Author: Marcus van Heller ("as good as..." mebbe not)

About: John and Connie had a thing for each other. For anyone else, come to think... and at any time, any place, in any combination. It was only natural that they should meet with Clem and June, who lived such relatively quiet lives... until they changed partners, that is.

Then the leather and the rubber and whatnot were brought out into the open, and each of them found, at last, what they really wanted from life and lust...

Excerpt:

Her calf muscles swelled with the effort of trying to keep them on the ground, and a tendon in the soft upper part of her foot jumped with the strain. Light from the lamp placed on the floor at her feet heightened the metallic sheen of her black stockings, and a few stray hairs trapped in the fine nylon mesh shone brightly in the glow. The black satin skirt she was wearing began to ride up. Stretching as her knees moved further apart, the material tightening into taut horizontal folds across her thighs.

Not wanting to spoil the moment by talking, he slid himself forward until he was between her legs, ignoring the cold marble on his naked back.

“Is that right?” she asked again, smiling down at him. “You look funny lying down there—aren't you cold?” She bit her lip and shivered slightly. “This skirt's so tight and I'm beginning to feel sexy.”

Relaxed now, he watched the skirt slowly-rise above him knowing he wouldn't have to answer, content to let her ramble on.

“Yes, I can feel it growing in me,” she said excitedly, “I feel I want to press against something.”

Her breasts obscured her face, and her voice seemed to float almost lazily down to him on the floor. There was an edge to it, the familiar excited tone becoming more noticeable, as she became more aroused.

“I can't get them any further apart than that, the skirt's too tight.” He heard her catch her breath sharply. “I must press against something.”

There was a slight furry sound as she lowered her hand and pressed it firmly against her lower belly. The fingers dipped, lightly cupping the broad mount of Venus that pushed out the satin skirt.

“That's the trouble with having one as large as mine,” she said slowly. “You always want to press... press against something.”

Her fingers spread, the middle one searching.

“Don't do that!” His voice sounded harsh and be bad to consciously soften it. “Not yet, anyway. In a minute you can, but not yet.”

Her fingers straightened reluctantly, and she relaxed and lowered her arms to her side.

“It's so big,” she said, looking down at it. “It always wants something pressing against it.”

She began pulling the skirt up, inch by inch, her thoughts running away with her as she became more aroused.

“That girl last year in the changing huts at the baths, she put her hand on it and pressed. I nearly came with surprise when I felt her hand there. Her eyes had a sort of glazed look in them and she kept saying, 'it's too big' over and over again. Mind you, my costume did rather show it up.”

She looked down at him, “Can you see my suspenders yet, John?”

It was above her well-rounded knees now, almost level with the first patterned ring of the stocking top. Sliding himself forward a little more until he was directly beneath her, he could see her thighs large above him, see the white flesh above her stockings and the indistinct outline of her briefs.