by Selena Kitt
It was a clear invitation, and she moved away, somehow confident I would follow.
Or maybe she wasn’t confident at all, I don’t know. But I did. I didn’t even look at my husband, to tell you the truth, not even a glance. I just stood up and followed, and before I knew it, we were dancing together, the same way he and I had danced, only it was softer, she was softer, her breath a combination of whiskey and Juicy Fruit against my cheek as we rocked, limbs entangled, bodies writhing.
I don’t know how long it was before I noticed him watching. He’d moved to a table close to the floor, but he didn’t join us, although I motioned for him. Shaking his head, he waved me on, his eyes blazing hotter than I’d seen them yet. That spurred me on, and I found myself giving in to her touch, her hands small and soft but surprisingly firm as they pressed my lower back, our breasts meshing, our faces close.
I didn’t think twice when she kissed me. I didn’t think at all. I just felt, her tongue, her teeth, the sharp intake of her breath when I responded, my own hands moving down to cup the swell of her ass. It had gone far beyond invitation now, and somehow I knew where we were going to end up. For the first time, I had no doubt, and I was right. We spent another hour, maybe two, dancing, drinking, talking over the music, all of it a slow, precious tease.
Her name was Meg but I still didn’t know her last time by the time we all reached our hotel room, and I guess I really didn’t need to. She had me pinned to the bed within minutes, arms above my head, skirt up to my hips, her leather-clad thighs pressing mine open as she kissed me, and I forgot for a while that my husband even existed in the world. There was nothing but this hot, breathless, demanding woman, drawing things from me I didn’t even know existed.
Where I fumbled and giggled, she was sure and serious, undressing me quickly, drinking me in with her eyes. Leather and lace, we rolled, hungry and clutching each other. I was more than a little drunk, which made things blurry. I couldn’t think, so I just let myself feel, the weight of her nakedness, the soft press of her flesh. Her breasts fascinated me, soft and round and full in my hands, her nipples dark tips that made her moan and thrash when I sucked them.
Her fingers found me wet and open, parting the red fuzz to delve inside, her thumb strumming my clit with a slow, steady, growing pressure that left me gasping into her mouth as we kissed. Just the feel of her tongue twining with mine as her hand worked between my legs left me weak with lust. She pulled me up to straddle her face, her tongue parting me this time, her hands moving up my waist to cup my breasts, roll my nipples in her fingers as she licked me.
I grasped the headboard, moaning softly as I rocked against her open mouth.
Glancing back, I saw her stretched out on the bed, her fingers working between her own legs. Her dark hair was shaved except for a thin line of hair above her cleft, and her pussy lips glistened in the lamp light. The sight of her made me hungry, eager, and then out of the corner of my eye, I saw my husband and remembered him for the first time.
He was sitting in the big chair in the corner, just watching. Well, not entirely just…
he had his pants unzipped, cock in hand. But he didn’t seem disappointed in not joining us. In fact, he looked thrilled to be watching our little show, although I hadn’t considered that was what Meg and I were doing.
“I want you, too,” I murmured in explanation as I moved, hearing her whimper as my pussy left her mouth, turning so I could lick her smooth, shaved mound. She moaned and gasped against my clit as I found hers and pressed it with my tongue. She was wetter than I could have imagined, and I played in her juices, my fingers spreading her wetness over the impossibly soft swell of her lips, drawing it inward toward the tight clutch of her pussy as my fingers slid in, as if I could somehow push it all back inside.
“Oh yes, yes,” she whispered. “Fuck me, baby. Fuck my puss.” I did just as she asked, plunging my fingers in and out as my tongue lapped at her clit. I felt her tremble, her hands clutching my hips as she moaned against my mound. I couldn’t hold off much longer-the press of her tongue made me spread and rock, I couldn’t help it, rolling my hips in her hands.
Through half-closed eyes, I saw my husband stroking his cock and biting his lip as he watched us, and that, too, was incredible, knowing how hot he was just seeing us together. Precum glistened on the tip of his cock, steadily leaking, and I used my other hand to pull her lips wider, showing him the open, pink spread of her pussy. He groaned, and I licked and fucker her even faster, barely able to keep my mouth on her as she bucked and thrashed beneath me, her belly already tightening with her impending orgasm.
“Ohhhh fuck!” I gasped when the hot, wet press of her tongue sent me right to the edge. “Oh god, yes, make me come! Please!”
“Nnnn nnnnnn,” was all she could manage-her mouth was too full of me to get out any more. But she was coming, too, I felt it in the tight shudder of her beneath me, the gentle pulse and clench of her muscles around my fingers as I fucked her. And when I looked over, I saw he was coming, too, a white-hot geyser spilling over his fist.
“Oh god! Now!” I moaned and ground myself against her tongue, taking myself there, making her take me, and she did, wrapping her arms around my hips and pulling me in deep, swallowing every last bit of me.
When she and I finally lay pressed belly to belly in bed, breathless and satisfied, my gaze followed the design of her tattoo. It wasn’t a mangled butterfly, but some Celtic design, repeating over and over, and I traced it with my finger like a mandala until she dozed. I didn’t know then that it was the closest I would come to a threesome as my husband came to bed, too, pressing in behind me, and we slept that way for a while before she got up and dressed and kissed me one last time.
Confessions: Back Seat
I hung out with a “bad” crowd. That’s what my parents told me. The funny thing is, I wasn’t a bad kid. I didn’t do all of the drinking and smoking and drugs that everyone else I hung around with did. It just wasn’t my thing. I didn’t like to dull my senses. I liked the experience too much as it was to even think about “enhancing” it with all of that stuff.
My senior year in high school, I had a friend who was dating some “older guy.” He was in his twenties, had his own place, and had a lot of friends. She kept trying to hook me up with one of them, but the only thing they seemed interested in was sex. And while that was appealing to me on a certain level, it only went so far. I wanted more than that, and so I resisted. Someone had dubbed me the “Ice Princess,” because I would actually sit and read a book while everyone else found a room and made out.
The truth is, I wasn’t unaffected. The soft moans of pleasure made me wet, and there were times I went home and touched myself, remembering. But I couldn’t seem to get out of my own way, past my inhibitions and fears, and so I just watched, or listened, but never participated. Besides, most of them were already coupled, and I was the third wheel… or the fifth, or the seventh, depending on how many of us there were.
That was, until I found myself with two unattached men in the back seat of a car on a dead end dirt road in the middle of the night. I don’t remember why we couldn’t go back to his house, but for some reason it was off limits that night. We’d all gone to a movie, and two of his friends had tagged along. I found myself between them most of the night. They were both fun to hang around with, charming and cocky and funny. They teased me, bought me popcorn, and because it was a horror flick, they both got their share of my grabbing one arm or the other and hiding my face in a masculine sleeve.
When it was time to go home, my friend and her boyfriend decided they wanted to go parking. I stared at her, incredulous, as she agreed. There I was, sitting between two guys-two considerably older guys, mind you-and what, exactly, were we supposed to do? Go for a walk, while they got it on in the backseat?
But as it turned out, they took a blanket and climbed up into the roof of the car.
While me and the two guys sat there and…hung out. At least, we did for a while. T
hey talked and joked, and I joined in, but the tension was thick, and only got worse. We could all hear my friend moaning-it was summer, and the windows were down.
Someone suggested a game of truth or dare, and I agreed. A good distraction, I thought, as the car began to rock gently with the movements from up top.
That was probably my biggest mistake. I don’t remember the question I wouldn’t answer. Of course, they turned sexual and horribly embarrassing, and I’m sure it was something like that, but I finally took a “dare.” One of the guys-he had long dark hair and a great smile-dared me to touch his cock. I knew then I should have just answered the question, but when he pulled it out, thick and hard, and grabbed my hand, there was no turning back.
He groaned when I slid my hand over the head, moving his hips forward in response. I admit, I was wet. Listening to my friend being fucked on the car roof, hearing her soft moans, was making me crazy. Clearly, both of the guys were just as affected as I was, because the other guy-he had short dark hair and an earring-was watching me stroke his friend, his hand rubbing the seam of his jeans.
“Enough?” I asked, starting to take my hand away, but he held it there, his breath coming faster.
“Don’t stop,” he whispered, and that’s how it happened. “Please, baby, don’t stop.” The pleading tone in his voice, the insistent pulse of his cock, and that need in me to please combined before I knew it and I found myself with two cocks, one in each hand. Because the short haired guy wasn’t having any of this sort of inequity.
He even said, “No fair,” as he pulled his cock out. He was a little smaller than the other guy, but his cock seemed to curve right toward me, and I took it into my hand, making him moan softly, too. I was glad, later, that I was wearing jeans. If I’d been in a skirt, I might have ended up having sex that night with them both. Instead, I could only squirm on the seat between them, feeling the seam of my jeans riding against my clit as I tugged and pulled and squeezed their flesh.
It wasn’t easy, dividing my attention. The whole car rocked with the motion from the sex going on outside, and I was sure they were oblivious to the action going on in the backseat. I flushed red in the darkness, but I didn’t stop. The swell of their cocks, the sound of their moans, the way their hips moved, each thrusting faster into my hands, spurred me on. It was a powerful feeling, beyond exciting, and I didn’t want to stop. I wanted to make them both come.
At first I would stroke one, focusing on that fast up and down motion, while I just squeezed and played with the other. Then I’d switch. I loved the sound of their breath, getting faster as I worked harder, giving me cues to the motion I should use. They both touched me, through my clothes at first, cupping my breasts through my bra, playing with my nipples. Finally, my t-shirt was pulled up, my bra pulled down, and they both fondled me, one on each side, every tweak of my nipple sending hot sparks between my legs.
I rolled my hips, looking at first one hand and then the other, both of them filled with the thrust of a cock. I worked even harder as the moans grew louder in the car, the sound of my hand against flesh, slapping faster, filling all the available space. I moaned softly at the sight of it, the feel of their hands cupping my breasts, the roll of their hips and mine. It was the guy with the long hair, the one who dared me, who got there first.
There was no real warning. He let out a low growl and bucked his hips, and suddenly his cum spilled over onto my hand, hot and shocking. I gasped, almost letting him go, but he grabbed my hand in his and pumped, his head back, eyes closed, his cock throbbing between my fingers.
“Oh god!” I whispered, watching, almost forgetting about the guy on my other side, his cock pulsing in my other hand. He whimpered, pulling my attention, and I stroked, fast and hard, breathless with my own pleasure as I rubbed my clit back and forth against the seam of my jeans, my face flushed with lust.
“Yeah, make me come!” He already was, the other guy now, filling my other hand with heat. I rubbed the head, making him moan and thrust, his hand clamping down on my breast as he came, my nipple caught between his finger and thumb. That stimulation was just enough to send me over, too, and I shuddered between them, biting my lip to hide my orgasm, ashamed and lost and surrendering all at once.
They both found me napkins to clean up with, shoved into the pockets in the side of the door, and by the time my friend and her boyfriend got back into the car, any evidence of what we’d done was gone-except the flush of my cheeks at the memory.