It was boys against girls in canasta and the prize was the losers had to cook. Carl and I lived in officers housing, then, and were good friends with Lydia and Frank. We went to baseball games with them, played cards, went to church and generally had a good, honorable time with them. Both couples had been married for a little over a year and hadn't taken advantage of the Army's free babies (military hospitals only charged $1. 75 per day). On that Saturday night we played canasta and, of course, we girls won. (Are we dating ourselves? Who even knows what canasta is?) The guys knew nothing about cooking, so confronted with their loss, agreed to cook breakfast the next morning. At least they could scramble eggs and fry up some bacon.
We were all dressed for church and the fashion then was fairly short skirts for the ladies and a coat and tie for the guys. Breakfast went ok and the apartment didn't burn down. We made the guys do the dishes, too, and they looked so cute in their (our) aprons.
I'll admit we girls were merciless teasing them and harrassing the boys from behind while they did the dishes. We were kissing them on the necks, stealing money from their pockets and otherwise being pests. Frank finally turned around and grabbed Lydia in a big bear hug and huge kiss. Carl was not to be outdone and next thing I knew I was off my feet with Carl's hand on my fanny pressing me against him and a deep deep kiss. It was making me wet and I could feel his arousal through all those clothes.
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I could picture him heading off to church with a big hardon, poor boy.
But I could see Carl was not looking at me and, following his eyes, I glanced over at Frank and Lydia. His hand had disappeared under her blouse! Fine thing for a Sunday morning! Lydia was really uncomfortable and I could hear her horse whisper, "Frank, not here! Frank!" He replied, "You started it!" But she was melting and not really trying to stop him. Soon they were locked in a deep kiss again as he played in her underthings.
Next thing I felt was Carl kissing my neck as he set me on the edge of the dining room table. When he reached under my skirt, my panties were soaked already. Then both boys started to take off our blouses. "You started it; you started it," seemed to be the only excuse they could think of. Lydia and I panicked simultaneously and broke free to run squealing into the living room. But by then it was a game and we girls lost as our clothes were ripped off us.
I was so hot I didn't care any more. Lydia was parked on the sofa with both feet touching the floor, her skirt pushed up over her waist, panties nowhere near and her legs wide open. She was beautiful, a natural blonde as it turned out. Frank was eating her pussy and eventually worked his way up to her nipples. She was writhing in ecstasy but had the sense to slip out of her skirt.
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Seeing Frank enter her was an event I had never witnessed before. Where there was almost no opening, suddenly his cock was swallowed whole in a gaping hole.
With every stroke, her pussy seemed to pull in and out like a little kid eating a popsickle.
Carl and I both watched in fascination before we landed on the floor with Carl's fingers deep in my body and one of my breasts in his mouth. He is so good that way; he had found my g-spot though nobody even knew the term then. He always made me cum before he satisfied himself and we both came together next. When he put his cock on my clit I was already having spasms and it sent me over the top screaming. He didn't have much staying power that day but I needed him to cum in me and cum hard. He plunged into me and after five minutes of glorious, dangerous, naughty sex, I let out a huge moan and felt his sex explode within me.
When I opened my eyes, beautiful Frank and beautiful Lydia were standing over us watching, their full frontal nudity seeming like the perfect thing for a bright, blue Sunday morning. Wet juices were running down the inside of her leg. Church did not seem like the perfect thing and we made the appropriate excuses the next week.
The Breakfast Club, as we came to call it, met from time to time, while we were stationed together, always on Sunday morning. Scrambled eggs turned into omelets - jelly, cheese, ham, olives and so on. The fillings in our pleasure omelet were more interesting, too, as time went on.
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