From: nogarder@ix.netcom.com(*** )
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Country Western Sex (FMM, double penetration)
Date: 13 Feb 1996 04:10:51 GMT

			Country-Western Style

	Isabelle was on her way to the city for a recording session at
the new studio. Tanned hands on the wheel, a chiffon scarf rippling at
the window and gold-rimmed shades: she was satisfied with her
appearance in the way a pretty woman vain enough to spend time in
front of the mirror is bound to be. There was the added consciousness
of incipient stardom. The agent told her over the phone that morning,
"This one is really it, baby! This new guy is great, you're going to
love him. Got the voice of a god. A real hunk. I'm going to send you
to the top of the charts with this fellow!"

	"Hold on, Sam." She had been alarmed by the excitement in her
agent's voice. He had made impulsive and sometimes foolish decisions
in the past. Isabelle liked to move cautiously, methodically. "We'd
agreed not to decide anything until after we finished this cut." She
spook in a cool, low voice that was both hypnotic and sexy. "Look Sam,
I know we're going to make it big with all this - I'm the one who
convinced you of that, remember? Now who is this guy?"

	"Well, I don't think you know him. He's a bit of a newcomer,
but I've seen him playing down at the club doing solo stuff and some
back-up work and he's damn good. He's the real thing straight from the
farm belt. Name's Ian Kaehler."

	"Yeah, I'm sure he's good, Sam," said Isabelle drily. "You
sure you haven't got your eye on this hunk for other reasons?"

	"Cool it, baby. You don't meddle with me and I don't meddle
with you."

	"Yeah, yeah, I know. The Golden Rule. OK, Sam, you better be
right on this one. That's all I've got to say."

	Isabelle had dressed with the usual care, but with a vague
sense of anticipation. Only when she put on the black scarf with gold
sparkles and the fire-engine red lipstick did she become fully aware
of her excitement. In the mirror she gave herself a smile of frank
admiration. She wore no bra under the red silk tank top and wanted to
be sure the effect was right. Sideways, front-ways, the sunlight
hitting her breasts directly or indirectly: anyway she tried it, she
found she looked good. She realized the airconditioning in the
building would make her nipples conspicuous, and the thought made her
smile. "What the hell are you thinking, girl?" She said suddenly out
loud. "That hunk will probably end up in Sam's bed, not yours." She
pulled on her jeans without consulting the mirror.

	He arrived on a motorcycle from the long and dusty ride. He
thought too late that it would have been wise to bring along a change
of clothing. The denim work shirt he wore had gotten smeared with
grease when he'd had to stop to tighten a valve. He knew his hair
would be like the wheat fields at home after a storm; he hadn't worn
his helmet on the last leg. He'd stupidly left it at the diner where
he'd stopped for coffee. "Got to call that place," he thought as he
dismounted.

	Inside the crew was lounging by the door. He glimpsed his
guitar propped up by a microphone. The producer was already glaring at
him. "Where the hell have you been? Do you know what studio time
costs?"

	"Listen I'm sorry - I had engine troub - "

	"Listen you me, kid. I'm not going to waste my time with no-
shows. If you want the job, you get here on time. Is that clear? Now
let's get going. We don't have all day." He vaguely remembered the
producer had a reputation for a temper. He saw something red out of
the corner of his eye and instinctively glanced at it. It was Isabelle
Stiles. A pal had informed him that she was a "great piece of ass."
From what he could see his friend was right, but he didn't want to
stare. Besides she looked like those cold, polished women who don't
like to be touched. He tried to collect his thoughts.

	"Look, uh, I just need to make a quick phone call. I left my
helmet at a diner on the road." There was silence. The girl was
staring at him in disbelief or maybe even disgust. He thought of the
grease on his shirt. The producer - what was his name? - looked
flushed under his tan.

	"Look Travis -." It was the girl's voice. "Why don't we just
go ahead and do the other cut. He can settle his business and I can
finish the track." She spoke calmly and with a poised determination.
Because she was now looking at Travis, Ian could observe her more
closely. He noticed almost immediately that she wasn't wearing a bra.
Her breasts were two delicate, but definite points under the red silk.
He guessed that if she bent over he would be able to follow the soft
round curves all the way to the nipples. Maybe she did like to be
touched after all. Keep your mind on your work, he thought to himself.
Besides, this girl is being groomed for stardom; she's going to shoot
right out of reach. She's got all the right people, the right
connections.

	Travis grumbled, but Isabelle made a motion to the man in the
mixing booth. In a few moments her voice was filling the studio and
everyone was silent, watching.

	You're the first man I saw, and what I saw I liked, you didn't
take no nonsense, you had a big black bike-She looked good singing
those words. He thought of his own dusty bike. And he thought she
looked at him. He felt a swelling in his crotch.

	Isabelle sang but she wasn't paying attention to the words.
She was thinking of the lean, muscular body she imagined Ian must
have. She could not explain this excitement to herself. She didn't
approve of his appearance, at least not the disheveled look of his
hair and his un-ironed shirt. Ordinarily she preferred a sleek, well-
groomed look, and Ian was not sleek. He had on cowboy boots, but they
were worn and scuffed - not the kind she'd admired in Nashville with
polished metal tips and alligator skin. The buckle of his belt,
however, was singularly shiny, obviously new. It was in the shape of a
train. She looked closer and blushed. Was it possible that he - ?

	"You came right on in and spun `round my head, You're one hell
of a man - oh yeah, that's what I said! So come on down with me Baby,
come right on down this way! I'm in a real big hurry, I haven't got
all day, Teach me how you do it, show me what you like Come on and
hold me tight on that big black bike!"

	Isabelle looked up to applause in the sound booth when she
finished. Even Ian was grinning, although he wasn't clapping outright
like the others. Isabelle blushed again. There was something
interesting about this fellow in spite of his disheveled look. His
rich auburn hair caught the glint of the studio lights, his legs
stretched out under the jeans looked long and muscular. She was sure
she had noticed a bulge in his pants; it wouldn't be the first time
she had observed that kind of reaction in men. But there was something
quietly self-assured about him that aroused her in return. He hadn't
seemed embarrassed when she stared; he had just sat there grinning
with his thumbs hooked in his pockets, legs comfortably parted.

	And now, in spite of the producer's rude welcome, he calmly
strode into the studio, grasped the neck of his guitar and swung the
instrument over his head until the strap came to rest comfortably on
his shoulder. In a moment he was wholly absorbed in the guitar: he
stroked the strings, he carefully adjusted the keys. She watched
fascinated as his hand darted back and forth from keys to strings,
from strings to keys. Then, hovering over the sound-hole, his fingers
began moving smoothly and rapidly, in what seemed like an elegant,
effortless form of flight. His head was slightly bent over the
guitar's rounded form. When he looked up and quietly informed her that
he was ready, she realized she had been holding her breath.

	The recording session went better than he'd expected. Isabelle
accepted several of his suggestions and she even began to sing with
more subtlety and depth. Not that she hadn't been good, but the songs
were somehow predictable. He tried to show her how to add color and
richness and far from resenting his interference, she began to solicit
his advice. He guessed she would probably "make it" (as Travis put it)
without him, but he felt instinctively that the songs could use
improvement. Travis stood by mutely at first with folded arms and
stiff legs, but as the session progressed he relaxed enough to let his
feet tap out the time. Sam was visibly excited and clapped loudly
after each take. Ian thought he felt the older man's eyes on him and
although it didn't make him uncomfortable, he could not help wondering
if he'd been offered this job on criteria other than musical talent.

	Ian gathered his belongings as the crew swarmed into the
studio to dismantle the equipment. He was planning on returning to the
diner to pick up his helmet, but first he would sit down outside to
cool off and have a smoke. Under the studio lights he had worked up a
sweat. Isabelle was hovering about looking nervous and uncertain. He
supposed she was concerned about the equipment. He stepped outside,
stripped off his slightly damp shirt, and sat on the bottom step with
a cigarette.

	"Well, cowboy, are you headed home?"

	Ian swiveled around and squinted up into the sunlight. It was
Sam. "No, well, yes, but I have to pick up my helmet. They're keeping
it for me at the diner." Facing forward again, he exhaled a voluptuous
cloud of smoke.

	"You play real good," said Sam matter-of-factly. His hands
were deep in his pockets. His face was shadowed.

	"Thanks. I'm flattered to be asked. Miss Stiles has got quite
a reputation around here. She's a real fine singer." Ian watched the
smoke dissipate and wondered what else to say to Sam. Then Isabelle
walked out onto the concrete steps. As Ian turned toward the sound of
footsteps he had just enough time to make out her collapsing
silhouette and fasten his cigarette firmly between his lips when he
felt the full weight of her body come down hard into his arms. There
was a sort of muffled shriek. As he regained his balance, he found he
was cupping her left breast with his right hand. He withdrew his hand
reluctantly as Isabelle struggled to get to her feet.

	"Thank you," she said quickly. `You probably saved me from a
nasty fall. I must have caught my heel on that crumbled step." She
bent over and gingerly massaged her ankle. Ian followed the round,
soft curves all the way to the nipples. He could feel that he was hard
again.

	"I think I may have sprained my ankle... I wonder if you could
help me get inside to the lounge?" Isabelle knew her ankle was not
sprained. She had twisted it slightly, but the pressure had given way
when she'd fallen. She felt excited and almost lightheaded: she had
decided to act on an impulse. There was in fact a slight pain in her
ankle, but it didn't matter. She was admiring Ian's bared torso: a
full well-developed chest, with a soft covering of auburn down that
tapered to his belly and disappeared underneath his belt. She sucked
in her breath sharply and couldn't help noticing the buckle - and his
erection.

	"Uh, yes, of course. I'd like to help. Here let me hold your
arm and - that's right. That's just fine. We'll get you right
upstairs." Ian cleared his thoughts and put out his cigarette.
Avoiding her eyes he grasped her gently around the waist with one arm,
and with the other he supported her elbow. They managed the steps with
some difficulty and made their way slowly into a carpeted room
adjacent to the studio.

	"By the way, this is the lounge," said Isabelle. "Anybody
who's working here can use this room." With her heel she swung the
door shut. Sam had been lingering in the corridor in case his help was
needed and she wanted him to receive a definite message. Then she
raised the hand that had grasped Ian's waist and began gently stroking
his smooth, tanned back. Her other hand explored his chest. "Ian, I
want you - now." She said in a low, silky voice. "Do you want me?"

	Ian was motionless, but he could feel his cock throbbing. He
felt sure that Isabelle had noticed it. The idea pleased him and gave
him confidence. He knew exactly what to do. Without answering, he
gathered her in his arms and kissed her long and hard. His hands could
glide smoothly up and down the silk of her blouse and it was almost
like feeling her skin the way the material revealed the texture of the
nipples, the shape of her breasts. Underneath the silk he could feel
their softness and could squeeze them gently while at the same time
caressing the nipples. Isabelle was already at Ian's buckle, fingering
it as though it was itself a cock; abruptly she pulled away and lifted
the silk shell over her head revealing the slightly tanned, full
breasts still swaying from her sudden movement. Ian thought, "My God!
What gorgeous knockers!" in the language he was accustomed to use in
his own thoughts. To her he was about to say something he thought she
would consider more tasteful, but she interrupted him.

	"I want to do something I've always dreamed of doing," she
half moaned. As she said this she was pressing her bare breasts to his
chest, smelling his skin, kissing his nipples, running her fingers
through the soft, auburn curls. In a series of slow, moist kisses, she
traced the contours of his breast, his lean sides, and finally his
belly. She came to a stop at the buckle. She unzipped the fly, taking
care to avoid nicking his bulge. By this time she was kneeling in
front of him. She parted the rims of the fly and began kissing and
sucking at his cock through the layer of cotton underneath. She did
this until the material was soaked; then she peeled it down to reveal
the flushed velvet skin of his shaft which she now bathed with her
tongue. Gently she freed his prick from the surrounding material until
it stood out stiffly, unencumbered.

	"Come on, now," she murmured. "I want you to be my stud. I
want to feel this cock deep in my throat!"

	Ian rocked his hips forward until his shaft disappeared
between her moist, red lips. He could feel the warmth and wetness
engulf him - a deliciously ambiguous sensation since at times he could
imagine that it was her vagina that enveloped him, instead of her
mouth. Then he would confuse the two and tell himself that her mouth
was a vagina, and he would think of her pussy, of what it would be
like when he penetrated her there as well. Fucking her mouth and
thinking of fucking her cunt almost made him shoot off, but he
resisted. He watched her face as she sucked and it seemed to him that
she kept it uplifted on purpose so that he could read her expression.
Her lips were ordinarily full, but now were stretched by the width of
his dick. Every time he withdrew slightly in order to rock forward
again she would pull harder on his cock with the suction of her
tongue.

	"OK, Baby," he whispered hoarsely, "You want to be my bitch?
I'm going to ram this down your throat; I'm going to come into your
mouth!" She could tell by the engorged shape of his prick that he was
about to come. She gripped his ass cheeks with her hands and then,
loosening the tight rim of her mouth from around the base of his cock
and relaxing her throat even further, she strained forward until she
was able to feel his balls at her lips.

	In a voice that he feared afterwards must have come out as a
scream or a shout, he cried, "That's right, bitch! Take my balls into
that wet twat of a mouth!" She gloried in his obscenity and was proud
that she could swallow his entire sex. She had always wanted to flaunt
this ability before a total stranger. But it had to be the right one,
and he was definitely the right one. She relaxed her throat
completely to allow Ian to fuck her mouth hard as he came. He did not
hold back, but treated her mouth as if it was a cunt. "That's right,
bitch! Take - it, take - all of it!" He had to pant the words out now.
The next thing he knew he was spurting into her, and she was
swallowing and sucking at him while with her hands she pushed up her
heaving tits so he could see the stiff nipples. When he withdrew, she
did something that aroused him incredibly. She had retained some his
come in her mouth and now, she dipped two fingers into the hollow
between her lips and spread his come over her nipples, making them
glisten. She dipped her fingers again and this time encircled the
areoles, and finally both breast entirely. Then she stood up and he
could see her tits gleaming wet with his come. One last time she
anointed her fingers, but instead of smoothing them again over her
breasts, she lay down, spread her legs, and began massaging her crotch
- an area where her jeans were already stained dark from her juices.

	Ian fell back wide-eyed on the couch. Isabelle proceeded to
arch her back and moan as she slid her hand underneath her jeans. She
spoke to him in a voice that was low and musical:

	"I can feel my smooth, taut belly. The skin is so soft. I love
to see a man's rough dark hand caressing my belly the moment before
his fingers strain to get into my pants and I tell him, `Oh yes, yes,
there's nowhere I won't let your hand wander. You're making me wet;
you make me crave the feeling of your hand as it spreads over my bush
and discovers my wetness. I'm breathing fast just at the thought of
how you'll part my soft, yielding lips and find absolutely no
resistance. You'll begin by caressing the soft wet interior of my cunt
just inside my lips, and you'll be amazed at how my desire makes my
wetness fill your hand. And then gently at first, with two fingers,
you'll force deeper into my cunt and feel your cock swell as my flesh
spreads and encircles your fingers, kissing and sucking them as if
they were a prick. By now I'll be begging you to fuck my cunt with all
of your fingers and to make them reach down to the deep inner walls of
my vagina as though you were painting me there with the smooth, wet
strokes of a paint-brush.' "

	Isabelle had opened her jeans and was slipping them slowly
over her hips with one hand, while the other remained hidden between
her legs. The lower the jeans went the more Ian could see of the
hidden hand, until finally she allowed her fingers to be exposed. Her
fore- and middle-fingers were deeply inserted in her cunt, the other
two were just pressing between the folds as she worked the jeans down
to her ankles. When she had freed her feet from the pant-legs, she
slowly and luxuriously spread her legs. Ian saw that her four fingers
were now gliding easily in and out of her cunt which made soft,
sucking sounds in response. Then, surprisingly she removed her hand.
She now made a cradle for her head with both hands so that her arms
were bent upwards, her upper arms spreading outward from her body as
if to mimic the form of her legs set wide apart. In this position, she
rocked her hips up and down slowly at first and then more rapidly. Ian
watched tensely as her pussy lips expanded to reveal the inner opening
that was now glistening and dribbling with wetness. Her legs were so
widely spread that her lips were free to expand liberally until he
could actually see the interior of her vagina. He watched transfixed
as it sucked and swallowed at the air, bursting open and revealing the
inner pink wetness, and then closing around nothing as though it were
being penetrated by an invisible cock.

	At that moment Sam walked in. Ian froze, startled, but oddly
excited by the intrusion and by the expression on Sam's face. More
surprising was Isabelle's response. She moaned louder as if craving
the impossible.

	"Sam - fuck me! I want you to do with me what you like to do
with a man." Without saying a word Sam grabbed her by the hips and
flipped her effortlessly onto her hands and knees. He fumbled for a
moment with his fly, but managed to draw out his prick as he spread
her ass. With his thumbs he opened her ass-hole and guided his cock
with his hips until the tip reached her hole. "Baby, I'm gonna fuck
your ass-hole, is that what you want?" Isabelle just panted and
rubbed her hole against the prick in reply. Sam slowly and steadily
pushed in. Then she turned and spoke to Ian: "I want you to lie
underneath me - I want you to fuck my cunt - "

	"As if you needed to ask - " Ian said almost roughly. "Baby
your tits alone tell me you want it." He slid underneath her and felt
for her cunt. Raising his hips with the strength of his thighs, he
lifted his prick to her wet slit and felt it glide into the receptive
sheath. He pumped hard until he felt Isabelle gasp and cry out with
pleasure. The fullness of Sam in her ass and of Ian in her cunt was
almost unbearable.

	As she came she heard Sam whispering fiercely, "Baby, I never
knew you were such a hot bitch!" Isabelle barely had the strength to
reply. "I didn't know you... you liked women, too -."

	"You never asked." From her position she could not see the
broad smile on Sam's face.