’ ‘I love it when he says that!’ Denise told Anne, and they both smiled warmly at each other. They turned to go, collecting their shawls from the king-sized bed. Stan followed. He kissed them both lightly on the back of the neck, and let them precede him from the room. The hotel had a number of wonderful historic rooms, dating back to the 18th Century. Stan and his two partners had an appointment in one of them, named after a former French Queen. Stan had cast around, trying to find a way to demonstrate his commitment to both of his wonderful women. He’d hit on this idea, broached it to them and they’d loved it, running with the theme. Denise had suggested asking Elaine and Susan for ideas. They’d suggested something like this afternoon’s proceeding, and Ken had suggested this wonderful venue (and, incidentally, he and a grateful Sid had paid for it.) Inside the Marie-Antoinette room they found their guests waiting for them. Just close friends. Elaine and Susan were there, and of. His shirt fell open, exposing his wonderfully padded body, a many domed sculpture in chalk white flesh. His man boobs, with their stretched aureoles, thick brown nipples at their centre, looked sweet as desert. After all we did last night, I can't believe that I haven't sucked on them. With the lightest of touches, I traced their out line with a delicate finger. His chest rose to meet the touch. I let my other hand wander over his belly, down to the top of his jeans. I could feel his heat through the coarse blue cotton as I traced the outline of his penis. Deftly, I popped the top most button and as I fumbled with the second, his eyes flickered open. "Good morning," "Hi," he answered hazily through the somnolent mists, sleep softening the edges of his consciousness. He stretched, he yawned the satisfied and peaceful yawn of a well fed cat. "What time is it?" "Early." I stooped to kiss his chest, his shoulders, his neck. "At least an hour before they let us out," I whispered into his.
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