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From: DG <dionysian1@hotmail.com>
Subject: {DG}  NEW: "That Mardi Gras Spirit"  (MF,voy,exhib,humor)
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    ========================================================
    The following piece of fiction contains strong sexual 
    content and is meant to be read only by adults.  If you 
    are not at least 18 years old, or if you are offended by 
    this type of material, please do not read any further.
    ========================================================



                 "That Mardi Gras Spirit"

                          by DG 


    It had taken all of Cindy's expertise with wet hungry mouth 
and slim probing fingers to bring my sluggish cock to full 
attention, and then an agonizing period of squirming adjustment, 
giggling, snorting, and shushing each other, before I was finally 
on top of her, socketed home between her long thighs, in the 
saddle and riding comfortably, as they say.

    The old double bed in that cheap New Orleans hotel room was 
a lumpy, squeaking disgrace, too loud to risk it with Bart and 
Rayeanne snoring away in its twin right next to us, even with the 
shouts and laughter and the snapping of firecrackers drifting in 
through the open window.  So we had slid off the edge down into 
the narrow space between bed and wall, me with my back against the 
flat worn carpet.  It was pitch dark and dusty and claustrophobic 
down there, reminding me of long-ago games of hide and seek when I 
would push to the back of a closet behind the tight layers of 
clothes.  Cindy had sprawled herself awkwardly over me, her long 
hair tickling my thighs, and focused her loving, determined 
attentions on my groin.

    Eventually it had worked, as if Cindy would ever be denied, 
and as quickly as possible, before the precarious castle collapsed 
back into a heap of sand, we had gotten ourselves parallel, 
pointed in the same direction, and deliciously connected. 

    But now Cindy was slowing down, working against me instead 
of with me, bringing me to a quivering stop.

    "What's the matter?" I whispered, breathing heavily in her 
ear.

    "Shhh.  I've got a feeling someone's listening - don't you 
feel it?"

    Before I could tell her she was being silly, the bed on the 
other side of the room creaked and rustled, and Rayeanne said 
"Excuse me... I hate to bother you guys... it's just that I really 
have to pee."

    "By all means," said Cindy, after a short pause.

    "You don't want to be holding it in all night, you could 
damage your bladder," I added.

    We heard Rayeanne get up and pad across the room.  The 
bathroom light lit up the room for just a moment before she shut 
the door, and Cindy made a face of comic surprise.

    Back in the total darkness, I hissed "You're not leaving me 
like this!"

    Her body was shaking gently under mine, and I realized she 
was laughing.  She whispered "Remember how we agreed we were going 
to make Rayeanne feel comfortable this weekend?  Welcome to the 
family, and all that?  Well, this is a little too comfortable, I 
think."

    "I'm sure she'll go right back to sleep.  Probably won't 
even remember in the morning."  

    Yeah, right.  I wondered how we managed to get ourselves 
into this situation.  The answer was all too obvious, really.  Did 
any activity arranged by Bart DeBonnet ever not end up a wild, 
disorganized mess?     


*********


    The waiter set down a plastic container of pure evil in the 
middle of the small table.  "Another pitcher of Cajun margaritas," 
he announced, in a voice full of bonhomie.  

    We all looked up at him in befuddled surprise.  Smiling 
cheerfully, the waiter picked up our second pitcher of Cajun 
margaritas, which was at half-full and holding steady, and emptied 
it into our glasses, topping up all four with the reddish orange 
liquid.

    "Did we order this?" asked Cindy finally.

    The waiter smiled at my wife, in the admiring way that 
waiters often do, and said "I was told that this table needed 
another pitcher.  Did y'all want me to take it back?"

    I opened my mouth to jump on this blessed opportunity, but I 
was too slow.

    "Hell no, we don't want to send it back!"  My buddy Bart 
glared at the waiter as if his manhood had been questioned, and 
the chastened server shrugged and disappeared back into the 
crowded restaurant.  Bart's wife Rayeanne let out a little moan of 
despair, then turned to Cindy and gave her an apologetic shrug.  
It didn't look like married life was slowing down ole Bart too 
much.

    Cindy gave me a look that said "I can't believe you guys 
still feel the need to get shitfaced whenever you get together."

    I gave her a shrug that said "It's not me, it's him, and 
besides, he's your cousin."

    "Here's to the good old days," said Bart out loud, lifting 
his glass.  "Goddamn it's good to see you again, Deej!  And you 
too, Cin."

    "Great to see you too, Bart," I said.  "But it's only been 
four months.  Barely enough time for my liver to recover from the 
wedding."  I took a sip of my drink.  Tabasco sauce, lime juice, 
triple sec, and tequila - specialty of the house.

    "I've been telling you guys we should do Mardi Gras for 
years," said Bart.  "It's a blast.  People drinking, flashing, 
dancing, having a wild time -what's not to like?  And besides, 
it's right between Chicago and Miami, perfect place to meet."

    "Leave it to you to pick the world's largest fraternity 
party for a vacation spot," said Cindy. 

     Bart and I had been college roommates at Cornell.  Back 
then we were inseparable - hard-drinking, skirt-chasing wild men 
who were the life of every party.  We still saw each other once or 
twice a year - after all, we were family now.  And we still had a 
good time.  But we weren't as close as we had been.  I was a 
different person now than I had been at twenty, and, to put it 
bluntly, Bart wasn't.

    As he launched into another trip down memory lane, one that 
would end up with the two of us nearly getting expelled for 
breaking into a sorority house, I took a closer look at Bart 
DeBonnet.  He was a little beefier than he had been back then, 
with the makings of a double chin, but with his linebacker 
shoulders he carried the weight well.  He still had a full head of 
unruly blond hair, and his wide face was unblemished and 
unwrinkled.  He still had the devilish smile that made women melt 
and their boyfriends uneasy.  He and Cindy don't look anything 
alike - Cindy is a slender brunette with a narrow face and refined 
features - but she and Bart both radiate the DeBonnet charisma.  

    Cindy was laughing at Bart's story, not a polite laugh but a 
full-throated face-squinching explosion of humor, and I decided 
that maybe Bart acted like a kid because he was so damn good at 
it.

    Raye said "Bart, honey, I don't want to hear any more 
stories about what a bad boy you were before I met you."  Rayeanne 
DeBonnet was an attractive, big-boned girl with long, curly blond 
hair and a round freckled face.  She was six years younger than 
Bart and I, and a couple years younger than Cindy, and I could 
understand how all the reminiscing might make her nervous.  She 
and Bart had known each other for less than a year.  

    "Can't say I blame you," said Bart agreeably.  "After all, 
between the two of us me and Deej must've screwed more than half-"

    "So tell me more about your writing, DG," interrupted Raye.  
"Cindy tells me you're really into it."

    "Well, it's just a hobby.  But yeah, I enjoy it."

    "I'll have to read some of your stories.  Are they all about 
sex?"

    "Well... pretty much."

    "I keep telling him to try writing about something else," 
said Cindy. 

    "But nobody would read it," I said.  

    Bart scootched his chair over closer to his wife and said "I 
read some of your stuff - pretty damn good if you ask me.  I liked 
the one where you got that hooker to call you up at home for some 
dirty talk, and you and Cin ended up getting it on for her instead 
of the other way around."  He put his arm around Raye and gave her 
rear end a husbandly squeeze.  

    "Thanks," I said modestly.  "I don't think she was a hooker, 
actually - I think she just did phone sex."

    "Wow," said Raye.  "Did that really happen?"

    I glanced at Cindy, who was blushing prettily.  "More or 
less," she said.

    "So your stories are true?" asked Raye.  She seemed pretty 
interested.  Or maybe she was just happy to have the conversation 
off the good old days.  

    I said "No, no, most of them aren't.  But sometimes I base 
them on my experiences."

    "You gonna write some stories about our days at Cornell?" 
asked Bart.  "Hell, you could do a whole multivolume series on 
that."

    I grinned at him.  "Maybe I should.  I could call it 
'Education of a Sex Fiend' and base it on you, maybe."

    "Sure, that sounds pretty good.  What do you think, Raye?"

    Raye gave her husband a kiss and said "As long as he doesn't 
use your real name."  I was glad to see that Raye was taking this 
well.  I guess if she didn't have a sense of humor about this sort 
of thing, she and Bart wouldn't have made it past the first date.

    Bart looked at his watch and said "Hey, it's time to hit the 
streets.  Drink up, everybody."

    "Right, we wouldn't want any of this magical elixir to go to 
waste," said Cindy.  She drained her drink, made a face, and set 
her glass in middle of the table with an air of finality.  "That's 
it for me - a girl has to know when to say when.  I'm going to go 
powder my nose."

    "I'll join you," said Raye.

    When the womenfolk were gone, Bart refilled our glasses and 
said "So what do you think of Raye?"

    "I like her.  I told you that at the wedding.  I think you 
two are great together."

    He flashed a grin.  "She's good at putting up with my shit, 
you mean."

    "Right.  So how's the whole monogamy thing going?"  Bart and 
I had a long talk before the wedding about the terrifying prospect 
of becoming a one-woman man.

    "So far so good.  Not a problem yet.  Raye's a real tiger in 
bed, I got my hands full just with her.  Found out some things 
about her that surprised me a little."  

    "Good."  I leaned over the table, bringing our heads close 
together.  We must have looked like a couple of spies.  Drunk 
spies.  "Um... what sorts of things?"  

    He chuckled.  "Oh, let's just say that I might not have to 
be monogamous after all."

    "Jeez Bart, are you trying to talk her into swinging all 
ready?  You're still paying off the honeymoon."

    "Who says she has to be talked into it?  Maybe she's trying 
to talk me into it."

    "Right."

    Cindy and Raye came sashaying back to the table, giggling 
and talking, and I could see heads turning all over the 
restaurant.  I found myself staring at Raye, thinking about what 
Bart had just said.  When I stood up, the room seemed to sway, and 
I realized with a dull twinge of surprise that I was absolutely 
hammered.  

    As we opened the door, the heavy, muggy air hit us like a 
wet blanket, filling our lungs and making our clothes stick to our 
bodies.  If this was New Orleans in March, I would hate to visit 
in the summer when it was hot.  It was fully dark out now, but the 
streets were well lit and rapidly filling up with people.   I put 
my arm around Cindy to keep us from getting separated.

    "Having a good time?"  she asked.

    "Actually I am," I said.  "How about you?"

    "Yep.  I feel like I'm on a college road trip.  No agenda, 
no goals other than drinking and having fun."

    "And everyone crashes in the same hotel room,"  I added.  
Bart had been in charge of the reservations, and two adjoining 
rooms in one of New Orleans' fine old hotels had somehow turned 
into one room in a rickety Victorian establishment called the Red 
Owl Inn.  We had checked in and dropped off our luggage earlier, 
and the place had left us underwhelmed.

    "Oh yeah, I almost forgot about that," said Cindy with a 
laugh.  "That's going to be interesting."

    "Are you and Raye getting along OK?" I asked.

    "Yep.  She's very sweet.  But not naive.  She knows what 
Bart is like.  I think they're going to do pretty well."

    A few fat raindrops started splatting into the ground.  For 
a minute or so it was a playful, intermittent drumbeat, and a 
satisfied murmur went through the crowd as everyone lifted their 
faces up and enjoyed the refreshing dollops of moisture.  Then, 
without warning, the sky opened up.  Sheets of rain pelted down in 
a suffocating deluge, the drops bouncing back up off the pavement 
in a hissing roar.  Before we could even think of taking shelter, 
we were soaked to the skin.      "What should we do?" shouted 
Rayeanne.  Her white t-shirt was glued to her ample breasts, and I 
could see the darker outline of her nipples.  Bart looked dazed 
and confused, like a dog who accidentally fell into a pond.

    "We need to get inside before we drown," said Cindy.

    "Might as well head back to the hotel," I said.      

    By the time we made it back to our third floor hotel room, 
we were shivering but in high spirits.  The room was stuffy and 
smelled of mildew, and Raye threw open the French doors that led 
to the small balcony.  The rain was coming straight down, not as 
hard as before, and people were laughing and dancing in the little 
courtyard below us.  The air that came wafting in was scrubbed 
clean and teeming with ions.

    "I say we hang out up here until the rain stops," said Raye.  
"We can watch the college kids get crazy and catch pneumonia, and 
then hit the streets again later."

    We all agreed it sounded like a plan.  Bart and I were sent 
to get a bucket of ice and some sodas while the women changed into 
dry clothes.

    We padded though the old hotel in our bare feet, chuckling 
and shivering.  I was still drunk, but feeling more awake now.  
Bart had a dangerous gleam in his eyes that brought back memories 
of when we were the Dynamic Duo, prowling the campus like a pair 
of young lions.

    "Sound like this place is gearing up to party," he said.  It 
was true - behind the closed doors young voices were shouting and 
laughing.

    We finally located the ice machine hidden away in a corner 
of the basement.  A girl with a damp blond ponytail and a sorority 
t-shirt was slamming the button with the heel of her hand and 
swearing a blue streak.

    We watched for a few seconds, and then I ventured "Empty?"

    The girl stopped pounding and rubbed her hand.  "Beginning 
to look that way."

    "Lemme try," said Bart.  "I got a way with ice machines.  I 
speak their language."

    He put our bucket underneath the chute and went to the side 
of the machine and tilted it up a few inches, grunting with 
effort, and then let it drop back down with a crunching thud.  He 
repeated this subtle maneuver on the other side, and then he made 
a show of gently pressing the button with his forefinger.  Ice 
clattered down the chute and filled our bucket.

    "Now it's empty," he said.

    "That's my ice," said the girl irritably.  "I was here 
first."

    "I don't think so," said Bart and I simultaneously.

    "Tell you what," said Bart.  "We'll split it with you."

    "Cool."  She held out her bucket.

    "If you flash us your tits."    

    She wrinkled her nose, giving us that look of withering 
disdain that attractive twenty-year-old girls have all mastered, 
and said "You're disgusting."  

    She turned and walked away.  We followed her, since there 
was only one way out of the basement.  When she got to the door to 
the stairwell, she turned around and gave us a resigned look.

    "Half the ice?"

    "Scout's honor," said Bart.

    She lifted up her t-shirt, giving us a nice long peek.  Her 
breasts were small and nicely shaped, with tiny pink nipples.

    "Thank you, darlin'," said Bart cheerfully.  "That's the 
Mardi Gras spirit."  He poured half the ice into her bucket, and 
she disappeared up the stairs at a run, her face red.

    "In a way it's comforting that you haven't changed," I said.

    "You know how it is, ole buddy - I try to keep that Mardi 
Gras spirit going year round."

    Back at our door, I knocked and waited a few seconds before 
entering.  As it turned out, this bit of chivalry was somewhat 
misplaced.  Cindy was sitting on the bed, laughing hysterically.  
She was wearing the tiny black bikini top she normally reserved 
for our back yard and the quiet beaches of our favorite resort in 
Mexico.  Rayeanne was out on the balcony, and she wasn't wearing 
much of anything, except cheap plastic beads.  

    There were cheers and hoots from the courtyard below, and a 
string of bright green beads sailed over the balcony and landed on 
the floor at our feet.

    "Well all right!" said Bart.  He picked it up and put it 
around his neck.

    "We got the ice," I said to Cindy.  "Should I go right ahead 
and pour it over Raye's head?"

    She shook her head helplessly as a fresh gale of giggles 
overcame her.  I hadn't seen her so giddy since the Nordstrom 
grand opening sale.

    "We went out on the balcony, and all of a sudden these guys 
started screaming at us to take it off," she explained.  "I 
decided to change into my bikini top, to get into the spirit of 
things.  Raye just... went for it.  Now I can't even go out there 
or they yell at me to take the bikini off."

    I shook my head.  "Kids today."  

    I watched with interest as Raye did a slow twirl with her 
hands clasped over her head.  Her breasts were large and firm - 
several pounds of all-American, all-natural female flesh.  Her 
thick blond hair was wet and slicked back, and her eyes were 
sparkling with excitement.  She laughed when she saw me, and 
waved, and I gave her a thumbs-up.  I noticed with relief that she 
was wearing a thong, and not completely naked as I had first 
thought.

    "Tell Cindy to get out here!" said Raye.

    I looked at my wife.  "What do you say, sport?"

    "No thanks.  I can't compete.  My little boobs are best 
appreciated close up, not from three floors away."

    Bart came over and handed us each a glass of soda.  He 
winked and said "Did I catch me a live one, or what?"

    "You better keep an eye on the little woman," I said.  
"Looks to me like she's not getting what she needs at home."

    "Hah!"  He wandered out on the balcony, and was soon engaged 
in a shouting match with the people below.  

    I quickly changed into dry shorts and a t-shirt, and then I 
sat down next to Cindy on the bed and took a sip of my soda.  I 
wasn't surprised to discover it was laced with rum.  Claiming to 
have a deathly fear of germs, Bart sterilized everything he drank 
with copious amounts of alcohol.

    "What's next?" asked Cindy.  "You think they're going to put 
on a live sex show?"

    "No.  Bart's about had it.  After he finishes that drink, 
he's going to pass out."

    "I guess you would know.  So we're not going back out?  That 
suits me fine, actually."  

    She lay back on the bed with her drink resting on her firm 
bare stomach, watching the antics out on the balcony.  Bart had 
taken off his shirt, and he and Raye were kissing and fondling 
each other playfully for the crowd.  Raye had a classic full 
figure - wide shoulders and full breasts tapering down to a narrow 
waist, and then flaring out again to generous hips and a full, 
round bottom.  In a few years she would have to have to start 
worrying about her thighs, but right now everything was firm and 
well-proportioned and lushly female.

    The crowd cheered as Bart stood behind Raye and cupped her 
breasts in his big hands.  I felt a stirring in my groin, and I 
ran my hand up Cindy's smooth, muscular calf.  

    She winked at me and said "Enjoying the show?"

    "Yep."

    "Are you going to make me happy later?"

    "I'll make you happy right now, if you want."  I let my hand 
wander up her thigh toward the fringe of her tight denim cutoffs.

    She gave me a sly smile.  "God, there's no telling what that 
would set off.  When we were in the ladies room at the restaurant, 
she asked me if you and I liked to swing."

    "Bart mentioned something too.  I doubt they meant with us, 
though."

    "Well, Bart and I knew each other real well growing up so 
that would be way too weird.  But I suppose you and Raye could 
always sneak off together.  What do you think you're doing with 
your thumb?"

    "The time to object was about thirty seconds ago, babe."

    "Just keep an eye on the lovebirds on the balcony, and go 
about half an inch lower."

    "Don't worry.  If either one of them starts taking off her 
thong, I'm going to break things up."

    My hand was resting palm-down on the mound of her pubis, 
with my thumb pointing down between her legs.  I was moving the 
ball of my thumb around in slow circles, pushing against the soft 
denim.  Cindy's breathing had speeded up, and she had her lower 
lip clenched gently in her teeth.

    She had been joking about my slipping away with Raye, of 
course.  We had talked over the idea of swinging before, and 
agreed that, although it had its attractions, it was something 
better fantasized about than done.  So I fantasized.

    Bart and Raye came inside a little while later.  Cindy, who 
had been on the verge of a relaxing little clothes-on orgasm, 
gritted her teeth and pretended to be glad to see them.

    "Whoo-hoo!  That was a blast!" said Raye.  "I'm gonna grab a 
shower and then we can all head out."  She peeled off the beads 
and feathers and costume jewelry, dropping them at her feet in an 
untidy heap, and went into the bathroom.  Where she had been 
standing, it looked like a Las Vegas show girl had been vaporized 
by a death ray.

    We heard the shower start up, and then Cindy said "Uh oh."

    Bart was stretched out on the other bed, his drink balanced 
precariously on his chest and a gentle smile on his face.  He was 
already starting to snore.


*************


    Down in the tight space between the bed and wall, Cindy and 
I had been screwing quietly and slowly while we waited for Raye to 
finish in the bathroom.  When the toilet flushed, we stopped.  The 
door opened, and then there was a loud thump from the mattress 
next to us.

    "Hey, what are you guys doing down there?"  The loud whisper 
came from directly above us, and Cindy and I both flinched.

    "Cindy lost an earring," I said.

    Raye laughed.  "I never heard of an earring getting all the 
way up inside a gal like that.  Is it painful, Cindy?"

    "Actually, Raye, we were having sex."

    "Yeah, don't  I know it.  I was listening to you the whole 
time.  I'm pretty damn jealous.  I got all worked up out on the 
balcony, and then..."

    In the silence we could all hear Bart's slow even breathing.

    "Sorry he fell asleep on you," said Cindy.

    "Passed out, you mean. "

    "It's not passing out if you do it on a bed," I said.  
Somebody had to stick up for poor old Bart.  

    "I poked him for ten or fifteen minutes, and did some other 
stuff to him I won't go into, and didn't even get a twitch, the 
big lout.  I'm sorry, I'll go back in the bathroom and run the 
water in the sink and let you finish."

    Cindy said "No, that's OK." 

    I sighed to myself, feeling my erection start to fade away.  

    "He doesn't get drunk too often," said Raye.  "I mean, not 
like this anyway.  He's not usually one to leave his poor wife 
high and dry."

    "I know," said Cindy sympathetically.  "It sucks when you 
get all horny and looking forward to it and then you can't do it."

    "No kidding.  I'm so revved right now, I could... but shit, 
I should just get the hell out of here, stop bothering you.  No 
reason for you guys to suffer too."

    "You're not bothering us.  Right, Deej?"

    "Righty-oh."

    "Thanks, you guys are great."

    "Raye, would you like to just stay up there while we do it?" 
asked Cindy.  "You could... you know.  I know how lonely it is 
taking care of business by yourself sometimes."

    My erection started making a valiant comeback.

    Raye giggled.  "That would be so naughty.  But I do like to 
watch.  Do you?"

    "Haven't really done it.  But DG and I watch adult movies 
sometimes, and I enjoy that."

    "Yeah, so do we.  Some of them are so stupid they're funny, 
but they usually turn me on.  Bart brings one home once a month or 
so.  I've never actually rented one myself."

    "Me neither," said Cindy.

    "Hey, can I turn a light on?"

    "Sure," said Cindy.  There a click, and the room was lit by 
the yellow glow of the nightstand lamp.  I twisted my neck to look 
up.  Raye's face was peering over the edge of the bed, and we 
exchanged a smile.

    "Hey, nice buns DG."

    "Aren't they though?" said Cindy.  "Two of his best 
features."

     "Thanks," I said.  "Can we get on with it?  I'm starting to 
deflate again."

    "Actually, my back is killing me," said Cindy.  "Maybe we 
could go back up to the bed?"

    "Cool," said Raye.  "Plenty of room."

    She scootched over to the far side of the mattress and 
sprawled out on her stomach, and Cindy and I clambered awkwardly 
and stiffly onto the bed.  Either Raye slept in the nude, or she 
had taken off her nightwear.  My cock was in that half-mast state 
where it tends to flop around like dog wagging its tail.  In the 
soft yellow light it gleamed with the moisture from Cindy's pussy, 
and I couldn't help noticing that Raye was staring at it.

    "Better shore that sucker up, Cindy," she said with a 
giggle.

    "Not again," moaned my loving wife.  "A woman's work is 
never done."

    "That's enough lip from you, honky," I growled.  I knee-
walked toward where she was sitting, and gave my hips a little 
twist that sent my cock springing sideways into her cheek with a 
dull thwack.

    "No, please, don't cock-whip me with that monster!  I'll be 
good."  She engulfed my flaccid member and started sucking 
greedily, her eyes rolling back in mock terror.  I put my hand on 
the back of her head and guided myself in and out.

    Raye was gasping with laughter.  "You guys... are fucking 
hilarious... you know that?"  

    "We aim to entertain," I said.  "OK, that ought to do it."

    Cindy lay on her back and spread her thighs invitingly.  I 
didn't waste any time sinking back into her.  From the way she 
ground her hips against mine, I could tell that she was as turned 
on by this escapade as anyone.  I would have been enjoying myself 
more if it wasn't for the nagging worry that I wouldn't be able to 
finish.  What with all the starting and stopping and the alcohol 
in my bloodstream, it was going to be like running a marathon.

    We settled into a steady rhythm, the old bed squeaking and 
groaning, and I felt the semen gather sluggishly in my balls and 
then just stay there.

    "Oh," said Cindy.  She closed her eyes and leaned her head 
back, and made her usual adorable, high-pitched moan as she came.

    "Gawd, I needed that," she said.

    "Score one for Cindy," said Raye.  She had her chin cupped 
in her left hand, and her torso turned slightly to face us.  Her 
right arm was wedged down underneath her stomach, and I could see 
her hips rotating very slightly.  A faint sheen of perspiration 
covered her forehead and upper lip.  She smiled at us and said "My 
turn."

    "You go, girl," said Cindy.

    "Well, shoot, now that you're staring at me," she said 
doubtfully.  But a few seconds later her breathing became louder 
and her eyes closed shut.  Then she held her breath for several 
seconds, finally letting it out in a long, relaxed whoosh.

    "Just a little one," she said.  "I'm gonna need to do better 
than that."

    Cindy wrapped her long legs around my back and prodded me 
playfully with her heels.  "Let's go, big guy - take me home."

    So I started laying some serious pipe, bouncing us up and 
down on the bed, but somehow it seemed like I was just going 
through the motions.  My cock felt numb, and my orgasm remained 
maddeningly out of reach.  Cindy had no such problem.  She smiled 
at me and then gritted her teeth in shocked silence as she was 
rocked by a big one.

    Finally she relaxed and said "Wow - I should get liqoured up 
more often.  Come on Raye, the second one is even better."

    Raye lay flat with her face turned to the side and her hips 
tilted up at the ceiling, and I could tell that her fingers were 
really working.  Her mouth was open, and I could see her tongue 
moving restlessly inside.

    My hand was resting on Cindy's, and on a strange impulse I 
pushed one of my fingers and one of Cindy's into Raye's warm 
mouth.  She looked up at us in surprise, and then she sucked our 
fingers in deeper and swirled her tongue around them.  Then her 
body shuddered and she let out a low-pitched moan that seemed to 
come from way down inside her chest.  The orgasm was long and 
powerful, and when it was done she looked limp and satisfied.

    "Cindy, you were right about the second one being stronger," 
she said.  "DG, I like the way you think."

    "I can think of some other things I'd like to stick in your 
mouth," I said.

    "Now honey," said Cindy.  "Remember we don't know Raye very 
well yet."

    "Oh, right.  Sorry."

    "He's just filled with that Mardi Gras spirit," said Raye.  
"Nothing wrong with that."

    "You know, I don't think I'm going to be able to come," I 
said sadly.  "Maybe you should shoot me, put me out of my misery."

    Raye said "How about you get going, and when you get close I 
put my finger in your ass?"

    "That would probably work, and don't think I don't 
appreciate the offer.  But that might be a little too..."

    "Personal," finished Raye.  "I understand."    

    "I'd do it myself if I could reach," said Cindy.  

    "Getting away from my butt for a second, the only way I'm 
going to come is if I do it myself."

    "Well, I hate to say it, but I've had about enough humping 
for one night anyway," said Cindy.  "I wouldn't mind just laying 
back and watching you finish up.  Feel free to nibble on my toes 
or something, if you think it might help."

    "Gee, thanks."  I rolled off her onto my back and arranged a 
pillow behind my head.  Cindy, who knows how I like to do it, 
squirted a generous splotch of moisturizer onto my cock.  Then she 
stretched out alongside me.  Raye cuddled up on the other side, 
and I was pleasantly sandwiched between two soft, warm, fragrant 
female bodies.

    I stroked myself with my right hand, squeezing the head of 
my cock firmly to cut through the numbing effects of the booze.  
Slowly but surely, I moved closer to the edge.  I don't remember 
closing my eyes, but I must have, because suddenly there was a 
sticky, perfumed finger in my mouth and I hadn't seen it coming.  
I opened my eyes, and Cindy smiled at me.

    "Yummy," I said.  I closed my eyes and sucked on her finger, 
enjoying the familiar taste of my wife's pussy.

    Then she slipped another finger into my mouth, except this 
one tasted different.  Sweeter, with an underlying muskiness.  The 
finger was a little chubbier, too.  I didn't need to open my eyes 
to know what was going on.

    "He's cleaning it off real well," said Raye.  "What a good 
boy."

    I heard some giggling and rustling, and then more damp 
sticky fingers worked their way into my mouth.  I sucked and 
stroked, rigid with the effort, and then with a gasping, gargling 
moan I finally released the hounds.  

    As I lay there, tired, relaxed, and sweaty, they kissed my 
cheeks and told me they were happy for me.

    "That was amazing," I said truthfully.  "Thanks, ladies."

    "Jesus H. Christ, and about time, too!" said Bart.  "I've 
got a bladder the size of a goddamn soccer ball."  

    He got out of the other bed and hobbled toward the bathroom.  
"I about started to cry when you turned down the finger in the 
ass, Deej.  Raye knows just how to do it, works like magic every 
time."


The End, "That Mardi Gras Spirit"

 1998 by DG (Dionysian1)

Author's notes:

1)  Thanks to The Bear (Baird Allen) and Kim for comments
and proofreading.

2)  I know that a Mardi Gras story in July isn't very timely.
I did think about changing it to a Fourth of July celebration,
but then I might not have finished it until Memorial Day.  

3)  This is the third story featuring the adventures of DG 
and Cindy.  The other two are called "The Call of Desire" and 
"Banana Split" and can be found, along with all my other 
stories, on my web page:
http://www.io.com/~thebear/dgidx.htm

4)  I like to hear what people think of my stories.  Email me
at dionysian1@hotmail.com if you have anything to say.  It 
doesn't have to be positive.  We authors like to feel like 
we're not just sending our stories out into the void.


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