As usual, I woke up before Isla with my cock swollen from slumber’s mysteries. Normally, I lounge in bed until my dick calms down and snooze until Isla tells me to get the fuck up. But not today. Not after yesterday.
Holy fuck! Yesterday!
I thought it’d be hard to top the night prior, when we went to a sex club, cased the joint, and fucked in the back of my truck. But on the way out of the club, I was handed a flyer promoting “Pussy of the Year.” According to the nasty-ass flyer, which led us to the much better-organized registration website, “Pussy of the Year” is a bareback, hotwife gangbang contest.
Any woman could register to enter, as we found out yesterday morning. Isla, after careful deliberations throughout yesterday, decided she wanted to give it a go, with me there to “support her.”
This utterance was the final thing she let out last night before turning over and drifting to sleep. I was on the brink of dozing off, and only vaguely remembered, through a haze, her telling me that she was serious about entering the contest.
WHAT?
This morning, I crawled out of bed, hard as a rock, and snuck downstairs, not completely sure I hadn’t dreamt of her telling me that she was all-in. I stroked my cock while looking at my phone’s bank of our homemade porn with images of Isla’s pussy in action until my dick unloaded.
An hour later, I heard movement upstairs. Knowing she was stirring, I brewed her usual honeyed latte and delivered it to her in bed. When I cracked the bedroom door, Isla was wide awake, sitting upright and, like me, smiling widely.
It seems I hadn’t imagined last night’s finale!
I didn’t say a word. I just delivered the latte, kissed her lovingly, and waited for her to speak. Fucking teasing kitten took a big sip and smiled at me with this new and oh-so-naughty smile, but she annoyingly remained silent.
I broke, unable to hold back.
“So, you really want to do it?” I asked.
“Yeah, I really do,” she replied. “I’m sure of it. It’s been so long since we’ve let loose. I know you’d like it, but I’ve thought about it, and I really think I want to give it a go.”
“That’s the horny, free, luscious woman I remember! Glad to see you get your mojo back. I totally support you, and to be honest, just the thought of it thrills the fuck outta me!”
“So, let’s do this, and do it right!” she exclaimed.
“Okay, so how do you wanna approach it?”
This is where the fun started. Sure, we were talking about diving into an uber-kinky, exhibitionist sexual experience unlike anything either of us has ever had, but it was also a contest and a performance.
We both have A-type personalities. We do our homework. We show up prepared. We never phone it in, and give everything our best effort. For everything. We might not win the contest, but we were absolutely not going to disappoint anyone.
First order of business: re-read the contest rules.
Check. They were pretty clear, but we also found contact information for anyone who had additional questions. Perhaps as we strategized, some questions would pop up? That was reassuring.
Even if things took a weird and creepy turn and we bailed, it was only one-hundred dollars, so we registered with payment and gave some factual demographic information, but registered us as “Aisha and Tyler.” True names weren’t required, and we weren’t about to give them.
A confirmation email shortly arrived saying that Aisha (Isla) was the seventh woman to register thus far, and that further instructions would be forthcoming closer to the event.
We were in!
Six weeks to prepare. Forty points to earn. Plus two bonus points if I got on my A-game. But Isla needed to demonstrate (1) visible lust, (2) sexual creativity, (3) stamina, and (4) overall positive performance.
The elephant in the room was the “stamina” category. We’ve all read tales of “fucking for hours,” but really?
Please… use a timer for your next session. Thirty minutes is a long time for continuous vaginal intercourse.
We’ve never used a silly timer, and I’ve seen Isla fuck another man and me for an extended duration, but I have to think that it didn’t come close to thirty whole minutes. Could she even do it comfortably, with pleasure?
We both didn’t know, but were willing to find out. Right then and there.
It was morning, when my stamina’s greatest, so we got out the toys, and gave it a whirl. After a few minutes of the clit sucker getting her riled up as I stroked my dick to hardness, she welcomed my penis into her vagina, and we started a thirty-minute countdown timer.
We fucked for a few minutes in missionary position before switching to doggy style while I mirrored my phone to the big screen. We fucked, watching porn star cocks sliding into mouths and cunts.
And we fucked.
And we fucked.
We scrolled through a few different scenes to keep the kink going, and before I knew it, fifteen minutes had elapsed. All the while, I kept her pleasure on the center stage. But thirty minutes is a LONG time, and I started to lose focus.
She seemed fine, but after twenty minutes, I had to slide my dick into her pussy at a pace to match what I needed to keep hard. I was less focused on hitting her spots and more focused on my own sensations so that I could keep going. It worked, but at twenty-two minutes in, I couldn’t hold it anymore and shot my cock’s load of cum into her vagina.
I felt like I failed her, but that was longer than we usually go at it. I guess I did fine. Even though I kept the lube flowing, I was concerned that she was spent, so I asked her if she wanted to stop for now.
Isla said she was okay and wanted to finish the test, but I could tell that she was putting on a strong face and was getting tired.
I reached into the toybox and grabbed a cock-shaped vibrating dildo that wasn’t quite as thick as my dick, lubed it up plentifully, and handed it to her.
My girl did it. She plunged that rubber cock into and out of her pussy (slowly) until my phone’s timer beeped at the thirty-minute mark.
But she didn’t come to orgasm yet. That always requires careful attention to her clitoris. Her vagina was spent, but she was so keyed up that within a minute of her clit-sucking toy on her love parts, she exploded.
Test round one, completed. Thirty minutes was doable, at least in this controlled setting. My cock, followed by a dildo. But what about different cocks, and what if someone was larger than me?
We busted out a ruler and researched the statistics. It turns out that I’m slightly above average length and moderately above average thickness. The line of suitors is from the general population, so we had to be prepared for the possibility of one of the men she was going to fuck being even larger.
According to the rules of assigning points, this shouldn’t matter. It wasn’t about “random luck or gifts given by nature.” It was about “drive, ability, and doing the good work.”
Still, having her fuck a huge dick certainly couldn’t hurt, especially in the “stamina” category, and we both felt she needed to be prepared.
All of this was what was running through our minds after our first test session. We knew there’d be more. Many more. Every day. We had work to do.
But first, more gardening. More cooking. It was summer, after all, and we’re both professors, so fuck work. Time to enjoy life. We forgot about the contest for the rest of the day while she watched me edge our front gardens.
I made Singapore chilli crab for dinner, and served a perfect Vinho Verde to complement. It’s a sublime and perfect dinner, but messy as fuck, so we ate in our secluded garden in the nude, and the cracking of snow and Dungeness crab legs sprayed richly laden seafood sauce all over our bodies. We used soft bread and tongues to lap it up.
The dinner was delicious, but the conversation was even better. Our brilliant minds strategized and planned. Oh, the next few weeks! We’d be as ready as possible.
At some point during the feast, she made me get out a pad and paper. We needed to make a list of things to buy in order to set us up.
That list is:
Keep reading, bitches!
