My Weekend in Portland -- Chapter 15 of 15  (MF FF MFF)

By Chaz Thain

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WARNING -- This is a work of erotic fiction intended only for
readers of a legally responsible age in the jurisdiction where
they live. This work may be archived and redistributed, but it
may not be sold or changed in any way. I encourage comments and
criticism.
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Dying of hunger and thirst, we each gulped down a glass or two of
water, then switched to wine while Denise called out for Chinese
food. Then we argued over who would have to get dressed to meet
the delivery boy. Ruth had to don her trench coat and pay the guy
after losing a game of "rock/paper/scissors." She laid out the
food, then had to drag me and Denise out of the bedroom. I had my
head between the girl's slender legs, my tongue probing deeply in
her pussy. Hey, I was hungry! We ate like wolves, then raced each
other back to the bedroom. Ruth got there first, but got tangled
up getting her coat off. Denise and I started without her, but
she soon joined in.

The rest of that night and most of Sunday were the same -- great
sex with two eager women and one rapidly tiring guy. I had to
rest my dick for longer and longer periods, but my tongue and
fingers represented me in the tournament of love. We even slept
for several hours in the early morning.

Denise contentedly doubled her lifetime total of climaxes, then
doubled that number again. Ruth never seemed to tire of making
love to her, or me. I showed them how to scissor their legs
together and rub pussies and they both LOVED that. Hey, what? I saw it
in a documentary! Ruth delighted in being on top, dangling her
breasts into Denise's willing mouth.

Although she clearly enjoyed kissing Ruth, and was fascinated by
her large breasts, Denise never got into eating pussy. That
didn't bother Ruth. Fortunately, I loved delving into Ruth's
thick mat of hair to taste her buried treasure. I've always liked
hairy pussy for some reason (Not that I don't love tonguing bare
pussies, too!).

Denise surprised me around noon by giving me a blowjob that would
have revived Elvis. She topped it off by sliding a slender, wet
finger into my ass just as I started to shoot gobs of come into
her mouth (Hey, that's MY trick!). That orgasm nearly put me into
a coma.

Finally the time for my flight began to get close. I dressed and
dashed over to Ruth's townhouse for my luggage. The girls talked
about taking me to the airport and coming back on the light rail
line. But when I returned to Denise's apartment she was in the
living room wearing nothing but a tiny white bra. She had Ruth
bent over an ottoman and was fucking her doggy-style with the
strap-on. I laughed, gave them each a lingering kiss, and left. I
heard Ruth begging Denise, "Harder! HARDER!" as I closed the
door. A flight attendant had to wake me when we stopped at the
gate in San Francisco.

Life went back to normal. I tried calling Ruth and Denise a
couple of times, but nobody answered the phone at either place. A
week passed, my bruises faded and my dick was no longer sore,
then one evening the phone rang at home.

"What have you DONE to my sister!" a female voice hissed angrily
in my ear.

"That depends on who your sister is," I retorted.

There was a moment of silence.

"This is Naomi K-------."

Ahhh. Ruth's sister.

"Your sister and I had sex," I said. "A LOT of sex. It was
GREAT!"

"She's turned into some kind of PERVERT!" Naomi declared. "She
stays somewhere every night, and only goes home to get ready for
work. She told me about you, but won't tell me what she's doing
NOW."

Ruth and Denise were making up for lost time, I guessed, and
keeping it quiet. Smart girls. People can be cruel to those who
step outside the usual path, even briefly.

"Don't worry, Naomi, she's not in any danger. I think your sister
is just ... exploring something new. She'll get back to normal
after awhile."

Naomi wasn't reassured. She angrily muttered something about
"exploring" and slammed down the phone.

Another week passed and the phone rang again on Saturday
afternoon while I was folding laundry and watching a game on
TV.

"Is this Mr. K-----?"

"Yep."

"This is Catherine Urbanski," she paused, " ... from Portland?"

I hesitated, racking my brain, then the light began to dawn.

"Officer Urbanski? Is that you?"

"Yes," she admitted lightly, "Officer Urbanski."

"Can I help you in some way, Officer Urbanski," I said, grinning
into the phone.

"I think you can," she said. "I'm looking for a caucasian male,
about 30 years of age, physically fit, hetero, sense of humor,
not too ugly. He has to be somebody who's not a cop groupie, but
not intimidated by cops or strong women."

"Weeeelll," I said, "I fit that description, Officer Urbanski.
Were you considering coming to San Francisco to take me into
custody?"

"I was hoping I could come down there, and we could take each
other into custody," she laughed. "That is, unless your friend in
Portland would object."

"No, no," I said. "Ruth and I are just old friends. Would next
weekend fit your plans?"

"I was about to reserve a flight on Friday afternoon," she
admitted, "AND a hotel room."

"I like a woman with a sense of adventure ... and caution," I
said. "I'll buy us dinner Friday night and we can get acquainted.
If you hate my guts, there's always Fisherman's Wharf."

"I was hoping you'd say that," she laughed, "most guys get scared
off when they meet me ... professionally."

"I enjoyed meeting you, Catherine" I said truthfully, "but I
didn't think you enjoyed meeting me."

"Call me Cathy," she laughed. "You're right, I was pissed. But my
partner convinced me I was just too tired to see the humor. So I
tried to look at things objectively and finally started laughing.
Then I began to think about calling you."

I told her she had a great laugh and I was glad she called. Then
I got her flight and hotel information and we said goodbye. I was
still standing with my hand on the phone, thinking of Cathy
Urbanski, when the doorbell rang.

I didn't immediately recognize the attractive, dark-haired young
woman on my doorstep, but she looked familiar so I let her push
past me into my apartment. I closed the door and followed her
into the living room.

"Do you know who I am?" she said, turning to face me with an odd,
tense expression on her face. She dropped her overnight bag and
began to unfasten her coat.

I hesitated for a moment, "Naomi K-------?"

"Yes," she said, standing tall and defiantly throwing open her
coat.

Except for her shoes, Naomi was nude, skin flushed, nipples
pointing stiffly. Her long legs were visibly shaking.

She tried to speak, but couldn't.

"Don't worry," I soothed, opening my arms. "I know what to do."


(End of Chapter 15, end of My Weekend in Portland)

----------------------------------------------------------------
WARNING -- This is a work of erotic fiction intended only for
readers of a legally responsible age in the jurisdiction where
they live. This work may be archived and redistributed, but it
may not be sold or changed in any way. I encourage comments and
criticism.
----------------------------------------------------------------
