise.”

I moved away from them, and sank into the couch, to ease the pressure and readjust myself.

“I’m Kyle,” said the dark woman, regaining that Mona Lisa smile.

“I’m Gwen,” said the other, pushing the river of long ringlets out of her face.

A pause, and I said, “I’m Kevin.”

Idiot. I tried again. “What is going on?”

Taking that as a cue, Gwen glided down beside me. Right beside me. Her weight on the couch formed a gravity well of white leather, and I was plopped into her side. Again, she was incredibly warm, a furnace wrapped in velour. She bent down to look me in the eyes, but at my height it did not work so well, so I wound up listening to a pair of painted, cupie-doll lips, breasts bigger than my head, and a frame of crazy blond curls.

“Kyle and I have a fantasy, Kevin, and we’re willing to pay you to help us fulfill it.”

Kyle joined us on the sofa, dangerously close. “We are very happy together,” Kyle explained, “but there’s one thing we’ve always wanted to try.” She laughed, “Something my brother said that if I tried just once, I’d come to my senses.”

Gwen bristled at that. I could feel her whole body tense. “It’s *our* fantasy,” she said in a frightening tone.

I felt I was to blame, suddenly ashamed. “I don’t understand. I’m sorry. Maybe I should just–”

Gwen relaxed, put her arms around me, and I experienced the most sexy bear-hug in the world.

“It’s okay,” she said. “That’s part of it.”

She looked at Kyle. “It’s really okay. It’s just going to be done my way.”

Kyle’s eyes glittered with mischief, as if to say that doing things Gwen’s way was dandy with her.

“These are the rules,” Kyle said, palming her coffee mug. “You can’t ask questions. You can’t speak. We won’t speak to you. Before we enter the bedroom, you can say ‘No, thanks’ at any time, and you can go home and deposit your cash advance. Once we enter the bedroom, though, a ‘No, thanks’ will not only get us very upset, but the check will be cancelled, with possibly other repercussions.”

I followed her gaze to the coffee table. There, with a wet cappuccino ring actually improving the layout, was an otherwise mint copy of “Hugely Hung!”, my issue. I nodded.

Kyle continued, “Afterwards, we’ll pay you the balance of $8,000. If you want to say something, go ahead now. It’s your last chance to say anything except ‘No, thanks.’ But no questions.”

I though for a good while. “I understand,” I said. Then I blushed, “and I’m incredibly turned on. But I feel very strange about accepting money…”

Gwen put a long finger up against my lips. “It’s part of it, for detachment.”

I did not understand, but I nodded.

Kyle stood up and moved quickly out of the room, excitement in her step. “Then it’s begun. No more talking.”

Gwen stood, and I lost my hand in hers as she lead me down the hallway, up a flight of stairs. I had to extend my stride across the tall stairs just to keep up with her. With Kyle nowhere in sight, she lead me past a large, ornate door to a smaller plain white door, and ushered me in without a sound.

I found myself in a circular, walk-in closet bigger than my studio apartment. Garments and apparel of every description filled the shelf-and-rack lined walls. About half of the clothing was smartly placed, the rest folded with less concern. The room was dominated by a large, mirrored vanity table.

Gwen smiled, turned her back to me, and tugged at the zipper of her dress.

I took the clue, but several thumping heart beats passed before I worked up the courage, stepped up on tippy-toes, and slowly pulled the zipper down, revealing a widening triangle of golden-white skin.

I knew I was not the center of attention, so I helped her out of her dress as matter-of-factly as I could with trembling hands. The heat I felt when I was close to her–did it come from her, or me?–reached solar flare intensity as I helped to remove her bra and garters at her mimed request.

She stepped away from me, wearing nothing but that crescent smile.

I wanted to say something poetic, but I remembered the rules, and I was sure I could have only managed a “wow,” anyway. Part Ruebenesque, part poster girl, even the curve of her bare shoulder made me weak at the knees.

She walked without any sense of modesty to the vanity table, plucked out a few hair combs, and wrestled for control over her locks. The very act of reaching up to put the combs in made her breasts–large but perfect for her gargantuan ribcage–strain and sway, her brown nipples easily encompassing the span of my hand, if I dared but touch.

As she silently prettied up, she gestured to my pants, my shirt. I stripped down as fast as I could. I even hopped about the room pulling of my socks. The bodily feature whose name was more well known than my own swung into the air. (Some time back in early freshman year of college, I was caught darting out of the shower-stall. No towel could hide my particular problem, especially after being awoke by a healthy soaping. Rumors flew, and the next thing I knew, the campus BBS servers had crowned me–or rather, it–“Maglight.”)

She lost her composure for a second when she caught me in the corner of her eye, and my heart sunk. But she did not avert her eyes, and then she made eye contact, pursed her bottom lip and nodded curtly, as if saying, “That’ll do. Maybe.”

I then realized what women of Gwen and Kyle’s stature might want of me, and it was my time to smirk.

Kyle bounded into the room just then, from another set of doors, wearing nothing but a peculiar, wide black belt. Her toned, coffee colored skin absorbed all the colors in the room–even the most flashy pantsuit looked drab, washed out, compared to her. I simply stared, rudely, taking in the triangular muscles of her legs, the inviting flair of her hips, that ship-launching face…

I had not noticed, but Gwen had reached into a drawer in the vanity and drew something out–something with buckles that jingled.

Now, before I posed for that greasy magazine I had very little experience with anything kinky, especially bondage. During that trip through the heart of darkness, though, I saw my fair share of leather goods: hoods, gags, lashes, straps, corsets, ball-busters. Nothing in my repertoire helped me identify the tangle of leather, gleaming buckles, and bungee straps that Gwen had produced

As Gwen hastened to untwist the mass, I thought I recognized a binder–a corset for men–at the heart of the tentacular creation, but with a growing sense of apprehension I realized that, while I had no idea what it was or what it did, it was meant for me.

Gwen shot me a searching look. This was it, then. The ‘No thanks’ moment. Adventure or mediocrity. A story for Penthouse Forum or another jar of hand-lotion.

I looked to Kyle. She was gazing at Gwen, her face flush with passion and aggression.

I was opening my mouth, and taking in a breath to speak, when it suddenly struck me that these two were crazy in love for each other. Kinky, sure, but love-crazy.

I exhaled, starting with a “N–” but ending in a whooshing sigh.

Gwen stood, walk closely passed me, gave Kyle a tender kiss on the cheek, and went through the doors to the bedroom beyond, taking the contraption with her.

Kyle followed, never looking at me once, but left the door open.

I guess I don’t find out what that thing is for until the point of no return, I thought.

With only a slight hesitation, I entered the bedroom, closing the door behind me.

******

I would describe the bedroom, but my attention was focused on its occupants.

I once temped in an office where I was the only man in the secretarial pool. During a discussion of the movie “Showgirls”–don’t ask–one of my coworkers said, “I’ve never been able to figure this out: why do all porn movies have a lesbian scene? What’s the turn on?”

“Women coming in stereo,” was the typically graphic reply of another secretary.

“Not really,” I said, as the self-appointed representative of my side of the species. “All men wonder what it’s like.”

“Having sex with two women?”

“No, being a woman having sex with another woman. The fantasy of being a lesbian.”

My fellow workers “hmmphed” thoughtfully, quietly returned to their meals, and I realized I had no idea what “all men” see in a lesbian scene. Instead, I just spilled my guts on a personal fantasy. It was one of the most embarrassing moments of my life.

Watching two people, madly in love, entwine just a few feet in front of me was bittersweet, despite my fantasy or my arousal. I was violating their sanctum, their true intimacy.

I glanced down to the floor. Gwen had dropped her unidentifiable device at her feet, and kicked it away as she and Kyle slowly circled, kissing and caressing, making their way toward their bed.

The forgotten sex-toy invited inspection. Hoping I could learn my fate, I quietly walked over and picked it up, or at least tried to. There was no central mass to the thing, and cords and buckles kept spilling to the floor.

Whatever it was, the maker cared about the wearer’s comfort. There were cuffs of various sizes, and fasteners to tighten, but all were cushioned with foam. The device, then, was not designed for pain, and I inwardly sighed relief.

A wet moan drew my attention. Gwen sprawled luxuriantly on the bed. Kyle pressed up close beside her, nuzzling and murmuring into her ear, one hand tracing circles on Gwen’s stomach, the other sandwiched between her thighs. Gwen arched her neck, teeth flashing, as she fumbled a hand through Kyle’s hair.

I could have watched them forever, but while the surge of blood through my groin battled with the knot of embarrassment in my stomach, my brain took over. Again, I tried to deduce my role in their fantasy. The bed, while bigger than any king size, was unadorned; no bedposts to lash me to. The walls were decorated tastefully, with paintings and shelves for vases; nothing apparent to chain me to

Resting her head on a arm, Kyle looked into Gwen’s eyes. “Are you ready?” she asked, her other hand still lazily toying with her partner’s cleft.

“God yes,” came the quiet reply.

They slid of the bed. Gwen went to scoop up the device as Kyle marched her juggernaut-female form down upon me. I stood my ground the best I could. When she came close, I smelled musk and sweat. She smiled, reached out, and gently turned me around, so that my back faced her.

They began to bind me.

It started, as I expected, with a male-corset. Gwen’s massive arms reached around my belly and snapped the thing around me. It was like an manic cummerbund, and held me fast, but not constrictively.

The two women stepped close. I could feel their breath on my neck and back as they clipped and strung the thing across my body. They work quickly, excitedly, circling me, turning me about. I entered a dizzying world of reaching arms, caressing hands, brushing hair and flesh. My field of vision would suddenly fill with dancing eyes or a bitten lip, then I’d be turned about and hugged by two sets of great, soft arms as wide as my thighs.

I cannot speak for all men, but for me, the state of acute arousal just before orgasm is an exact sensation. Focused precisely on the head of my penis, it is a brief, sweet, stinging pressure that then crashes over into surges of release. My blood sang with this sweetness, but prolonged, as if I were fourteen years old again, and I could bring myself to near orgasm with my imagination alone.

Gwen suddenly turned to Kyle, lip trembling. She said, with forced evenness, “It’s on backwards.” The trembling, I realized, was held-back laughter.

A cluster of clips, straps, and rings dangled from the binder around my belly. So this stuff goes on my back, I thought. What are they going to do? Hang me from a chandelier, or bungee-jump me off the roof?

I endured the incredible experience again, twice, once to remove it, and again to get it right. Without Gwen and Kyle’s giggling to break the tension, I swear I would have swooned.

At last, they stepped back, apparently finished. I was bound at the waist and chest. Cuffs ran down both my legs, but only my upper arms and not my wrists. In fact, I did not seem restricted at all. With some of the device still trailing behind me, I circled about the room, craning my neck to look backward, feeling like a dolt.

Kyle vaulted onto the bed (it strained to catch her, even with it’s reinforced steel frame), and stood up on its edge. Her head almost bumped the ceiling.

Gwen lead me over to the bed, and stood me on a footstool right below Kyle. The tuft of Kyle’s pubic hair tickled my nose, the air heady.

I was turned around.

I felt the tug of the cords behind me, as Gwen began to affix me to Kyle.

I risked a quick twist to see. Kyle was wearing cuffs on her legs and upper arms, too, connected by a handful of umbilicals to my own.

Soon, the tension on the cords between me and Kyle became quite tight, and Gwen came around to face me. On the footstool, I came up to her neck. I tried to follow her face, but my eyes kept returning to the spectacular valley below, now shiny with sweat.

She reached into my armpits and held me up, as easily as a toddler, and pressed my back close against Kyle’s flesh. Kyle’s breasts burned against my ears, muffling the world. As Gwen held me there, Kyle synched up the straps. My upper arms were tied to her upper arms, my legs were lashed to her legs, the binder was attached to her thick belt, straps were wound about our chests, and she wore me like a reverse backpack.

Eureka! I thought. Then: oh my God…

Kyle had to lie down for Gwen to make the final adjustments. This little maneuver proved far less graceful than the others, and she and I flopped onto the bed, my head bouncing hard off her left breast, surely bruising it. I started to say, “Sorry!” but I remember the rules and hoped everything was okay.

Laying there with me on top of her, my head wedged between her breasts, by buttocks firmly pressing to the lower swell of her tummy, my erection (bordering on painful now) rising over a foot into the air, Kyle burst into wild giggles.

I should have known.

Gwen reached over, tightening cords and snapping fasteners in place, the weight of her breasts making delicious dents in my skin. “Done,” she gasped.

Kyle stood up, testing me out. I lurched into the air. My arms were mostly free, especially from the elbow down, but every other bit of me echoed her every move. Proving my geek-hood, I instantly recalled the final battle scene from Aliens: Sogourney Weaver strapped into the anthropomorphic cargo loader.

Just like it, I thought, but in reverse.

“Does it work?” Gwen asked, lying down on the bed.

Kyle stretched tentatively. I was sure I’d strain a tendon, but the device worked remarkably; I was secure but comfortable. “Fabulously,” said Kyle, and she (and I) joined Gwen on the bed.

Kyle crawled across Gwen, predatorial and feline. I was rewarded with a long, slow ogle, starting with Gwen’s strong thighs, then the curve of her hips, her outie belly-button, the soft rise of her waist, and the impossible diameter of her chest.

Kyle leaned down for another kiss, and I saw that chest point-blank.

Grinning wickedly, Kyle said, “When my brother said, ‘One night with a dick will straighten you out,’ I don’t think this is what he had in mind.”

Gwen wrapped her arms about Kyle’s neck. “Shut up and fuck me, ” she growled.

Kyle swiveled her hips, and manhandled me into position.

“Slow,” whispered Gwen

“I promise,” Kyle said, propping herself on her hands, and I entered.

If the heat without Gwen’s body was a furnace, the heat within was the sun. Kyle guided me in and out of Gwen’s rippled warmth in a mind-melting rhythm. Gwen rocked with her, matching her, like they had done this a million times before.

The total lack of control while being on top, the utter newness and alienness of the whole situation was the only thing holding the sweet pressure from crashing over.

“More,” gasped Gwen.

Although I was not ready, Kyle quickened her pace, and dropped down onto Gwen to feast upon her lips. I was trapped in a writhing prison of flesh. I turned my head to prevent breaking my nose against Gwen’s breastbone. I mouthed around their breasts for air, tasting their salt, as their hearts drummed in my ears.

We (they) rolled over, and I saw light and felt the cool air again. Without a word, Gwen straddled me, and mounted. My entire waist disappeared between their hips. Gwen place her hands on Kyle’s shoulders, and buck frenziedly, like there was an itch deep inside her that I just managed to scratch.

I felt a hand wriggle down my thigh and into the cleft on top of which my testicles perched, protected by a plastic cup.

Again, my world narrowed into a flesh-mad fantasy realm. Huge breasts rocking and bumping into my chin and lips. A gigantic, plush mouth wetly parted. A frame of wild blond hair. My manhood enveloped in molten softness. The throaty purrs of two beautiful women.

Women in stereo.

I crashed over into release.

Gwen’s bucking slowed, and she plopped downward, plunging me into pillowy darkness again.

“Did you come?” I heard Gwen ask, as if miles away. “He’s in the way, I couldn’t tell.”

“Oh, yes,” said Kyle. “Did you.”

“No,” murmured Gwen. “Not yet.”

I was in trouble.

Gwen and Kyle untangled. Kyle rolled across the bed, nearly flattening me in the process, my softening penis protesting from the unwanted stimulation. Thankfully, she ended up on her back.

Gwen stood, reached into her vagina, and pulled out a glistening, filmy pouch; a female condom.

“I’ll be right back,” she sing-songed, strolling out of the room.

Take your time, I almost squeaked, but swallowed hard instead.

Kyle and I lay there, panting for a while, until she noticed my flagging erection.

“Hmmm,” she said, reaching down, “so this is what it’s like to jerk off.”

Her hands encircled my girth with only a little difficulty, and she began a steady, strong massage up and down my length.

Still oozing, I just lay there, convinced I needed a few months to recuperate.

“I need some help with this!” Kyle called.

Gwen came back, hands on her hips. “Hey, you used to go all night.”

“That was before I gained all this weight,” Kyle said, giggling again, “and when I was made out of rubber.”

“We’ll see,” said Gwen, and she joined us on the bed.

Now I had four hands encircling me, caressing my entire length. I stirred. Gwen let go, and sandwiched my penis between her breasts. She squeezed and shimmied while Kyle continued her unrelenting massage.

I rose from the dead.

Gwen climbed back on the disheveled bed, on all fours. Kyle rose to her knees and waddled behind her, and I was presented with Gwen’s massive, spherical derriere.

With no warning, Kyle thrust upward and plunged me in. Gwen gave a sharp cry as Kyle moved in long strokes, wrapping one arm about Gwen’s waist, cupping the other hand against Gwen’s clitoris.

I was crushed and rolled across Gwen’s cheeks.

“Oh. God. Oh! God!” Gwen shuddered once, twice, then relaxed around me, and sunk into the bed. “Enough, enough.”

Kyle withdrew, and fell backwards onto the bed.

She picked her head up. “Show me what it’s like to get a blow job,” she grinned.

Still catching her breath, Gwen returned the grin and wedged herself between my and Kyle’s thighs. She open her mouth wide and feverishly kissed and sucked, unable to take me deep into her mouth, but swallowing my shaft in her breasts.

The sweet pressure rose quickly, stung smartly, and crashed early.

She rolled over, and we all lay quietly for a while. To my ears, the greatest sound was Kyle’s breathing, like the roar of bellows.

“You can speak now, Kevin,” came Gwen’s voice, deep within a down pillow.

“Easy for you to say, ” I squeaked.

“Would you like your money now?” asked Kyle, her voice rumbling deep within her chest.

“Is that all you think about?” I said

Gwen laughed, sitting up. “Sometimes, it is.”

Kyle gave Gwen a Bronx cheer.

“I need a shower,” Gwen declared.

“Ooh!” cried Kyle, sitting up too suddenly “Me too!”

“Take me off first!” I pleaded.

******

Well, that’s it. I’ve carried that fantasy around in the closet of my mind for almost 8 years now, and soon I’m about to spill it out into the public, irreversibly.

Depending on how badly my ego is wounded by this experience, I will write more. I created ‘Mouth Breather’ for exactly this purpose: to unload my childhood sexuality onto the unsuspecting public, hoping to finally develop a post-Freudian fantasy life.

However, I have no intentions on writing “The Further Adventures of Maglight,” but since I’m launching this story into the void of public domain, do with it as you will.

I hope you like it. Many people responded to Part I. I apologize to those I left hanging.