The Virgin Threesome

by Brit M.

  She opened the attachments without taking a breath. Her heart was pounding. The first photo was a much more amateur shot than their original profile picture. It showed them kissing, eyes closed. The darker-skinned man had his hand on the other's jaw, holding him in the embrace. She cycled through to the next picture and her breath caught. This one showed no faces, but the skin contrast let her know who she was seeing: a man on all fours, though the photo cut off at his shoulders, and another fucking him. The camera was angled down at the point where they were joined, and she knew it was them, pictured their faces in her mind's eye to go along with the erotic photo. Another showed the blond man, the other man's hand fisted in his hair, with a cock in his mouth. He was eyeing the camera with a sultry look, lips wet and plump around the dick stretching them. His expression was absolutely wicked.

  Marissa slid a hand between her legs as if drawn by powers beyond her control. The photos showed them again, this time fully clothed and embracing in a kiss. The last was a picture of the blond man with the other man on his back, his skinnier frame pinning his partner to the bed as they writhed together. Marissa stroked herself with gentle fingers, teasing the pleasure in her groin tighter and tighter as she scrolled back through again. The picture of the blond man sucking cock was the hottest, she thought, because he was looking right at the camera, and by extension, his partner.

  She drew her hand away from herself long enough to type: “So hot, I can't even stop looking. I want you, both of you.”

  It was the dirtiest thing she'd ever sent in an e-mail, though that wasn't saying much. She clicked the button all the same and went back to the pictures, rubbing her fingertips in small circles around her stiffened clit. It was a slow, heady pleasure.

  The reply: “Let me guess—you're touching yourself?”

  She gasped a little, using her free hand to respond, “Yes.”

  “Show me?”

  She paused, breath heaving, and weighed the options. Should she? If they were honestly thinking about having a “date” with her, they'd see her this way. She would just make sure not to have her face in the photo. She scrambled for her phone and shucked her business-casual slacks. Thankfully the blinds were still closed from the night before. She angled the phone to have a full view of her fingers and her pussy, spreading her legs wide. She snapped two shots as she stroked herself and checked them on her phone: the shot showed only her taut lower stomach and her slick cunt. She e-mailed them to herself with a quick press of her phone's camera functions button.

  The minute it took to reattach the photo to the e-mail from the couple was almost torture. She was so close to coming, so aroused by how—new and strange this experience was. She was having cybersex with a stranger. She shuddered, sending the files with the note: “I think I'm about to come.”

  The reply was so fast she knew they must have been taking their return photo as she took hers. It was a shot taken with a webcam, she thought, that showed the blond man sitting on the other man's lap. His back was to the camera, his legs over the arms of a desk chair. Strong, dark hands were holding him up by his ass. The picture captured a single moment of their fucking, but the darker man was grinning over his partner's shoulder at the camera. His eyes were half-lidded with arousal but his face was open and amused, pleased. He seemed so—interesting.

  “Us, too,” was the reply.

  Marissa cried out as she came, arching her back and pushing a finger inside herself at the last moment, imagining it was one of them.

  The oven dinged in the other room. She panted for breath, shivering with aftershocks, and typed another response as heat flushed through her. “Thank you for giving me a try.”

  She sent it and closed the laptop, staggering to her feet to turn the oven off.

  Lita would be amazed. Marissa had sent two strangers a picture of her most private parts and masturbated while they sent her photos of themselves in the act. And it had been so, so scorching hot.

  She knew without having to ask her friend for the advice that she was going to make a date to meet them. The e-mail interlude had only cemented her desire to fulfill herself, her needs, her wants. They wanted the same things she did, it seemed, and they were all consenting adults.

  Marissa smiled to herself, because she refused to feel any shame. This was what she wanted, and she was going to do it, old-fashioned morals be damned. She'd earned it.

  Chapter Three

  The next morning found Marissa sitting in her empty classroom with a fresh cup of tea, staring at the wall. She'd checked her e-mail with quivering fingers that morning and found a response from the men. Their names were Paul and Adrian—the blond man was Adrian—and they were respectively thirty and twenty-eight. They both had clean bills of health. They liked to go to movies and read, which was nice, she thought.

  And they wanted to set up a meeting date with her over dinner on the coming Saturday.

  Lita had never called her back the night before, which must have meant that her date went well, whoever it was with. She didn't begrudge her friend the fun, and honestly, it was probably better to handle this on her own and not let someone else's expectations guide her. She would do what felt right and avoid what made her genuinely uncomfortable. That shouldn't have been so hard to figure out, but it was, and so she was still staring at the wall letting her tea cool when the auditor walked in.

  “You look preoccupied today,” he said. “I keep telling you to relax.”

  She blinked, feeling her face heat and hating it. He raised an eyebrow. “It's nothing. I'm sure I'll do better today. I don't know why I get so nervous.”

  If only he knew. Today it wasn't the class that had her nerves on edge. It was the fact that she was trying to decide whether or not she should meet a couple from the Internet and decide if they wanted to all have sex. She glanced at him one more time as he took his customary seat closest to the door. He was a handsome guy—that might have been where all the stupid nerves came from. It was always harder to be suave and interesting in front of attractive, classy older men who happened to be grading her.

  Now that she thought about it, she'd had that problem once or twice in her own college career. It made sense. She wasn't afraid of being graded badly—he just got under her skin. Strong jaw, thick, glossy hair with a touch of grey that curled just so over his ears like he didn't care enough to cut it, the faintest, roguish hint of stubble on his cheeks: he was her type, when it came to older guys.

  Marissa took a sip of her tea as her students began to filter in, pondering her realization. Maybe that would make the class easier; knowing she had a little crush might make it go away, or at least keep it from pestering her and making her act like an idiot. Honestly it made her feel a little dumb that she hadn't put two and two together about her own reaction to him. He wasn't “smoking hot” as Lita would say, so he hadn't dinged her radar immediately, just slipped under it to be a cute nuisance. But, she knew nothing about him, and he was her auditor, so it really didn't matter if she thought he was nice looking.

  Still, when she stood to start the class, she felt his eyes on her. It almost brought her to a stumbling halt again, but she powered through the tingle of awareness and kept talking. Students rustled in their bags for the paper they were supposed to turn in. She marked in her head which ones were sitting still with abashed looks. They'd be staying after to beg her for forgiveness and an extension. She hadn't decided yet if she'd give it—was that fair to the others? What would the auditor say?

  She shook herself and collected the neatly stapled stacks of paper from each row of desks, tapped them on hers to straighten them out, and tucked them in her bag. Now, it was time to get on with the lecture.

  It was, as she'd suspected, easier now. But she also added a few flourishes and made a point to catch the auditor's eye once or twice. He was smiling. He might not have known how she conquered her nervousness, and she was glad about that, but he seemed pleased that she'd managed it. She held onto the hope that he'd grade her well after a
ll.

  * * * *

  Marissa managed to delay opening her laptop by picking up take-out, eating her dinner, and watching a few episodes of a crime drama on television. By the time she'd finished all that, her fingers were practically itching to open their e-mail again. She still wasn't completely sure of her response, but, really, why not say yes to a normal date? There were no guarantees on the table. She could go, meet them, and see if she was still comfortable with taking things a step further.

  That in and of itself was a huge step.

  It was easy enough to power up the laptop and re-open the e-mail. She sat staring at it for a long while, considering what she would say, what she wanted to do. A part of her said no, that she'd be better off just finding another guy like Jeff who was nice and normal, and seeing if it worked out this time. The rest of her knew that wasn't the way to go. It hadn't worked before, her whole life. It wasn't going to work now.

  So she clicked “reply” and typed out a short answer. “Yes, I'd like to meet with you to talk about this further. I can't make any promises yet, but we can see over dinner, right? I want to try. What do you say? Saturday at six?”

  Sending it was easier than making the decision to agree. It almost felt like a weight had lifted from her shoulders. She was really going to do it, this new, crazy thing. She was going to meet a staggeringly beautiful male couple and talk about fucking with them. The first thing she thought was that Lita would be proud—and then Marissa realized that she herself was rather proud.

  This really was the kind of freedom she wanted, the kind of woman she could be.

  When their response didn't come after a few minutes, she closed the laptop and stood, cracking her back. She hadn't made the mistake of wearing heels to work again but sitting in the hard plastic chairs they provided for the students and professors alike was murder on her spine. Maybe it would be wise to start bringing a cushion stuffed into her bag. She grinned. That was a little quirkier than she was willing to be.

  A yawn let her know her night was coming to a close. She checked the clock and decided she had time for a real bath, not just a shower, and stepped into the bathroom to run the water. For fun, she even poured in some of the bubble bath she kept under the sink. It was a reward for doing so well during her class today—it might have been her imagination, but it seemed like the students had noticed her lack of stress and were responding more freely because of it. If she could be open and engaging, not all uptight and terrified, maybe they could, too?

  Marissa undressed and slipped into the steaming water with a sigh. If she could get her career and her love life squared away, everything would be perfect. She knew that the couple—Paul and Adrian, she reminded herself—weren't looking for anything permanent, and this time neither was she. But afterwards, when she'd really figured out what she wanted and what she didn't, she could go looking for a match.

  Not Mister Nice and Boring this time, either. Now that she'd felt the spark, she was sure that was what was missing from her past relationships. She had been attracted to Jeff, and Miles before him, but never enthralled by them, never driven to screaming, shivering orgasms by them. They hadn't ever made her feel like Paul and Adrian had managed to just with a few dirty pictures.

  Lita had been right all along—she needed some adventure in her life.

  * * * *

  It was Thursday, which was composition class day, full of freshmen and the kids who would probably drop out in the next semester. She tried not to be cynical about it, but really, they wouldn't do the readings, write the papers, or even pay attention during class. It wasn't hard to see they were on their way out from the first day—some people didn't care enough to bother.

  To be honest, it drove her up a wall. She'd gone to college with plenty of people who worked every day to get through, and known people who couldn't afford to go at all, and these kids wasted their parents’ money to goof off and fail when there were people who wanted it and couldn't go? It was infuriating.

  The only thing keeping her from actually yelling at the morons was the e-mail she'd woken up to. “Sounds wonderful. Do you like Italian? I know a good place. If you don't, Adrian thinks seafood is a good choice, too.”

  She'd replied, “Italian is divine. Where?”

  Her auditor rarely came to the composition class, probably because she'd already taught it when she was working on her doctoral degree. It wasn't new to her. She just couldn't wait to get out of doing it ever again. Maybe that was ungrateful, and she didn't want to feel ungrateful, but this was the only part of her job she hated. She looked for him anyway as the class drew to a close, but he wasn't there.

  What would he think of her plans for the weekend?

  Well, he had no wedding ring, but he probably wasn't the type to encourage young women to have threesomes with strangers. Heat prickled down her spine at the thought—repeating it to herself did that, consistently. I am going to fuck two men, she would think, and her belly would go tight. Just the thought was enough, and imaging it seemed to light a wildfire under her skin.

  Really doing it might give her a heart attack, but what a way to go.

  * * * *

  Saturday came too quickly, yet not quickly enough. At five, Marissa found herself smoothing a dress down around her thighs in front of her mirror. She slipped on her high heels, checking herself out from the back: dark blue slinky dress with a scoop back, but a high front so not too suggestive. The hem was at her knees and no higher. It was sexy without being a party dress, high-class enough for a nice Italian restaurant but not too upscale. She sighed, tugging at the hem again and checking out her legs. Her hair was pulled up in kinky, gelled curls on top of her head in a clip.

  It was the best she was going to get, she thought, but she didn't feel terribly comfortable. Marissa would rather wear jeans and a T-shirt than a dress, though academia had taught her to dress up well for official functions.

  This was an even bigger sign that she needed a date. Discomfort in pretty clothes, being unsettled by the thought of meeting someone—she wasn't sure she would be up to their standards. Of course, there was nothing she could do about that, so she finally managed to drag herself away from the mirror and grab her clutch bag and her car keys. She had an hour to make it to the restaurant, which was at most a half hour away. She grabbed a book from her bag at the last minute, in case she had to wait.

  Her heels clattered on the wooden steps down to the parking lot. One of her neighbors, outside smoking, raised a hand in a wave. She smiled back at the woman and returned the wave, then climbed into her car. The dress slid silkily up on her thighs. She straightened it again, wondering if she should have gone for a longer hem for a dinner date. Was this dress too party-girl? She didn't think so, but she wasn't quite sure.

  “It's too late now,” she grumbled to herself, frowning, and turned the key in the ignition. “I'm sure it's fine.”

  Talking to herself often centered her, or made her feel goofy enough that it eased her tension. Throughout the drive, she took each turn with more care than usual, drove defensively, and kept her fingers crossed that she'd make it to the restaurant without any problems. Of all the days to have an accident or get a ticket, today was not the one.

  The parking lot was full when she arrived and wedged her small car in between two trucks. She checked the time. It was five forty-five, which meant she was only a bit early. The e-mail they'd sent her said the reservations would be under Adrian Beck if she arrived early. She took a deep breath to calm her pounding heart, though it didn't do much, and got out of her car. Her legs felt watery. She leaned against her still-open door for a moment, eyes closed.

  This was a date, nothing more or less, not yet. It could be more if she wanted it to be, if they wanted it to be. She'd never been so nervous meeting Jeff for dinner, not even the first time, but probably because she'd already known him from college. He hadn't been new, or a stranger, and there hadn't been two of him. Part of the sudden disorientation was a shiver-inducing level of
arousal at what she was doing, and what it stood for. The rest seemed to be her upbringing and its expectations having a fistfight in her head with what she really wanted.

  After the momentary breather, she lifted her chin and walked to the door of the restaurant, feeling the sway the high heels put in her walk. Her clutch purse dangled on her arm. She hadn't called Lita first to tell her what she was doing. What if they were secretly axe-murderers trying to lure out young women? A sudden rush of too-much-crime-drama fear prompted her to take out her phone standing in the foyer and text Lita that she was on a date and she'd check in later.

  Then she stuck the phone back in her bag and went up to the hostess.

  “We have a reservation. Adrian Beck?” she asked.

  The hostess checked her list, smiled, and said, “Right this way.”

  Marissa's heart was in her throat as she followed the woman. Would they already be at the table? In person, would they be as handsome as their photos?

  Better yet, could she sit across a table from two men who she'd seen naked, fucking, coming together? Her cheeks burned as she remembered vividly the pictures they'd sent her so willingly. They had seen her intimately, too. How did people do this, meet like they'd never known these sexual details about each other already? To make small talk knowing what someone's cock looked like, thinking about having him inside her? She was almost dizzy.

  Luckily or not, the booth the woman led her to was empty. She slid in on one side, ordered a glass of wine, and toyed with the silverware. Adrian, the blond man, always seemed playfully wicked in the pictures. He would be the flirt, she assumed. Paul, on the other hand, was the one who'd e-mailed her. She was fairly sure of that. He was the more serious of the two. She could count on those few small things, but other than that, they were an enigma.

  Her glass of wine arrived first, along with a basket of bread lightly coated in garlic butter. She plucked a small piece of it and nibbled. Her stomach was growling; she'd been too on edge to eat the rest of the day. Meanwhile, her eyes scanned the room. She wished the foyer was visible from the table so she could be prepared when they walked in.