The Conference. By John Gariano My wife and I had gone to a conference for overseas volunteers prior to going overseas. It was the last afternoon of the conference and I was feeling quite frustrated, for I had come back to our room at morning tea, just to check up on my wife who had said she was feeling a little off colour. To tell the truth, I was suspicious, for she had not seemed particularly sick, and she had been flirting outrageously with a fellow from Sydney the day before. When in walked in, sure enough, I heard a moan coming from the bedroom and peering in I found my wife, quite naked, lying on her back with her heavy legs raised on either side of a muscular male body, the buttocks pumping in and out between the legs and my wife about to go into orgasm. I left in disgust and also, to be frank, arousal. So it was that I found myself talking to a slim dark woman called Rose, after it was all over that afternoon. She and I had been qutie friendly during the talks and I found myself physically attracted to her. She was of Lebanese family, sharp nose, dark eyes, black hair reaching halfway to her shoulders, small tits, broad bum, and a wonderfully interesting personality, animated and intelligent. We promised to write, that last afternoon as we sat side by side in the seats of the lecture room after the talk was done, while others wandered round, got cups of tea, chatted and exchanged addresses. We were smiling at each other with that particular warmth that shows intense sexual interest and on an impulse I said, “You know Rose, I’d like to write a letter write now, but I’d use my favorite pen.” “What pen’s that?” said Rose, turning her bright dark eyes to me, her mouth open in a grin, her face flushing slightly. She was wearing a dark green blouse tee shirt with no bra, her nipples quite visible under the cloth, and a brown skirt that reached to her knees. She had bare brown legs, strong little legs I saw, and her muscular feet were in leather sandals of the old roman type we used to wear as kids. Her feet I noticed were very broad, and her toes widely spaced and long. I was beginning to flush myself, thinking of her naked body. “It’s a very thick pen," I said, "and very easy to hold. Very nice to hold. And it writes in white ink. And two people can use it at once.” Rose had stopped smiling and her mouth was open. She flicked her red tongue over her full lips. “Would it need dipping in an inkwell or is it a sort of biro or fountain pen?” she said, running her fingers down the side of my jeans where no one could see her. “Oh, definitely needs dipping in an inkwell, " I said, reaching down and giving her fingers a squeeze. She was now breathing quite heavily. “And I imagine you’d have to dip it in the inkwell quite often.” She said. “Yes Rose,” I said, “Quite often I’m afraid, but that can be quite fun.” “I’m getting quite intrigued,” she said, flushing deeply now under her dark complexion. “Do you have this pen on you?” “Oh yes,” I said, seriously. "I always keep it on me.” "Well,” she went on, in a lower voice. “Why don’t you show me this wonderful pen?” she looked gravely into my eyes. “Outside somewhere.” “Ok,” I said, and got up, put my empty cup of tea on the table with the urn out the front and went out. She followed me a minute later into the corridor. There were people around, so I merely ran my fingers down her front, caressing her firm breast. She looked up at me and then up and down the corridor. It was now empty for the moment, so she stepped across to a door. We slipped inside, still unnoticed and found there a spare room with a lot of crates and cardboard boxes and stacked chairs and tables in it. I closed the door behind us, took her hand and led her behind some of the boxes and crates which were head high. “Now” she said, pressing up against me and feeling my bulge. “Where’s this wonderful pen?” I looked her in the eyes and by way of answer I unzipped my trousers and pulled out my swollen penis. She licked her lips. “Perhaps it needs to be put in the inkwell,” she suggested. I nodded gravely. “It just so happens that I have an inkwell with me,” she added, and calmly undid her skirt and dropped it to the ground, then hooked her thumbs into the elastic of her undies and pulled them off. She had wide hips and a thick, wiry patch of black curly hair at the bottom of her trim little belly. I lengthened some more, my pulse beating. “Why don’t you see if that pen there goes into my inkwell, though it looks a bit thick to fit in.” She gave a little shudder and bit her lower lip, half afraid of my tool, half yearning for it. I nodded and she pulled off her tee shirt and lay down fully naked on the floor, her thick nipples now quite erect. She raised and parted her muscular little legs and I knelt between them and slipped a finger up and down her slit till it was quite wet with her mucus. Now I was quite stiff and poking straight out. I leant over and she carefully positioned my tip and I pushed in and began fucking her. It was as tight fit, but her love tube was muscular and gripped me with the same passion as the woman did, her arms around my neck, her legs wrapped around my body. “Oh mate,” she groaned, looking into my eyes. “Shoot that spunk up me! You feel sooo good. Did you know that?” I sped up. “Here it comes, slut,” I said and then sped up, ramming inter her hot little cunt so roughly as to send her jerking back along the floor till her head was jammed against a filing cabinet. Then I gave a long groan and thrust in twice more and sent a great gout of jism right up her. We lay entwined as our breathing calmed, then I rolled off her and she played with my flaccid organ, squeezing the last of the white spunk out of its end. "Thanks," she whispered, and snuggled up to me. We both felt ready to go at it again but our absence would be noticed so we stood upa nd dressed then left discretely, one by one, from the room. Before we all went back to our hotel rooms however, she managed to slip me a piece of paper with her own room number on it. That night when the family was settled down, I said I wanted to go for a walk and went to her room and we made love again, this time taking much longer and reaching much greater heights of passion. She was very athletic and we must have tried a dozen or more positions. When we were finished I was quite drained. Whenever I am in town now, I visit Rose and we screw. We have become very close, and I think I even love her a little. Can one love two women at once? I seem to it.