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Yusaku had been always an outsider, even before his father died. It was not a role he relished. His mother’s family resented his father’s relative success in life, and when Yusaku and his mother moved into her family’s household following his father’s death, it was as if Yusaku’s fate were already sealed, at age eleven. The monthly payments on his father’s loan to his in-laws, which his mother insisted on receiving despite her comfortable position, did not help matters any. Her family tried to accept Yusaku as their own, but they remained, undeniably… distant. It was from one of his meaner cousins that Yusaku first heard of his mother’s brief affair, about a year before his birth, with an American Marine. Yusaku never discussed the story with his mother. He was certain he was a full Japanese. Just a little taller than most.

Maybe his mother had been always an outsider, too. Despite his feelings, Yusaku never connected with the adolescent subcultures which have evolved to accommodate the increasing number of “outsiders” growing up in post-Fifties Japan. He continued to be an exceptionally good student. He joined the proper young-people’s groups, and carried on a reasonably normal social life through high school. He was even popular with girls. Almost too popular with one or two of the more “idiotic” ones. It almost embarrassed him. His male friends were envious. But then, he thought, why should he be embarrassed just because he had his father’s looks?

Then his university entrance exams came in, fifteen points below his tutor’s expectations. His family and his teachers were nonplussed. The scores were still good enough to place him in a third-class Japanese college, where he could go on to become a respectable schoolteacher or an accountant at some small concern. To Yuu, though, his entrance exam scores simply revealed no more or less than Fate. Once an outsider, always an outsider.

Somehow he wasn’t surprised when the American “university” the broker found for him turned out to be no better than a Japanese teacher’s college. The Americans there seemed to feel it was providing rigorous training. And down deep, Yusaku felt that he hadn’t come to America just for an education. He maintained no more than polite relationships with the substandard Japanese students with whom the broker had grouped him, but he made no effort to transfer to a better American university. Mimi helped Yusaku accommodate himself to this American teacher’s college. More importantly, Mimi helped bring him into the real contact with America that he had left Japan to find. Mimi Morioka was almost three years older than Yusaku. But, he thought, that really didn’t make much difference, did it? She was a full-fledged American, American enough to laugh at his spoken English, which he knew was much better than any of his fellow Japanese students’ at the “university” where they met. And Mimi was American enough to have developed some very… strange… customs.

Mimi’s father and mother, both born in California, had easily reconciled themselves to the possibility that Mimi would grow up far from the kind of culture which they themselves had known as children. Mimi, Dr Morioka said, would be a third-generation American, and the third generation was always the one to break away completely. Moving to a practice in the middle west, to a city with virtually no Japanese population, would only make things easier for her.

Like almost any father of a three-year-old girl, he had given no thought to what would happen when his daughter turned dating age.

But the white boys Mimi dated were all very nice, his wife assured him. They all came from respectable families, families not unlike the Moriokas in their social positions. Mimi seemed to date a lot. She was very popular. Slowly, Dr Morioka grew accustomed to the idea that Mimi might eventually, even… marry one of… them.

Then, the summer before she entered the nursing program at the local college, there was the matter of Mimi’s abortion.

Dr Morioka handled things in a very businesslike manner, he felt. Mimi would certainly go to the hometown college to which she’d been admitted. In addition, she would live in the dorms there. And she would have an apartment of her own as soon as college regulations permitted. With a phone on which Mimi could communicate with Mrs Morioka as often as Mrs Morioka wanted her to.

At last, Mimi thought, I’ve fucking broke away!


*Click* “Hi Scott, “Hi Scott, it’s Vicki.” it’s Mimi.” (Snicker.)

“Now, cut that out!” (Scuffle, giggle.) “Mimi’s a friend of Rick and Becca’s and BOY can she give give you a backrub!” “Among other stuff.” (Scuffle.) “Anyway we’re in bed now…” “(Garbled.)”

“She’s a bigger SLUT than I am!” “(Garbled.)”

“I wish Rick would allow videotape.” (Buzzz…)

“I wish you were here, Scott… and Emilia…” “Emilia?” (Scuffle. Buzz.) “Wow, I have to turn the Sony off now already.” Anadolu Yakası Esmer Escort “Who’s Emi…” *Click*

*Click* “‘ Love you, Scott.” *Click*


After a quick phone call to make sure it was okay, Vicki had driven the four or five hours down the Interstate to hook up with Becca at our place on Thursday afternoon, a day earlier than we had scheduled. Her husband Scott was taking the two oldest boys on a long weekend outing with her brother-in-law and his kids, and Vicki hadn’t really been inclined to go along. Rather than have her stick around on the home front with her baby and mother and sister, we’d all decided (with Grandma’s generous though not-fully-informed cooperation) to let Vicki have a spring holiday all her own, with the couple she’d met the previous fall. Having reached age forty, Becca and I had fallen out of the swapping groove, the way most people seem to do after a while. We kept going with Stu and Colleen, of course, but that will go on forever. Occasionally, we spent time with what remained of the small crew of couples who had made up our last circle of couplers. But what with the constant blood testing and so forth… we refused to return to “Safe Sex” hardware, hadn’t the Pill been supposed to let sensible adults dispense with all that?… a four-way marriage between exceptionally attuned lovers seemed to be the best way to deal with the needs of middle-age. But Becca and I still kept finding “special occasions” that required us to make the trip down to the clinic every once in a while. It was a special occasion indeed when the student nurse who had taken our samples was later introduced to us by one of the old crew. But I’m getting a little off track.

Call it a middle-aged fling. Becca and I had “met” Vicki and Scott on the bbs’s the preceding summer. Sometimes the things actually work. We were charmed by the accounts of swap and orgy — and domestic love — that were painstakingly presented by this late-blooming couple from across the state. They were both about thirty, but Vicki had already dropped three sons over the space of ten years, and it seemed that after following a new job to return home to family (and more reliable babysitters), they suddenly found themselves eager to make up for lost time. After much correspondence — but the trip still seemed like a whim — the four of us compared bloodwork and Becca and I drove up to meet the McClouds. That first lazy weekend was mostly spent in the semipalatial household of Dr Stan Mitchell, an urbane fellow still a bit too old for Becca’s taste, but well-conditioned and handsome. Scott was more brutish… bearded, broad, heavy with hair — more Becca’s type, at least for a change. Emilia, Dr Mitchell’s dark, fortysomething coworker and “mistress,” was forthright but a bit too much the Junior Leaguer to engage my imagination. Emilia had impressed small-town Vicki, though — enough to have become her first female lover and and her mentor, after Scott, in some of the stagier orgiastic practices that seem to be popular along their part of the frontier. (Becca and I remembered Centerville often, reading Scott’s mail on the bbs.)

Vicki, a pale redhead of oval face, bright hazel eyes, clean sharp features and medium build, had obvious talent for exhibition. Fucking in company was a turn-on in itself for her. Early in a round her south-plains voice would describe what was happening to her, and where she wanted it to go. But soon enough her verbal focusing would be given over to more primal sounds, and late in a long evening Vicki would turn beautifully quiet, docile, submissive.

It was then she liked it rough.

It was a happy enough first meeting; slow, with just a little of the normal early cool. But when, midway through a conventional lay, Vicki put three of her own fingers into her small mouth to suck like a sleepy baby, I finally fell for her.


Mimi Morioka, that student nurse alluded to above, turned up on our doorstep by happy accident on Thursday afternoon about the same time I got home from work. At dinner, we arranged for her and her boyfriend to come along with us to do Forest Park and the Zoo the next day. And we recalled Mimi’s talent as a rough-and-ready masseuse. Soon after dinner, we encouraged the road-worn Vicki to try out the spa in our big bathroom off the big bedroom, and she and Mimi trundled off up the split-level while Becca and I sat down with the wine and Yusaku to watch *Briscoe County*.

Mimi and Yusaku checked out, the girl slightly giddy, halfway through the X Files. The house was silent, and we figured Vicki was settled into the king-bedded guest room that Becca’d fixed up for her. But we weren’t surprised when she turned up a couple of commercials after Mimi left. Her hazel eyes were half-lidded, satiated. A little smile flickered. Vicki wore just a long teeshirt, which came halfway down her soft smooth thighs.

“Chee, that Mimi’s something!” she sighed, plopping down between Becca and me on our deep Anadolu Yakası Eve Gelen Escort crushed-leather couch. “What do you call that toy of yours?”

“The Japanese Rabbit Vibrator?”

“Japanese Rabbit Vibrator!”

“Are you talking about that dildo thing, or Mimi?” I asked Becca.

“Where did she get those… those…?”

“Tits?” I finished for Vicki.

“I mean, they aren’t real, are they? Mimi’s rear is sexier than any I’ve seen… on a girl… but she’s awfully small to have such…”



“They can’t be real!” Vicki declared with finality.

“No, no, she just straps them on when she goes out.”

“They’re fake,” Becca broke in. “And a darn good job they made of it, too. They don’t even feel fake… But they cost a fortune. Professor Loughlin is a sucker for the whims of his little co-eds. Mimi was thinking of dancing over on the East Side, once. Before Yusaku made an honest swinger out of her.”

Vicki pulled her teeshirt tight over her chest, examining her middling-sized breasts. Her nipples showed in sharp relief.

“She makes me jealous,” said Vicki.

“Awww.” Becca palmed Vicki’s pale thigh, pushing the tee up to Vick’s hip. Dark red pussyhairs peeked out from under its hem. “You got other charms…”

“These responsive nipples of yours, for two…” I dropped over to push my face into Vicki’s soft boobs. They smelled of new powder.

“Awww,” Vicki drawled, as the two of us closed in.

“I like your hair,” Becca murmured. Vicki’s red hair was a new, trim boycut for summer, helping to emphasize her crisp facial features. Becca ran her right hand through the curly redtop, as two fingers of her left probed Vicki’s deep, damp muff, seeking out her drippy clit. Becca’s bosom pressed my face into a hard-rising nipple as her left hand found what it was groping for, and Vicki raised her face to Becca’s lips. “I feel… reeealy sleepy,” said Vick. Then she let her tongue be taken by Becca.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve heard that line,” I mumbled into the loose breasts, hardened at the nips, as Becca and Vicki’s embrace pressed me heavily into Vicki’s chest.

Becky’s fingers strummed across Vick’s vaglips, seeking a proper place of insertion. Between the beats of two hearts, I listened to the liquid snicker of fingers working into a heavily-lubricated hole. I tugged a nipple beneath the cotton nightshirt. The women came up for air, loosening their hold on one another. My right hand was already between two pairs of thighs, teasing Becca’s levi’d ass.

“You’ve heard the line,” said Vicki sleepily. “Then you must know what it means.” “You, strip yourself,” ordered Becca. “I have to pee.”

“Aww. Pee here.” “Kinky bitch,” said Becca, remembering how Vicki sometimes liked to be addressed. And she left the room.

Vicki looked at me with a “knowing” half-smile, and quickly shook the tee up and off as I undressed. Her body was white and smooth, except for a full brown-red bush. She was leanhousewife in tone, though the effects of three pregnancies still showed on belly and hips. She and her husband were almost proud of the sluttish effect this produced. The thick brown-red bush was matted with wet. And within and beneath she…

“Becca’s three bases up on you,” said Vicki, snuggling into the soft leather. “‘ you gonna let a guurl win ya?”

“One already has,” I replied.

“We girls stick together and cheat,” said Vicki. She grabbed my forearm with her small hand and pulled me onto her. The hand slipped down my body as I squirmed to adjust to her body, and her tapered fingers came to rest on my perineum, probing for my prostate. Her other arm cradled me, hand holding the back of my neck, hard, as I kissed hard into her mouth. My hands cradled her head, thumbs pressing deep into her throat alongside either side of her jawbone.

Then naked Becca was pressed in beside us.

“Gimme some.”

The sofa, though very big, defined a small perimeter for the play of three people. Like kids going a little wild indoors, we struggled playfully to keep from going “overboard”, and touching the floor. We rolled and groped, giggling. Vicki flopped upward roughly, bumping us, to admit Becca’s right arm around her shoulders and neck. My own right arm released Vick to thump heavily and catch Becca’s lean brown thigh, and grab until two fingers were securely hooked into Becca’s slick… let’s see, what… Becca’s slick twat. Her hips pulled at my hook, pressing the blister of clit hard to my palm. A third finger was quickly flipped inside, immediately rubbing against the rough spot, Becca’s unusually large g-spot.

Becca’s left arm was over my back, holding the three of us tight on the sofa. Vicki’s left hand pulled itself from my perineum, dragging her fingers hard over my semisweaty buttocks to find Becca’s leg. Then she dragged her fingers hard up Becca’s thigh to — Anadolu Yakası Evi Olan Escort flop, poke — join me inside Becca.

“Ummm…” Becca signaled Vick was there.

My prick had gotten pinched nicely between the leather and Vicki’s right buttock, where it lay hard against her like a seven-inch dowel. Vick’s right arm had moved over Becca’s arm across my body, and her hand held tight to Bec’s strong bicep. My left hand still held Vicki’s head hard enough along the jaw to control her face, and I kissed her and Becca kissed her, neither of us too neatly, as the women began to roll against me and one another.

Enjoying my lack of genital engagement, I took pleasure in the roll of Vicki’s butt along my prick, and melded my forearm to her’s as our hands labored together beneath Becca’s rippling tummy. Keeping hold of Vick’s neck, Becca’s hand holding mine, I dropped my head to Vicki’s chest. “Yeh! Yeh!”

Like a dog on a dung beetle, I lolled my head crazily between Vicki’s tits. The waves of her body picked up against me and Becca, and I grabbed an enormous brown nipple and bit… not too hard, not too soft. My tongue flicker flicker flicked over the tough excited skin.

Vicki thrashed, yanking hard up Becca’s twat and releasing my pinned prick.

“Watch it, cunt!” yelled Becca, and punched a now three-fingered fist hard into Vicki’s second thrashing shudder. I pulled Vick’s olive again, harder.

“Gosh! Mount me! Mount me, now, Rick!”

“‘Mount me?’ ‘Mount me?'” Becky taunted. “This whore sounds like a fucken Blue Moon Victorian Reprint!” Vicki retorted with another pull at the top of Becca’s sex — so hard that I thought best to slip free of it. Becca responded by pulling Vicki out of my left hand’s grasp, by the hair, and she kissed her hard again, and then she released Vick’s mouth and bit her neck, all the time working on Vick’s flashing thrashing bod while Vick worked on Bec’s own.

But Vicki was serious. Her erotic whine… a variant of “awwww…” was almost sobbing.

“I want your man, Becca! I want a LIVE MANTHING in me!”

For my part, I was happily positioning myself for the inevitable. Vick and Becca’s wrestling had put them on their sides, face to red-hot face. The best move, considering that I knew Becca wasn’t going to let go of the other woman in her present state, was to enter Vicki over her rump. We were all cheating by letting our feet occasionally hit the floor.

“IN ME! Fuck Man IN ME!

“Awwww!” I took a good two-armed hold around them both, hands gripping Becca’s lean brown shoulderblades, and quickly found the backside of Vicki’s juicy, fat vag. I thrust in fully, over Bec’s three hard strong fingers. Vicki’s fine white butt pressed against my belly, hard and working. Vick and Becca were back to fucking one another, and I was more than content to go along for the ride.

Slip up, and down, up, and down, feeling my wife’s fingers working to pleasure the other man’s wife. Knowing my filling was pleasuring them both — but Vicki most of all.

I could tell when both women started coming at once. Becca almost broke loose from my grip with her shaking.

“Damn, fucking Vickiwhooore!” Becca moaned.

Vicki was, I think they call it, keening…

As we fucked, Becca’s right hand had moved to grab my armpit, while the rest of her had helped to keep everyone together. Her grip relaxed after her shudder, and the movement of her left hand slowed inside Vick. But Vicki was still coming. And trying to say something. Keening, and saying something…

“Ch…choke me. Keep fucking, and choke me.”

Bec and I sort of glanced at one another, suddenly members of the same team, in the middle of a play. And we knew this tactic, tho’ we never practiced it much…

“PLEASE!” Vicki almost sobbed. She was still coming.

Becca smeared a kiss along Vick’s face and dropped her head to Vicki’s loose tits. Her right hand was repositioned along Vick’s side to hold her at breast level, and her left hand began working skillfully inside Vicki again. Vick gratefully kept her one hand inside Becky, moved the other tentatively to Becky’s front, stroking. I kept thrusting, regularly.

And moved my hands to grip Vicki’s neck.

“UHhmmmm! UHhmmmm!” Vicki keened.

I found her pulse points, throbbing with orgasm. Becca’s knuckles beat into my sac as Vicki’s fevered, coming body began coming harder. Becca bit a tit.

“Harder!” Vicki suddenly yelped. I pressed into her carotids. I pressed into her cunt. Becca pressed up and in, doing something only women can do with full assurance, and she bit again.

“Harder!” Vicki grated. Her body thrashed, her head thrashed, her cunt tightened, her hand in Becca pulled, and Becca rooted and bit.

“AWWWWghhh!” Vicki thrashed…Sloooowly. Becca bit her again…Sloooowly. Bec’s hand was strong around Vicki’s cunt’s front…slimy fingers rolling against Vick and me, sloooowly. Vick’s sex rolled down on me…Sloooowly. And Vick and I came, and came, and CAME…


We really hadn’t expected Mimi and Yusaku to meet us at the Art Museum on Friday, even with our promise of lunch. Vicki and Becca and I went the tourist round of Forest Park, and then trekked down to the Zoo on the south side of the Park, where we’d made alternate arrangements to meet up with the two college kids.

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