It’s not long, however, before I realize that Bertrand is standing right next to us. He nudges me over so that he can have one of her tits, too. I release my hold on Paulina; I make room for Bertrand. Paulina leans back a little, enough to give us room. We each suck on a nipple and it is almost more pleasure than she can stand — judging strictly by the whimpering that issues from her then.
I am trying to keep up the pressure on Paulina’s nipple, thinking that this is going to make her come; that this is the object of our foreplay. But Bertrand is overcome with lust. Pushing me aside completely, he picks Paulina up in his arms and moves her over to our kitchen island, shoving aside the many canisters of utensils and baskets of vegetables and fruits to make room for her to lie down. He tugs her panties off her, pushes her legs open wide and plants his mouth right on her pussy. Bertrand is usually the type of man who is the first to have his cock out of his trousers, sticking it wherever a woman is willing to take it. But with Paulina, his mouth did not seem able get enough of her.
I watched the two of them, locked in their lusty syncopation. It aroused me to see them like that. Paulina, naked except for her black stockings, writhing, tugging on her own nipples, lost in a swoon, her knees hiked high while Bertrand had his face buried between her legs, his sizeable hands pushing down on her slender thighs, holding her open.
Just then, Paulina’s eyes opened; she focused on me. She looked drunk with lust. Almost inaudibly, she pleaded, “Find something to stuff up me.”
It was jarring. I looked at her, momentarily confused. “What do you want?” I asked her. “Do you want Bertrand to fuck you now?”
“No,” she said, trying to catch her breath but still pulling like mad on her nipples. “Stick something up me. Something big, that I can really feel, you know?”
I thought I knew. I looked around at our countertops; there was food everywhere. I wondered: what would I want to fuck if I were in Paulina’s position, out of my mind with lust and needing to really feel something?
I grabbed a zucchini. It was thick and long. I held it up to her. “This?” I said.
She shook her head no. “Something bigger than that.”
“Bigger than this?” I said. I wasn’t at all sure I could handle the zucchini up my own hole, yet she wanted something bigger. “What? Are you into fisting or something?”
“No,” she insisted, losing patience with me, sounding as if she was nearing a climax. “Something wider — to stretch me open, you know? Fill me up.”
I felt a bit frantic, as if I had to find this pleasure tool to stretch Paulina open before Bertrand managed to make her come in his mouth. I picked up a yellow squash. It was wide at the bottom but had a slender neck, like a handle. Maybe that would work, I thought. I showed it to her. Her eyes gleamed again. “Yes,” she said. “Try that.”
“Do you want Bertrand to put it in you?”
“No,” she said. “I want you to do it.”
I was thrilled. It was my turn to nudge Bertrand aside. He’d been nearly oblivious to us, though. At some point while he’d been feasting on Paulina’s pussy, he’d taken his cock out of his trousers and had begun jerking himself off under the white chef’s apron that he was still wearing. “Move,” I told him gleefully. “This is my spot now.” I showed him the yellow squash.
“Oh yes,” he said quietly, the reason for the squash dawning on him. He moved aside. In fact, he went and got his glass of wine and then came back and pulled up a kitchen chair.
At last, I was getting a good look between Paulina’s legs. Her pussy was indeed as gorgeous as the rest of her. I understood, now, Bertrand’s uncharacteristic oral need. The outer lips were only lightly covered with black hair; the inner lips were glistening wet, and deep red now and fully engorged. It was a pussy that was without doubt ready for fucking. Bertrand had done his job well.
But her hole looked really small. I looked at the yellow squash; surely she wouldn’t want the neck going in her first? “Are you sure you want this?” I said.
She was propped up on her elbows, watching us. Her feet planted on our countertop, spread wide apart, bracing her. “Yes, I’m sure.”
“OK.”
Bertrand took a sip of his Font-Mars and savoured it in his mouth. For some reason, I was very aware that he wasn’t swallowing.
I pushed the wide, bulblike end against the opening of Paulina’s vagina. She was very wet, so lubrication was not the issue. The squash simply seemed too big compared to the size of her hole.
“Push,” she said. “Come on.”
I pushed, steadily. And she pushed against me.
“Ah,” she cried out. “Keep pushing. Don’t stop.”
I kept pushing; I didn’t stop. She bore down on it and, sure enough, her hole started to open. She began to pant lightly. I looked at Bertrand and said, “This thing is huge.”
He still hadn’t swallowed his wine. He only nodded his head in agreement. From the look on his face, he seemed to be in heaven.
“Ah,” Paulina cried again. But she was taking it. Her hole had opened but it was a snug fit. Then all at once it had been sucked right up her. Even the neck of the squash had gone up.
“Now what?” I cried. “I lost it.”
Bertrand swallowed finally and looked startled.
Paulina was a step ahead of us, though. She grunted determinedly, bearing down. “Grab it,” she said haltingly. “Get it before it pops out.”
Bertrand and I watched as the hole pushed open. Her pussy looked incredible. Straining, spreading, then the neck of the squash began to emerge. “Grab it,” she said again. “Don’t let it pop out. I want to get fucked with it.”
I managed to grab the squash by its neck but it was slippery now. I had to dig my nails into it to keep it from sliding back up her. I fucked her with it slow at first, amazed that her pussy was so resilient. Easing it down her canal until the widest part of the squash was wedging her hole completely open, I then held it there, stuck in her. Its bright yellow colour looked even brighter squeezed on all sides, as it was, by the deeply engorged lips. When I did that, she cried out; she sputtered a bunch of “Oh gods” and “Oh, yes. Fuck.” And Bertrand groaned appealingly into his glass of wine.
Then I pushed the squash deep into her, as deep as I could get it while still holding on to it. I fucked her with it fast and hard, until her cries sounded more like she might hyperventilate. But I only stopped the fucking motion to ease the widest part down the canal again to thoroughly open her hole. Paulina groaned low: “Oh. Yes — God.” And she held it there, its widest part stretching her open; her knees raised and completely spread. Nothing obstructed our view. Bertrand said softly, “I can’t believe this. This is incredible, isn’t it? Christ, dinner will never be ready at this rate. .” While Paulina panted and grunted and sounded like she was giving birth.
And then I realized what this was all about for Paulina: she’d wanted to experience giving birth but they’d forced her to have a Caesarean delivery. I had an idea. I eased the squash out of her completely. “Hey!” Bertrand said, and Paulina looked at me in shock, her hole gaping open, empty.
“Wait,” I said. “Don’t panic. I have an idea. I’ll be right back, I promise.”
I came back with a baby eggplant. “Want to try this?” I said, holding it out to her.
Bertrand looked at Paulina and me wide-eyed, clearly hoping that she was going to consent. She did, without even batting an eye.