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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 Gaziantep Grup Escort 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.”

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