Three

She’s pretty and slim and wearing just a little too much make-up. Her clothes are casual, a fitted t-shirt, jeans that show a sliver of belly, ballet flats and a belt with just a touch of sparkle on the buckle. I watch from my place on the couch as the two of you stand across the room talking.

You say something funny—I can’t hear what it is over the music and the voices of the others in the room—and she laughs. That I hear. It’s a rich, throaty sound, full of meaning. I can tell she likes you. There’s a natural flush under the carefully applied blush on her cheeks and she toys with her hair, her eyes flitting to your face and then coyly dropping away over and over. Her fingers lift again and again to her hair, or to touch her neck and collarbones, trying to draw your eyes downward.

And I can tell by the way your eyes follow every time that you like her too.

I wonder if she’s wet yet.

She leans in closer to tell you something, her hand alighting for a moment on your forearm. I can feel a mirror of that touch on my own skin, and it sends goose-bumps all along my limbs. I squeeze my legs together, close my eyes for just a moment, and picture the two of you naked, her body splayed open and spread out before you like a gift, while you slam your cock inside her.

Fuck, I’m soaked. I press my beer bottle to my cheek, relishing the cold condensation on my hot skin, and force myself to rise.

She sees me coming. Her eyes widen as they meet mine, her smile replaced by the expression of a deer pinned by high-beams approaching at 70 miles an hour. I like that look. It calls to something hard inside me, and I hold her gaze right up until the moment my arms encircle you from behind. Your hand slides into mine and I press my lips to the side of your neck, my eyes making a slow, deliberate exploration down her body, from her small, firm breasts to her narrow waist, to the junction of her legs. I let my tongue play a little at your ear as my gaze crawls lazily back up to her face.

She looks confused and worried and…something else that makes my stomach go tight and aching.

“You having fun?” you ask me, turning your head to kiss me swift and hard.

“Yes.” I turn back to her, lean in close to your ear, and say loud enough for her to hear, “She’s gorgeous. Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

She’s looking at us like we’re aliens, as if she hasn’t quite decided whether she should be afraid or not. You loop one arm around my waist and introduce us. We make small talk, but her coyness has vanished under a layer of uncertainty, her words and laughter friendly but no longer tinged with their earlier intimacy. But the throbbing in my clit won’t go away, and I’m so wet I can feel it even standing still. After a few minutes, I press my lips against your ear and whisper, “I need a smoke. Come with me?”

Something in my voice tells you that accompanying me outside will be a rewarding endeavor. You smile a “talk to you later” at her and we head for the exit. As we leave the crowded living room, my labia sliding against each other with every step, I turn back to her and offer her a look filled with invitation, beckoning with the crook of one finger. She stands there, her face pink, one hand poised at her collarbones.

Outside, I light up, drag in a lungful of smoke. We head around the corner of the house, where the lights from the windows can’t reach us. Your hand is already traveling over the curve of my ass and between my legs. Christ.

The moment we’re concealed, you shove me against the siding and bury your face in my neck. You bite and suck the soft skin where my neck and shoulder meet, one hand kneading my breast through my tank top, the other pressing up hard against my clit. My heart is pounding, my skin going hot, the noise from the party drowned out by the thrum of blood in my ears.

The cigarette drops from my fingers to hiss in the wet grass. I reach for your cock, stroking it roughly through your jeans, then sliding my hand under the waistband and encircling it. It’s hot and hard, like sun-warmed steel, and already seeping pre-come. You groan quietly in the back of your throat as I pump you, your hand fumbling with my button and zipper, wanting to bury itself inside my wetness.

I lean my head back against the wall and try to catch my breath as your fingers find me and push up inside. And there she is, in the periphery of my vision, standing in the shadows at the corner of the house.

My eyes meet hers and I smile.

She doesn’t. She watches with a palpable anxiety, knowing she’s been caught doing something naughty but unable to stop doing it. Part of me wants to call her over, but I know she isn’t ready for that. So I keep my gaze locked on hers as your mouth devours me and your fingers make my body sing.

You’ve pulled my shirt up and tugged my bra aside, and your mouth fastens onto one nipple, sucking hard, tongue flicking in that way you know drives me out of my mind. That and the feel of your fingers circling my clit undo me. I can hardly keep my eyes from drifting shut as my orgasm claws its way up my torso and into the back of my throat. It emerges on a near-silent moan as my whole body shudders, and I share every last, blissful second of it with her through the secret, invisible tether of our locked glances.

I smile at her, the languorous smile of a well-fed cat, and pump your cock until your come drenches my hand. You stand shaking and panting like a runner who’s hit the wall, your forehead on my shoulder, your hand still crammed inside my jeans.

She looks terrified now, shifting as if she wants the ground to open up and swallow her, but I refuse to look away. I hold her there with nothing more than the force of my will translated through a single glance. Blindly, I fumble in the breast pocket of your jacket for one of your business cards. Set you away from me and tug your hand from my pants, never once breaking eye contact with her.

When I step away from the wall in her direction, that deer-in-the-headlights look returns to her face. I adore that look. It makes me want to pin her down and fuck her until her will is nothing but smoke on the air, until she can’t even remember her own name. I stop close enough that I can feel the warmth from her body, the small, swift puffs of her breath against my face. I wonder how wet she is. I’d slide my hand into her jeans and find out, but she’s already spooked and I want her enough to exercise a little patience. Instead, I smile and tuck the card into the front pocket of her jeans, lean in so our lips almost touch, my breath mingling with hers as I tell her, “Call us.”

She swallows hard. The soft, wet sound of it makes my belly tighten and if I hadn’t just come, I’d be reaching between my legs right now. I finally step away, turn back to you. Your eyes are on fire as they shift from me to her and then back again. I walk up, take your hand, lace our fingers together, press my lips to the softness just under your jaw and feel your pulse beat hard and fast against my tongue. Then we’re walking away from her, around toward the front of the house.

I glance back at her over my shoulder to see her standing rooted to the spot, one hand on the pocket where your business card nestles. “I mean it,” I tell her. “Call us.”

 

 

I’m not sure what I expected her to do, but when you told me yesterday, with a shit-eating grin, that she’d called your work cell, the tension that had been coiled tight inside me all week suddenly let go and my whole body was flooded with heat. In the twenty-four hours since she called, a different, more pleasant tension has been building in me. I’ve been wet all day, my hand moving of its own volition to press up against the growing ache in my cunt whenever I find a moment of privacy.

And now she’s here in our living room. She’d been pale and tremulous when we opened the door to her knock, shifting from foot to foot on the stoop as if the smallest movement might send her haring away. I’m not sure what she was expecting—a full-on bondage dungeon complete with black lights and a wall display of floggers? When all she found was our painfully unfashionable, perfectly normal, suburban home filled with family photos, knickknacks, and the smell of steaks, grilled asparagus and seasoned rice, the whites of her eyes stopped showing and she gave a nervous little giggle.  

After dinner we sat around and chatted, working our way through a case of beer. Just small talk, nothing important, the weather, sports, her hobbies and mine and yours, funny stories about work and family and her neighbor’s one-eyed bulldog.

And the whole time, my clit has been throbbing. She’s so fucking beautiful. But it’s not just that—it’s her youth, her sweetness, her innocence. It’s begging to be corrupted, to be turned into something less sweet and innocent. Her lashes sweep down and a delightful pink creeps across her cheekbones every time she meets my gaze, as if her memory of that shared glance a week ago is too vivid for comfort.

I know what she’s going through. That memory has been emerging in me all night, sneaking up on me at the most innocuous moments to flood me head to toe with heat and a febrile, tingling arousal.

I feel a flush begin at my breasts and work its way up to my face. Can’t stop staring at her small, high breasts, that delicate bow of a mouth. My eyes flit to you over the flowers and bric-a-brac on the coffee table. I can feel the tension building in you even from across the small space, see the tightness of the muscles in your jaw, the careful way you sit—feigning casualness as if your life depends on it. You meet my gaze for a fraction of a second, and the brittleness of your expression tells me everything.

You can see how much I want her. I can see how much you want us both.

It’s getting late. There’s a point where this night will either continue to a desired resolution or be allowed to dissolve, and it’s fast approaching. I’m suddenly nervous as hell. So fucking wet I’m surprised I didn’t leave a damp spot on the couch. To cover the shaking of my hands, I get up and grab some empties to carry into the kitchen.

She grabs a couple more and follows me, crowding me a little. I set the bottles on the counter and turn my face toward her, my breath fanning her ear. My stomach is in knots as I shift just that little bit more, her hair brushing against my cheek, and breathe a kiss on that perfect, supple mouth.

She kisses me back, and the air spills from my lungs as I reach up, thread my hand through her hair, hold her still. Her lips are yielding under mine, soft in a way no man’s can be. Her tongue is furtive, hesitant, but I push mine deep in her mouth and capture it, coax it out to play.

You can see what we’re doing from where you sit, I feel your eyes on me like a patch of sunlight, but you don’t rise. You want me to have this first time, to discover and explore, to decide. I’m…grateful beyond expressing for that.

It isn’t long before I’ve pushed her back against the counter. I grind my pussy against hers as I kiss her, my hands finding the small peaks of her nipples through her t-shirt, my heart trying to crawl right up my throat just knowing you’d give me this. That you want it too. I pull back, press my forehead against hers to catch my breath, rub my thumb across her nipple as I continue to thrust against her, the slow, sweet ache building in my clit. Her hands dance across my breasts, my ass, but I hardly feel them. All I can feel is her in my arms and your gaze on me.

I step back, lean a hand on the counter to steady myself. “Take off your shirt,” I tell her, my voice thick and throaty.

She smiles, a wicked smile that promises all kinds of wicked things. Her tongue makes a slow, deliberate journey across her lips, and her hands slide teasingly down across her tits to the hem of her shirt. And I’m suddenly…furious.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I snap, hardly recognizing my voice.

She stops, her hands poised, an inch of her midriff bared, her eyes wide and round. She has no idea what she’s done to displease me. I can feel your concern from the living room where you sit forward in your chair, watching, ready to step in if need be.

“Like what?” she whispers.

“Like a fucking…professional.” I spit the word like it’s sour wine in my mouth. My eyes are hot, my throat burning with anger, my voice low and hoarse. “I don’t want a fucking porn star. I want a woman. I don’t want playacting. I want to know that every twitch, every shudder, every moan, every hitch of your breath is real and not some fucking act. If there’s any scrap of honesty in you, I want to see it right now. Take off your shirt.”

Her hands shake as she pulls her top the rest of the way off. And when my hand settles on her belly, it quivers beneath my touch, though she doesn’t make a sound. I grab a fistful of her hair, jerk her head back, let my lips and teeth travel down the column of her neck. Her breath is coming so fast now, like she’s frightened. And part of me…a dark, needful, restless part of me wants that.

I slide one hand under the waistband of her jeans and into her panties. Her labia are bare and slick, engulfing my fingers, urging them further in. I push two fingers up inside her, find her clit with my thumb, and she sucks in a hissing breath. God, this is what I want…I want her at my mercy. I want her quiet and soft and breathless, fragile enough that I could break her with one hand if I wanted to.

My lips brush her ear. My eyes lock with yours where you sit, your hand pressed against your cock, your eyes on fire. “He’s watching us…”

She lets out a choked sound and I reward her by pushing my fingers in deeper. “Do you like him?” I ask, just a breath of sound.

“Yes…”

“I want you to show him how much,” I whisper against the whorls and hollows of her ear. “I want you to go over there and kneel right in front of him and suck his cock. Will you do that for me?”

She nods almost imperceptibly. I pull my hand from her jeans. It’s covered in her slickness, and I rub it onto her lips before I kiss her one more time, long and slow and deep. She walks across the living room to where you sit. Your gaze flies to mine, eyes wide, as she drops to her knees in front of you and reaches for your zipper. I smile at you, my belly tight and aching, my cunt pouring wetness. Your head sags against the back of the chair, your eyes falling shut, as she takes you in her mouth.

Your moans and sighs, the soft, wet sounds of her sucking, arrow right through me, down my torso to my cunt. I watch for a moment before crossing the small space and crouching behind her, jerking down her jeans so I can sink my fingers into her pussy. She’s slick and hot, her folds hugging my fingers, her clit a hard bead between them. I press it hard with the pad of my middle finger, loving how her whole body twitches.

Your hips are shifting, pushing your cock up into her sucking mouth as she works you, your breath coming fast. If I don’t call a halt to this, you’ll be spilling down her throat any moment.

“Gently now,” I whisper, my teeth nipping at her earlobe. “Slow down.”

Obedient, she lets you slip from her mouth, her hand squeezing the base of your shaft tight. Your cock is shiny with her saliva, and as I watch, a bead of pre-come forms at the tip. You’re looking down at me, dragging in huge lungfuls of air, one hand fisted in her hair and the other digging into the fabric of the seat cushion. You’re on the verge, everything in your expression is demanding release. And I plan on giving it to you.

I reach up, rub her wetness all over her nipples, press my mouth to her ear and ask, softly because I don’t want you to hear, “Will you fuck him for me? Will you spread your legs wide open and let him fuck you?”

“Yes.”

Your eyes widen a little. You don’t know what I’ve asked her to do, but whatever it was, she’s said yes.

“Good girl,” I praise her, helping her to her feet. I kiss my way down her body, lingering to lick her musky wetness from her nipples, as I work her jeans down. I can hear the rustle of your clothes as you slip them off, but I’m focused on her right now. I want her panting for it. I settle on my knees, sliding her jeans and panties to her ankles.  She steps free of them and I take her hips in my hands. Her legs are trembling and she sways in my grasp.

“Hold her for me,” I tell you, and there you are right behind her, one arm wrapped around her waist, your other hand toying with her breasts. I gaze up the gorgeous landscape of her body and into your eyes as you kiss her neck and shoulders, then face the beautiful pussy right in front of me. Lean in and nuzzle it, breathing in the scent of her. God.

I part her with my thumbs. Her cunt is like an orchid, the petals slick and shiny, her clit a stamen standing rigid between them. I press my open mouth to it, sucking all that sweetness in, drinking it down. I suckle her with slow, rhythmic pulls, stroking her with my tongue. She shifts her hips, pushing herself harder onto me, wanting more. The sounds of her moans, the rasp of your breath as you watch, hit me in a raw place, a place I’d always thought was empty but wasn’t empty at all. My cunt is so fucking hot and heavy and wet, I feel like I could come just by squeezing my legs together.

I eat her until she’s almost thrashing in your arms, her clit hard as a pebble against my tongue. And then I pull away. Her tiny mewl of dismay makes me smile. I slip my shirt off, reach behind me for the hooks of my bra.

“Get down on your knees,” I instruct her.

She sinks down, so close to orgasm she’s vibrating with it. Her face is flushed, her neck and shoulders covered with the small, red marks of your stubble and teeth. I grab a lock of her hair, wrap it around and around my wrist, slowly pulling her forward until she falls onto her hands. I press her shoulders down so her ass is angled upward, then slide my palms down her back to the crease of her bottom, past her small puckered opening and into the flood of her juices. I spread her, look up at you.

“Here she is,” I tell you. “Take her.”

You drop to your knees behind her. Reach for me. Kiss me like you’re devouring a ripe piece of fruit, your hands rough and quick as if you want to touch me everywhere at once. I pull away, bury my face in your neck, drag in deep breaths filled with your scent. The place I’d thought was empty for so fucking long is spilling its banks inside me. I want this. I want to watch you take her. I take your cock in my hand and pull you forward, and then you’re sinking into her, one hand grasping the softness of her cheek, the other holding me to you.

I suddenly realize I’m the only one in the room with any clothes on. With a breathless laugh, I tug free of you and wrench off my jeans and panties. You’re sliding in and out of her now, both hands on her bottom, all your attention focussed on your task. Her cheek is pressed to the carpet, her eyes squeezed shut, her mouth gaping.

Oh, that will never do.

I crawl over and settle by her head, my legs spread wide. Take a hank of her hair in my fist and guide her to my pussy.

She laps at me softly, little kitten licks at first, and then her lips close around my clit and I can hardly see straight. I can feel my own wetness working down into the crease of my bottom as she eats me, and I can’t hear anything but the panting and gasping and keening of three people caught up in something so fucking intense, and the quiet, damp noises of her eating my pussy and you fucking hers.

She has one hand between her legs, working her clit until at last she stiffens, letting out a muffled cry, her face pressing hard against me. And then, not long after, your groan as you give in, pounding into her fast and hard and without rhythm, every muscle in your body going rigid as you spill inside her.

And god, that’s all it takes. Just that, and I’m coming.

She sags forward to lie on the floor between my splayed legs, her head resting on the softness of my belly. When my head clears, I reach up to stroke her hair, and whisper, “good girl,” with what’s left of my breath. My eyes meet yours and there’s something so…soft in your glance, a vulnerability I’ve never seen there before. As if even now, you can’t quite believe I would actually give you something like this, even though I’d told you again and again that it was exactly what I wanted—three together, with no one left out in the cold.

I smile at you with half my mouth, my eyes going blurry. There’s a light growing inside me, and the most incredible buoyancy, as if I’ve suddenly become lighter than air and only her head on my belly is keeping me from floating up into the sky. It’s a wonder my body can contain the emotion, that the brightness of it isn’t spilling from my pores to light up the whole room. I let my eyelids drift shut and feel you stretch out to lie beside me, your hand joining mine to play and stroke in the softness of her hair.

You press your lips to my shoulder, the moist warmth of your breath fanning my sweat-damp skin. “Thank you,” you whisper.

I chuckle. “What for? I told you this was the way I wanted it to be.”

You grin, sink your teeth into the roundness of my shoulder. “Yeah,” you say. “I guess you did.”

She lifts her head to look up at us and I find myself smiling fondly at her. “Care to spend the rest of the weekend with us?” I ask.

She smiles back, flushed and exhausted and looking just a little smug. “That sounds pretty good to me.”