I didn’t normally come at the moment I was penetrated, but Jim’s words and the vision they were creating in my mind had my cunt spasming immediately around the silicon toy. That reaction, more than any words I used later, told him just how I felt about the idea of Jordan joining us for a threesome.
Even so, I suspect we would have kept it as a fantasy if my friend, Di, hadn’t spotted the advert on the back of the toilet door. She had arranged to meet us in the Prince Henry one Saturday after she’d been shopping in the West End, simply because she was curious to see the pub I was always raving about. She was just as impressed with it as we had been, and we spent a happy couple of hours catching up on gossip.
Coming back from a trip to the ladies’, she commented, ‘Do you know anything about this handyman who’s offering his services? Some guy called Jordan, behind the bar?’
As casually as I could, I replied, ‘We know Jordan, but he’s not here at the moment. He usually does the evening shifts. But I didn’t realise he was any kind of handyman.’
‘Well, the sign says he does work like painting and gardening, which would be useful. The garden’s like a tip at the moment. Anyway, he’s left a mobile number, so if you hear any recommendations from anyone else, let me know.’
I promised I would do my best, though I was aware of Jim’s gaze on me. I was sure that at the first opportunity he would want me to nip into the ladies’ and make a note of Jordan’s number, though not so we could contact him in a professional capacity.
In that respect, I was wrong. When Di had left to catch a train back to Enfield, Jim said, ‘We should have a word with Jordan. I could get him to clear out the guttering.’
Though it sounded like a euphemism for everything I wanted Jordan to do to me, Jim was being serious. The gutters of our property were clogged with leaves, left there by the high winds of a couple of winters, but since Jim suffered from bouts of vertigo, he wasn’t allowed up ladders to remove them. I took Jordan’s number, programming it carefully into my mobile. ‘We’ll get him to do this job for us,’ Jim said. ‘It means we can spend a bit of time with him away from the pub. Get to know him a little better. Decide if he really is the right one for a threesome.’
And that’s all we were intending to do when he came over the following Sunday afternoon. When I’d rung him to offer him the work, he had accepted immediately, assuring me he had a good head for heights. Jim would be around to keep an eye on Jordan’s safety, and I – well, I would make tea and get on with chores around the house.
Which didn’t explain why I didn’t bother to put on a bra under my skimpy vest top and why, even though I had long ago decided the look was far too young for me, I twisted my chestnut hair into plaits. Jim clearly approved, from the low whistle he gave when I came downstairs, and when I opened the door to Jordan, his gaze swivelled down to where my nipples poked against my top before moving swiftly back up to my face. I’m sure he thought I hadn’t noticed, but with Jordan, nothing escaped me.
The two men went out into the backyard to set up the ladder, while I started chopping vegetables in preparation for the evening meal. I didn’t pay too much attention to what they were doing, though I heard various scraping and bumping sounds and the occasional shouted instruction. Then Jim called, ‘Robyn, could you come here a moment?’
Wiping my hands on my skirt, I hurried outside. Jim was holding the ladder steady, while Jordan was descending at speed, carrying a short-handled rake.
‘Could you take the rake from Jordan, love?’ Jim asked. Not believing in such things being bad luck, I stood under the ladder and reached up. I still couldn’t tell you how it happened, but instead of my hand wrapping round the rake handle, I instead found myself, just for a moment, touching the length of Jordan’s cock through his baggy shorts. It was as though I’d completed a circuit: electricity seemed to flow through me, and I was sure Jordan felt it too. I couldn’t just have imagined that the flesh seemed to pulse and harden beneath my fingers. Quickly rectifying my mistake, I took the rake, trying not to let either man see how my face was flushed with embarrassment and desire.
When Jordan joined us on the ground, he said, ‘Is there something happening here I should know about?’
I shook my head. ‘No, sorry, just me being clumsy.’ I was trying not to remember how wonderful it had felt to have Jordan in my hand, hot and alive, for just a moment.
‘Actually,’ Jim chipped in, ‘we did have a proposition for you. We – er – wondered how you might feel about joining us in a threesome.’
That was the moment when Jordan could have thanked us, taken the money for the work he’d done and walked away. Instead, he bit his lip as though considering the suggestion, then said, ‘I wouldn’t be averse to the idea. But I need a better idea of what might be involved. Robyn, why don’t you take your top off and show me?’
Standing there with a self-assurance which suddenly belied his youth, Jordan was giving every impression the threesome was his idea. I didn’t argue with him. I simply pulled my top over my head, knowing the high wall which separated our house from the next gave us enough privacy.
‘Oh, yes,’ Jordan said, smiling at the sight of my bare, round tits. ‘Now I know exactly what I’m getting into ...’ With that, he took me by the hand and led me inside.
The three of us didn’t even make it up the stairs. Jordan had stripped me of my skirt before we were barely into the kitchen. Jim quickly cleared enough room on the scrubbed pine table that Jordan could lie me down on it, and then the two of them went to work on me.
Whatever I’d hoped a threesome might involve, it couldn’t quite match the reality of a hot mouth latching on to each nipple and sucking. If I turned my head one way, I could see Jordan pulling down his shorts, freeing the cock I’d had such a brief acquaintance with. It had risen rapidly in the last couple of minutes, and while it wasn’t as long as in the fantasies Jim and I had created, it looked a good fit for my pussy. Jim had simply let his own cock flop out of his fly – though flop was hardly the correct word any more, given that it was standing as hard and proud as I could remember. The thought two men wanted me so much had my juices flowing, and I needed someone to lick them up.
Jim obliged, his tongue making a rapid ascent of my thighs before reaching the source of my wetness. He lapped eagerly, as Jordan continued to nip at my teats. I reached out and took a proper hold of Jordan’s cock, rather than the inadvertent feel I’d copped before. His fevered response after I’d run my fingers along it a couple of times showed me how close he was to losing his load, and I slowed down, not wanting him to come just yet.
‘The bathroom’s at the top of the stairs,’ I told him, ‘and there are condoms in the cabinet over the sink. Bring back as many as you think we’ll need.’
While he was gone, Jim continued to lick me. His tongue feathered over my clit, bringing me to the brink a couple of times but always pulling back before I could give in to the orgasm which threatened to overtake me. I glanced over to see Jordan standing in the doorway, strip of condoms in hand.
‘Put one of those on and come over here,’ I urged him. He did as I asked, sheathing himself in black latex. Jim relinquished his position, and I spread my thighs wide, letting Jordan climb on top.
This was the most gorgeously decadent thing we’d ever done, I thought, as Jordan’s cock surged up inside me. Beside me, Jim was fisting himself, his eyes fixed to the spot where Jordan and I were joined. As he watched, Jordan slipped out almost all the way, letting Jim see the way my juices glistened on the condom. I groaned as he pushed back inside. As I’d predicted, he fit beautifully, hitting the right places without stretching me too wide.
‘That’s it, darling,’ I murmured. ‘Just keep doing that.’ I didn’t know whether I was referring to my avidly wanking husband or the young stud who was growing in confidence as he learnt just what I needed to make me come.
I knew he wasn’t going to last long, not with his youth and the amount of stimulation he was receiving
, and I needed that something extra to help my climax keep pace with his. Jim – wonderful, thoughtful Jim – slipped a finger into the folds of my sex, applying just enough pressure to my clit. That did it. At the same moment Jordan’s back arched and he filled the condom with his spunk, the waves of sensation broke low in my belly and I came so hard I thought I was going to fall off the kitchen table.
‘Maybe we should take this upstairs,’ Jim suggested. His dick strained upwards, dangerously close to blowing its own load.
I shook my head. ‘Not just yet.’
With Jordan’s help, I climbed off the table and sunk to my knees. I took my husband’s shaft in my fingers and closed my lips around the fat, salt-tasting head. He caught hold of my plaits, setting the pace at which he wanted me to suck him, and I knew I’d been right to style my hair like that.
How clever the Buxtons had been, I thought, having the foresight to buy up the unpromising old boozer on our street corner. They had changed the pub for the better and, though they had no way of knowing it, they’d changed our sex life too. As Jordan guided my free hand to his cock, which was already beginning to revive, I had the feeling we really were in an up-and-coming area.
Peter and Pierre
by Alcamia Payne
Martha’s life changed when Peter and Pierre moved into the apartment across the passage.
The lock on their door was broken and, as it swayed gently to and fro, Martha watched them through a crack as amid the packing cases and eclectic furniture the new-age hippies roamed around their apartment completely naked, and then proceeded to make love, their seduction alternately the soft serenade of rubbing bodies and the operatic crescendo of wild animals. Instantly, Martha was jealous, jealous of the passionate sex and angry at being the witness of something she couldn’t share in.
The next day Peter and Pierre knocked on her door with a bottle of champagne and a box of chocolates. Apparently, Pierre was an artist from Marseilles and Peter was a doctor. Their affair had been love at first sight, a fact which made Martha experience a further pang of jealousy, but she couldn’t dislike them, simply couldn’t, it was impossible too. Peter and Pierre were the most likable gays she’d ever met and incredibly attractive. Peter resembled a Greek god with his wavy blond hair and fine frosting of baby blond hair and Pierre was the perfect Gallic seducer; swarthy and dark with smouldering eyes and a sexy French accent.
They stood with their arms around one another and apologetic grins on their faces.
‘We came to say sorry.’
‘What about?’ Martha enquired.
‘Our behaviour yesterday. The Yoko à la John Lennon performance.’ Pierre glanced at Peter. ‘We knew you were watching us but ...’ He nudged Peter in the ribs. ‘The voyeurism was a bit of a buzz.’
Peter winked at her. ‘Yes, it certainly was, luscious lips.’
Martha blushed.
‘You still keep watching us, Martha.’ Peter said a week later.
‘You’re both beautiful, that’s why.’ Martha remarked. ‘And it’s hard not to, since the lock’s still broken.’
‘It’s all right, petal. But, we wanted you to know, we’re not into voyeurism and kinky performances. We’re simply two guys in love and about to get married.’
Pierre and Peter had evidently decided to adopt her because they were constantly leaving things on her doorstep; a trinket from the flea market, a book, warm croissants – perfect gifts all of them because they seemed chosen with a psychic precision. It was like a strange kind of ritual mating game. Either that or two men feeling sorry, Martha conjectured, for a poor girl jilted by her lesbian lover, and now in a flat she couldn’t afford.
Soon they invited her to the movies where Pierre sat holding her hand and Peter fed her popcorn. One particularly memorable evening they made her dress up and they took her to a fancy jazz club where they both danced with her and she found herself being aroused and having her first disloyal thought about Melissa, as she compared the merits of their cocks as they pressed against her flimsy dress and wondered, just wondered, what it would be like to fuck her best friends in all the world, despite her being a lesbian and Pierre and Peter being gay.
The nature of the gifts began to change and became more romantic. Always flowers from Peter and chocolates from Pierre. She had no way of knowing this was a courtship though.
Martha received a visit from the landlord. She was behind again on her rent and this time he only gave her two weeks to pay. Martha felt a dark sense of consternation.
Peter will know what to do, she reflected. Peter was good at everything and especially problem solving; well, a doctor would be good at the finer details. She knocked on the door and Pierre opened it completely naked and indolently fondling his cock.
‘Oh.’ Martha said. ‘Sorry to interrupt.’ And her cheeks turned scarlet as her gaze dropped to Pierre’s squat, thick penis. ‘I was wondering if Peter was in?’
‘Come in, petit oiseau, he’s taking one of his long soaks.’ Pierre said, grinning at her. ‘I’ll go and put some clothes on.’ He gave his penis a tweak. ‘So sorry about this, you can see why Peter calls me his Gallic missile. The trouble is he’s my disease, Martha. Peter’s the virus and I’m the host. He makes me perpetually hard. I asked him what the remedy was. He said there isn’t one, not unless you count a diet of constant fucking.’
Martha studied Pierre’s compact muscular body with its sprigs of dark hair. It was a very attractive body and it stirred her and filled her with the curious notion that Pierre and Peter were perhaps her illness too, and she’d somehow caught their unique love disease.
‘Anyway, what problem do you want Peter the brain box to solve this time?’ Pierre asked as he wriggled into a pair of tracksuit bottoms.
‘I’m behind with the rent and Mr Nasty said he’ll throw me out,’ Martha said sadly.
Pierre made a moué as he frowned. ‘But, you can’t move out, cherie. It’s impossible; we’d die if we lost you. You’re our best friend.’
‘I might have to.’ Martha sighed as she leafed through a wedding magazine on the coffee table. ‘God, you’re getting married?’
‘Yes.’ Pierre grinned. ‘Isn’t it super groovy? Peter chose the rings the other day, didn’t consult me, of course. He’s decided he wants to make an honest woman of me.’
‘Where have you been, lover? I thought you were going to join me in all the bubbles?’ Peter said wandering out of the bedroom in a wispy caftan, and winding his arms lovingly around Pierre’s neck. Through the thin material Martha glimpsed his long lean legs and his protuberant and exceedingly long cock, and she felt herself weaken. He hugged Pierre while suggestively gazing at Martha.
‘A tear trickled down Martha’s face; she couldn’t help it.
‘My Christ!’ Peter exclaimed. ‘What did you do to Martha, Pierre? You didn’t scare her with the Gallic missile, did you?’
‘She’s behind with her rent,’ Pierre elucidated. ‘Mr Nasty put the frighteners on her.’
Last night Martha had dreamt about Peter and Pierre. As their limbs entwined and tangled she’d somehow become caught up in the coupling; the cries and sighs and hands on flesh. She shivered as she remembered their cocks. First one and then the other pinning her to the bed.
‘We love you, Martha,’ Peter said. ‘It’s out of the question, you can’t leave. It would be like amputating a limb or cutting a branch off a tree.’
Martha laughed. Well, that was one way of putting it, she pondered, as she studied them touching and caressing with their dancing fingers. Every time she watched Pierre and Peter it was like witnessing a unique event, such as the birth of a new species combining through symbiosis, or the functioning of a microcosm. And, they were so secure in their love, they didn’t care what the world thought as they walked down the street hand in hand. They were the first truly secure people within love, she’d ever known.
‘We’re glad you came. You see, we wanted to talk to you about something anyway, Martha. We don’t
want you to feel left out when we get married.’
‘That’s sweet of you,’ Martha remarked, as Peter stepped forward and insinuated his fingers between hers. He smelt fragrant. Martha loved the smell of Peter, soft and warm and comforting, whereas Pierre smelt masculine and feral.
‘Last night we lay in bed and we talked about you. We want you to be happy.’
Pierre’s eyes were bright with enthusiasm. ‘Yes, we decided you ought to move in here. We know that you’ve been finding it hard to manage the rent since Melissa left and this is a huge apartment.’
Pierre had strong warm hands, capable man’s fingers. He stepped forward and began stroking her other hand.
‘It would never work. You don’t want me around. I’d be the third cog in the wheel,’ Martha objected.
‘We do want you, Martha. We can’t think of anything better.’ Peter’s fingers grazed her nipples and she felt herself light with inner fire as a fabulous shot of erotic arousal pulsed down her spine.
‘It’s the perfect solution.’
* * *
The next day Martha heard nothing from the apartment and when she knocked on the door it was locked. It was unlike Pierre and Peter to go away.
And then she heard a curious sound remarkably like a whimper and, pressing her head to the door, she shouted. ‘Pierre, Pierre is that you? I shan’t go away until you open the door.’
When Pierre opened it, he’d been crying and his face was streaked with tears.
‘Peter left me.’
‘No ...’ Martha shook her head. ‘Peter would never leave you. I realise you have mad arguments, but you always make up in the most delicious way.’ She hugged him tightly and, before she knew it, she was kissing him.
Pierre made no objection. He pulled her closer and she felt the prodding of his taut penis between her legs, just like the dream but better. So much better.
Pierre’s fingers started to play a symphony over her body.
‘I thought you were gay. I thought I was gay,’ she said, almost to herself.
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