Traces of my enjoyment from watching the mysterious couple fucking, escape from within me. I feel the stickiness captured between my thighs and let it sodden the dark leather of the club chair beneath. I start to move from my frozen hidden spot. I must go back into the thick of the party but I am still so aroused from what I have just witnessed that I need to stay here for a little longer to quench the ache between my burning thighs. Gathering my panties I adjust my clothes that were disheveled in a hasty manner and leave the sanctuary of the cushions that surrounded me. Stopping at the grey sofa where their bodies were joined, visions run through my mind of the act I secretly witnessed only a few moments ago.
I brush my fingers across the seat to find the warm place their act of sheer lust occurred. I instantly feel a burning sensation run through my body once again from the memory, wishing that it was me he spilled his desires into. Wishing it was group sex. My hand stops moving at the discovery of a bag hidden just under a cushion, discarded along with her clothes. I can’t help noticing its simplicity yet classy features are somewhat like the owner. I rest it carefully on the side of the large chair. I can still feel the seat is slightly damp to the touch where their juices dripped together in unity. I note their presence still lingers here and it is making me yearn for more. I position myself slowly, lifting my skirt out of the way on to the where they were locked. Imaging his hands on me, his mouth etched on mine just like he took her. Slowly at first and then deep and raw. His aroma surrounds me, I want his touch between my thighs, his want releasing into me. I lean back into the chair and let my eyes close at the thought.
Moments later, the door they left from unexpectedly opens again, I sit up straight although this time in full view, I have nowhere to hide. It is she, the blond who glanced my way during their moment of passion. Keeping her eyes on me she enters the room with a confident glide she stops before me. “I have come for my bag,” she says. Her voice still evidently aroused and a little cracked, her mouth swollen from his. I try not to blush or show any other signs of emotion as I go to hand it over to her, images of Lesbian sex flicking through my mind. Her delicate fingers brush pass mine instantly sending a fiery charge straight through me. I’m sure she can feel it too as our hands hover on each other.
A silent pause of unsure words are present in our touch. “Would you like to sit, rest a little?” I ask, waiting to see if the connection is real. I raise my head to meet her warm, welcoming, seductive eyes and I melt into the dark blue oceans. She perches her delicate self next to me. The heat radiating from her body excites me more and without hesitation I lean into her. Slowly she lowers her long lashes and wets her lips, which are smudged from him, and gently with the softest care, kisses mine. Our mouths open and our tongues glide.
Without hesitation, I welcome it. I’m wanting to taste him off her, his cock being in there before me and I am hungry for it. I want to take her to all the places he has already but this time I want her to enjoy every moment of it with me. I want to feel what it was like being watched, I want her to feel how wet I am from watching him take her fully. I want to taste his cum off her lips and off her sex, sucking out any drops still left. From nowhere our kiss turns into a frenzy of desire. My hot short breaths and her panting only fuelling the fire even more. I hear in the distance the bag falling onto the floor as I start to unleash her breasts, exposing them for my pleasure.
There is a strong charge in me, I need to touch them the way he had, with his manly hands teasing them. Her beautiful moulded breasts that he was sulking on are now in my possesion, having my touch arousing them. The nipple hardening once more and I can do nothing more then take it in my mouth to taste how sweet it is. My small hand barely covering the firmness. Savouring each lick I give the harden nipples, I want her to watch as I tug gently on their firmness. I hold her dome lifting it into my mouth once more to suck hard on her beautiful erect nipple.
Suckling on her fully. Lost in our arousal I free myself from her. I want to take her further. And her seductive eyes tell me she wants it too. Standing before me I expose her flesh, removing the clothing out of our way. I need to feel where he was, where his hands hand been before. I cannot wait any longer as my tender long fingers slide in to her panties. She lets out a soft moan as they enter her wet creamy pussy. Not being as big as the man before me, I still push them deep within her. The sound of her juices swishing with the rhythm of my hand, I want to taste inside her.
Laying her in the same position he did, I remove her panties. Her slender body still primed from his touch, I must taste where he entered her, where his cock pounded and left his thick cum behind. Opening the lips of her smooth entrance, my tongue glides along licking any spillage of her desires. I can faintly taste him, mixed with her pussy juice as my tongue works over her, flicking and quenching my thirst. I expose her even more as I suck on her nub. Her legs start to quiver. An excitement cry escapes her as I suck harder. Flicking my tongue over and over until the last drop is sucked out of her sweet dripping pussy and into my mouth. Each muscle in her body tenses as I take her over the edge and fuck her with my tongue until she cums.
I find myself panting, catching my breath and wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. My blond mystery woman sits up beside me, her own chest still heaving from what my mouth and fingers had done to her. Reaching towards me her hand caresses my neck and I groan into her touch. I want this, I need this from her. Her pleasuring where his hands should have been. Our eyes are both heavy with longing. I watch with intent as she unbuttons my shirt. This time allowing my breasts to be exposed for her to enjoy. Her gentle touch sends goosebumps and hardens my nipples even more. I arch back into the seat as she takes one into her mouth. Rolling her tongue around the harden nipple my pleasure is heightened once more. Delicate fingers encircling my other breast as she plays with both together. And I cry out from the pleasure she is giving me. Gently she traces her kisses up towards my neck and I open it up for her sweet tender lips to take me.
Involuntary shivers run through my body reaching each part that is exposed and to the parts that are yet to be. Every touch on me from her becomes extra sensitive. She kisses me hard on the mouth tasting herself from me. Slowly her hand slips comfortably between my thighs, my panties already drenched from my excitement. I accommodate my entrance inviting her fingers to enter me waiting for that filled pleasure his cock would have given me. One, two and then three enter filling the void I have wanted since entering this room. I guide her hand to the rhythm I desire. Slow at first to enjoy their length and fullness of her fingers. The movement of her hand on my clit sends a deeper need through me as she kisses hard on my neck. Now I want her to watch me come, for her to see what pleasure she is giving me. To feel how sexually charged I am after viewing him take her. I crave that motion in me. Her hand rubs faster and harder. Her fingers fucking my pussy and I am panting for my release. The movements speed up until she takes me over the edge and into the abyss once more.
Removing herself from me, she calmly stands and starts to dress. Not hurriedly but in a satisfied content way. Her focus never leaving me as I stay in the position on the sofa. Now stained with three bodies instead of the two. Once fully clothed she retrieves her bag from the floor, tidies up her hair and with a quick dash of perfume she smiles at me once more. Turning she leaves through the door and back to the party. Leaving me contented in my pleasure until another encounter.
THE END

I used to hang out in peep show booths. I loved the privacy, didn’t mind the litter of come filled pieces of tissue paper I sat among as I put my coins in, the smell. I guess I craved discovery too, that can be quite a turn on. I suppose I courted humiliation every time I went out. You see I am a trans woman, I am tall, I have a prominent Adam’s apple, and I love to wear heels. I don’t blend in. I don’t pass. And I don’t do sex, not with other people anyway. I had been taking hormones for a while but could still get hard, I could still wank. I too left tissues in the booth, full of creamy come that dried and stiffened the paper. It smelt awful. But that was part of the allure.
I always went for Hot Girl on Girl Action. The performances weren’t great. The performers were clearly going through the motion, and the scripts were straight from the cisheteronormative playbook, lesbianism performed for the male gaze by women, who, I guessed, had never actually made out with another woman in real life. Girl on Girl was on most Wednesdays and usually featured Kylie and Jasmine. Kylie was actually a regular wank fantasy. The first time I saw them Kylie wore a pink bikini and strappy red stilettos. As she turned to face Jasmine, in leopard print bikini and black knee boots I saw the large tattoo on her back of yellow roses nestled in thorns. Boots are a big fetish of mine but it was Kylie who stuck in my mind. And it was to Kylie that I masturbated every night before I turned the light out.
They began with a kiss, slowly undressed each other and showed us their shaven cunts. Kylie stuck a finger in hers and looked towards the windows, licking her lips, as if inviting us to join them. And I would have done that, I longed to lick a shaved pussy, feel the rough stubble on my face as my tongue explored the mysterious folds of flesh. The first time, I came at this point, lost in the fantasy, pushing a tissue down my knickers, to catch the come before it stained my skirt. When I looked up Kylie was tonguing Jasmine’s nipples and slowly sliding down to do just what I craved, licking at Jasmine’s cunt. I took my hand out of my skirt and watched, trying to hold fast to these scenes for later in bed. In fact, they didn’t get to do much else before my time was up and my window closed. But I knew I would be back—I knew too that this was something I wanted to do myself.
One day, a few weeks later, as I loitered outside, smoking a cigarette and drinking a vodka miniature a young woman came out. I started. What was she doing there, I wondered, young and pretty, in this place of seedy, desperate men Oh and me. She noticed me, looked at me carefully for a few seconds and came over.
“Hello, I’m Tanya.”
“I’m Lucy.”
“Pleased to meet you, Lucy. Can I call you TV Lucy?”
I mumbled. I wanted to say no but the words wouldn’t quite come out.
“You come here?” I asked.
“I do, quite often in fact. Does that shock you?”
“Not shock, but surprise. Why do you?”
“It is the easiest way for me to get my kicks.” She said, “A wank in the dark watching Hot Girl on Girl Action and then maybe, if I’m still horny I can get someone to fuck me around the back.”
“I come here for Kylie and Jasmine too. I’ve never seen you before.”
“Oh but I’ve seen you, TV Lucy,”
She reached out and stroked my cheek. I felt my cock getting hard and bulging my tight-fitting skirt.
She smiled.
“I think I would like my own personal peep-show TV Lucy.”
“Personal?”
“I can pay if that’s an issue?”
“Oh no, I wouldn’t want money. I would really like to perform for you.”
“Thank you, TV Lucy.”
She reached into her bag, took out an old shopping receipt, on the back of which she scribbled her number. She kissed me on the lips and walked off into the night without another word.
I went into the peep show, wanked furiously to Kylie going down on Jasmine, as she showed me the yellow rose tattoo that covered her back. But I wasn’t wanking to her. I could only think of Tanya.
We met two days later, in a back-street pub that had been my office local years before. Familiar surroundings and it would be quiet.
Tanya walked in, wearing a beige coat over a red dress. She walked up and gave me a peck on the cheek.
“Sorry, I’m a bit late, had to wait for my taxi.”
“What are you drinking?”
“Ooh, a glass of Chardonnay please.”
I ordered the same. I didn’t go to pubs very often anymore and I wasn’t really sure what to order. We sat and, well, conversation didn’t come easily.
“Maybe we should just…”
“Call it a night?” I asked.
“No. Absolutely not. I think you just need warming up. I can see you’re nervous. Come on follow me.”
She picked up her coat and bag and headed for the stairs that led up to the toilets.
We reached the door of the ladies. She pushed the door ajar and peered inside.
“The coast’s clear. Go in and take the first cubicle.”
She followed me in. It was cramped I lowered the lid and sat down.
“You’ve got to be ever so quiet,” she whispered. “We don’t want to get thrown out.”
She hung her coat on the hook and turned to face me.
“Now, TV Lucy I want you to put on a show for me. Just play with yourself like you do when you are watching Kylie and Jasmine.”
“Actually I’ve only been wanking to you for the last couple of nights.”
“Have you now? You naughty girl!”
She laughed, and then whispered, “Shit! I forgot. I need to keep quiet.”
I lowered my skirt. I was getting hard. My panties rose like a tent, a small droplet of pre-come darkened the cotton. She reached out, touched the patch, put a finger in her mouth, then put it in my mouth.
“Taste that. You are lovely. Now wank to me and let me see you in action. But don’t come. I absolutely forbid you to come.”
“You’re going to edge me?”
“Of course!”
She flashed me a smile that was not without a hint of malice.
I slipped the panties down and let her see my cock. The foreskin had retreated to reveal an exposed bellend, purple and shiny. Precome was leaking out.
I took the base in my hand, made myself comfortable, and moved my hand backwards and forward along the shaft. I felt the insistent pulse of my cock swelling and hardening, the urgent push of come waiting to shoot out. I slowed.
“I want you to keep going,” she said. “This is my little show isn’t it?”
“But I can’t. I’m going to come.”
“But you can’t can you? You can’t spoil the show. We have to come together. And I need to see you suffer a bit don’t I? It turns me on.”
She smiled again, such sweet, sweet, malice and I found myself even more aroused, making fighting even harder to keep the orgasm at bay. I arched my back, breathed in deeply, began again to wank vigorously.
“You’re dribbling,” she said with a hint of reproach. She picked the string of precome with a deft movement of her finger and put it into her mouth.
“If you’re a really good girl Lucy and hold it back until I’m ready, I am going to let you come into my mouth.”
She smiled again—dropping her skirt and her panties, she parted her labia with her fingers.
“And if you’re very good indeed you can lick my cunt afterwards. I’ve had it shaved just for you. I can guess how much you like shaved cunt, the feel of the stubble on your tongue, your rosy red cheeks,”
Tanya laughed again and reached out to pinch my cheek. She put an arm around my neck and pulled forward and her breath was hot in my ear.
“TV Lucy, you are so sweet. Wank for me, just wank. And when I’m ready for you to come I’ll tell you.”
She moved back to lean against the door. Blowing me a kiss, she smiled again and began to stroke her clit.
I could no longer hold back and cried out as the come ran out, thick and creamy, into my hand.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!”
She grabbed my cock, twisted till it hurt.
“But there is more to come.”
“I don’t care, I’m going to ruin your orgasm. I’m going to make you suffer and then…”
“What?”
“Hands on your head!”
Startled by this sudden change in tone, I obeyed.
She twisted and pulled my cock again, allowed the remains of my come to run into her hand and smeared it over my face.
“Don’t think I’m going to let you wash before we leave.”
I said nothing. I felt a tear run down my cheek.”
“A crybaby are we TV Lucy?”
“Yes,” I said and started sobbing.
“Never mind,” she said, “You can watch me come.”
And she played with her clit again, taking my hand and guiding it to her vagina.
“Put two fingers in and feel how wet I am.”
I put two fingers in, then three, and felt the wetness inside, slick with her juices.
“When I get this wet, I can’t even be fucked. The cocks just slide out. Just as well I am not that fussed about having cocks inside me.”
She brought herself quickly to orgasm and came with a low moan she couldn’t suppress.
There was a knock on the door of the cubicle.
“What on earth is going in there? I think you ladies had better leave.”
And then we didn’t see each other for a couple of years. I thought about our scene regularly and used it in my fantasies most times I wanked. She had tried to deny me orgasm but I got more than my share of satisfaction out of it. And I thought about her regularly. If only we could get together again? I mean, hookups with hot women who are not that into being fucked, and who like the things I do, well, you don’t meet them every day do you?
In time I had the surgery I had been longing for all those years. Once I had recuperated, I enjoyed getting to know my new bits. I kept a bottle of lube on my bedside table. I found I could get a couple of fingers up, found too, that my clit did everything I had hoped it would. And then there were the times—lazy Saturday mornings usually, when I just stroked my bush, glowing with happiness.
She texted me out of the blue in March, just after the country had just gone into lockdown.
How are you?
I’m a girl!!
How do you mean – you were always a girl!
I have had the op
The op? Wow! So you’ve got a….
A cunt yes!!! A cunt of my own – and a clit that works
I need to see this.
Well you can’t at the moment can you?
???
We can’t meet, can we?
Well…….no
Shame
Well actually I have an idea. Have you got Zoom?
I do.
Let’s do it online. Let’s make it like a reveal thing?
Like?
You dress up, you do a dance whatever, you strip and them da da……… you show me your new fanny.
So we arranged the date. I chose my outfit. I started with an ivory bullet bra, I had plenty to put in a bra now and a bullet bra I could certainly carry off. I teamed it with 50s style matching knickers, suspender belt and stockings. I stood up and walked up and down in front of my full-length mirror. I looked the part. I felt confident.
I put the finishing touches to my make up. I put on the black PVC coat and pulled the belt tight. I placed the fedora on my head, spent a couple of minutes in front of the mirror, adjusting it. Then I caught sight of my new heeled boots in the bottom of my wardrobe. She hadn’t mentioned boots but, well, they were the right colour and gave me a fetishy look when teamed with the coat.
I texted her the meeting code and she appeared on my screen, in red, in a beige mac.
“Hi Lucy,” she said with a smile. “I am so looking forward to this.”
I said nothing, put music on, Donna Summer, and began to run my hands down my shiny black coat. I walked to the wall, turned, lifted the flap of the coat, gave her a glimpse of stockings and suspenders. I put my hand inside my panties, teasing.
I placed my left foot on my chair, giving her a view of my boot.
“Ooh I love your boots!” she exclaimed.
“Look at it, Tanya, worship it!”
I had tried to sound commanding but realised immediately that this probably didn’t cut it.
“Oh TV Lucy are you trying to go all domme on me? I don’t think so darling. I am in charge here. I think we have already established that. Haven’t we?”
I said nothing.
“Haven’t we?” asked Tanya more insistently.
“Yes.”
“Now do a little dance and take your coat off.”
I stayed on the spot grinding away, swung round took two steps to the wall, unbuttoned the coat and let it flap loose as I ground against the plaster. I was aroused. I turned to face her, took the coat off and flung it aside.
I watched her as she pulled her red panties to the side, parted her labia with two fingers of her left hand then pushed a finger of her right hand inside and moaned.
“Dance TV Lucy, just dance, let me see those boots gleam.”
She worked her clit harder and came with a moan.
“You can come with me in a bit. But, now, show me your new little jewel.”
I unhitched my stockings from the suspender belt and let the nylons fall down to the tops of my boots. I slowly pulled down the panties. I stood before her, smoothing the pubic hair, before licking my lips and putting a finger inside just like Kylie used to do back in the peep-show. I smiled.
“Christ TV Lucy you’re hot!”
She whistled in admiration.
“Welcome to the vulva club lovely. From now on you are just Lucy. Now play with yourself for my entertainment. But don’t come.”
So I did. I reached for the lube on my desk, squirted some, fiercely cold, onto my fingers and winced as I pushed them inside. I placed a thumb on my clit and brought myself to the edge.
“Wait Lucy. Only when I say.”
I put a booted leg on the chair.
“I’m all woman now lovely.” I said, “I come when I like. And I don’t take orders. Now you play with yourself. Go on Tanya, do as you’re told.”
She looked startled but then smiled.
“Dominance suits you actually.” She began to masturbate again.
“Don’t come. I forbid you to come.”
I slowed down to wait for her, I watched her on the screen, the beige coat flapping, the finger working her clit. I listened to her moans, gathering in intensity. I so wanted to edge her but needed to come, needed us to come together.
“Come when you’re ready. We’ll come together.”
I shut my eyes and pictured her as Kylie, in a pink bikini, in the red stilettos, with the yellow roses tattooed on her back. But Tanya was mine as Kylie could never be as she masturbated to me, finally a woman, standing tall in my gleaming thigh highs.
We came together. Tanya shrieked. I let out a low moan.
“We’ll meet again once all this is over,” I said. “And I am going to shave my cunt. Just for you.”

The sounds of the party were a muted hum from inside the house as the three friends gathered around the fire pit looking out across the snowy valley, blankets across their laps and a warming red wine in their glasses. Selva sipped her drink, a warm buzz making her body tingle as she watched the other two, snuggled up together against the chill air. They’d been dancing inside, the music deep and bassy, the trio grinding against each other, giggling and touching until they had had to come outside to cool down, the sexual tension between them palpable.
The three of them were close and the heady combination of drum and bass and alcohol had loosened their inhibitions further.
“Do you know what I love most about sex,” Sandrillon said suddenly, leaning forward conspiratorially so that the others had to gather closer to hear her.
“Sucking cock?” Francis ventured, which made Sandrillon laugh. Selva smiled, her nose crinkled and her eyes danced mischievously. How sexy his friend looked, her make-up smudged, and her body relaxed as she shoved him, letting her hand linger on his arm, fingers wandering up to his biceps and giggling.
“Well, obviously I love that,” she smirked, “but no, what really gets me wet is thinking about the glide of lips on skin. I’m talking about from the beginning, you know what I mean, the slow build-up. When your lover kisses your fingertips then moves to drop butterfly kisses on the corner of your mouth, tracing lower across your throat, leaving you completely vulnerable, your eyes closed as they work their magic, trailing across your body. Imagine if there were more of you, the thought of giving yourself over to all those mouths, sucking fingers, cocks, clits. Not knowing or caring who’s tasting you or who you’re tasting.
She sat back and looked at them both. Francis was a little slack-jawed thinking about it and Selva was nodding, he could imagine her fingers tracing circles on Sandrillon’s thigh under the blanket.
“I know exactly what you mean,” Selva said. “It’s like when you’re all tangled together and it’s just sucking cocks, teasing nipples, tongues delving into hot, slick pussy.”
“Exactly,” said Sandrillon, “teasing your lover’s ass and listening to them moan, hearing the slide of the saliva, the sound of a tongue on flesh. Even the words turn me on. The mouth’s such a sensory part of your body and using it to taste, to explore, to pleasure is just so decadent. I would go so far as to say there’s nothing sexier than tasting my lover’s body; running my tongue over their most intimate parts and hearing the sounds they make as I do it. Do you agree?”
Selva sighed, her eyes closing as she thought about it, the tip of her tongue running over her own lips.
“You see,” she said to Francis who was still mesmerised. “The first thing Selva did was taste herself. Her body reacted to my words with the urge to lick, to taste, to caress herself with her tongue.”
Francis swallowed his own desire to taste both women making him hard.
“Imagine, Francis, you’re laying naked in front of the fire, with two mouths available. Two sets of lips to kiss your skin, two tongues to taste your cock, lick your balls… your ass,” Sandrillon continued, watching Francis. His tongue flickered out to lick his lips. “Two bodies to explore with your mouth as well as your fingers,” she whispered, her head even closer to them.
“Sandrillon, stop! You’re making me so wet,” Selva giggled, “and I don’t think Francis can get any harder!”
“Then maybe we should take it back to ours,” Sandrillon said, leaning over to stroke them both, her fingers teasing Francis’s stomach under his t-shirt, while her other hand slipped up between Selva’s thighs. “What do you think, should we continue this conversation in private?”
Francis looked through the window back into the house, watching the other guests at the party, all of them oblivious on the dance floor as the DJ continued to play the erotic beats. It was late and no one would care if they slipped away now. Selva leaned over to stroke his cheek, and the throb of his cock between his legs made it an easy decision.
“I’ll call a cab,” he said, as Selva squeezed Sandrillon’s hand, giggling as their fingers entwined.
***
The chalet they had rented for the week was small but cosy, and the Christmas tree and the glow of the fire added to the ambience of the evening. Sandrillon ran her hand over the soft material of the sofa, pushing her fingers through the fur of the cushions that were scattered across it. Her senses were heightened, and she revelled in the sensation of the fur on her skin. She wanted to get naked and enjoy the warmth all over her body. She watched Francis and Selva, leaning close and giggling as Francis opened a bottle of red wine, keen to keep the party going, as though he thought the girls might change their minds.
The fire was crackling in the grate and the scent of the pine logs, and the warmth of the room felt like a hug as she sank into the depths of the sofa and took the glass that Francis was offering. Her pussy was wet in anticipation as she took a sip, urging her friends to sit down, her body aching for their touch.
“Come, sit close,” she said to Francis, pulling him down next to her as Selva knelt beside him. “I want to feel your body warm against mine,” she said, stroking her fingers along his thigh.
“I feel like I’m finally thawing out after sitting outside,” Selva said, “but the view was so beautiful with the snow and the stars.”
“Let me put another log on the fire,” Francis said, “we want to keep the room cosy for what you two have in mind, I think.”
Sandrillon giggled and snuggled up to Selva as Francis stood, placing his wine glass on the table next to them. She took Selva’s and placed it with her own and then pulled her towards her, no longer able to wait before kissing her friend’s lips. They soon shed the cosy layers that they had bundled up in to leave the party, jumpers discarded across the floor as Francis rejoined them.
“Come, sit between us,’ Selva said, both girls turning their attention to him, stripping off his jumper too. “We both want to play with you,” she giggled.
***
Francis wrapped an arm around each of the girls, enjoying the feel of their cool skin against his, chest to chest, flesh warming a little where it touched, and his fingers buried in their hair to pull them closer. He kissed Sandrillon, their lips colliding, tongues delving into each other’s mouths and then Selva was demanding his attention, and he kissed her instead as Sandrillon teased his nipples, pressed up against him, the two girls laughing as they stroked and teased his body.
A threeway with friends kiss… Francis had imagined it but had never experienced it. To kiss his two best friends was even hotter than he had expected. The girls’ mouths were warm and moist, their breath hot, little whimpers escaping their lips as they took full advantage of him. His head dropped back as their hands slipped lower, roaming over the bulge of his cock that was straining at his jeans.
Selva unbuckled him, her fingers diving under the heavy denim, searching for the edge of his boxers as the kisses deepened, one then the other then both, lips trailing across his chest when they weren’t focused on his mouth. Fuck this was better than Sandrillon had described, the warmth of the room, the softness of their mouths, the raging hard-on in his pants. He needed to get more of their clothes off, desperate for more skin-on-skin contact, having had enough of bras and trousers getting between them.
They broke apart for a moment, Francis unbuttoning each girl’s jeans as they giggled, kissing each other, pulling at his trousers, maintaining contact between all three even as they undressed.
Down to just underwear, Sandrillon kissed Selva as Francis watched on, his big hands pinching and slapping the soft flesh of each girl’s arse as they snogged, tongues tangling. Selva wrapped her hand around Sandrillon’s neck, pulling her close so she could bite her bottom lip. She pulled it into her mouth and gasped at Francis’s firm touch.
“Francis, you’re so hard,” Selva said, her hand covering his cock, teasing him through his boxers, “something tells me you like watching us kissing?”
“I fucking love it,” he groaned, his hands all over the curves of their bodies. “Sandrillon was right, the taste of you two is making me so hot. I want to lick every sexy inch of you both.”
“Then let’s get naked,” Sandrillon smiled, unhooking her bra and tossing it across the room, and Francis laughed as Selva did the same, pulling them closer so that he could pull a nipple into his mouth. Sandrillon gasped as he did, leaning forward to do the same to Selva, loving the sound that it brought from the girl’s mouth.
Hands on arses, mouth on breasts, lips on lips the three of them revelled in their nakedness, writhing against each other, everyone desperate to take it further.
“We want you naked too,” Selva said, tugging at his boxers, “I want to suck that big cock, and see if it tastes as good as it feels.”
Francis didn’t need asking twice, pushing his shorts down his legs and kicking them away, spreading his legs so that both girls could see exactly what he was packing, his cock bouncing up against his stomach.
“Very nice,” Sandrillon said, taking it in her hand, both girls leaning down to suck it in turn as Francis let his hands wander across their backs and down to their naked bums. As Sandrillon sucked him, swirling her tongue over the head, letting her saliva cover the length of him, Francis pushed his fingers into her hair, urging her on as her head bobbed up and down on the thick shaft. Selva took the opportunity to kiss him again, seemingly desperate to feel his soft lips on hers, the scent of his aftershave and the light sheen of sweat covering them all giving off a heady smell of desire.
Sandrillon pulled Selva down closer to her, leaning back a little so that Selva could wrap her lips around the head of Francis’s cock while she licked the length, making him growl with lust, his head dropping back onto the soft fur of the cushions.
“Jesus, that’s so fucking good,” he murmured.
He watched the girls giving him the best head of his life, their arses in the air, little lace thongs straining over their curves. They stopped briefly to kiss each other, the saliva dripping down their chins as they tasted Francis on each other’s lips. He let his hand smooth over Selva’s arse, pushing aside the tiny thong that was barely covering her pussy, desperate to feel how wet she was, to feel how wet having his cock in her mouth was making her.
He slid two fingers into her, her pussy soaking as she gagged on his cock, spreading her legs to give him better access. He watched as she writhed against his hand, her soft moans reverberating around his cock as she sucked it, enjoying the feel of her as she gripped his fingers with her tight cunt. He thrust his cock deep into her throat as Sandrillon kissed up his chest, finding his lips again, biting his bottom lip and teasing him with her tongue.
“Me too,” she begged, as she watched him fingering Selva, and she bent over again, taking her turn to suck his dick as he sat forward, and slipped his fingers deep in both pussies as the girls took it in turns to suck him.
“Fuck yes,” Sandrillon squealed as he fingered them both hard, their arses jiggling, juices dripping between their legs. All three bodies connected, fingers, tongues, mouths, all of them gasping as they pleasured each other.
“I want those panties off,” Francis growled, and Sandrillon did as she was told, stripping off the wisp of lace that was the last item between her and complete skin-on-skin access to the others.
“Lay down,” Sandrillon commanded, straddling Francis’s face as he obeyed, slipping down amongst the softness of the sofa, Selva between his legs. With Sandrillon’s pussy in reach of his lips and his cock buried in Selva’s mouth, Francis was in sensory overload, his fingers pinching nipples as his tongue delved into the creamy depths of Sandrillon’s soaking cunt. His lips found her clit, nipping and sucking as she writhed on top of him. He greedily ate her, his tongue teasing the sensitive bud, trying not to get distracted as Selva deep-throated him, nuzzling into Sandrillon as though he might suffocate in her pussy, deciding that right now he wouldn’t care if he did.
The little gasps and moans of pleasure coming from Sandrillon were matched by Francis as Selva took her tongue further south, teasing his balls. He held his breath as she moved a little lower, not sure where she was going, and then he arched up against Sandrillon with a growl of desire as Selva’s tongue darted into the tight pucker of his arse. For a moment he tensed, not having been penetrated there before, but the intense feeling spreading through him was impossible to ignore and he gave into it, raising his legs so she could get deeper inside him, her tongue probing and tasting, licking and delving inside him.
“You like that, baby?” Sandrillon asked, holding his legs back, “does that feel good?”
“Fuck yeah,” Francis gasped, and Sandrillon gasped as his voice vibrated against her clit, leaning forward to suck his cock as Selva continued her gentle assault on his arse. He was completely at their mercy, legs in the air, head pinned by Sandrillon’s pussy as they sucked and licked and he lay back and revelled in the soft wetness in front of him, teasing her clit as Selva teased him.
The sound of slurping, sucking, moaning and the slap of flesh on flesh filled the room, the smell of sex hanging heavy in the air.
“I want that cock inside me,” Selva demanded, pulling off her panties too. She wasted no time straddling Francis and slowly lowered herself down onto him.
“Oh fuck, yes,” she whimpered, her pussy dripping as he slipped easily inside her. Leaning forward, she caught Sandrillon’s mouth with hers, and he imagined the earthy taste of his arse on her lips, heightening their desire as they kissed. Lips on mouths, on breasts, on pussy, the three of them connected again as Francis ate Sandrillon out, groaning as his dick disappeared inside Selva, her enthusiastic bouncing making him even harder than he thought possible.
“My turn, my turn,” Sandrillon gasped as she squirmed on Francis’s mouth, “I want his cock too.”
Selva backed up to give Sandrillon room, moving from Francis’s mouth to hover over his cock, positioning herself above the thick shaft. Francis gripped her hips as she stabilised herself on his chest and then pulled her down, burying himself deep inside her.
“Wow that’s big,” she gasped, “fuck Francis, that’s hitting all the right places.” She leaned back, riding him as Selva knelt up in front of her, sliding her fingers across her clit. The girls kissed as Francis thrust inside her, holding her in position with his strong hands on her waist. Sandrillon gave herself over to the sensations as her two friends worked together to get her off, unable to move, only able to enjoy the feel of them both as they teased her, Selva kissing her as she rubbed her hard and fast, making her moan against her lips. Then she leaned back, and Francis watched Sandrillon’s face as they both brought her closer to orgasm, Francis’s cock buried in her cunt. While Francis watched, Sandrillon slid her finger into Selva’s mouth, feeling around in the warm wetness of her mouth, as if it were her pussy.
Selva held her hips, pulling her down onto Francis’s cock, sucking his finger too, the three of them skin on skin, lips on lips, fingers on breasts, clits, balls.
Selva slid behind Sandrillon, teasing Francis’s mouth with hers, biting his lip, and kissing him as he fucked Sandrillon.
“I think Francis needs some more attention,” Selva said, and Sandrillon smiled, nodding her agreement and climbing off him so that the girls could suck his cock again. She must be tasting herself on him, loving the sweet taste of her pussy all over his dick. Selva pushed his leg out of her way and took her tongue back to his soft, ready arsehole, playing with him, drawing out whimpers as she did. The girls licked, sucked and kissed as they gave him exactly what he wanted, all of them desperate to connect.
“Fuck, ladies, as good as this is, I want to watch you lick each other before I cum,” Francis growled, “Sandrillon get on your back, I want Selva to lick your wet little pussy.”
Selva squealed with excitement, and within moments, she had spread Sandrillon’s legs and buried her face in the wet folds of her cunt, making Sandrillon gasp as she filled her with her tongue, nuzzling her clit with her nose, arse in the air.
“Fuck, yeah, just like that,” Francis said, positioning himself behind Selva to give himself a perfect view as he grabbed her arse and thrust himself into her, his balls slapping against her as she licked Sandrillon’s pussy, slipping two fingers into her and curling them inside.
As Francis fucked her, Selva rubbed her own clit with her free hand, her face buried between Sandrillon’s thighs, her mouth and fingers working her friend’s pussy. It was the hottest thing that Francis could imagine, let alone be part of. Yet here he was, the visuals as amazing as the sensations his two friends were creating in his dick.
“Oh fuck, I’m gonna cum,” Selva whimpered, Francis’s cock bringing her to the brink and her own busy fingers drawing her orgasm closer. He imagined the scent of Sandrillon’s pussy in her nostrils, the soft material of the sofa caressing her breasts and the feeling of being clamped between Sandrillon’s thighs as Francis slapped her arse, along with the thrust of his cock. It tipped her over the edge and she gasped and shuddered between them as her orgasm claimed her, her body shaking, her eyes closing. Francis was still slamming into her, her fingers still jammed inside Sandrillon.
Selva gasped and pulled back a little, and they slowly sat up, giggling. Sandrillon kissed Selva as she came down from the high, but Francis wasn’t finished with them yet. He pulled Sandrillon between his legs, letting her relax against Selva. With both girls’ legs on his shoulder, he slipped back inside Sandrillon as Selva played with her tits as she cradled her in her arms.
Selva wriggled her foot into Francis’s mouth, giggling as he sucked her toes, pinching and tweaking Sandrillon’s nipples, watching as she rubbed her clit. Francis’s cock buried deep in Sandrillon, fucking her hard. It was so intense watching being watched by his friend who he’s just thoroughly fucked as she slowly came down from her own orgasm high, knowing she knew exactly how Sandrillon was feeling having just cum all over Francis’s cock herself. Sandrillon was gasping and moaning as Francis pounded into her. Selva held her, kissing her as Sandrillon brought herself closer, her fingers busy on her clit, Francis leaning forward to kiss them both. It was as though they were one, skin on skin, each one’s pleasure felt by the others as Francis fucked Sandrillon until she came panting and squealing his name, arching up into Selva’s hands as she stroked her body.
Francis felt Sandrillon throbbing around him, her cunt clutching at his cock as her orgasm shook her and he finally let himself go, filling her tight little pussy with a stream of hot jizz, his cock pulsing until he thought it would never end.
He collapsed on top of the girls then pushed himself up on his hands, grinning at them both as they giggled.
“Well, that was something else,” he said laughing, leaning forward to kiss them both, Sandrillon reaching up to kiss Selva too, all tasting each other on their lips, the three of them one giggling heap of naked flesh, sated and sweaty.
“I think I have to agree with you, Sandrillon,” Selva said softly as Francis nodded. “The taste of your lovers, the skin on skin, tongues in pussies, mouths, cocks and arses is most definitely the best thing about it.”
The End

Afterwards, Amy would remember the precise moment at which she plucked up the courage to take Mariola to bed. It came with a swallow, too many – or perhaps just enough – of the wedding Rioja. It was a bit cheap and over-oaked, but it cut through the bright haze of Prosecco like a firm hand. A firm hand taking her by the chin, and a rough voice saying: “Look, look at that.” And the firm hungry masculine ghost of the wine made her look, look across the teeming dark room, to Mariola, a dark flame in a silver sheath dress.
Sipping the Rioja, Amy let the wine fill her with dark flavours, the rich scents of summer nights and dark fruit. She watched Mariola move. Her face was a marvel, strong, fierce. Light danced in her eyes and on her bright teeth. Shadows at her ear and throat showed off her fine jaw. She imagined the strength of the woman holding her down, that powerful mouth at work. The feel of her body, it’s curves and its angles, her taste. Warmth spilt across Amy’s belly, and thighs and tickles and tingles danced down her legs. Amy felt herself fill and flower, her flesh moving. Uncurling. Blooming against the soft grasp of her knickers. Decision made, she tore her gaze from her target, began to search the crowd for her plus-one.
Sam was babbling happily at the bridesmaids when she found him, guileless face flushed with the feast. He leaned over the two girls in their silly pale dresses like harebells and listened with all of his six foot four frame and his broad shoulders. In their luminous eyes and their quick nibbles of a lip and the faint bloom of perspiration on the domes of their festive breasts, she could read their intent. Their willingness.
Oh no, ladies, not tonight.
She took his arm and turned him and gave the bridesmaids the face of a blade, all beaming smile and fuck-you dead eyes and they blanched and retreated as she whisked him away. She took his elbow – lord the strength in that arm – and took him away into the outside, the cool mist of the river and the puddles of table-lights in the rose-hung garden.
Away down the silvered and dewy grass were older unlit tables, tucked under overgrown hedges. Dark, private spaces – some already full of gasps and the whisper of zips. Amy could feel her blood sing as she drew Sam on, found a table and made him sit down. She saw his frown, all befuddled with drink, so she sat in his lap and kissed him messily for a while. She was pleased by the pressure he made on her thigh. She stood slowly and drew a firm fingernail down his imprisoned length and laughed at the faint mewl of complaint.
“Sam,” she said. Her solemnity silenced him, and he grew still, a dog waiting for a blow.
“I need to ask you something. A favour.” She cleared her throat as he unsurely replied.
“Sure, Ames – anything, um..”
It was more difficult than she expected, here, with his cock just there and this table and nervousness and drink and lust and maybe she should just fuck him now and forget Mariola.
A shimmer of silver in the mist-hung trees and a voice like a rusty gate hung with briar roses.
“Amy,” the voice crooned, “I thought that was you. Long time, no see.” And out of the dark, she materialised, as sleek as a fish rising out of the deep. Muscular, silvery, lithe and fragrant. Mariola. A walking sex fantasy.
Amy woke slowly, the flickering frames of her dream dissipating in the white silence of the morning. White bed, white sheets, the harbour sky white hazed behind half-drawn white curtains. In the bright mist strong shapes. Hard dark strokes of a bed frame and windows and among them, tumbled in the white bed-billows the dips and troughs and ridges, the sine-wave strength of Mariola. As her hand unbidden reached to stroke that naked flank, the warm swell of exquisite arse, Amy remembered snapshots.
Mariola glimmering in the cool dark, silver dress a second skin, scales glittering, eyes aflame and bright white teeth.
Those eyes sliding over her face, her neck, and the swift tug and tightening, the knurling in her own nipples, answering the hard peaks that shimmered through that dress.
An hour, or two of talking there at the dark table, the slow dance of conversation, the slow dawn of the idea on Sam’s frank, sweet face. The awestruck disbelief when Mariola cupped a firm hand around the base of her skull and, tilting her fine head sideways, drew Amy in for a kiss.
The cold wine, fragrant in Mariola’s mouth. Cool tongue on hers.
Back indoors, the sandwich of them, all three, clumsy, giggling, dirty dancing. The hard club of Sam’s straining cock along her thigh.
And Mariola, Mariola, Mariola…
“Forget your shitty hotel, lovelies. I’ve a place down by the harbour. It’s nice.”
The taxi ride. Fingers everywhere, they pinned her between them, eyes front, outwardly prim. But her skirt pulled high and out of view. Strong fingers rubbing and probing. God, group sex left no cravings unfulfilled.
In the here and now, Mariola moved, buttocks bunching under Amy’s slow hand, sliding easily between the perfect arcs, her index finger bathed in glorious heat. Amy grinned wickedly, and as Mariola flexed and turned, a dirty chuckle in her throat, Amy remembered a word. Callipygian – beautiful buttocks.
Sam rose to wakefulness through a soup of hangover and worry. What had happened last night? His own snapshots shamed him:
At the harbour flat, Amy undressing Mariola as they danced and giggled, his cock limp with booze.
Frantic stroking at himself as they twined, as Mariola poured Cava onto Amy’s body. Licked.
The two women, knotted together between his splayed thighs, legs entwined and breast to breast, mouths coaxing, teasing. The rich smell of them billowing up. Nothing.
A miserable shower and somewhat refreshed, forlorn. Returning to the others sprawled naked and asleep, the room awash with musk, though none was of his.
Oh.. GOD.
A chuckle, a rustle, and his opened eyes saw Amy’s hand reach deep into Mariola, her fingers parting her lips, the split fig of her, the dark, lush hair. His gaze was full, brimming with curve and muscle, split and cleft and ridge, the slow uncurling, melding of the two women. His hand – half-fearfully- found his cock. Thank God. He had heft, and heat, and weight. It felt good and thick in his tentative grasp. A slow stroke and the long inrush of blood and the tightening in his balls and the delirious dance began.
Mariola turned to Amy, the younger woman leaning over her, smiling into her, the lip nipple tongue-tip kissing that made her swell. God, she was lovely, just as lovely as she’d seemed last night, just as lovely as she remembered.
Oh…
Mariola gasped, gaped, her lover’s fingers skated down her belly and tickled through her hair like quick and eager fish among the weeds and –
Her voice stopped in her throat, as Amy pounced, spreading, piercing. Holding her dumbstruck gaze. She was awash with heat from nipple to knee, as if the sun was rising in her core, just as it did outside over the water.
Fingers patted and rubbed, and she writhed, the sleek black head descended to an eager nipple and – oh! Oh yes, the third wheel. The sweet, frank face of Sam leaned in and, as they kissed Mariola looked down the sweep of Amy’s back and saw him stroking, stroking at a well-woken cock.
Between them they rolled Amy onto her back and explored her, the smaller woman writhing, twitching like an eel and muttering under her breath. Mariola’s head slid down, whispered kisses across taut skin. Thumbs hooked into hip-creases, Amy’s thighs yawning, her voice growing gruffer, pelvis twitching, circling, jabbing upwards seeking more swiftly for Mariola’s hungry mouth. Her vulva was slick and beautiful, its hairless petals those of an exotic flower, her scent heady with the dark notes of last night’s arousal, overlain by the bright new wetness. She parted eagerly to Mariola’s fingers and on Mariola’s tongue her flavour burst, all evening dark-alley fumbles and overripe fruit, sunshine and white wine and the wind of the sea. Mariola groaned at her richness and dug her chin in, her nose, burying herself from nostril to lip in the hot, pink cleft.
Licking and nibbling she saw, out of the corner of her eye, the thick ridge along the base of Sam’s cock, the glossy lavender head of it as he stroked. Again the after-thought, the poor boy. Mouth slippery and hot with Amy’s arousal she kissed him. Right there on the tip, slowly widening her mouth and drawing him in. Hot and clean, but earthy. Salty and sweet, thick and hot. She bobbed her head slowly, enjoying the music, the bass note of his groans as she mouthed him, felt herself stretch full and hot the raw heat in her cunt spilling, dripping as she realised… She could hardly fit him in her mouth. As wide as she gaped, still there was cock, the hot velvet skin sliding against her stretched lips, she mouthed him, chewed him pulled him in until yes, there he was, the whole fat length of him filling her mouth, and hot in her throat.
Amy growled. That was her cock in her lover’s mouth. Scandalised and envious she was also filled with wicked delight. She watched Mariola’s throat move, watched Sam’s hips circling, propped on her elbows she snarled around nibbled lip:
“I want it, it’s mine, stick me – stick it in!”
And with it, with this command, fled her last coherent thought. As she pulled Sam’s fat cock to her and watched the fat pink head of it, all glossy with Mariola’s spit, she watched it squeeze up to the peach-pink clench of her spread inner lips. She threw back her head and made a noise like a gull, a seabird blown fast over the ocean, lost and delighted in the roar of wild seas.
With breathless reverence Sam watched Mariola’s slim, strong fingers press his cock-head against Amy’s slit, watched her spread Amy’s petals wide, felt her grasping heat envelop him as he thrust inward and in, facing into Amy’s wild grin. His cock felt alive, hot and full, full of blood and music that rang through its length and in long trickles of electricity down his thighs to his calves to his curling feet and again in wild circles and arabesques across belly and chest. This was so new. So unlike anything else. Here he was fucking, and yet – being fucked. They were all fucking, the whole conjugated conjugal verb on this one tight white sheet. Amy was gasping and writhing beneath him, squeezing him but here was Mariola, fingers at his cock, at the crux of him and Amy, her rapt attention on their mingling, mouth flitting to Amy to him and back again, as Amy’s heat swelled, and he stretched out to meet it and as Mariola’s hands and mouth worked he felt the edges move, as if he no longer knew where he ended and Amy began, as if her heat was Mariola’s, as if Mariola’s stiff fingers were somehow his too. He fucked, she fucked, they all fucked. And the world moved.
Amy ridden hard on her knees, face slapping into Mariola’s furred thighs, breath staccato. Mariola’s wide grin at Sam’s astonished transported a blank face. Sam tongue-fucking Amy. The bed a spiral, a whirl of bodies. The two girls half-kneeling before Sam, seated against the headboard, two nubile young celebrants worshipping a fat-cocked Buddha.
Mariola ran her clenched fist hard up and down Sam’s fine cock, slathered the tip with her wet mouth. Amy watched, humping his muscular thigh and, mumbling under her breath, demanded that Mariola fuck him.
“I want to see him in you…stretching…”
She straddled the boy, felt the broad eager strength of him in the tug of her muscles, while he, pinned and breathless, felt the soft prickle of muff along the length of his dick, rubbing, tickling and then as she rose to take him the heat of her lips. Mariola sank slowly, luxuriously, romantic sex the driving force as she savoured his breadth, and every inch of the slide, stretching sensations echoing those in her widening thighs. She smiled and whimpered, shouted and groaned. Lost in the sway of their commingled heat and the hard rod of the boy she was brought back to herself by the touch of the girl. Looking down, she saw the boy’s stubbled chin beneath that smooth, beautiful groin, pubis glistening, muscles ribbed and flexing, tasted her breasts and their mingled sweat and through laughter and gull-cries kissed her as they rode, feeling in her core and in the rising beat of Amy’s breath the fast growth of, of …
Somewhere deep under her navel, where the quick and hard tip of Sam’s cock was nestling and kneading, grew a heat and a brightness, a swirling, a spiral in her mind’s eye, flow of lightning outward down thigh to knee and across belly to breast to nipple and tickling up into her throat. She wanted Amy to take her by the throat, squeeze it. It was just a fleeting thought but then, with one last rise up the shaft of Sam’s cock, it came, a long ripple of light, a spasm, a clenching that went on and on, a clenching in rhythm to Amy, who laughed and bit her ear-lobe and squealed utter filth into her sweat-glazed collarbone.
Outside in the harbour, the fishing boats moved on the water. A slow groan of rubbing hulls, the rustles and slaps of rigging as the gulls wheeled and dived and the street-vendors noisily set out their stalls. On the big raft-bed, Mariola, cunt stretched and aching, muscles as loose and as fluid as if made of warm caramel, watched Sam’s come fly, speckling Amy’s oyster-pink belly with sweet pearls of release.

The man came over. He was short and bald, with beads of sweat forming on his pate. It was a stifling, muggy evening in the pub garden. He had been eyeing us up for a few minutes and I had smiled. Now that he had come over I wasn’t sure that had been a good idea.
“I was going to ask, you know, ask if you two ladies are like, you know, like…”
“You mean, are we lesbians?” said Wendy, reading his rather transparent thoughts.
“Yes” he said, forcing a smile.
“No we’re not. We’re just good friends.”
“Oh,” he said, not hiding his disappointment. “But would you be up for a threesome?”
We said nothing, inviting him to carry on.
“I’ve got a hotel room, a nice one.”
“And where might that be?” I asked coquettishly, imagining a room with a jacuzzi in the posh place by the cathedral.
“It’s that place by the station.”
I took the fat cigar out of his hand, put it in my mouth, and took a long drag.
“The budget place?” I exhaled, directing the smoke only slightly to the side of his face. “You do know how to show a girl a good time, don’t you love? Or two girls even…”
Wendy interjected, “You can have us both for an hour for three hundred pounds.”
He took the fat cigar from me, sucking on it, thought for what seemed an age and said, “Sorry ladies, I can’t afford that.”
“That’s the price, darling,” replied Wendy, “and we are worth every penny.”
“Too much for me, sorry ladies.”
He stubbed out the cigar, finished his pint and left.
“Well, thanks for trying to sell me into prostitution, Wend!”
“I meant it, Julia. It’s easy money, take his cash, give him a quick blow job and leg it.”
“But that place by the station? I’d be worried about the fleas!”
We both laughed.
On the bus home, I started thinking about the man. Maybe he was sad, maybe he was creepy, and he was no oil painting and maybe sex with him would have been, well, disgusting. But I couldn’t get out of my mind the feeling that I needed it. I craved it. And we had had a little moment of intimacy, hadn’t we, the shared fluids of the cigar.
The late shop was still open when I got off the bus. I went in and bought a packet of five panatellas. I smoked one with my bedtime whisky. I took one of the others and pleasured myself with it as I fantasised about being paid for sex with a grubby man in a grubby hotel bed.
The next day, it was hot again. It was Sunday. I had to pop out early for milk and cigarettes, but after that, the day was mine, home alone like all my best Sundays. I poured myself a white wine and sat on the balcony with a couple of magazines to enjoy the sun.
I took out a cigarette but then had second thoughts. It had to be a cigar. From now on, I was going to be a cigar-smoking girl—cigars and whisky, my breath a mix of the two each time I leaned in to kiss a guy, knowing that most of them would not resist me. Or I them. Cigars and sex were linked for me forever. Before I lit the cigar, I pulled my skirt up and ran it over my clit. Then I lit it, settled back and began to read. I turned the page from autumn fashion to “The Best Sex I Ever Had Was With A Stranger In a Pub Toilet” and knew I would not be able to settle. I put the cigar out, placing it carefully on the edge of the ashtray for later. I went inside, I was gagging for it, not for the guy from the pub necessarily but, well, he would do.
I pulled on a blindfold, put in my headphones, selected soothing music on my phone and lay down on the kitchen table to listen…
***
I am meditating, I am floating with the music, the rush of water, the aroma of orchids in a forest clearing, the statue of an ancient God I caress, drawing healing from ancient stone, caressing, caressing as I will soon caress my body. Suddenlythere are hands caressing me, not with the delicacy of a woman worshipping her God of stone, but roughly, with the energy of a baker kneading dough. There are four hands, and the aroma of orchids yields to cigars. He is here. He is here for my pleasure. They are here. I do not know who the second man is, but he is welcome too.
They quickly get to work on my breasts. Hands are all over me, fingers are everywhere. I am being touched and slapped and rubbed like a piece of meat, and this feels good.
Guys let’s feast on sex together here in the kitchen. When you’ve finished with me, maybe I can cook us lunch? I’ve got a bumper pack of sausages.
Surely they like sausages? And the kneading of my boobs continues, getting more intense. I let out a sigh. Then my stiff nipples are taken into their mouths, a delicate playful bite, then they suck and pull, and I gasp again.
What are you doing next guys? Do whatever you want, I won’t resist I promise, I am all yours.
I’m jolted and then pulled firmly along the table, I think by sweaty cigar man, until my legs dangle over the edge, which bites into my lower back, just where I have my slag tag tattoo. I wince, but not for long, as I feel my skirt being tugged off. It falls to the floor as he puts his hands on my thighs, grabs my panties and yanks them down. They are dangling from my left ankle, then a finger jabs abruptly right inside me, then another and a thumb on my clit. God, this is so good. Could I really have had this last night and been paid for it? Who cares if the hotel was a fleapit. With cigarette ends and come-filled condoms under the bed? Who cares? I didn’t, and, well, I have been fucked in that hotel before, not that I can tell people.
My lover and I went there after an evening of too much wine and vodka at Wetherspoons. I stank of cigarettes. We laughed with the guy in reception as he asked where our cases were, although he knew the answer as we paid in cash and went up the rickety staircase to Room 101. Then my man shoved me roughly onto the chest of drawers, pulled my legs apart and fucked me, no foreplay, just pushing hard into my dry cunt. He rammed me ferociously, wincing at the abrasive discomfort. I let out a cry, begging him to stop while screaming to be fucked harder, and with his final brutal thrust he pushed me back against the mirror that fell to the floor and smashed. We crept out at one in the morning, and I haven’t been back since. I doubt they would recognise me, though. The guy on reception was high, and the place reeked of weed.
And the thought of this filthy sex, the degradation of being fucked in a dirty room with carpets heavy with the dust of years, a used bed—this is a place you can book by the hour after all—had me wanting. And there’s cigar man, all fingers—he has four in me now—and thumbs, well thumb, jabbing at my clit, and I am wet, I am dilated, I am so fucking wet! Come on cigar man, let’s see what you’ve got.
Just give it to me.
At that moment, the other man, the one who has been playing with my tits, pulls off the blindfold.
The first thing I see is a cigar man in all his unexpected magnificence. He is playing with himself, running his hand back and forth along the shaft, until the shiny purple jewel breaks free of his foreskin, a promise of delight glistening with precome.
The other man climbs onto the table. His cock is rather enticing too, and without a word, he is down on me, pushing the fat, bulging shaft into my mouth. I breathe in, suck deeply and take as much of his length into my throat as I can. I think I am going to choke, but breathe again. He withdraws slightly and I close my lips around him, suck greedily, take his shaft in my hands and work it in and out in and out, till he takes over and starts to facefuck me.
At this point cigar man pushes into my cunt. I am full of cock, full of the best cock I have ever seen. He works quickly, hehas an energy and vibrancy I could not have imagined when we spoke on the pub garden. As he pumps away, his finger finds my clit again. He rubs savagely and brings me quickly to orgasm, then withdraws. His come runs hot down my thigh. I imagine it leaving a glistening sticky trail. Territory marked.
The other man has pulled away as I am being fucked. But now he is back, and I have to, want to, suck and lick and whip his bellend with my tongue. I am here to work, I am here to pleasure them. I am here to be used, and I want to be used.
Guys, fill me with your come, fill my cunt, fill my mouth, fill my bum. Make me drip from every hole, make me suck, make me swallow, make me your plaything.
He is bigger than ever—I can’t take his full length in my mouth. As he pushes slowly, I start to gag. But he is insistent. He gets bigger. I am choking, I can’t breathe. He comes in my mouth. I swallow greedily, but there is so much some of it dribbles out and down my chin. I think of the first time I blew a guy on my knees in mud on the edge of my old school playing field where we both used to go.
It was the winter after we had graduated. We found a gap in the fence and went in, I unbuttoned my coat to show him the school blazer I had on underneath, the blouse and the tie, tied with a huge knot so that it barely reached down to my boobs. Who would believe I was still a virgin when I left school? He wouldn’t. I knew he wanted to fuck me, I knew that he thought I was a slag, but that was part of the attraction for him—used goods, well used goods. But that was just an image I wanted to project. I wanted to be like Linda Wood in the year above who really did do the rounds of the Sixth Form boys. She did it with my brother in our house one time. I secretly worshipped her.
Linda could take this man’s huge cock. I can too. I take him again, I suck greedily, and he comes again, again I swallow, Again I smile at him as come runs down my chin.
And then it’s his turn to take me. Where do these guys get the stamina? I mean, that school friend couldn’t fuck me after I had blown him. I knelt in the cold mud, lifted my pleated skirt and knickers and waited for him to enter me. But he couldn’t do it. But these guys are insatiable.
I get down off the table, bend over and part my legs. This is how I like to be taken. This is how my school friend took me the first time I was fucked, not in winter mud but in a summer wheatfield. Kneeling on corn, I was taken from behind, and the smell of earth still turns me on a bit, I guess, like the guy who told me Michael Kors Original made him hard every time he smelt it because it reminded him of the work colleague he once had an affair with. What fragrance turns these guys on I wondered? Elie Saab is my current favourite. I imagine I am wearing it, this guy is big and hard but when he smells me he will be yet bigger and harder.
He moans as he comes. His come too spills down my thigh. I am pulled back onto the kitchen table, and cigar man pushes his cock into my mouth. God, I need a smoke, I need to clean my mouth of the taste of come. This is all becoming a bit much, I imagine his fat dick as a cigar on which I draw deeply to breathe out big clouds of fragrant smoke.
He comes again.
This time I don’t swallow. I take his big cock, pull back the foreskin repeatedly, as if milking him, let the warm sticky come flow out into my tits. I use the cock like a paintbrush, light strokes from a palette of sticky delight. He likes this. He gasps with pleasure. I know he will come again.
I think of the hot guy I once saw at a painting class. I imagined doing this with him. I used the brush to pleasure myself through my jeans as I fantasised about him, peering at him over my canvas, how we would make art together, broad brush strokes of come across the canvas, like clouds above the field I was painting. A field of wheat with a tree in the corner from which I would pull a thin branch to flog him, make him thrust and grunt and sweat, drive him ever closer to climax until the sky turned grey and he broke like the weather, in a cloudburst of come. I would lie back and open my mouth, a parched traveller after the dry months.
I move cigar man’s cock over my tits which shine under the kitchen lights. I am painting a new picture on a new canvas, to be hung in the gallery of my debauched soul, next to the luggage tag nestling in roses, with the word Slag in italic script. All my lovers should know who I am. A slag, a proud unrepentant slag who was made to receive big fat cocks in every hole.
I am tired, I am struggling, I am fucked to exhaustion, but now I have a second wind.
Just fuck me again. Frig me, shove those cocks down my mouth, give this needy slag what she wants, fuck her and fuck her and fuck her again! Give me the fucking that is the sum total of all the fucks I have ever had, the school playing field, the corn field, the painting class. Make me your work of filthy art. Make me your canvas. Make me an object. Make me a piece of meat you slap down on my kitchen table. Make me happy.
But even these guys can’t go on forever. I don’t actually notice when the fucking stops, I am just away in my lovely little world. And when I realise they are putting their clothes back on, kissing me hard on the lips and preparing to leave, I have already drawn up my knees and arched my back, rubbing my bud as I fantasise about them.
They close the door gently behind them. I hear laughter outside.
“She and her mate wanted three hundred quid. Can you believe that? I pay a hundred at my local parlour with my favourite, Milfy Maggie. She is a proper horny minx. Oral without and full service.”
Oral without and full service, oral without and full service, oral without and full service…
***
I woke with a start. It was still light, still hot outside, the sun beating off the brick of the flats opposite. I didn’t know how long I had been asleep for, but I felt refreshed and relaxed. The men had gone. I needed a bath, I thought. I stank of sex and come, and maybe I would go out for a drink later. Then I noticed I still had my clothes on, my blouse still buttoned up, my denim skirt. I was clean. I was puzzled. Had I dreamt it all? Was it a fantasy threesome? Surely not, I was feeling the post-coital glow, I was buzzing, I slid off the table, slipped my shoes on and walked out into the balcony.
I looked at the ashtray. There was the panatella I had smoked and left unfinished. But alongside it, there was another, fatter cigar, or rather half a fatter cigar. The smell was familiar It was the smell of the breath of the man in the pub garden who didn’t think Wend and me were worth three hundred pounds. After today he could have me for free any time he wanted. The fat cigar had been put out carefully just as if he was leaving it for me to finish, as if his filling of my mouth would have no end.
I sat down on my balcony chair, took half of the fat cigar, pushed it inside me, twisted it around to absorb my juices. I smoked it, slowly and voluptuously, playing with myself, replaying the day in my head. I had lost count of the orgasms I had had. But there was plenty of time for a few more.
The End