Five Into Three Does Not Go

For a new year retreat, we are heading to a lodge Carl owns on one of the smaller isles of shoals, the name of the island is peculiarly enough, Lunging. The island has four lodges, all of which, Carl informs us are currently empty, we will have the island to ourselves, "No old ladies to scare away."

"We can fill the air with our screams," Kristina sagely suggests.

The island is a short ride away, eight miles, the out rushing tide and the powerful motor means we will be there in a mere fifteen minutes. The waters out of Portsmouth harbour are not for the inexperienced and through the windows, I can see Carl at the wheel, calmly smoking a pipe but keeping a careful lookout nevertheless. A powerful headlight lights our progress, as we pass the mile mark, Carl and Jim give a wave to the river pilot's lookout, who flashes a yellow and then a green light.

Jim ducks in, "Well girls, we should be there in no time at all," he leans into the drawer of a large table and draws out a transparent white dildo, which he laughingly tosses to us, "Have fun, ladies. Put on a show."

He steps out and lights a cigarette, returning Carl's lighter to him. Jim loves Carl the way a dog loves a master, the way a football team reservist loves the starting linebacker who broke every record there was to be broken. They were college mates and in the circle of women who lusted after Carl and men who adored him, Jim was the foremost. Carl reciprocated, when his contacts steadily pushed him up the corporate world, he kept in touch with Jim and threw him a few bones.

Somewhere down the line, the patronage turned into genuine affection when Jim stood by him and helped him out when a few business deals soured and they are now the best of mates.

I caught the dildo smoothly and get their attention. Kristina whispers in Kim's ear and after another slithery kiss, they turn upon me. Up goes my skirt, down go my boy cut panties, Kim spits on my boy cunt and Kristina slides the dildo in.