by Amy Brent
“Much better, thanks,” Holden said. He smiled up at me again. “Ready for a little pussy shower?”
I held my breath and nodded. “Yes. Please.”
Holden smiled for a second more, then used his left hand to spread my pussy lips as he brought the shower head up and pointed it directly at my hole. The steaming water and pulsating jets set every nerve in my cunt on fire. It felt like a thousand tiny tongues were licking my pussy, probing my hole, driving deep inside me at once. The fire consumed my body, making me sweat. It was hard to breathe. I couldn’t catch my breath. Every time I gasped for air another wave of ecstasy raged through me. Within seconds, I was immediately on the edge of another orgasm.
“Oh... oooh… ooohhhh… fuck… fuck… oh… Holden…fuck… fuck.. me… I’m going to… fuck… going to… oh… shit… cum… I’m going to… cum…”
“Not yet,” I heard Holden say. He pressed the shower head to my cunt and the water shot deep inside my pussy, making me tremble against Wynn, who was sliding his cock up and down my spine like a great soapy snake.
“Oh… god… oh… god… oh… goddddd…” And with that, my pussy literally erupted. The orgasm was overwhelming. My pussy gushed hot juices back over the shower head. Holden quickly dropped the shower head and replaced it with his fingers. He rammed them hard in and out of my cunt, in and out, in and out, and when the orgasm hit I squirted like never before, spraying him, showering his hand and chest and face with juices, shooting it halfway across the shower, drenching him and the walls behind him.
I heard Wynn grunting in my ear. He was whispering, “Cum, baby, cum… Jeez… squirt that cum… that’s it… yes… yes… fuck…”
After I stopped shaking, I looked down to see Holden rinsing me off again. He was gently massaging lather into my folds now. I sighed because it felt so fucking good.
“So, who got the shower?” Wynn asked, grinning at Holden as he rinsed my juices off is face and body. Wynn carefully lowered my feet to the floor and brought his hands up to my aching breasts. He pulled me back onto him again, his long cock sliding between my pussy lips. I glanced down to see the head of his cock peeking out from beneath my clit. He put his hands on my hips and started sliding me back and forth over the length of him.
“I think I got the shower after all,” Holden said, getting to his feet. He soaped up his right hand and started lathering up his cock with the suds. He moved in close and pressed his lips to mine. His tongue slid into my mouth as his soapy hands moved to my breasts.
I finally caught my breath as my body came back down to earth. Wynn’s cock was sliding between my legs from the rear and Holden’s cock was sliding up and down my belly as he kissed me. I took them both in hand and gave them a wicked smile.
“I want both these inside me,” I said. “My pussy and my ass. I assume you’ve done that before.”
Wynn and Holden exchanged a quick glance, then gave me a cautious look. “Are you sure you can take it?” Holden asked. “It might be a bit… tight.”
“I guess we’ll just have to see,” I said, my hands working their shafts, sliding, squeezing. “Just tell me what to do.
Holden gazed into my eyes for a moment with his forehead pressed to mine. “You know you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”
“Uh, I suggested it,” I said. “Come on, let me just try it. If it’s too much, we’ll stop.” I glanced over my shoulder at Wynn, who was staring back at me with his eyebrows arched.
“You’re sure?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. “I’m sure. I want both of you to fuck me at once.
Chapter Ten: Jude
“Okay, I’m going to lie down at the foot of the bed and you get on top of me,” Wynn said, talking with his hands. Since his cock was the longer of the two, it was decided that he should be in my pussy while Holden slid inside my ass—or attempted to.
I won’t lie. I was nervous as fuck at the prospect of having both their cocks inside of me at once. I mean, I’d had one in my mouth and one in my pussy several times already. And I’d had anal sex lots of times. I loved anal. In fact, it was right up there with vaginal and oral sex in my book. Sure, it was a little uncomfortable a little at first, but when things got lubed up really good and everyone took their time, it could feel incredible. I could orgasm just from anal. No lie. I had done so many times.
But now…
My heart was beating faster than normal. I could feel it pounding in my chest. Adrenaline was coursing through my veins. I wondered if this was what it felt like the first time you stood at the open doorway getting ready to jump out a plane. It was both exciting and a little scary. At least I wasn’t in danger of splattering all over the ground, I told myself. I mean, there was that, right?
I loved anal, but now I was looking at having Wynn’s twelve-inch cock in my pussy, or however many inches I could take in. And Holden’s ten-inch cock in my ass, or however much. Nervous or not, just the anticipation of it was making my juices flow like a raging river. Yes, I was a little nervous, but I think the guys were even more nervous than I was.
Wynn lay back on the bed with his ass at the edge and his big cock sticking up like a branchless tree. His cock was not only long, but girthy and thick, mapped with veins. It was a beautiful thing to behold. And to hold. I wrapped my fingers around it and gave it a few strokes as I climbed on top to straddle him.
“Okay, you know how this part works,” Wynn said, putting his hands on my hips to slowly lower my pussy onto him. I paused for a moment when I felt the bulbous head press against my hole, but I was already super wet, so he slid in without a problem.
“Ohh… that’s so… nice…” I said, lowering myself onto him until I felt the tip of his cock hit my inner wall. I moved up and down on him a few times to get us both good and wet. Already, I was gushing like a leaky pipe.
“Now, me,” Holden said from behind. He moved to the edge of the bed, and with Wynn’s cock inside me, I pushed my ass out and invited Holden to join our little party.
Holden had brought a tube of KY from the bathroom and stood now slathering his cock with it. With enough KY, you could drive a Buick through the eye of a needle. In this scenario, my pussy was the eye...
“Let me grease you up, my dear,” Holden said with a grin. He squirted a glob of KY on his fingers and lubed up my ass good, rubbing the jelly around my hole and dipping in his finger a few times for good measure. I grunted and moaned each time his finger slid inside. When he decided I was ready, Holden put his hands on my ass and positioned the head of his cock at my anus.
“Just breathe,” Wynn said, looking up into my eyes. “And yell stop if you need to.”
“Yes,” Holden said, giving my ass a playful squeeze. “Do not let us hurt you.”
“I’m fine,” I said, forcing a smile for their benefit, trying to hide my nerves. The feeling of Wynn’s cock inside my pussy was overriding my fear. As I slowly slid up and down on Wynn’s pole, I gave Holden a nod to proceed.
I closed my eyes and breathed slowly in and out, focusing on the pleasure Wynn’s cock was already giving me. I knew from experience that gritting my teeth and holding my breath was not the right thing to do. Anal sex is about muscle control, relaxation, breathing, going slowly. Holden had done this many times. He knew what he was doing. I trusted him completely.
When the head of Holden’s cock slid into my ass, I gasped a little. Not because it hurt, but because it felt really crowded back there with Wynn’s cock already in my vagina. Holden asked if I was okay and I said yes. Keep going. Proceed. Please…
Holden slid in a little more, then a little more. When he was just at the right spot, I said, “There… right… there… oh… wow… do I feel… full…”
“Are you okay?” Wynn asked.
“Yes, just go slowly…” I said.
We started slowly at first, moving as one. As Wynn moved his hips up and down to fuck my pussy, Holden moved his hips in and out to fuck my ass. It didn’t take long. Soo
n, we were all in rhythm and I was convinced that if my heart didn’t stop, I was going to have the best orgasm of my life.
“Jeez… you’re so… fucking… tight…” Wynn said, his fingers digging into my hips. “Damn… Holden… gimme some room…”
Holden was trying not to laugh and not to cum. I knew my pussy was tight, but my ass was super tight, clenched around his shaft. And it had to feel incredible when the head of his cock slid in and out of my ass. His fingers pressed into my ass and he sped up a little, still being careful not to go to deep.
“Fuck… I can’t… fuck… hold it… anymore…” Holden said, his motion becoming erratic as the orgasm started to build. “Fuck… I’m gonna… cum…”
“Me… too…” Wynn said. I smiled. I was making them both cum at the same time. There had to be some kind of merit badge for such an auspicious accomplishment. I could only imagine what that little graphic would look like.
“I’m… oh… shit… shit… cumming… yes… yes… yes…” I moaned and forced myself not to jerk too quickly. I had two very large cocks inside of me. One wrong move on my part and we’d all end up in the emergency room trying to explain what happened.
Luckily, all three orgasms hit at once.
Our bodies twitched and jerked in unison.
Two seconds… three… four…
After a moment, we all blew out the breath we had been holding and collapsed in a sweaty, goopy heap on the bed.
A few minutes later, without saying a word, we all fell fast asleep.
For a very long time, I would remember this as the best Saturday night of my life.
Chapter Eleven: Lane
Sunday morning…
I chartered an early morning private Learjet to fly me directly from the tiny Northwoods airport to the equally-tiny Madison airport because I hated to fly commercial.
Call me a snob all you want, but when you’re the least bit famous and people see you in an airport, for some reason they think that gives them the right to accost you with hugs and slobbery kisses and demands for selfies and all number of other things. They think because they buy your books or watch you on TV that you owe them something in return. I know, you hear celebrities bitching about it all the time, but that truly is the downside of fame. Hell, I can’t even go to a dive bar and pickup cheap biker pussy anymore without TMZ waiting outside. And I loves me some cheap biker pussy… ;o)
I once had a professionally-dressed woman who appeared to be in her fifties (she looked like a lawyer or an accountant) approach me at LAX and stuff a pair of dirty panties into my hand. And when I say dirty, I mean dirty. And the funny thing was that she had written her name and cellphone number on the waistband in red permanent marker. Dolores something or other. Sorry, Dolores. I like a good pair of aromatic panties as much as the next guy, but I dropped those nasty things in a trashcan on my way out of baggage claim and found the nearest restroom so I could wash my hands. Several times.
The trip to Madison would have been a total bore if not for a travelling companion I did not expect. It was just after five AM California time, Sunday morning, and still dark outside. I was sitting in the charter service office waiting to board the Learjet when the manager came over and asked if I would mind having a companion on the private plane as far as Chicago. When I asked who this passenger was, he pointed toward a thin girl standing outside on the tarmac with a black duffle bag slung over her shoulder that was nearly as big as she was.
She was one of these goth girls who looked to be in her early twenties at most, with hair so black it shined blue under the lights and skin so pale it was almost translucent. Her eyes were heavy with black mascara and fake lashes. She wore crimson lipstick and black fingernail polish. She was dressed in ratty, skin tight black jeans tucked into unlaced combat boots, and a black t-shirt with the sleeves cut off. There was the huge face of a Blue Man on the front of her shirt. Her pale arms were adorned with colorful tattoos: a parrot, the virgin Mary, a dancing skeleton. She had a dozen or more bracelets on each wrist and rings on every finger. Everything about her appeared to be pierced or painted. I doubted she’d ever make it through a metal detector without setting it off.
“What’s her story?” I asked. She glanced my way and we briefly locked eyes, then she looked away and started chewing on a thumbnail.
“Her father is a rich doctor in Chicago,” the manager said, a pleading tone to his voice, probably because he didn’t want her hanging out all day in his terminal scaring off his wealthy clients. “She was backpacking to Los Angeles and ran out of money. He’s willing to pay your tab all the way to Madison if you’ll let her hitch a ride as far as Chicago.”
The cost to charter the jet from Northwoods to Madison was nearly ten-grand. Not a lot of money in the grand scheme of things (I know, I’m a rich asshole), but why waste it when you don’t have to. Besides, she looked like she might be an interesting girl to get to know.
“Well, what do you say, Doc?” he asked, his eyes hopeful. I could have told him to drop on his knees to beg me and he probably would have.
I stared at her for a moment more, then shrugged and said, “Why not. As long as she behaves herself and doesn’t bug me along the way.”
“No, no, she’ll be good, I promise,” he said, sighing relief. “Okay, let me introduce you. We’ll be ready to take off shortly. Let me introduce you.”
Before I could tell him that wouldn’t be necessary, he waved her over and asked her to introduce herself. She stuck out her hand and told me her name was Gina, but I should call her G. When I started to tell her my name, she squeezed my hand and smiled.
“Oh, I know who you are,” she said. Her eyes were bloodshot. Her breath smelled like vodka. I couldn’t tell if she was tired or high. “You’re Dr. Lane Curtis.”
She reached into the duffle bag at her feet and brought out a dog-eared copy book of my book, Trade Offs: How Men and Women Use Sex and Love To Get What They Want, and handed it to me.
“I fuckin’ love your book,” she said excitedly. “Can I get an autograph?”
“Uh, sure,” I said, opening the book’s cover as I reached inside my jacket for a pen. When she leaned in close to watch me scribble my name in the book, I caught the strong whiff of marijuana wafting off her clothes and hair. Vodka and pot, ah, the smells of my misspent youth. They almost made me smile. Then the grown up in me kicked in. Sunday morning an hour before sunrise and she was already high as a kite. She looked me in the eye and smiled. I scribbled my name in the front of her book and handed it back to her.
“Thanks,” she said, tucking the book back into her backpack. She glanced past me and nodded. I turned to see the manager waving at us from the door, saying that the plane was ready to take off.
“I hope they have vodka on this fucking plane,” she said, hefting the duffle bag over her shoulder and leading the way. She smiled over her shoulder at me. “I could use a fucking drink. How about you, Doc?”
“Sure,” I said, shaking my head as I followed her out the door and across the tarmac to the Learjet. The manager walked us to the plane and told us to have a good trip. G grunted at him and I gave him a nod. He was smiling now, happy as a clam. I got the suspicion that G’s father was paying far more for this trip than he should have. Perhaps there was an additional fee for ferrying wayward children back to the fold.
The Learjet was a six-seater, with three plush leather seats down the right and three down the left. I paused to talk to the pilot for a moment, then took the first seat on the right. G parked it in the last seat on the left. The middle seat on each side swiveled around to face the rear and a small table could be raised between the two seats.
After takeoff, the pilot turned off the seatbelt sign and the lone flight attendant, a pleasant looking woman dressed in a pressed blue suit, came over to ask if her only passengers would like coffee or a soft drink, and a breakfast croissant with strawberry jam.
I ordered coffee and G asked for a vodka and tonic. When the flight attendant
asked to see her ID and G could not produce one, G got belligerent for a moment, then huffed and asked for a Coke. She huffed again when she was told that Pepsi was all they had on the plane.
G and I moved to a table setup facing each other and waited for our drinks. “So, how old are you, really?” I asked.
She scrunched up her nose. “I’m seventeen, but I’ve been drinking since I was twelve. I know that my old man’s paying a fortune for this flight. They should give me whatever the fuck I want to drink.”
“Well, unless I miss my guess you’ve got a bag of pot in your duffle that you can fire up soon as the plane lands.” I saw a lightbulb go off in her head. “And don’t even think about firing one up in here.”
“Fuck you,” she growled, shooting me a suspicious look. “How do you know what I’ve got in my duffle?”
“You reek of pot,” I said, saying it without meaning to offend but not really caring if I did. She got an angry look in her eye. “It’s in your clothes and hair. And your breath stinks like vodka. You might want to ask if there’s a shower on the plane so you can clean up before we land. I don’t expect your dad would be too happy if you came home smelling like a frat party.”
“Fuck him, too,” she said, spitting the words like they tasted bad. “He’s not even going to be at the airport to pick me up.” I saw the look of a hurt little girl in her eye, but she was masking it well with heavy mascara and anger.