Billionaire: Menage: Swinger: Let's Swing (MMF Bisexual Romance) (New Adult Contemporary Short Stories)

by Piquette Fontaine

  “I want you,” she pleaded breathlessly. “Fuck me. Fuck me, boy.”

  He straightened, his fingers pressing bruises into the backs of her thighs, and let the tip of his leaking cock brush the skin around the hole of her wet entrance. She whined, her voice high and needy.

  “It’s Matthew,” he said, smirking, not even questioning why a woman in his dreams wouldn’t know his name. Then, in one thrust, he shoved his cock inside her.

  Matthew shouted. It was hot and wet and tight, so tight, and the feeling of her walls shifting to accommodate him almost made him come right then. She hissed hot breath through her teeth. Matthew began thrusting in and out of her body, watching as the woman’s mouth opened and her wide eyes burned a pale white gold color. Her hands scrabbled at the earth. Her breasts heaved up and down as she panted, spilling beneath where her thighs pressed into them. Matthew knew if he could shift a little, he would find the spot that would make her go…

  “Yes!” the woman shouted. “Yes, yes, again!”

  He pounded in and out of her, the sounds of their slapping bodies echoing off the canyon and into the vast dark shadow that was Mexico. The woman gripped his arms and her head fell back, her eyes wide, and she was moaning and bucking into him and he pumped harder and harder, his thick walls filling her completely, she was so hot and so tight around him, the soft insides of her where he wanted to spend the rest of his life being buried inside… the woman shouted, “Yes! Yes! Yes!” Matthew felt her muscles squeeze and contract around his aching cock, and he shouted with her as he felt himself finally spilling his seed, his body wracked with orgasmic bliss…

  Matthew opened his eyes. He was lying naked in the meadow under a rising sun that was drenching the valley below him, turning the stones hot and pink. A herd of desert deer grazed nearby. The woman was nowhere to be found, and nothing – no indented grass, no footsteps in the earth, not even a few stray curls of her dark, fragrant hair – were anywhere on the cliff. Matthew let his head slam back down on the orange dirt. He gave a moan of frustration and flung an arm over his head as the grasses bent and swayed in the wind, casting shadows over his long, lean body. Flashes of her body, her laugh, the hoarse clip to her words that made it sound like she didn’t speak to other people… memories of the woman from his dreams coursed through his body. His cock, bare and pink in the morning sun, twitched with eager anticipation. Matthew sighed and looked up at the cloudless blue sky. He could feel himself longing for her to be there, with him. Not for sex, but to talk more with. To make her laugh again. To hear her chastise him and agree with him in the same sentence.

  Please, he said silently to the valley below, in what felt like a prayer or an invocation. Please let her find me again.

  Because it was the last day of the trip, Matthew decided to take the final day a little easy. His pack was lighter now, what with most of his water and food having been consumed, and the trail back down the Chisos Mountains into the basin once more was all easy, tilted switchbacks. He reached the desert floor once more at around two o’clock.

  Down here, the trails turned into concrete paths where tourists could more easily wander the national park and visit stands that sold trinkets down by the startlingly blue Rio Grande. Matthew stuffed his hands in his pockets and tried not to feel weird about being around other people for the first time in 48 hours. Families and couples and visiting college students wandered the path with him, talking loudly about favorite movies and the heat. Keeping his head down, he let himself drag behind a larger group of people in front of him, stopping at a trinket stand to give him more distance between them. The man running the stand had dark, leathery skin and a wide, toothy smile. He opened his hands wide and indicated the items on the small folding table below him, trying to find things that kept Matthew’s attention. River grasses growing in the mud of the Rio Grande shivered in a breeze, and a flash of the woman’s golden eyes shuttering closed as she arched into his mouth between his legs had him shaking his head vehemently.

  “Sorry,” he said to the man who owned the stand. “I’m not interested, but thank you for your time.”

  The stall vendor looked at him shrewdly, scratching the side of his stubbly face. Then he reached down and pulled up a white pendant.

  “¿Lo quieres la lobita?” he said, holding the pendant in the center of his palm.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re saying,” said Matthew, giving a hopeless shrug. “I don’t wear necklaces.”

  The stall vendor waved his hand carelessly, and Matthew was reminded of the woman’s own sarcastic gestures. He smiled before he could help himself.

  “La alma de lobita se guarda el poseedor,” he said, holding out the pendant insistently. “Mira, señor. Mira.”

  “Okay, okay,” Matthew agreed. He took up the pendant. “I’ll think about…”

  But as he took a closer look at the small white shape dangling from the piece of string, his words died in his mouth. Carved from a pale bone was the shape of a wolf, a crescent moon etched onto her belly and eyes painted gold on her face. Matthew looked up at the man, bewildered. He smiled in return.

  “Es la luna,” he said, pointing at the etching of the moon. He pointed up at the sky. “La luna llena.” He made the image of a full circle with his hands. “Llena.”

  The full moon. He was saying the moon would be full tonight. Matthew nodded. “That’s what she told me,” he said softly.

  The stall vendor cocked his head. “¿La lobita? ¿La mujer quien cambia a la lobita?”

  Matthew frowned. He knew the word mujer. It meant woman. Slowly, Matthew’s eyes widened. The stall vendor, watching him closely, pointed to a weathered piece of paper taped down to his folding table next to the other wolf pendants. The Wolf Spirit/La Alma De Lobita, said the paper in big bold letters. Then, below that: The wolf spirit is a Mexican folk legend that tells of a beautiful woman trapped in a wolf’s body for most of her days. Every full moon, however, she gets three nights to return to her human form. Legend has it that she prowls the Chisos Mountains, longing for a lover and a friend. Then, presumably, the paper restated the story in Spanish below.

  His first thought was, So she wasn’t a dream, then. She was real. Matthew felt his throat tighten. He pulled his wallet from the bottom of his pack and removed a few single dollar bills. “I need that,” he said to the stall vendor. The man smiled sympathetically, nodded, and placed the pendant in his hand.

  Matthew leaned back and closed his eyes, submerged to his neck in warm water bubbling from the ground. The hot springs were down in a canyon right next to the deep rushing waters of the Rio Grande. Ancient hieroglyphics covered the orange rock wall rising behind him. River reeds waved above his head in a gentle wind. The sun made one last brilliant spark in the sky, and then dove beneath the horizon. The wolf pendant, which he was wearing around his neck, bobbed on the surface of the water. Crickets chirped and the river flowed and the wind bended the necks of the reeds, as Matthew waited for the woman to find him. He realized with a slight shock that he hadn’t thought of Keller at all in the last 24 hours. Keller, who had dominated every single one of his waking thoughts in Dallas, who had been the meaning of his life… when he thought of her now, he pictured himself dropping a leaf in the river and letting it go downstream. He smiled. It felt good to find at least temporary peace. It felt good to be on the right path towards letting her go.

  When Matthew opened his eyes, the moon, now full, hung low and round like ripe fruit in the deep blue sky. A few stars winkled, popping out of the darkness one by one. The hairs on the back of his neck rose. The wolf spirit was coming.

  There she was. Across the river, emerging from the wall of reeds, was the woman, naked and her golden eyes fixed on Matthew. He watched breathlessly, his eyes wide, as she stepped down the wet sand and into the river, the water up to her breasts and her long, dark hair fanned out across the white, swirling eddies. It seemed to part for her, as if it knew her, as if the whole landscape knew her and responded to
her touch. She padded up onto his side of the river and, lifting herself gracefully, lowered her body down onto the rock shelf in the warm water beside him. Her bare thigh brushed his. She tipped her head back and let her eyes close briefly, steam rising around her face.

  “You came,” he said quietly.

  The woman looked at him fondly. Her eyes found the pendant, and Matthew heard a sharp intake of breath.

  “Just something to remember you by,” he said, trying to make light of it all, but sounding instead too soft and tender. The woman’s mouth quirked.

  “Will I ever see you again?” she said in what was almost a whisper.

  Matthew cupped her face with his warm, wet hand. He brought their foreheads together. They shared a breath.

  “As often as I can,” he said, and he knew in his bones that he meant it.

  The woman brought her hands to his chest, brushing his raised nipples and feeling his toned musculature. Matthew brought his hands down to her neck and buried them in her rich, silky hair.

  “This is my last night as a human,” she said mournfully.

  “Then let’s make good use of it,” said Matthew, and brought their lips together in a kiss.

  They had never kissed before, and they began lightly, barely touching. The kiss quickly deepened as their hands roamed up and down each other’s bodies below the water’s surface, cupping and squeezing and pressing as the woman sucked on Matthew’s tongue suggestively. He greedily held and massaged her breasts, relishing the hitch in her breath as he passed fingers over her hardening nipples. The woman let her hands trail down his abdomen and his pelvis to his groin. He immediately responded, half hard within seconds of her thumb brushing the slit on the head of his cock. Her fingers fondled his sac, pressing upwards and drifting lazily at intervals. Matthew groaned. In response, his hands slid between her legs, where the curls of her pubic hair softened in the water. He let his own fingers trail up and down the folds hidden there, grinning into her mouth as she bucked against him. He danced around her clit, sliding back the hood and letting his pinkie hover just above the swollen point until the woman involuntarily began pushing against him, her hands sliding slowly up and down his hard, pulsing shaft. Her face twisted with desire. Matthew bit her bottom lip and inserted a finger inside her opening, his pinkie beginning to press a rhythm into her clit. She gasped and lengthened her stroke on his thick erection. They panted into each other’s mouths, sliding slickly against one another in the water in imperfect synchronization, their bodies electric with need.

  “Matthew,” the woman moaned.

  “Tell me… what to call you,” Matthew gasped. He inserted a second finger, trailing them along the soft walls inside her.

  “Loba,” she hissed. “Call me Loba. I want you inside of me. Now.”

  Matthew crushed her mouth in a searing, desperate kiss. He needed no further encouragement. In a fluid motion, he lifted her by her haunches and shoved her back against the rocks. Holding his length, he slid easily into her hot, tight opening. Loba cried out, arching against the rocks and into him. He buried his face in her ample breasts, biting and licking as he pumped his cock in and out of her, her fingernails running up and down the skin on his back. She grabbed him by his hair and yanked back his head, pressing their mouths together in a sloppy, bruising kiss. Then, wordlessly, she wrapped her legs around his waist, took one of his hands, and guided it to the seam of her ass. He understood immediately and let a finger dance around the entrance there.

  “Matthew,” she pleaded, and bit the corner of his skin where his neck met his shoulders. Then her eyes went wide and glassy: he’d entered her ass with an index finger. He plugged her tight hole, wiggling against her anal walls, and increased the speed of his rocking hips until his cock matched his finger. Loba’s gold eyes rolled into the back of her head and she moaned loudly, “Yes, a qué sí, por favor mi amor… A yes, yes…”

  Her breasts bobbing in the warm water, her hair wild and flowing like the river itself, her wet skin shining in the moonlight, the sheer exquisiteness of how he felt inside her, her fingernails scratching paths in the skin on his back, the loud sounds of pleasure they were both yelling into the wild dark night… it was too much, it was much too much, and when Loba screamed, “Yes! Yes! ¡Ay mi amor, yes!” and her walls contracted once, twice, three times around his shaft, her body shuddering and her thighs almost squeezing all the air from his body, Matthew felt himself succumb to wave upon wave of orgasm. He spilled himself inside of her, her breasts flush against his face and his hand buried deep inside her ass, shouting her name to the moon and the river and the whole desert. Stars appeared in his vision. Matthew let his head fall on her shoulder, where she lapped at his neck and his face and any skin she could reach, her hand lingering through his dark, wet hair.

  “Loba,” he croaked. “Loba, I…”

  “Shhhh, mi amor.” Matthew raised his head and looked into the smiling gold eyes, feeling the slickness of their skin together. He slid out from her, but he could already feel himself growing hard once more. Loba laughed and cupped his face. Then she leaned into his ear.

  “We have until the sun comes up,” she whispered, her breath traveling down through his body to where the blood was pooling once more.

  Matthew bucked up against her mound of pleasure, and she laughed breathlessly when he said, “Let’s get to it, then.”

  As she kissed him, laughing into his mouth, Matthew knew that no matter what happened tomorrow, this night – these three nights – would change him forever.

  The End

  Speed Mating

  Chapter 1

  Sometimes, in order to live a fulfilling life, you have to just sort of take the plunge and do something completely out of the blue and crazy, even if it's out of character for you and beyond the realm of your comfort zone. And, as it turns out, even if it was something you never really intended to involve yourself with in the first place... I, personally, learned this lesson the hard way, the hard, veiny way in fact, if you catch my not-so-subtle drift. I wasn't the type of person to just go out on a Saturday night and get wild and hammered, to be picked up by guys at the bar and go nuts with them back at their place, or else take my top off in public, or anything like that. And for that matter, I didn't go around doing any of the more socially acceptable “craziness” that's supposed to entail a person being young and carefree. I never went skydiving or bungee jumping or hang gliding, nor snorkeling or even things like running marathons or participating in sporting events. I didn't even like sports, nor the crowds that going to such events tended to entail, and the same went for concerts and comedy clubs and bars... Pretty much anything, really...

  Frankly put, I was a bookish girl, without any particularly outgoing pastimes of which to speak, preferring a calm night at home streaming a romantic comedy and sipping on wine and cuddled up beneath a blanket to any of such previously mentioned rabble rousing. I mean, hell, my name was actually Jane, as in “Plain Jane,” a moniker which I felt suited me absolutely to a T. And yet, as comfortable as I was in my own skin living my life in such a manner, I had to say that I did begin to feel as though some manner of personal fulfillment was largely absent from my day-to-day existence, and this, I can't deny, presented something of a problem for me. My days sort of all just followed the same boring pattern, nothing ever happening and excitement never really coming to me, and it began to occur to me, quite sadly, that I might just be wasting the prime of my life and allowing it to slip free of my grip without a fight.

  I mean, I had to be honest with myself for a moment... Could I really, truth to God, say that I was happy living the way that I was? I was in my mid-twenties now, a pretty attractive woman, with blonde hair and penetrating blue eyes, an angelic face and something of a sumptuous figure to behold. By all means, I wasn't the type of girl who spent nearly every one of her weekends curled up with a library book in her lap as her only company, living vicariously through the imaginations of authors, if that weren't genuinely my choi
ce of activities on which to spend my time. And yet, even if it was genuinely my choice, deep down it still didn't feel like what I actually wanted out of life, so much as it seemed to just be what I was settling for and pretending to be content with it.

  I began to grow more and more frustrated with the monotony of my circumstances, unable to force myself into the sort of fun existence I really wanted for myself, and stuck on repeat following the same exact pattern and addicted to the routine. These were my twenties, damn it, and I shouldn't just be sitting around moping all the time and letting them go by improperly taken advantage of. The only real sense of danger ever to occur in my life was the threat of the odd overdue library fine every now and again.

  I needed something new, something thrilling, yet something that would respect the fact of my hesitance in introducing myself to this sort of world, and wouldn't totally immerse me in the sort of situation I didn't really care to be in all at once. And so it was that I turned to my old friend Carla, a roommate of mine in college with whom I'd kept in touch over the ensuing years, for suggestions. She was always out doing something from as far as I could tell from her posts on social media, hiking and canoeing and engaging in any number of fun time activities... Surely, I thought, she could help me find a way of effortlessly squeezing myself into the fabric of the socially active in a manner that didn't too abruptly jar me with too much at once.