by Ellie Hunt
Table of Contents
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Taking Her Twice
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Love sinfully hot, wickedly tempting stories?
About the Author
Taking Her Twice
An MMF Menage
Ellie Hunt
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Two hot mechanics - and they want to share me!
When my car breaks down on the way back to college, I never thought that two hot, young, dominant mechanics would come to my rescue.
And once they take me back to their shop, I definitely never thought they’d both want to take me… at the same time!
Even though I’m untouched and totally inexperienced, I don’t know if I can resist… but can my first time be with two rugged, rough men at once?
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Taking Her Twice
An MMF Menage
“We’re going to go watch the sunset from the top of that ridge,” Patty. We were washing their camp dishes in the portable tub Patty had brought.
“It’s supposed to be really beautiful here, if you’d like to come.”
I looked up toward the ridge. It was less of a mountain, more a huge pile of red sandstone, boulders melting into other boulders to form this weird, alien landscape I’d come to for the first time the day before yesterday. I didn’t want to spend any more time with Patty or her husband Bill, to be honest, but I was here to find solace and solitude in nature or something like that.
“I’d love to,” I said. I shook the water off of a plastic plate.
Most of the group went, except for a few who stayed back to drink beers around a campfire. I had signed up for the Sierra Club a month ago, when my shrink told my that getting away from the stresses of life might help to cure my nymphomania, which had already cost me a husband.
The shrink, one of those women who just radiated calm, who spoke like she drank a lot of tea and knew about herbs, also said that clinically speaking, I wasn’t a nymphomaniac, just a woman with a very high sex drive. Whatever she called it, I thought, it was ruining my life and would continue if I didn’t find a way to stop it.
Not used to climbing up rocks in the desert, I lagged behind most of the group, a little blot of color on the red rock above me. I stopped to catch my breath.
I stood on a rock cliff, probably twenty feet in the air, and opposite a small canyon was a much more sheer rock cliff, this one a hundred feet high, at least. In the low light it nearly glowed red, as if lit from within, except for two human-shaped blots on it. Rock climbers. Free climbers, I thought, shirtless and much too high up for comfort.
As I watched, one of them let go with one hand, took one foot off the wall, and then used the other to half-launch himself. I gasped out loud, covering my mouth with both hands, before the man grabbed a ledge far to his left and, after an uncertain half-second, held on tight.
My heart hammered.
I could have just watched a man die, I thought to myself.
I looked over my shoulder and saw the members of my group standing atop the boulder mountain they had just climbed, and I thought that I should go join them, but watched the free climbers for a few more minutes. The way they pulled themselves up the rocks, the way their shoulder and back muscles bunched and pulled as they did, the way the sweat glistened on them in the lowering light.
I tried not to think of the things I wanted to do to them.
Solace and solitude, I thought, solace and solitude.
The sunset, of course, was spectacular; it lit the angles in the rocks and valleys just right, seeming to set the whole place on fire for a minute or two, all the red sandstone glowing and burning in the dying light. As the light faded quickly from the sky, we made our way down.
As they walked into the campground, I heard two people talking behind me.
“Man,” one said, “when I had to kinda jump that one time there was this second where I thought I might not make it.”
“No, man, you were good,” the other voice said.
I turned around before I could stop myself.
“Were you two just climbing the rock face across there?” I asked, pointing.
“Just a little after-dinner climb,” the one on the right said.
He still wasn’t wearing a shirt and I was surprised to see that he looked like he could almost be a model: square-jawed, blond, blue-eyed, like the poster boy for the state of Kansas or something.
“He just can’t get enough,” said his friend, just as good looking. He was darker-skinned, the color of walnut, but green-eyed, his black hair a little floppy. Every few seconds he jerked his head to get it out of his eyes, but he did it was the grace of a dancer so that it was one smooth, alluring motion.
“It was really impressive,” I said, smiling. “Did you have equipment? I didn’t see any.”
“We’ve been free-climbing lately,” said the blond. “It’s a little more exciting, and you really feel closer to the earth, you know? Like the rock is the only thing that’s between you and death, you know?”
“You have to trust the earth when you free-climb,” said the green-eyed one.
“That’s amazing,” I said.
The smiled shy smiles at the same time, looking away from my in different directions. I could already feel the urge rising, and I knew I should walk away right then, go back to my campsite with the friendly Sierra Club who had a prayer circle every night.
Instead, I stuck out my hand.
“I’m Marcia,” I said.
“Jackson,” said the blond young man.
“Bryce,” said the green-eyed man.
“We’re going climbing tomorrow at this formation near dark angel arch, up north of here,” Jackson said.
Bryce shook his hair out of his eyes.
“If you want to come.”
“Oh, no,” said I. “I don’t climb.”
“We could teach you,” said Bryce.
“It looks terrifying.”
“Just a little climb. Five feet up.”
I paused. Were they really inviting me, or just being polite?
If they were just being polite, there was no reason to invite me up.
“I’ll see,” I said. “I’m with a group, I’m not sure what they’ve planned for tomorrow.”
“Well, stop by if you get the chance,” Jackson said. “It’s only about a two mile hike.” He held out his hand again and I shook it once more time, then shook Bryce’s, and then all three turned and walked back to their campsites. I could see the prayer circle going at mine, around the fire, everyone with their eyes solemnly closed.
In the morning I woke to the sounds of a bustling campsite. There was no one in the tent with me, and instantly, my mind wandered to the two men I’d met the night before.
The way their muscles rippled as they climbed the rock formations, sweat glistening on their backs.
There’s no one else in this tent with you, I thought. No one will know.
I reached down, my panties already damp, when the tent door flew open.
I froze, still totally covered by my sleeping bag.
“There you are!” said a cheery brunette woman, my hair in two low pigtails. “Breakfast in five.”
“Thanks,” I said, the mood now totally gone.
I didn’t think I could get off with the tent door half-open, people I barely knew discussing yogurt types six feet away.
Maybe I should stay at the campsite today, I thought. Maybe I could even hike up to dark angel arch and see—no. Absolutely not.
The sun had hit the tent and it was heating up fast. I was
starting to sweat in my heavy sleeping bag. I pulled on shorts and stumbled outside.
The coffee was ready and someone had brought muffins from home, so I sat around and listened to the Sierra Club chat for a bit, waking up slowly and trying to erase the vision of Jackson and Bryce from my brain.
I wasn’t going to see them again, and that was that.
“It’s downhill at the start, so we’ll need to be careful,” a man was saying.
I couldn’t remember his name. Peter? Paul? It started with a P, I was fairly sure.
“The hike uphill will be in the hottest part of the afternoon, so we each need to bring at least a gallon of water.”
Ugh, I thought.
“If we do this loop out to Delicate Arch it only adds three miles,” his wife said.
Jacqueline? Emily? All the names tended to blend together.
“Twelve miles is a pretty good day hike,” the man agreed. “We should be back here by sundown.”
Absolutely none of this sounded appealing. I drank my coffee and ate my muffin quietly.
Thirty minutes later, as the others were making preparations, I sat down suddenly and put a hand to my forehead.
“Ooof,” I said.
“What’s wrong? Are you dehydrated? Get Marcia some water!” said a man wearing a goofy sun hat and a mustache. He bent down and put one hand on my shoulder.
“No,” said I. “I’m about to get a migraine, though.”
“You’re having an aura?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Everything’s kind of shimmery. Don’t worry, it happens. I’ll stay here today.”
A woman came over with a water bottle and handed to me.
“That’s awful,” the man said. “You’re going to miss a spectacular view.”
“I know,” I said, trying to sound sad. “I was really looking forward to it.”
“We’ll take lots of pictures,” the woman said.
Once they left, I pulled out my book and tried to read. It extolled the virtues of living alone in a trailer in the wastelands of Utah, mostly, and I got bored after two pages, letting my mind wander to Jackson and Bryce.
Right now, I thought, they’re free-climbing a giant rock, the sun shining down on their broad backs, their strong, ropy muscles, their nice smiles.
They’d said that where they were going was only two miles from the campground, and that wasn’t too far at all.
Hell, I’d be back in time for dinner and they’d never know I was ever gone.
You’re just going to go say hi, I told myself as I tied my boots and packed water into my daypack.
Nothing else.
The trail wasn’t too bad. A little hilly and rocky, and mostly in the sun, but as a member of the Sierra Club I knew all about sun hats, and I’d planned accordingly.
That guy with the weird moustache, whatever his name was, was right that it was beautiful here, even in the oppressive midday light and heat. The rock formations that gave the parks its name — the arches — were everywhere. The big ones had signs and names, but I could look up at any rocks and find a little arch anywhere.
After about an hour I came to the turnoff for Dark Angel, and stopped.
You should just keep walking, I thought.
No, I’ll be good, I thought back at myself.
You won’t. You can’t.
I can too.
When you proposition one and he turns you down, don’t say I didn’t warn you.
I’ve learned a lot of self-control in the desert, I thought at herself as I turned left down the trail to Dark Angel Arch.
I think it’s really done me a lot of good.
I didn’t see them at first, just a phallic column of rock rising toward the sky, shades darker than the surrounding sandstone.
It’s probably for the best, I thought. See, that problem solved itself.
Then, from behind the column: “Hey, man!” and laughter.
I bit my lip.
Don’t, I thought, and then I started walking around the column.
There they were: Bryce, halfway up the rock, back shiny with sweat in the sun, Jackson down below, watching him. As I walked over, Jackson turned.
“Hey, Marcia,” he said with an easy smile.
He remembered my name, I thought with surprise.
“Hey,” I said. “I was out and about and thought I’d see what you two were up to.”
“Bryce is working on scaling this beast,” he said. “I’m spotting.”
“What do you do if he falls?” I asked.
“He won’t fall.”
I frowned and looked at Bryce. Jackson seemed awfully sure of his friend, as all I could imagine was that magnificent body plummeting to its death.
What a waste.
Just then, he looked at them over his shoulder, took one hand off the rock, and waved.
“Oh god, don’t do that,” I said.
Jackson laughed.
“He knows what he’s doing.”
We sat in the small shady area below a low tree — a bush, really — and drank from water bottles.
I tried not to think about this shirtless young man, so close I could practically feel his body heat. I tried not to think about him taking me in his arms, about him bending me over this rock and —
We weren’t going to do that, remember?
I sighed and fixed my eyes on the rock where Bryce still hung. He seemed lower.
“Is he coming down?” I asked.
Jackson shaded his eyes.
“Yeah,” he said. “Looks like he couldn’t find a route up.”
I looked at him, at his bulging muscles, sculpted abs.
“Have you ever fallen?” I asked.
He laughed, a throaty, pleasant sound. “Of course I’ve fallen,” he said. “Mostly it’s not that bad. Once I fell twenty feet onto a sharp rock. Still got the scar right here,” he said, pointing to a white gash just below his right nipple.
I reached out with one fingertip and ran it out the raised, smooth flesh.
Don’t —
“How scary,” I breathed. my finger was still touching him. He didn’t seem to mind, I thought.
“Broke three ribs,” he said, and I began tracing my finger down his abs, skipping over each ripple, running it back up.
— Don’t —
“I shouldn’t say this,” I said, looking down like I was being shy, “but I think it’s so sexy, free climbing.”
Jackson leaned onto one hand and smiled his beautiful, easy smile.
“You do?” he said. His eyes flicked over to Bryce, still clinging to the rock wall.
My finger went up to trace his nipple, which puckered at my touch.
“Sure,” I said. “I love danger.”
“Well,” he said, ducking his head closer as if telling my something in confidence, “It’s not quite as dangerous as it looks.”
His face was three inches from mine, my panties already soaked through.
The voice in my head saying don’t, don’t had given up with a dramatic sigh.
So I leaned forward and kissed him.
He kissed back, pushing his tongue into my mouth, wrapping his around mine.
I bit his lip and he let out a little animal grunt.
“You didn’t come out here to see us climb,” he said, smiling.
“No,” I said.
My hand made its way down to his hip and I touched the indentation there.
Jackson reached out and grabbed my ass, pulling me onto him in a straddle. The rock was hard under my knees, but I didn’t care. I wondered if anyone had ever come from just making out with a hot enough man, as I ran my hands over his chest, his stomach, his shoulders and back, hips gyrating of their own accord.
Leaning back, Jackson watched me.
“You’re ready to go,” he said.
I just laughed and pulled off my shirt, tossing it away from the rock and onto a tree branch. With both hands I started rubbing my nipples, throwing my head back.
Then
I realized: I was still wearing a sports bra.
I laughed.
“I’ve still got this stupid sports bra on,” I said, reaching around behind myself.
“How unsexy.”
“Sports bras are hot, baby,” said Jackson.
He reached around my back and undid it in one smooth motion. My breasts sprang free, nipples puckering at the sudden chill.
Now I rubbed them with abandon, jiggling them for him. He reached up and took one in each hand, moving slowly, pushing his thumbs over the nipples.
Jackson made a low whistle.
“You’ve got beautiful titties.”
I had always liked them, too.
“I like how you touch them,” I said “Mmm.”
I began rubbing his chest again, tracing my fingers over his nipples, dipping a hand below his waistband. His khaki-colored shorts had a clear bulge in them, the outline of his cock becoming clearer and clearer with every second. I put one hand on it and palmed, softly.
Jackson exhaled, hard.
“What the fuck?” said a voice behind me.
In the fog of my lust, I had totally forgotten about Bryce.
I jumped off of Jackson, still half-naked, and stood in front of him, covering my breasts with my hands.
“I’m so—“
“She’s cool, man,” said Jackson. He hadn’t moved and was still lounging on the rock behind my.
Bryce raised one eyebrow.
“You’re cool, right?” Jackson asked me.
I wasn’t quite sure what I was cool with, but my throbbing cunt told me that I was cool with anything.
“Totally,” I said.
Bryce was also shirtless, his brown skin warm and gleaming from his climb. He ran one finger along my arm, from elbow to fingers, then traced the outline of my hand against the soft skin of my breast.
“All right,” he said, and then he took my hand and took it off my breast.
His fingers were warm and dry and he ran them down my, from collarbone to bellybutton, stopping and circling my hard nipples, bringing them back up. Behind myself I heard Jackson stand and walk over, and then felt his warm torso behind me.