New TG: BiGirls by Vickie Tern (1/4) FFFfffMm (mix and match)








This story is intended only for readers who are lawfully certified
mature, sophisticated, cosmopolitan, and literate.   All others
fuck off.








                           BiGirls 
                         by Vickie Tern


                               i.   
     I sell insurance, industrial, liability, all kinds.  I know. 
But it's a living, if you work at it, and it's a product people
need, so they buy it.  If they luck out and it turns out they
didn't need it they feel cheated.  So they figure I'm a sleaze.  My
wife Jane decorates interiors, stores, homes, anything.  She has
good taste, so everyone loves what she does, and they love Jane
too.  She gets and gives customer satisfaction without effort, or
so it seems.  I know better, and sometimes I help her figure out
how to finesse her problems.  Still, nobody knows what she saw in
me when she married me.  Someone to come home to, at best. 
Insurance.  Even now, not too many people can guess what she sees
in me.

     All day long and lots of nights we're in and out of different
homes and offices, seeing people and drawing up plans for them.  We
work irregular schedules, but we like it that way.   We've been
married a half-dozen years or so, time enough to get to know each
other and get used to each other.  We're ...well... comfortable. 
No surprises.  No upsets.  The usual pattern -- house in the
suburbs, no kids yet, Golf and Tennis Club membership, hang out
with other people like us, clients, potential clients, a few
friends.

     To tell the truth, I've played around a little.  Without Jane
knowing.  Not deliberately.  I'd flirt, and sometimes it would get
out of hand.  Charm and flattery is useful in my business,
especially when you're dealing with a woman.  You have to listen to
what the prospect says she wants, be attentive and sympathetic. 
You're always selling yourself, you know?  With women sometimes
send them little gifts and take them to dinner.  Chat them up,  you
know?  Then when they sign on the dotted line, it turns out they
expected more than a counter signature where the dotted line ends. 


     But it's hard to keep things quiet in a small community like
ours, where everyone knows everyone.  So I'd never go out looking. 
Jane might have noticed.  I'd bed down mostly out of town women
mostly for one nighters, women who could appreciate someone
companionable and not too bad in bed, but with no strings.  There
are lots of motels on the edge of town, and no one was ever the
wiser.

     So I never expected we'd end up together like this, Jane and
me, in this whole new kind of marriage.  It was all happening under
my nose the whole time, but who knew? 

     It started out innocent enough.  One morning Jane said to me,
"Craig, drop these plans off at Alice's for me, would you?  She'll
be home around one.  I've got an appointment then.  We've got to
get this project under way today, tell her.  Gotta go!  See you! 
Kiss!"

     And she was gone before I could ask why she didn't just drop
them off herself, Alice lives only a block or so away.  Sometimes
she doesn't think.

     Well, I spent the morning making calls and catching up on my
paperwork, then on my way to the office I stopped off at Alice's. 
The drapes were drawn, and I would have thought she and Roy were
away for a few days, except there were cars in the driveway, and in
front too.  So I rang the bell, and who answered almost right away
but Alice?  

     But Alice dressed like I've never seen her.  In a kind of
draped gauzy nightgown with her tits hanging half out, her nipples
visible through the fabric.  There was a dark shadow where her bush
should be, and probably was.  But I couldn't take my eyes off those
nipples!

     "Oh, hi, Craig!" she said.  She just stood there in the
doorway.  Anyone on the street could have seen her, if there'd been
anyone, though there never is.  "You here to see Roy?  He's always
at the office this time of day.  You know that."

     "Not exactly, Alice," I said a little awkwardly.  Trouble, I'm
thinking.  Big trouble.  Don't do it.  But would just a little
messing around with Roy's wife get me into trouble with Jane?  That
depends.  "Jane asked me to bring you these," I told her, and I
handed her the package Jane gave me.  "She says get your project
going today.  Whatever that means."  Then I just stood there. 
Finally I looked up at her face.  She 'd been watching me eyeball
her boobs the whole time, and seemed amused.  "I better be going,"
I finally said.  

     In reply she swung the door wide open.  "Today?" she asked me
in a loud voice.  I nodded yes.  "She say anything else?" I nodded
no.  One tit had come completely free, and it was just hanging out
there in the open!

     A woman's voice way back in Alice's living room called out,
"Anyone we know, Alice?  Let's see her!"  Someone entered the far
end of Alice's hallway from the living room, then stopped stark
still, and said, "Well!"  Another woman, completely naked!  Wearing
nothing, not even the next-to-nothing Alice was wearing!  She was
thin, with hip-bones poking like harps on each side of her flat
belly, with ribs clearly visible under huge globes of breasts.  I
mean, huge!  My god, on such a thin girl, why didn't she fall over? 
She shook a heavy head of black hair back behind her shoulders, and
I could see she was staring at me calmly, not surprised to see me
at all, just standing there.  Her mound fully exposed too, curly
dark hair in a dark V.

     I suddenly realized I knew her.  Tim Peterson's wife, he's an
accountant, she's the doctor in that new medical arts building. 
I'd seen her a lot at the Club, and I'd been meaning to stop by to
see if all her insurance needs have been met.  What was her name?

     "I'd better be going," I said again.  "You ladies don't seem
to have had time to get dressed yet this morning."

     "This afternoon," said Alice.  "You haven't had lunch yet? 
Why don't you come in, now, Craig, and let's see what we can fix up
on short notice."

     She stepped to one side, and now the doorway and hallway led
straight back to the thin Peterson woman with the big hair and
tits, still standing and looking at me from the far end.  I was
still checking out those enormous boobs when she turned her head
and looked back into the living room as if there were more people
in there.  Also naked?

     "Can you close the door, Alice?" came another woman's voice. 


     That one was familiar!  Our across-the-street neighbor,
"Dottie" Jane calls her, "the Widder" I call her, her husband
having died a few years ago.  She's some dish!  Luscious mouth,
huge eyes, curves everywhere, a knockout dresser.  Guys in and out
of her house all the time, and now and then someone's car spends
the night in her driveway.  Jane once caught me staring out the
window at her house, and said "Off limits!" in a tone of voice that
stopped me so cold I couldn't even begin to pretend I didn't know
what she was talking about.  

     The Widder's voice again.  "Alice!  It's getting chilly in
here, and we're all wearing nearly nothing!  Come in or go away,
whoever you are."

     "You'd better come in," Alice said, this time more commanding
than inviting.  I stepped inside.  

     Alice shut the door behind me and gestured me toward her
living room, just past the nude doctor, who'd shifted her weight to
one leg and cocked her hip, and folded her arms under those
enormous tits so they bulged up over her forearms, and was still
looking at me steadily.  Now even her nipples were staring at me. 
 I walked toward her trying hard not to look, and when we were
about to bump I turned to walk into Alice's living room.  Then I
paused again!

     The place looked like a harem!  Everywhere were women's legs
and arms and bodies!  A few women were sprawled on the two couches
wearing some kind of diaphanous something, those wrappers that
cover nothing.  Another was doing stretching exercises along the
wall, naked, little tits and a thin bush, but thighs that looked
like they could crush a horse.  Another was standing with her
back to me, studying some statue on the fireplace mantle, bare
except for thin, high-cut lace panties not quite covering the
cheeks of her ass, two small, pert watermelons perched above her
legs.  As I looked she glanced at me over her shoulder, then turned
away again.  At the end of the room I saw two women entangled on
the floor, one of them moaning aloud.  They were having sex of some
sort with each other, and they were not concerned at all to know
who had just walked in.  Not anything else either. 

     "Ladies," I tried to say politely, though my throat only let
out a yelp at first.  "I see I've interrupted something.  I'd
better go." 

     "No," Alice said.  "Why don't you come in and sit over there,
and make yourself comfortable while we decide what to do about
you."

     "I'd rather not!" I said, and a little pleading crept into my
voice.  Or maybe it was genuine reluctance.  "Jane...uh...Jane...
wouldn't like my being here like this."  

     "Craig, sit down!"

     "Alice, I don't think I should, exactly," I replied.  But I
was already walking toward the overstuffed chair in the center of
the room, and I turned and sat down.  Now I could see there were
maybe nine women in the room all told, counting the lady doctor in
the hallway, and Alice was the most overdressed of them.  A few
were utterly nude.  A few wore negligees or wraparounds.  One was
wearing only a flimsy bra, which left her bush looking all the more
exposed.  I didn't know where to put my eyes, so I tried to look at
Alice.  Both of her tits were now hanging free.

     "Don't worry about Jane.  We're all Jane's friends, and we're
certainly not going to upset her.  No, you're the problem.  You
know how it is.  Little boys who see things like to tell other
people, and need to be told what will happen to them if they tell. 
We certainly don't want you gossiping all over town about us."  

     Well, I had already decided two things about what I had
stumbled into.  One was that it was what it looked like, some kind
of ladies' sex club.  There was still a chance it was one of those
lingerie parties women have, where some saleswoman shows them some
naughty things to turn on their husbands, and they giggle a lot and
buy a few.  I figured I'd say that's what I think it is, at least 
until I got out of there.  But this had a different smell about it. 
The women weren't giggly, they were serious, as if they'd been
eager to get on to something, and I'd interrupted them.

     The other thing I decided was that these women looked
distantly familiar.  I bet they all belong to our Golf Club.  It's
a small town.  I wouldn't have any real problem finding out who
they were.  No problem calling on them, one at a time, to ask them
to help me sell their husbands life insurance, or other kinds of
insurance, I was sure.  Or I could sell them insurance.  Given what
this looked to be, this could be a really good thing, I decided, if
I played it right.

     "I won't tell anyone anything, Alice," I assured her.

     "No, you certainly won't," Alice said.  "But first off, we're
going to need some insurance."  

     "Exactly!" I said.  "I couldn't have said that better myself." 
She was going to buy my silence without my even asking!  But I
hadn't heard her quite right.  

     She continued as if she hadn't heard me at all, "Meg, what do
you think?"

     "I've already thought it," a woman on the couch replied.  This
was another one with really great tits!  She was the one with the
brassiere and the bare beaver, the most delicate lace thing you can
imagine. It barely covered the aureoles surrounding the big nipples
on her huge, pendulous breasts.  Maybe it pulled her up a little in
front, just a little.  "We're lucky I came here straight from a
shoot.  This'll do fine."  

     She held up what I recognized was a state-of-the-art,
high-gadget camera of some kind.  That's who she was, Margaret
whatsername, "Portraits by Meg," the fashion photographer who did
a lot of dress catalogs and advertising around town.  I'd met her
at a party, and thought she was a Dyke who probably played around
with her models.  Good looking enough.  Were these her models?  Now
what kind of insurance would she need?  Malpractice?  First of all,
for her equipment.

     "Meg is it?"  I began.  "I've been meaning to talk to you
about a policy...." .

     "No, we'll arrange our own insurance, Craig," Alice said. 
"Thank you.  Are you comfy in that chair, now?  Good.  Dottie?"

     "Gotcha, Alice.  Love to."

     Before I knew what was happening, the Widder was kneeling in
front of me, and had unzipped my pants and taken out my cock, and
was holding it in her hand.  "No problem," she said, looking it
over.  "Not too big at all."  It was still limp, but I could feel
the first stirrings of an erection as she palmed it gently and then
ran her red-manicured fingertips over it.  "Not at all!"

     Suddenly she bent down and put it all in her mouth, and there
it was, warm and wet, imprisoned, and I could feel her tongue move. 
I didn't dare move.  Then even before it got past its first
stirrings and began to harden up, Meg started to leap and crouch
around us like a ballet dancer, her camera tight against her face,
taking shot after shot of the two of us.  Me supposedly getting a
blow job.  Me actually getting a blow job.  I was now as big and
hard as I get, and Dottie was licking up and down the vein on the
underneath part of my cock, then pursing her mouth over my cock
head, then running her lips down me.  "Mmmmmmm," she said as if to
encourage me.

     Meg talked the whole time.  "Higher, Dottie...that's
it...beautiful...just gorgeous...face away from the camera
please...you, Craig is it, can't you look a little more pleased,
there's this beautiful woman blowing your horn for you...that's
it...lift your face higher...not you Dottie...and smile...that's OK,
that expression will do it just fine."
.  
I wanted to say, "I'd better go" yet again, for show, but I
couldn't.  I wanted to come.  I'll leave when she's done, I
thought.  And later I'll get some pictures myself of these broads
dressed up in nothing playing footsie with each other, and it'll be
a standoff.  

     Meanwhile there was this gorgeous feeling growing in my cock,
and growing bigger, and Dottie wasn't slowing down at all.  Her
head rose and fell, and she seemed to be trying to suck me inside
out.

     Then Meg leaned way over me and I saw that those massive
mammaries had come out of their cage and were flopping around. 
"Open wide," she ordered, and I don't know why, I just did.  She
stuffed a huge tit into my mouth and with one hand holding the
camera extended an arm's length away she clicked off four or five
more shots.  My eyes bulged, but reflexively I began to tongue
those big nipples, they were the size of the thimbles on my wife's
sewing table.  As she pulled away Meg got a shot of my tongue
curling toward one of them.  Meanwhile down below, Dottie kept up
the pace, and that ripening sensation outgrew the base of my cock
and moved out over my loins. I began to clench my ass.

     When Meg took her tit back out of my mouth, I groaned "Don't!"
and I realized I meant it both ways.  I tried for a moment to bring
my erection down by sheer force of will.  I tried to remember if
the Mets had ever fielded a triple play, or what was on an
actuarial table I'd been looking over only that morning.  But all
I saw was Dottie's red lips gliding up and down my saliva-slicked
bone, and my breathing got shorter and shorter.  Then I lunged my
hips into Dottie's mouth a few times and started to come.  

     The first spurts she swallowed, then the next few she took on
her face, smiling as if delighted, then the rest she gathered into
the palm of her hand.  When I was done, she held her hand to my
mouth as if she were feeding me a handful of honey.  And I lapped
it up!  My own cum, out of the palm of her hand!  Salty sweet, was
it?

     "Got it all?" she asked.  I realized she was talking to Meg. 
All the while I was rising and spurting, Meg had been clicking
away, chatting us up, building up my climax as if it were her own. 
"Oh, yes, yes, give it to her, give me more, more, that ecstatic
look again, again please, yes, more, yes, that drop of cum on your
lips glistening now, beautiful, open wider please, yes, now lick
it!"  When I'd blown everything I had in me and come down to earth,
Dottie tucked me back into my pants.  She patted my crotch as if it
were a pet dog, stood up, and walked away.  Meg waved her camera in
the air and said "Yes, yes.  Wonderful, Dottie.  Got it all."

     I realized I was in serious trouble now.  But I thought I
could still handle it.  They were only women.  "You can't do this!"
I shouted.  "It's blackmail!  It's against the law!  You'll be
arrested!"  Threats like that seemed called for.  In fact I
couldn't wait to get out of there and tell some of my buddies about
what had just happened, maybe get one to shoot photos just like
these through an uncovered window, or at least to take a registry
of all these women coming and going.  Even one of the blow job
photos, if I could get hold of one, would mean that the Widder
Dottie was going to spend a lot of time on her knees in front of
me, trying to save her reputation from ruin!

     "No," Alice said.  "It's blackmail only if, say, we were to
threaten to show these pictures to Jane as evidence that you've
been getting it on with Dottie for months now, and that we took
them because you've been extorting favors from her to gratify your
perverse tastes, in exchange for your silence about who visits her
when.  In further evidence there's that life insurance policy you
sold her last month, threatening to ruin her reputation if she
didn't buy it."

     "She asked me to ...." I practically shouted.

     "Of course she did.  She wanted a life insurance policy. 
Still, how does it look, with these pictures and that story?  But
all we want is for you not to tell anyone anything about what
you've seen here today.  Then there's no problem, and no blackmail. 
Is there?"

     I glared up silently.  I could still figure something, I felt
pretty sure.  Not sure what.

     "These pictures of you forcing Dottie to her knees are our
insurance.  Moreover, if you try to tarnish the reputations of any
one of us here, if you threaten to tell our husbands about us,
we'll just deny everything you say, and support each other's
stories.  We'll see to it that no one we know has anything further
to do with you.  Or with your insurance company.  Who would believe
you, against all of us?  Spreading a fantastic cock and bull story,
that you saw us all here naked.  You'd be laughed out of business. 
So these pictures aren't blackmail.  They're insurance against your
getting foolish and trying to blackmail us.

     "I better go," I said, one last time.

     "In a moment," Alice said.  "Now, Craig, one more thing you
need to know.  This group meets bi-weekly, every Tuesday and
Thursday afternoon.  Our husbands and the neighbors think we play
bridge or something, I'm sure.  We call ourselves the BiGirls.  We
are all of us bisexual, and we are delighted to have found each
other.  As you've seen, we enjoy giving pleasure to each other as
well as to our husbands or boyfriends, and we take pleasure from
each other the same way, and we see no harm in it.  But our
husbands might not understand.  So we don't want you snooping
around here Tuesday and Thursday afternoons to take pictures of us
to use to blackmail us into not blackmailing you, so you can
blackmail us into selling insurance to our husbands.  I know you,
you're as transparent as glass.  From now on, when we're meeting,
we'll want to know exactly where you are.  And that'll be right
here.  Safely with us.  Craig, save all your Tuesdays and Thursdays
for us from now on.  You aren't bi, that I know of, but now you're
one of us anyhow.  An honorary BiGirl.  I'm sure we'll enjoy each
other.  Welcome to the Club!  Now you can go."

     As I left Alice's living room, the couple on the floor at the
far end of the room were still getting it on -- I don't know if
they ever even knew I was there.  One had this enormous cock
strapped to her!

     Alice added as she let me out, "Oh, yes, Craig.  You'll need
to fit in, of course.  For next Tuesday's meeting be sure to shave
off all your body hair.  Then use a depillatory.  Everything below
your eyebrows.  We want you as smooth and ladylike as we are.  A
little patch of pubic hair will be all right.  It might even look
cute."

     "Why so sad?  You're invited to have sex with nine good
looking women twice each week!  It isn't as if you've been
absolutely faithful to Jane these past years -- we know better, and
of course so do you.  We'll help you with Jane, don't worry, about
where you're spending your afternoons, or later on why you can't
get it up with her, when you're fucked out.  So what is there to
feel sad about?"

     That night Jane asked me if I'd brought Alice the plans and
delivered the message.  I said yes, and didn't say anything more,
and she didn't ask anything more.


