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Wedding Party

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The first of my friends to get married, Russell, did so when I was a senior in college, and he married a wonderful girl, Vickie, from a small town in North Carolina, where the wedding was.

Vickie told me before the wedding that she was setting the stage for me and her former roommate and good friend to have a good time. She thought we’d be perfect, and even sent me some photos of her in a bikini at the beach. Wow!

She had been a finalist in Miss North Carolina the year before, winning the swim suit competition, but coming up short in the talent. Vickie commented that her best talent was not appropriate to the Miss America competition. Well, now, that only increased my interest! Vickie had shown her friend some pictures of me and told her lots about me, and she was very interested and looking forward to meeting me.

If there was ever a sure thing, this was it.

The arrangements in the small town could not have been better, for my buddy’s dad, a wealthy physician, had reserved practically the whole motel for everyone in the wedding and had barbecue and beer provided, as well. He knew we were all poor college kids, so everything was paid for. All we had to do was get there.

I pulled in to town in my old convertible late Thursday afternoon before the Saturday wedding, and just about everyone was already there congregated by the motel pool. It was great to see so many of my old friends, and Vickie introduced me to her friend, who was wearing the same bikini as in the photos. She looked even better in person. A stunning beauty.

We started chatting and although we were getting along fine, I just didn’t sense any sexual chemistry. Vickie took me aside and said she’d recently fallen head-over-heels in love with a pro golfer, so it seemed he’d made his ace in the hole with this beauty. Damn! Plans with the “sure thing” had gone awry.

That evening at a party I met another of Vickie’s college friends, Diane, who happened to be sharing a room with her in-love-with-the-golf-pro friend back at the motel. She, Vickie, and Diane had all been suitemates for several years in college. Diane and I hit it off right away, and she was certainly a cutie.

Of Italian descent, Diane had a huge white bahis firmaları smile, short and thick brown hair, and large brown eyes. Standing about 5’2″, she had medium-size perfectly-shaped boobs with dark nipples and practically no areola, a slender waist, and hips and ass that we would today describe as being like Jennifer Lopez’. Rather large, but round, meaty, and firm.

We got better acquainted over the next couple of days, and it was quite apparent that she was my girl, at least for the wedding. My jealous old friends talked about what a big butt she had. Personally, I loved her butt, and certainly got familiar with it out at the pool kneading suntan oil into those fleshy buns. And I didn’t notice THEM making any progress with the other girls in the wedding party. They were just jealous.

Well, the night of the wedding looked like the evening Diane and I would consummate. Mr. Golf Pro was supposed to come in town to spend the night at a swanky downtown hotel with Ms. In-Love–my original date–which meant Diane and I would have the motel room to ourselves. (I was in a room with 3 other guys, so that wasn’t an option, and the motel was at full capacity.)

The reception over, we all went back to the motel, got out of our wedding clothes, and put on comfortable stuff and continued partying. Ms. In-Love was still expecting Mr. Golf Pro, so she stayed in her room waiting for him while Diane changed. After I re-dressed and knocked on their door to get Diane, Ms. In-Love must have thought it was her man, for she flung open the door wearing a sheer nightie that left little to the imagination.

Either because she was drunk as a skunk or was pissed or maybe both, she didn’t seem to care that I was getting an eye full of her fabulous body. She mumbled something and stomped over to the phone as Diane appeared from the bathroom, explaining that Ms. In-Love had dressed to surprise Mr. Golf Pro, and that my knock was identical to his.

I gotta admit, though Diane was awfully cute, the other girl was simply smashing.

Diane and I left her there on the phone and made the motel rounds, partying big time with everyone into the wee hours of the morning.

We went back to her dark and quiet room, immediately kaçak iddaa stripped our clothes off, and literally leapt into her bed, kissing and groping and squeezing. As our eyes adjusted to the darkness, we realized that Ms. In-Love was right there in the next bed, not 6 feet away.

“I wonder if she’s asleep?” Diane asked.

“I guess Mr. Golf Pro was a no call/no show.” I concluded.

“Oh, poor girl, I know she’s disappointed.”

Then, from the bed, “No, I’m not asleep. No he didn’t show. And I’m a lot more than disappointed–I’m pissed!”

Diane, being her best friend, gets out of our bed and sits on the edge of her bed to console her and talk it out. That went on for at least an hour.

So here I am in near darkness sitting alone naked in a bed watching and listening to my girl and the girl who was supposed to be my girl, one nude and the other as good as nude. I got up and turned the A/C up, cracking the drapes to see what was up outside. Nothing, but I noticed the motel sign lit up the room, so I accidentally on purpose left a little gap in the drapes for a better view of these 2 girls.

They were sitting Indian-style on the edge of the far bed facing the window, so I had a pretty good view from my bed on the window-side of the room. Diane had a bush that would rival Billy Preston’s ’70s afro hairstyle, but Ms. In Love’s was trimmed, her glistening slit just barely visible with each blink of the neon “color TV!” sign outside.

Well, over the course of their heart-to-heart, they cried and laughed while I silently waited and watched. My dick had been hard all night and it remained that way.

Finally, Diane came back to our bed, grabbed my shaft like an emergency brake handle, and said, “Park it, let’s sleep, then we’ll pick up where we left off after she leaves in the morning.”

Great. Further postponement of sexual gratification. So Diane and I snuggled up in a spoons position, my erection nestled between her buns, and fell asleep.

We were abruptly awakened by the tornadic sound of Ms. In-Love getting ready to leave after daybreak. I got the best view of her yet in the bright bathroom light as she brushed her teeth naked, boobs swaying, ass pooched out, then kaçak bahis more of her in undies.

As good as all that was, it did nothing to improve my dreadful hangover, but Diane rounded up a few aspirin for both of us. I would have paid 20 bucks for a cup of coffee, but there was none in the room.

Finally, F I N A L L Y, Ms. In-Love wheeled her suitcase out and left as Diane and I pretended to be asleep under the covers while silently twiddling each others’ privates, eagerly awaiting her exit and massive sex.

The motel door slammed shut, a car engine started, and we threw back the sheets. Diane mounted me and impaled herself on my throbbing rod, thrusting up and down in long, complete strokes. Because we had been whispering for so long, we were positively boisterous, shouting, “Good, hard dick!” “Warm, wet pussy!” and such to the top of our lungs.

Then the door flung open. It was Ms. In-Love. “Forgot my watch.” Diane and I froze. The sheets and blanket were on the floor, so there was nothing to cover ourselves with. We were sooooo having sex, had waited sooooo long to do so, and now she was sooooo back.

Then–Diane still atop me with my cock halfway in her pussy–the sexy “intruder,” unbelievably, first tickled my balls and then gripped the bottom of my shaft, saying, “Wish I had time to share a ride with you, but I’ve got a plane to catch.”

Giving Diane’s bun a crisp spank, she shouted, “Bye y’all!”

The door slammed shut, and she was gone before I could assimilate the possibilities and plead the case for a later flight.

Diane and I fucked and sucked until well after check-out time. I will never forget the flesh of her plenteous buns rippling as I banged her doggie-style, or gazing in the reflection of the mirror at her perfect breasts hanging down, lurching with each thrust. Not only was the sex positively great, but I also really liked Diane a lot, as she was intelligent, artistic, funny, and always in a positive frame of mind. I would have loved to date her if we had lived anywhere close to one another.

Between “sessions” I asked her about her friend’s comment.

“Sure, I would have loved for the three of us to have made love together. She and I are very sexually progressive.”

“Then why didn’t you say something last night?” I asked.

Matter-of-factly, she said, “You just didn’t seem like the type who’d be interested.”

I really have to do something about my image.

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Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

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