It’s an old, old fantasy: two women, one man, making love in joyful abandon. Lou can’t remember how long ago the potent picture entered his mind: one woman straddling his cock, a second woman straddling his mouth, and all three of them consumed by pleasure.
But he’ll never forget the stormy summer evening when that lingering fantasy at last became a delightful reality—or the love with which Monica and I gave him, and themselves, that memory.
I have an old-fashioned name, but my outlook is thoroughly modern. My warm, bright spirit draws people of like temperament to me, and I have built a large circle of dear friends, all fiercely protective and loyal. Though no advocate of ‘free love,’ I love freely, and give myself permission to embrace my friends with more than my heart. Over the years many, including several of the women, have shared my bed and attentions.
And yet no one who knows me would for a moment think me as promiscuous or predatory, for I blend discretion and honesty so well that ruffled feathers are rare. It’s clear that these encounters are a bonding between friends, a physical affirmation of the trust and affection which already exist. When Lou met me and was invited into that circle, he had to throw out some of his own old-fashioned notions.
But Lou has been well rewarded for his willingness to change. A year after we met, Lou and I moved in together. That was two years ago, and I’ve never been happier or more sexually contented. What’s more, my friends, who at first scrutinized Lou suspiciously, the way a father does his daughter’s date, have begun to accept him into their embrace.
This brings me to Monica.
When Lou first met her, at an outdoor May wedding, she reminded him of a girl he had admired in high school: jet-black hair, olive skin, and a classical Italian voluptuousness. Her large tits filled her white button blouse in a most provocative way, and her rounded hips and full bottom made the sight of her walking away a powerful temptation.
I noted his interest with a smile. “I’ll just say one thing about Monica,” I told him. “Be straight with her. Don’t play games.”
Lou took that advice to heart. When the chance for a private moment arose late in the day, Lou told Monica plainly how delightfully sexy he found her. Her eyes brightened, and she allowed as how she had always liked men with brown eyes, and thought he had fascinating eyes.
Before that conversation was done, they had shared a first tentative but electrifying kiss, and Lou had learned a great deal about her history with me. We had been close years ago, before Monica moved a thousand miles east. After five years in what Monica called ‘urban exile,’ she had just returned to her hometown, two highway hours away from where Lou and I live.
She had no car, so we probably wouldn’t see her often, she said. But she hoped to see us soon, under better circumstances for catching up. And then she casually confided that she had always been attracted to me, though she had never quite known how to tell me.
“Maybe I’ll just have to seduce you both someday,” she said, her tone light, but her smile saucy.
Then her ride called her away, and in a few minutes Monica was gone. So it was left to Lou to report back to me that Monica was interested—in both of us. Lou watched as my expression metamorphosed, in several stages, from startled to intrigued.
“In that case,” I said slowly, “there’s something else I should tell you about Monica. I think she has the most beautiful tits.”
We didn’t talk about it, but from that point onward, a threesome involving Monica, Lou, and I was somehow in the air. No one had made any promises, but all the pieces were there—if only they came together in the right time and place.
The right time turned out to be only a month away, though at first it seemed like an absolutely wrong place. The occasion was our group’s annual weekend swim-and-sing camp out in a nearby state park. Even though Sue and I knew Monica was coming, we also knew that sun screened skin, mosquito-sprayed clothing, crowded tents, and narrow air mattresses—plus no privacy to speak of—didn’t add up to anyone’s idea of ideal conditions.
But Mother Nature intervened. It was brutally hot and humid all afternoon, while we were at the lake. By dinner time, back at our campsite, the sky was a wall of dark clouds. By dusk there was no mistaking the ominous rumbles, and when the wind changed, we knew we wouldn’t escape the downpour. A few hardy souls vowed to stick it out, but the rest of us quickly struck our tents and began to gather our gear.
Monica, though, was in a temporary quandary. She wasn’t eager to stay, but she’d been dropped off at the park by her roommates, who had continued on into the city and wouldn’t be back until Sunday. When Monica looked at us hopefully, Lou and I looked at each other and saw the answer we wanted in each other’s eyes.
“Why don’t you come home with us?” I said. Monica’s hopeful smile; widened into a happy one.
On the drive home, the sexual tension filled our Sequoia like a glowing cloud. We talked about everything but sex, yet Lou could hardly think of anything else. It was hard to keep his eyes on the dark, rain-slick highway. The fingers of lightning fracturing the sky outside reflected the electric atmosphere inside the car.
When we reached our house, I opened a bottle of white wine, and Lou loaded the CD with jazz. We’d been building up erotic energy for hours, just as the thunderstorm raging outside had built through that sultry afternoon. But still, there was no hurry. I understood—there was no need for haste. We had a night and a day together ahead of us.
Finally, with sheets of rain hammering the living room windows, I set aside my empty glass, reached out to squeeze Monica’s hand, and bent to kiss me. “Let’s go upstairs,” I said.
We undressed by the warm light of one small lamp, and met in the middle of the king sized bed. Monica kissed me, then Lou, long deep kisses that seemed to drive the temperature in the room higher. We were a study in contrasts: I’m smaller, catlike, my skin pale even after the day’s sun, my auburn hair cascade to top of my shoulders—Monica darker, her eyes jet like her hair, her lips as soft and inviting as her hourglass figure. Our scents mingled in Lou’s nostrils in a delightful confusion.
I reached out and gently caressed the dramatic curves of Monica’s tits, which were even fuller and more luscious than her clothing had betrayed. “See?” I murmured to him, as though reading his thoughts. “Didn’t I tell you?” My fingertips grazed Monica’s nipples, making the other woman shiver and close her eyes. Lou’s cock, already jutting upward, stiffened at the sight.
Lou tattooed a line of kisses along my shoulder, then cupped and cradled Monica’s brown-tipped globes in his hands, enjoying their weight and warmth. I bent forward and experimentally teased a nipple with my tongue. When Lou did the same, Monica moaned and lay back on the bed, cradling her tits in her own hands and offering them up to our mouths.
We were quick to accept the invitation. Monica’s nipples rose rewardingly under the eager attention we gave them, lips and tongue and nipping teeth. She squirmed on the black bedspread and made quiet mewling sounds of pleasure. At one point Lou and I pillowed our heads on Monica’s tits as we kissed sloppy hungry kisses that seemed to arouse Monica almost as much as they did us.
Hands were everywhere; the unexpected touch part of the strange wonderfulness of three together—exploring the familiar and the unfamiliar in turn and at once. Monica’s fingers in Lou’s hair, I lightly stroking his now throbbing hardness, his own hands firmly squeezing my ass cheeks, the way he knew I liked, or tracing lines across Monica’s belly and inner thighs, looking to discover what she liked.
Before long, Lou slid down along Monica’s body, kissing his way to the apex of her thighs, and parted her dark fur with his tongue. Her taste was complex, her fragrance intoxicating, and he happily buried his face there and began to give her the very best of his oral talents. Her clit swelled gratifyingly under his tongue just as her nipple had, and soon the whole bed was moving with Monica’s ecstatic contortions. But, not long after, her moaning, from which Lou had been taking his cue, seemed to stop.
When Lou glanced up, he saw why. I had taken inspiration from what Lou was doing to Monica, and moved around to where I could lower my own wet cunt onto Monica’s mouth. My eyes were closed, my lips parted, my fingertips pinching my own nipples as I rode Monica’s tongue in a haze of delicious sensation.
Monica was pinned to the bed at one end by my silky lips and at the other by Lou’s mouth. In between, she arched her back and clawed at her own breasts, squeezing them harder than he would have thought she’d enjoy. But Monica was at that point of arousal where pain and pleasure merge, and Lou began to tongue her faster, to suck gently on her swollen clit. Suddenly she let out a gasping, moaning cry that even my thighs could not muffle, and Monica’s body jerked in powerful spasm.
Monica was near-faint in afterglow, and I moved from her to Lou, nudging him onto his back and lowering myself onto his cock. Her inflamed cunt was like a hot velvet glove sliding down over his hardness, but I was so wet that there was barely any friction. I leaned forward to let him suck my nipples, and rocked up and down on his shaft with a voracious, ferocious energy that brought him right to the edge of orgasm.
But, reaching down to where we were joined, I seized his cock at the root and clamped my fingers around it in an iron grip, staving off my explosion while I rode him to my own. My almost agonized cries of joy and a warm, spreading wetness between us declared the intensity of my release.
By this time, Monica had sat up, and was biting her lower lip and watching us intently. “Is there any of that left for me?” she asked hopefully when I emerged from my flushed haze, finally noticed her.
I shimmied playfully atop my impaler. “Feels like it to me,” I said, leaning forward to kiss him. “What do you think, babe?”
“By all means—it’s only polite,” Lou answered with a smile.
So I gave way, moving to the side and helping Monica kneel astride his hips, even guiding his cock inside my friend’s hungry opening. The differences in texture, in temperature, in enveloping sensation, between the two women were remarkable. But Monica was no less exciting than I had been, especially when she began to enthusiastically bounce up and down, her muscles milking his cock and driving all coherent thought from his mind.
Lou scarcely noticed me moving until I was at his head and above him. But when Lou looked up and saw my glistening crimson gash descending toward his mouth, a shiver of delight ran through him. When my lips were sealed against his, his tongue tasting my exotic dew, he was transported to heaven.
It was the picture out of his fantasy, only better — because Lou had always seen it from the outside, and now he was in the middle of it. Lou licked me eagerly, thrust his cock deep into Monica, and asked for nothing else but for it to go on forever. It couldn’t, of course, for there’s no way to store that kind of sexual electricity, to endure such exquisite stimulation, for long.
All too soon —and at the same time, none too soon—Lou was lost in a storm of his own, flooding jets of cum into Monica and sending a lightning charge of pure animal pleasure from his arching body into both his partners. Lou thinks that one, maybe both, of us women came for a second time soon after, either from what Lou had given us or from what we had been doing to each other.
But it wasn’t important enough to ask about as we collapsed into a happy, fragrant huddle of warm, tired bodies. All that mattered was how close we felt in that moment, and how lovely —and loving—it had been.
There were three more episodes of erotic exploration—in different rooms, moods, and combinations—before Monica was picked up by her roommates late the next day. But the time Lou remember most fondly was early Sunday morning, when he awoke first, savoring both the warm contact with the sleeping women on either side of him and the memory of what had happened in that bed the night before.
Monica was the next to awake, and turned to snuggle closer to him. The snuggling gave way to soft sleepy kissing, and then to wide awake caresses and short breathed sighs. Both of them were eager to go farther, but reluctant to exclude me, a late sleeper by nature, and loathe giving me a rude and uncomfortable wake-up surprise. But I stirred enough as Monica and Lou were purring at idle to become aware of what was going on.
“Is it all right if I borrow him for just a little while?” Monica asked, reaching across him to brush a lock of hair back from my cheek.
“Sure,” I said with a heavy lidded smile. I kissed him on the shoulder and murmured, “Go ahead, its okay,” as I burrowed back into my pillows. It was more than permission—it was confirmation that the warm bond among the three of us was still there, that there were no regrets or second thoughts.
This time, the love-making was simple and straightforward.
“Please fuck me,” Monica whispered, and shifted in the bed so that she could open her legs and invite him atop and inside. Leaning on his hands, Lou thrust his morning hard cock into her with long, slow strokes, deep to the hilt and then pulling out until only the tip of the head joined them. After a time, Lou dropped to his elbows so that he could once more enjoy her wonderful tits and large, suckable nipples. Monica’s arms went around his waist to hold him close and deep, and she seemed to welcome his weight on her.
Then, as their movements grew gradually more energetic, and they both began to draw ragged, gasping breaths to fuel their pounding hearts and blood, I edged closer, still sleepy, and curled against them, holding his hand, resting my head on Monica’s arm. I had no energy for any more, but joined them as three, and basked in the sensual halo surrounding us, smiling with an inner satisfaction as first Monica, and then Lou cried out their joy and their release.
Strange as it may sound, Lou felt, somehow, as if he’d been making love to both of us again. And Lou knew, resting back on his pillow, that these were two special women with whom he was sharing an extraordinary weekend and feeling, and Lou counted himself a lucky, lucky man.