Loading...Nowadays anyone with $300 can go down to a good electronics store or even Wal-Mart and pick up a camcorder with rudimentary editing capabilities and a menu of special effects, but when I was in school, video recorders were still almost the stuff of science fiction, extremely expensive, and the movie camera still reigned.
I was sitting at a small café table in the Satellite, the underground adjunct of the student union building at UH, the part that later got flooded out in 1976.
Across from me were a couple of cinematography majors named Jon and Mario. Both of them were shaggy-haired, like most hip guys were then. Mario was dark, lean and hungry-looking, with shadowed green eyes, sharp cheekbones, and perpetual stubble on his face, predating the Don Johnson look you were later to see everywhere. Jon looked very much the surfer dude, mahogany-skinned and gold-highlighted, with sea blue eyes.
“Let me get this straight,” I said. “Your project is a short film, and you want to depict me…eating an ice cream cone. Am I understanding you correctly?”
“Exactly, Sidonie,” Jon said. “That’s all. Why, you had something else in mind?”
“It’s just that—well, I get what you want to symbolize with the ice cream, but…I mean, me? I don’t look the part.” I was too lanky and not really pretty, which was why I was pretty sure they weren’t trying to sucker me into doing an actual porn film; I was more the handsome and distinguished type, a thing girls are told they’re going to be when they are not conventionally cute. In my heart of hearts, I felt I was better than cute: I had a good mane of chestnut hair, nice hands and feet, and was in excellent physical condition. I’d always been a jock in high school. And—there was that one other thing…
“It’s that smile of yours, Sid,” Mario said. “That built-in wicked smile. The idea for this film was born the first time I ever saw you smile.”
“Oh…” I said. “That.”
“That” consisted of a smile that had never looked quite innocent, even when I was a little girl. I heard my first comment about it when I was six, while we were visiting kin in my dad’s hometown. My aunt Cora said to my mother, “Emma, when that girl of yours learns what she can do with her smile, you’re going to have to lock her up!”
My mother tried to discourage me from smiling too often. When I was a little girl, she used to say my smile was too special to give to just anybody; later, she told me to be careful who I smiled at and how, as men might think I was more grown-up than I was, and want things I wasn’t ready for. Photographers who came around to take school pictures would sometimes do a double-take and tell me I didn’t have to smile after all…
“Apart from temporary stardom, what’s in this for me?”
“We’ll have to see,” Jon said. “See, we have to consider the rental on the camera, and—”
“All right, all right,” I said. “We’ll work this out. But I must have something. I’m always broke—you know how things are.”
“Yeah, life is tough,” Jon said.
We began to work out the arrangements. It was obvious to me that vanilla would be best, and Mario and Jon agreed with me completely. I specified Bluebell Homemade Vanilla and a sugar or a waffle cone. Might as well do these things right with the best materials. Then I got thinking of the problems that might arise for a girl who found herself alone with two guys and a camera, or even without a camera…
“One other thing,” I said, narrowing my eyes menacingly at them. “Nothing—absolutely nothing—is to happen that is not my idea, or that does not have my approval. Is that clear?”
I saw the aw-sheeit look that passed between them before they agreed. I wasn’t worried. I outweighed at least one of them, in a muscular and athletic way. In my last year of high school I had punched out a guy who had said something to piss me off, and he’d gone to the hospital with a broken jaw. Dad said I’d gotten in an extremely lucky punch and I deserved the cracked metacarpals I got out of it, but the incident had given me a reputation as a fighter that no one chose to mess with. We’d been right in front of the window of the Principal’s office when it happened and they figured I just didn’t care. And I hadn’t. This had gone down in the nearby village of Glendene, but half the grads of Spencer High who went on to college ended up at UH, and word gets around. If they got any funny ideas that I wasn’t willing to go along with I would make sure that there was plenty of damage all around.
“Yeah, that’s clear,” they said.
“Not only that,” I said, “I want to see the final print before you release it.”
We decided on Mario’s apartment as the best venue. It was the only venue, since Jon and I still lived in our respective parental homes. We met there in the early afternoon. Jon was wearing snug button-fly jeans and a silk-look shirt. Jon was wearing a tank and surfer jams. I was wearing a miniskirt and a tube top. The air conditioning was up pretty high, because we didn’t want the lights melting the ice cream; I hoped we wouldn’t get too cold. Somehow, I don’t think anyone would.
In the kitchen, Jon got out the ice cream and a waffle cone and proceeded to build the ice cream cone. He had spent the last several summers of his life working at Baskin-Robbins and he knew how to build a good, cohesive, professional-looking one. This he proceeded to do, dipping the scoop in water each time and dragging it through the ice cream to form perfectly round scoops, piling the first one hard onto the cone and sticking the other two firmly on top of it. It stood pretty high.
“There you go, Sidonie,” he said, handing it to me. “Enjoy it!”
I started to lick at the ice cream, but Mario said, “Hold it! Don’t get started until I get the camera rolling.”
We went into the living room, where Mario had set up the camera. “Go ahead, sit down and get comfortable,” he said. Both he and Jon had kicked off their shoes, and so did I. I sat down on the couch. “Now, give the ice cream one lick, from the edge of the cone to the top…then look at the camera—and smile.” I did so. “That’s perfect!” Mario said. “Now you can get started.”
Eating an ice cream cone, especially a triple-dip, is an art. You want to eat it fast enough so that the ice cream doesn’t all melt before you are done with it; at the same time, if you exert too much pressure on any side of the side of the tower of scoops, you run the risk of knocking one of them, or worse yet, all three, off the cone. All the while you are pressing on the structure from the top so as to work it down into the cone. Then you have to go down to the base of the pile, where it overlaps the edge of the cone, and catch it with your tongue so that it doesn’t drip too much. All this while, you are turning the cone around and around—again, so that it stays symmetrical and none of the ice cream falls off.
While I worked on the ice cream, Mario and Jon took turns working the camera. They got in very close, shooting from every angle.
“That’s it,” Mario said. “Don’t be afraid to open your mouth wide. Great! Let’s have lots of tongue here.” I dragged it slowly and tantalizingly up the sides of the tower of ice cream. Ice cream got onto my lips and ran down in tiny rivulets towards my chin, and I licked those up too.
Presently I had this cylindrical structure, which I had worked down to about six or seven inches long, when I noticed that both my cinematographers seemed to be having some trouble breathing. They were, in fact, flushed of face, with bright, dilated eyes. Every now and then I’d see one of them lick his lips and swallow. I looked at them again. Yes, I thought as much. A serious erection strained at the fabric of Mario’s jeans. Jon’s surfer jams served no better to hide his condition; it’s not every day you see a Hawaiian-print tent. I smiled at the camera, and at them.
I’d told them that nothing would happen that wasn’t my idea to leave myself an out if I wanted it. That didn’t mean that I had to take it. If I had been absolutely determined that nothing would happen, I’d have said so. I’d had sex with more than one guy at a time, the first year I was in college, and while the event itself had been fun, my relationship with the men had fallen for other reasons, and I hadn’t planned to do that again. But it’s every woman’s prerogative to change her mind…
I swept the very tip of my tongue around the top of the tower of ice cream, starting pretty close to the top on one side, and slanting it down so that it was maybe an inch and a half away from the top on the other. Returning to the starting point, I did the same thing going the opposite direction. I repeated this until I had a deep, slanting groove encircling the top of the ice cream. I licked down the sides of the cylinder, so as to give more definition to the structure at the top.
I wasn’t quite satisfied with having a cylinder, so I flattened my tongue and drew it up from the base to the tip on two sides of it, until I had achieved a shape that was vaguely three-sided. Drawing my tongue into the narrowest, hardest point I could manage, I dug a little slit-like hole in the very top.
Grinning, I displayed the object I had created to the camera.
“Far out,” breathed Jon.
“Wow,” said Mario. “Jesus, Sid! That’s some fine looking sculpture. I swear it’s got everything but the veins.”
I had a spot of ice cream on the end of my nose, and more ice cream was dripping from my lips. Stopping the camera, Jon leaned down and delicately licked the tip of my nose. Then his warm tongue swiped the ice cream dribbles from my mouth. I put out my own tongue and slid it against his. My pussy had bloomed into a heated flower at the sight of how excited the guys were getting. At the touch of Jon’s tongue against mine, it went into aching, throbbing overdrive, and all I wanted was to feed into its hunger. With a little growl I put my hand on the back of Jon’s neck, pulled his mouth against mine and sucked his tongue right in, grooving enthusiastically on its muscular litheness.
“Art first, Sid,” Mario said. “You haven’t finished your ice cream.” Jon released my mouth and stood up. Mario was standing almost as close as Jon was, and I had a good look at his crotch. His cock was filling up the front of his jeans so that some of the buttonholes on his fly were actually pulling open. Raking my gaze from this interesting sight to his face, I gave him a hot, insolent grin. He inhaled sharply and adjusted his cock in his jeans. “Do you work with any other medium?”
“No, I’ve only worked with ice cream,” I said. “As for the subject—well, you work with what you know.”
“I want you to know my subject!” Mario said breathlessly.
“Mine too!” Jon said.
“Just hold onto it,” I said. “I’ve got an ice cream cone to finish.”
“Christ…” Mario clenched his fists at his sides and closed his eyes. Jon restarted the camera and he and Mario backed away. The camera continued to run.
It was time for me to destroy what I had created.
I shook my hair back away from my face and gathered it in back with one hand. Then I opened my mouth over the tip of the ice cream phallus and swirled my tongue around it. Closing my lips over the ice cream shaft, I went down on it, allowing the cold tip to hit me in the throat. Because I had been steadily consuming ice cream for several minutes, I did not get an ice cream headache. I raised my head, and the shaft emerged, smooth and glistening, from between my lips. I licked them clean of the creamy vanilla substance, and smiled. Then I went down on the ice cream again, again, and again, the phallus losing both size and definition with every stroke.
When I had worked the ice cream down to the level of the cone, I extended my tongue and twisted and swirled it deep into what remained. I looked up at the camera again, ice cream on my lips and chin, and grinned. There was a small bowl on the end table next to the sofa, and I put the partly-empty cone in it.
Jon reached for the camera and moving his hand over it like a blind man, found the stop button. Mario leaned down, licked the ice cream off my face, and kissed me hungrily, his stubble rasping against my chin. I was just about ready to grab him by his shirt front or the waistband of his jeans and pull him down on top of me, when I had a better idea.
“I take it you’ve shot all the footage you’re going to?”
Jon nodded.
“Good. You can move the camera out of the way, now.” He did. “Unplug it,” I said. He did. “Both ends,” I said. “Shooting’s over.”
Jon moved the camera to a corner of the living room, and Mario moved the lights. They came back to stand in front of me, looking as expectant as dogs who know you’re hiding a treat behind your back.
“Now what happens?” asked Jon.
“First man to get his cock out,” I said, “gets the ice cream treatment.”
I thought sure that Jon was going to win—all you have to do with surfer jams is haul them down in front. However, he had pulled his drawstring so tight, and his dick was so adamantly hard, that he could not get the waistband down past it. Worse, he had the drawstring tied in a double knot. While he picked frantically at the knot, Mario flicked the buttons of his fly open. Underneath his jeans, he wore nothing. Five and a half or six inches of cock sprang out as abruptly as a switchblade, framed by the rumpled tails of his shirt.
“Shit,” Jon said.
Mario moved close to where I was sitting on the couch; I scooted forward. I could smell the interesting scent of his body, the ball-sweat concentrated in his dark, thick crotch hair, sweaty denim and Quiana and the soap he’d used when he’d last showered. I closed one hand around the base of his cock, and he tugged his jeans down further so that I could cup his balls in the other. Running his fingers through my hair, he pushed it back from my face and held it there. He spread his legs a little so that it was easier for me to get a grip on him, and so he could keep his balance better. I took his cock in my mouth. It was delicious, unusually hot and salty after the sweetness and coldness of the ice cream. I tasted the pre-cum that had gathered at the slit, and flicked my tongue against his frenulum. Mario’s hands in my hair tightened.
Jon had finally managed to get the double knot out of his drawstring, and better late than never, had hauled his unit out. He was a little stockier than Mario, and so was his penis. He stood close enough so that I could see him, holding it in his hand, trying to keep it contained.
“Christ—her mouth is still cold from the ice cream! But damn—it still feels good!” Mario said. I kept my grip on his cock and balls and moved my head back and forth so that his hard, veined shaft pushed in and out of my mouth.
“You shouldn’t have that problem much longer,” Jon said. I looked from the tanned hand he had clamped around the end of his cock, up to his face, turned half away in an effort not to pay too much attention to what I was doing to Mario.
“I don’t have that problem now,” Mario said thickly. “She’s warming up quick. Fuck, but this feels good! I heard somewhere that she gave the best head in Texas, and I can believe it!” He clamped his hands onto either side of my head and thrust at my mouth, panting and emitting little groans of delight. I raised an eyebrow—it was not like I was in a position to express myself otherwise. Best head in Texas? Damn!
I clamped my lips around Mario’s hard, hot cock, and when he pushed the head against my throat muscles, I hummed and purred. Out the corner of my eye, I could see Jon standing close enough to reach out and touch, holding onto his twitching cock. The end of it was brilliant with clear, shiny precum. I let go of Mario’s balls and switched the hand I had encircling the base of his cock. The hand I’d had on Mario’s cock was slick with precum and saliva. I reached out to Jon, and he took his hand off his dick; I replaced it with my own slippery hand and started jacking it. I thought about releasing Mario and switching to Jon, but Mario suddenly arrived at the stage where he would be in no mood to permit that.
“No way,” he rasped. “You can do him later, but not until I’ve come down your throat! Oh, God, Sid. Just let me keep on fucking that wicked mouth of yours—oh—ah—oh fucking Jesus I’m gonna—ah fuck, look out, it’s—AAAAAAAGH!”
His cock twitched and expanded, and the hot, salty effluent rushed up out of his core and gouted into my mouth. I swallowed as much as I could, but I couldn’t even begin to keep up with it; I let it dribble out from around his spasming cock and down my chin. He backed it out before he was truly done spurting, gripping it with his fist, bleeding out the last of his climax. Warm drops of jism flew onto my face, my shoulders, and my hair; and almost before he was clear of me, Jon moved in and took his place. He had let his pants fall down and kicked them to one side, and was wearing nothing but his tank. His thick cock and husky balls emerged from a nest of hair lighter than Mario’s. I observed that his complex male scent was varied by notes of suntan lotion and salt water. I swallowed, licked my lips, took a good breath, and surrounded his warm, stout unit with my mouth. He emitted a barely human groan of pleasure at the feel of my tongue lashing his cockhead and flicking at its pee-hole.
“Grab hold of my ass, Sidonie,” he said. I reached up and grabbed his muscular buttocks. He put his hands on my shoulders. He let me get in a few strokes of my own before the drive to release himself totally took him over and he began to thrust. His longer wait, and the effect of watching me work on Mario and drink his cum, had left him hardly any time for speech. Hardly any time at all. “Not—not long, Sidonie,” he grunted. “Put your claws in my ass, I need some hurting, I don’t want to do this right away—oh, shit, that didn’t work, this is too damn soon—oh, fuck—oh, baby, this is this is IT—aaaaahhhh! Oh, oh, oh, God! OH!” His hands tightened like vises onto my shoulders and he stood rigid, hips thrust forward, gasping and groaning as he jetted into my mouth. My nose was buried in his spicy hair. I tried to swallow it all, and got most of it. He stayed there until he had finished and began to soften a little in my throat.
He took it out and we all three flopped temporarily winded on the sofa, Mario on one side of me and Jon on the other. I had swallowed what both men had given me but I could still taste it. I licked the excess from my lips.
“Lord, what a mess you’ve made,” I said. “I don’t suppose either one of you gentlemen would like to help me clean up?” Jon stripped off his tank and handed it to me. I mopped my face and hair. Stretching luxuriously between the two cinematographers, I looked at the one to my right. Jon lay sprawled naked next to me. His tanned torso was overlaid by a thin layer of fine, straight hair, the kind that was almost invisible in some lights but would glitter like gold mesh in sunlight. “Mm, nice,” I said, approvingly. I turned and looked at Mario. He had not bothered to button himself back up, but lay there partially out of his jeans. I reached over and started unbuttoning his shirt, and found him to be covered with a darker, thicker overlay of body hair. A small gold cross nestled in the fur that covered his chest. While I watched, he got out of the rest of his clothes.
“Looks like we’ve done things a bit backwards,” I said. “I mean, usually, one takes one’s clothes off first…”
“I notice you’re still dressed, Sid. What’s stopping you?” Mario said.
I sat up and dragged my tube top up over my head. “Pass me the rest of that ice cream cone,” I said, settling back on the couch. Mario handed it to me with a slightly puzzled air.
“What are you up to?” he asked.
Amazingly enough, the ice cream that remained in the cone was still pretty cold; there was even a small unmelted lump of it in the bottom. My breasts had never been very large, never going beyond a B except for when I later had my babies and they got up to a C. But they were quite firm, and high, practically right up under my collarbones as it seemed then, supported by well-toned pectoral muscles and tipped by small, dark-rose nipples. I had been out in the sun in my bikini, so they were defined by triangles of white left by my bikini top. I drizzled cold, melted vanilla ice cream onto my tits and the aureoles bunched up like floribunda rose blossoms, the nipples standing up stiff and straight.
“Y’all seemed to have so much fun licking ice cream off me before,” I said. I tilted the cone and poured a little more ice cream on myself, between my breasts and down to my navel. Then I handed the cone to Mario and he put it back in the bowl. Jon had already started to lick the ice cream off my right breast. He swirled his tongue around my stiff nipple, and then began strumming and flicking it. Mario, once he had sucked the ice cream off my other breast, took the nipple in his mouth and delicately pulled on it, rolling it between his tongue and the roof of his mouth, letting it spring back, and grabbing it again. I wrapped an arm around each of them and ran my fingers through their hair while they caressed me with their lips and tongues. That each of them did a different thing with his mouth was an incredible turn-on. My pussy was hot and swollen and aching for some attention, but what the guys were doing felt so good I didn’t want them to quit. However, in a minute Jon abandoned my breast and started to lick up the ice cream I had poured between them. He followed the vanilla trail down the center of my belly until he was brought up short by the waistband of my skirt.
I reached down and unzipped it, and lifting my hips up off the sofa, pulled it down and off. Now I was wearing nothing but my soaked panties. As they were made of nylon, my scent was strongly concentrated in them; I could smell myself, and I figured Jon and Mario could, too. I was right.
“Yum, eau de femme,” Mario said. “My favorite!”
“Yeah,” Jon said. “They ought to bottle it. I can just imagine it: ‘Gee, your pussy smells terrific!'”
“Well,” I said, “you just gonna sniff?”
“You said you wanted to run this show,” Jon said. “You want us to take ’em off, you’re going to have to ask.”
“OK, I’m asking!” I said. Each of them hooked a finger into the sides of my bikini panties and drew them down, stroking and caressing my legs, with especial attention to the sensitive insides of my thighs as they did so. By this time I was so horny I could hardly stand it—almost in a state of pain; certainly in a state of heat. My sex, framed by a narrow tan-line and adorned by trimmed fur in the shape of the Greek letter Pi, burgeoned between my parted thighs, avid and nectar-laden. I spread my thighs a little wider and proudly canted my pelvis so that the guys could get a better view of it.
“Mother of God,” said Mario. He spoke to Jon, who was staring at me, entranced. “Man, did you ever see such a turned-on horny cunt in your entire life?”
“Not outside triple X movies,” Jon said. “And I’m not sure they don’t do something to make them look better than they do. I could tell you stuff about food photography, you’d never want to eat again. Sid, honey, could you maybe reconsider the picture thing? We could probably make up what we’ve laid out on this project, if you did.”
I thought of it, briefly, and then shook my head. “Let’s keep the party polite,” I said. “After this ice cream cone project, I’d like to leave something to people’s imaginations. I figure I’ve been talked about enough already. Best head in Texas, indeed! Speaking of, how about giving me—yikes!” Mario had poured some more of the contents of the cone right smack between my inner labia and onto my clit. “Ow! damn, that’s cold!” The guys laughed.
“Only comparatively speaking,” Jon said. “Wow, you should just see yourself with that ice cream on you. You look absolutely fucking hot!”
“Tell me about it,” I said. “I am. For Christ’s sake—somebody do something for me here!”
“Tell you something,” Mario said. “Got a deal for you. First one of us makes that pretty pussy of yours explode gets to fuck it, and maybe make it explode some more. And then we’ll work out what to do after that. What do you think?”
“That ought to happen pretty quickly,” I said.
“That’s what you think,” Jon said, with a smile that for wickedness rivaled my own. He leaned down and snaked a long tongue between my labia. I spread my thighs and made a grab for his head, to hold him where he was, but he caught my hand and held it away. He raised up and returned to my mouth. I tasted cunt-liquor and vanilla, together. I bit at his lips, drew his tongue into my mouth and sucked on it. Mario nibbled at my nipples again. Jon released my mouth and swirled his tongue into my navel. Mario ran his tongue up the inside of one of my thighs. He spread a hot, open mouth over my pussy, dipping a pointed tongue into my vagina and bringing it up to flick over my clitoris—but not for long. I closed my eyes and decided to just let them happen to me, see what or who would come next. There followed a deliciously interminable period of this treatment, where they were touching me all over, always returning to my cunt, teasing my clit with their flickering tongues, staying there a little longer each time but never long enough to satisfy me. Mario picked up the cone and laced my breasts, belly and cunt with the remains of the melted ice cream, and he and Jon softly licked it off my skin. I panted and groaned and thrust helplessly, shamelessly. “Please—do me!” I cried. “Fuck it, suck it, something, I can’t stand this—” One of the mouths which had been attacking me stayed a second too long, and I scissored my thighs around someone’s head and ground against his mouth without mercy or restraint, my voice rising in a crescendo of wordless ecstasy. Half-blind with lust and orgasmic frenzy, I was past even knowing who it was until he wrenched his head free, and positioned himself in front of me, between my legs. He shoved his cock into my still-spasming pussy. It was Jon. He backed, almost all the way out, and rammed it in again and I shouted involuntarily when the tip hit my cervix. He pulled me up enough so I could reach up and suck the taste of my own slightly vanilla-flavored musk off his mouth, and then he laid me down again.
“Absolutely fucking hot,” he said. “Yes. Oh, yes!” I locked my legs around his hips, and he settled into his rhythm. Mario had gotten back on the sofa, and was sitting very close to me, watching me. Watching us. Both the guys looked closely at the action of Jon’s cock pistoning in and out of my cunt. Mario had gotten hard again.
Jon leaned over me, thrusting into me with joyous vigor. His lower lip was caught between his teeth and his hair, darker now with sweat, flopped in his face. His abdominal muscles flexed and rippled as he drove into me. He quickened his pace, breathing harder and faster. He was glancing off my sweet spot every few strokes and I could feel myself start to tighten up. “Oh, I love it! You crazy hot tight fucking BITCH!” he hollered. “Yeah! I’m coming!” And then he did. I could feel the hot spunk flooding into me and flowing down the crack of my ass. He collapsed briefly on top of me, panting. I could feel his heart racing as I held him.
When he was all spent he withdrew from me, and settled partly on the floor and partly on the sofa, leaning his head on his arms. He gave me a gratified, slightly weary smile. I sat up and wiped myself down with his maltreated tank top. I had been part of the way to another orgasm and had been left high on a ridge of tension and pleasure. I was in a mood to move and grind. I turned to Mario, who was looking at me with expectant lust, and put a hand on his cock, which swelled and lurched at my touch.
“Does this sofa of yours make up into a bed?” I asked. “Or are we going to have to make do with this narrow thing?”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t work, so I don’t use it. It broke.”
“Oh, all right,” I said. “Jon, you can keep the view if you like, but you’re going to have to move down a tad. I’d like to lie down. Stretch out, Mario, let me ride you.”
“Hey, not just yet,” Mario said. “I liked the position you were in before. Let me have my turn the way Jon did. I want to see my piston pumping in your cylinder. I won’t get that if you’re doing that.”
“You’re wrong about the view,” I said. “If you’ll give me a few minutes, I’ll show you.”
He lay down on the sofa. He was slender enough so there was room for me to straddle him, squatting, although I had to plant one foot on the floor and the couch kept trying to eat the other. Studio couches are infamous for that. Jon had moved so that he could get a good look at the conjoining of our bodies: the lips of my cunt, dusky with engorgement and friction, wrapped pneumatically around Mario’s veined shaft. I slowly raised and lowered myself on it, moving elliptically, going for that angle. I grinned at both the guys. “How’s that for a view?”
“Fucking beautiful,” they groaned.
“Does it feel as good as it looks?”
“Sure does,” Mario said. “Girl, that pussy of yours all but talks!” I found an angle that felt even better, tightened my pussy muscles on his cock and increased my pace, working it up and down on him with short, chopping movements. What I’d wanted to do was lie down on him in such a way that I could grind my clit against the root of his cock, against his pubic bone, but since our angle seemed to rule that out, when the time was right I was going to strum it with my finger…POW! To the MOON, Alice! But Mario put his hands on my thighs and stilled my movement. “Sid baby, I love the way you’re fucking me, but I wanted to fuck you. Come on, Sidonie—I’ll make it worth your while, I promise.”
I got off him, leaving his hard cock to slap wetly against his belly. He got up and I sat down where I was before. I slouched back down on the edge of the sofa with my legs stretched out, and Mario got between them and was inside me again. He was not as thick as Jon was, but he had a way of planing it in and out of me that felt damn good. He too was bouncing off my sweet spot and it felt as if he were moving my insides around. Presently I was clenching on him, hard.
“Unh! Yeah! OH! Don’t quit yet. Goddamn that feels good! Ah! Yeah, do that again!” He did that again, and I did it again. My heart was racing as fast as Jon’s had been and I could scarcely get my breath. And to think I’d done this with no hands. This meant that my little companion, which had always given me every bit as much pleasure as his cock ever gave a man, still needed her share of the action. When I had settled down a little bit, I looked over at Jon, who was leaning on one elbow which was resting on top the sofa cushion and starting to pluck at my nipples with his free hand. “You know what would really just send me into orbit?”
“No, what?”
“If you were to lean down and lick my clit.”
“Now? Now? While Mario’s down there?”
I was getting almost unbearably excited just thinking about it. If he did it—oh, man!
“Yeah, now. There is just nothing like it. It is the absolutely perfect synthesis of sensation. If you want to see me just come my brains out—”
“I thought you’d already done that,” Jon said. “I dunno. Seems a little—strange to me.”
“It works, man! Take my word for it.”
“I heard that you once had two guys at one go a while back,” said Jon. “That was those Ingraham twins, right? That you used to sing with? Baby, I’ve heard those two diddled each other when they didn’t have any girlie action going. Me and Mario make a good team, but we’re not on that close terms, thank you!”
“Oh, well,” I said. “You spoil a girl’s fun. I can’t believe you’re letting a consideration like that get in the way.” I thought I could detect a trace of disappointment in Mario’s face, and wondered if it was because he thought he wouldn’t get to see me go into orbit, or because he wouldn’t have minded feeling a bit of Jon’s tongue on his cock. “Well, darlin’?” I smiled up into his flushed, concentrated face. “Looks like it’s gonna be just you. You gonna make me go over the top?” He was trying a different, steeper angle. “Come on, whatcha gonna do, boy?”
Mario took my right hand. “You show me,” he said. Our fingers skidded around on the slick surfaces of my pussy and his cock that were sliding together to recreate the first engine ever formed, strummed and circled the hard ridge of my clit. All the while he was planing in and out of my cunt. I came like thunder, roaring like a lioness. I felt like the top of my head was about to come off. “Oh, God, yes, that’s it, Mario!” I shouted. “Stick it to me! Fuck it good! Ohh, YES! Unh! Unh! AAH! FUCK IT! FUCK ME! YEAH!” He pressed my legs up and back and whaled into me, pounding me into the sofa with all the considerable strength of his slender body. The sofa’s damaged innards whined and squeaked beneath us.
He came, braced atop me, tensed, rigid, shaking, caught up in me, his shouts mingling with mine. I heard jagged breaths close to me and saw Jon had reared up and half crouched over me, close to my face, savagely stroking himself, wanting to make sure I saw it. I opened my mouth and he shoved his cock into it. In a few short, frantic strokes his hot, salty cum filled my mouth—not as much, however, as before—and slid down my throat.
We fell in a heap, the guys partly on the sofa, partly on me, partly on the floor, too exhausted at this point to worry about who was touching whom.
“Wow,” Jon said. “That was something, Sid. You’re a force of nature.”
Mario had slipped out and I could feel juice dripping out of me, and soaking into the sofa cushion.
“We’ve ruined your sofa,” I said.
“Ah, don’t worry about it,” said Mario. “It was ruined before. It was probably ruined when I got it. I’ll find something around here I can put on it.” He laughed. “Holy shit, what action it’s seen! I am never gonna get rid of this sofa unless I get married!”
“Oh, for sure you’ll get rid of it then,” I said. As sofas went, it was comfortable enough, but it definitely had the look of the kind of sofa your wife made you get rid of and that was even if it wasn’t broken and before we’d gotten messy on it. If I’d been going to marry Mario, I’d have made him get rid of it. “I’m hungry, you got anything to eat?”
Mario got up and went into his kitchen. Jon got up and turned on Mario’s stereo, and returned to sit next to me. Mario came back with the remainder of the ice cream and three spoons, and there we sat, naked as jaybirds, digging into all that ice cream until it was all gone. What a meal! Oh, those days of innocence, when no one knew from fat content or points!
Jon looked at his watch. “We gotta return this camera in a couple of hours,” he pointed out. “Let’s not lose track of the time.”
“We’re not fit to go anywhere in public like this,” I pointed out. “What a grotty trio we make—sticky from head to toe. I vote we take showers. I’d like to go first—for some reason, I seem to be stickier than y’all two.”
I went into Mario’s bathroom, used it, and then got into the tub and started taking a shower. I had washed my hair and had begun on the rest of me, when the curtain was swept aside with a rattle of rings, and Mario and Jon stepped into the shower with me. “Why am I not surprised?” I said. Mario pulled the curtain to. Once again, as had happened when I began my shower, the combined scents of sweat and sex juices filled the air of the tub enclosure, as the water sluiced it off the skin of the two men.
“Hey, we just wanted to save some time and water,” Jon said.
“Oh, I’m sure that’s your major motivation!” I said.
“No, seriously,” said Mario. “You should see the hot water heaters these apartments have. They’re no bigger than crawfish pots. If we shower serially, someone is going to end up with cold water.”
As crowded as it was, we managed to get ourselves pretty clean as the bathtub games began. Mario got behind me, soaped up his hands and passed them over my breasts, over and over.
“I just like the way your nipples feel in my palms,” he said. “They’re like little rocks.” Something else was beginning to feel like a rock, not necessarily a little one, slipping and sliding around and between my buttocks, and I figured I would be getting to know Mario’s subject all over again in a very short time. Jon I’d clearly identified as the oral one, the one who liked kissing the best; it was he who had first licked the ice cream from my lips while I was eating my ice cream cone, the one who just couldn’t bring himself to get his tongue out of my cunt in time, so that I’d nutcrackered his head with my thighs and gotten off all over his face. We kissed in a fun and silly manner, tongue-fencing and nibbling on each other’s lips. His mouth was warm and slightly salty, but the water that splashed all around us was sweet. I could feel his revitalized cock nudging at my groin and thighs. Mario sucked at the side of my neck and my earlobes. He transferred one soapy hand from my breasts to my ass. Soon his middle finger was sliding up and down in my crack, and the next thing I knew, it was up my ass and sliding in and out. I laughed and growled and backed up against him like an animal. Jon pulled my face against his for a deep kiss. My pussy was hot again, and longing for action. Mario added another soapy finger to the one he already had in me, and began seriously finger-fucking my ass. He inserted yet another finger, wiggling them inside me, thrusting a little more deeply each time. I moaned around Jon’s tongue.
Jon reached down and grabbing his cock, used its thick knob like a burnishing tool against my slippery labia and clit. I stood shaking and wide-legged, thrusting forward against Jon’s cockhead and backward onto Mario’s fingers, going hnnnh hnnnnh hnnnh hnnnh hnnnh hhhnnnnnhh because Jon still had his tongue stuffed in my mouth. He released me, grinning. “You’ve gotten ahead of us again,” he said. I clung to him for support, limp-kneed.
“So?” I said.
Mario soaped up his cock and tried to slip it into me between my contractions, but my relaxation period wasn’t long enough. Jon managed to angle himself into me from the front, but we soon established that we could stay connected or we could keep our balance, but we could not do both, not while standing in the bathtub. “This isn’t gonna work, guys,” I said. “Let’s go somewhere that we can lie down.”
We disengaged, and without even bothering to dry ourselves, ran into Mario’s bedroom and got down on his frowsy, unmade bed, where I suppose we could have gone earlier had we not allowed the merry spontaneity of post-filming to keep us in the living room.
Mario kept a tube of K-Y in his bedside table. He covered his dick liberally with it, and thrust it exuberantly into my ass, which was somewhat open from his previous attentions. Nevertheless, at the feel of the sudden fast glide into my backside, I couldn’t help clamping around it.
“Damn, that’s tight! Loosen up a little, Sidonie, or I won’t be able to move!” he said. I pushed against him and tried to oblige him.
Jon did not have to prepare himself in any way; I was well lubed up with my own juice, plus what he and Mario had shot into me earlier. He angled his way into my vagina; I groaned at the incredible feeling of two cocks filling me at once, and the men, at the realization that each could feel the other’s cock, through just two layers of my flesh. They both tried to kiss me at the same time, our tongues lashed together in an indiscriminate tangle, both the men’s trying to find their way into my mouth at once. I could have done that alone for an hour.
They started to slide me back and forth on their hard, slippery rods. It felt so good I was incapable of human speech. I was dimly aware of Jon saying, “You all right, Sid?” and Mario responding, “She’s grooving, come on man, let’s fuck—”
And then I guess you could say all fuck broke loose. They had started off with a sort of contrapuntal rhythm, but presently they were driving into me in synch, the fresh, hard excitement they were caught up in as palpable, and powerful, as the lightning that passes between clouds. The air of the bedroom filled up with the smell of freshly washed skin exuding sweat, hot pussy juice, and the deeper, sourer tang of ass and lube. The mattress beneath us thumped and squeaked wildly. Mario and Jon didn’t seem to care that they had caught hold of each other, as well as me, for purchase, making, toward and during their near-simultaneous finish, an incredible racket, a full-throated, zoo-like concert of male lust and ecstasy. I got caught up in one last seismic quake of pleasure, and added my primal noises to theirs as my cunt, ass and belly muscles all clenched and spasmed at once. I’m not sure either of them noticed.
We fell into a semi-doze for a few minutes. Then I unhooked myself gingerly from the cinematographers and returned to the bathroom for another, very short shower. When I came out, I found my clothes on the counter. The panties weren’t mine, but they were in my size, a cautious sniff revealed the scent of laundry detergent, and I liked cotton better anyway.
I came out into the living room, finger-combing the tangles out of my wet hair. Jon and Mario were taking the camera off its tripod and taking down the lights. Jon was wearing a tank he’d borrowed from Mario, as his own was unfit to be seen. As Mario was thinner than he was, the tank was a tight fit, but that wasn’t a bad thing.
“I’ve gotta get home, y’all,” I said. “It’s just about the time I’m expected home for dinner.”
The guys each gave me a hug and a kiss. “Thanks for helping us out with this project,” they said. “You were fantastic.”
“So were you,” I said.
The short film surpassed everyone’s expectations. After a certain amount of panic and consultation on the part of the cinematography instructor, the art department and the UH legal department, Jon and Mario each got an A on the project. Despite the fact that I was billed as Antonia, which is my middle name, in the credits, I got more stardom than I’d anticipated and more requests for dates than I could shake a stick at, let alone handle. It got to be where any time I met a guy and he asked me out, I asked him if he’d seen The Ice Cream Cone and if he said he had, I turned him down.
I never did go out with either of the filmmakers, either; considering how we’d spent the afternoon, it would have seemed anticlimactic to go out on a date. One time, I ran into Jon in the Underground and we played a game of pool, and occasionally Mario would sit down at one of the ongoing games of Spades that always seemed to be in progress in the Student Union building. But that was as far as it went.
Jon and Mario actually did pay me for my work on the project. They scraped up what was supposed to have been $127.10, except that the $.10 turned out to be a lira coin which had turned up in Mario’s pocket by mistake. With the money I bought an ounce of weed, a pair of bone colored calfskin pumps, and replaced my chemistry lab workbook when hydrochloric acid spilled on it and it fell apart after it dried.
Jon and Mario did end up selling The Ice Cream Cone to someone; I forget who, but for all I know, copies of the thing are still floating around out there, and eventually it went to video—bad video, of course, by that time. Someone made money off it, and may be making it still, but it wasn’t any of us.
They made their way out to California, where they have been working in both big Hollywood productions and indie films, sometimes together, sometimes not, ever since.
The unwanted-date problem got solved when Gavin, the man I’d loved since we were both in middle school, who’d kept dropping into and out of my life, came home from overseas with his Army discharge papers in his hand and said he was going to stay. Of course he heard about the film. He did not ask me about anything that might have happened after the shooting, and I didn’t tell him. He had his own baggage, as I eventually found out. We got married within the year and we have been together for thirty years.
If we’re out in public anywhere, I have to have my ice cream in a dish. Otherwise, if there’s anything he enjoys seeing, it’s me eating an ice cream cone, and when I do it, it works—it still works—just the way I mean it to. If there’s anything I enjoy seeing, it’s when he looks at me, with a face emptied of anything except overwhelming lust, unzips and hauls out that thick chunk of man-meat of his to lie, twitching and throbbing in his hand, and I know what I’m going to be eating next.
Come to think of it, I could do with some dessert about now…