Awesome Threesome By Charles E.J. Moulton

A bouncy laugh here, a suggestive low-note there, a surprised wail, a husky lilt. Their chatter sounded like a jazz bar tune on a Steinway, a smooth classic, maybe, played at King Cole’s Bar in Manhattan.

These elegant vocal waves had me turning around. I couldn’t see the terrace from here, just the bugs, not the jugs, the lake and the sunset, but at least I had a nice view of mosquitoes dancing across the water in the light of the setting sun, waltzing dots lit by the blues, the yellows, the reds and the purples, mixing together with the darker indigo of the oncoming night. The insects not quite hitting the water, they seemed to tease the water just like the girls on the terrace teased me with the sound of their giggles.

I looked back at the screen and the blinking cursor, blinking like Danielle had blinked at me just six minutes ago.

My wife, who nearly threw a frying pan on my head after catching me wanking my nine inch penis to a photo of Kirsten Imrie, that had me nicknaming her “Killer Kimmie”, by the way, would she be willing to join me in seducing her girlfriend if I sported an erection?

I looked out across the water again. Above the hillside forest, the sky’s light of evening waves entailed a mystery. An invitation for a solitary gang-bang, to be sure. There were three other houses by the lakeside, but the owners were all gone away. The Hamptons to Malaysia, I think, the Indian author and his kids and wife back in New Dehli for the summer and that gay rock star and his lover on tour to somewhere rather. Our son had flown with grandpa to Toronto. So, yes, we were alone.

I flipped the document pages from front to back and back to front again, correcting a mistake here and there, shifting in my seat, looking at my written notes, leaning forward, scratching my chin.

It would have been great had I been sitting with pictures of Danielle, getting hot and bothered, but I sat working on an article about the island of Phuket. But the more I endeavored to concentrate on Phuket, the more did my wife’s girlfriend come into my mind.

Danielle’s dark eyes, that long black hair, that fantastic tush, my eyes watching her buttcheeks wooble as my helmet entered her arsehole, D-cup knockers dancing helplessly in the breeze. No, no, no.

“Damn it,” I whispered to myself, “You can’t fuck your wife’s best friend with your wife in the house.”

Or could I?

In secret?

Hold on!

What was that suggestive chatter about?

It sounded… inquisitive.

Danielle had been working on her second bottle of Champagne that evening when I left the table, the Tzatziki rolling down her chin like cum on ice. It had me wishing for being reincarnated as Greek bread.

Giggle and get drunk, just like back in college? It seemed like a promising enterprise if it hadn’t been for my constantly growing erection in her presence. I might enjoy the idea of joining the ladies for the spectacular Jennifer Aniston marathon they had planned with a predominant fuck as an aperitif. The guest room daintily arranged, the bed made, enough pizza to last us for three days, all of it reeked of girls weekend with me along for the ride. I wondered what would happen if I sported the most prominent erection of the galaxy looking at her best friend while she sat there herself.

I lift my Count Basie-decorated cup of coffee to my lips, recontemplating the birthday party. Kimberley had conversed with Danielle’s husband Jorge all of that evening, their conversation circling around Spanish politics. That seemed just as innocent as as Danielle’s accounts about comparing airplane models. We shared the hobby of model making, frequent flyers both of us, hobby builders of Boeing miniatures.

I ended up fucking the crap out of Kimberley in our water bed afterwards, squirting my one gallon of cum into her mouth for a very clean swallow, indeed.

Phuket all.

I poured more coffee into my cup, slurping it loud to drench Danielle’s fuckable voice, swallowing the Scottish butter cookies like I dreamed she would chew on my dick.

“I wanna fuck Danielle’s butt,” I whispered to myself, looking at the dry butter cookies left over from yesterday.

Danielle’s super sexy alto laugh finally made me switch on my Google Chrome. I soon stood there with my Uncle Reamus pointing toward the screen, wanking at babes being face-showered with sticky sperm.

It was in the middle of that delicious wank that I heard the sound of my wife, sweeter than usual, almost ethereal in character.

“Bob,” she sang, so magically and huskily that my heart almost melted, “you coming back, Sweetie?”

My right hand stopped its wild activity, fingers clutching my personal joystick, my heart beating like nuts, blood reaching my throat and clogging up my brain.

I froze.

Strip shows, facial fests, ass fucks, ball chews, foot jobs, tit shags, foot jobs, cum swallows, handcuffs, nurse role play, they all came to mind. Was this a bitter heart, a refusal to offer me bitter-flavored camembert-tasting pussy suppers?

“We wanna talk to you,” Kimberley crooned.

“Pretty please,” Danielle pleaded.

I desperately shoved my hard cock into my Wranglers, trying to think of Mikhail Gorbachev, Nikola Tesla, Saddam Hussein, farm tools or anything unsexy enough to make sure I did not enter the terrace with a massive jeans throb.

I stood up, looking down at my crotch, slapping it hard with a strict demand, shaking my head.

“Sure,” I sang, finally summoning enough smut to walk toward the terrace.
There they were, two gorgeous women, dressed in casual shorts and loose T-shirts, four D-cups waving at me, nipples waving hello.

“Sit down,” my wife whispered, raising her Dom Perignon at me,
Kimberley and Danielle exchanging ambivalent gazes.

I did, gazing at my wife and then at Danielle, sensing female conspiracy lurking in the shadows.

“You were chatting with Danielle at her birthday party last month,” my wife began.

“Leaning over,” Danielle smirked. “Like this.”

Danielle leaned over, giving me a glimpse of her cleavage.

The edge of my mouth twitched.

“You were all red in the face,” my wife added.

I shook my head.

Danielle shrugged, her titties wobbling. “We thought you needed help.”

I smiled.

“I was fine.”

“You hardly looked me in my face,” Danielle chuckled, a hint of disappointment in her voice.

I sat back in my chair.

My wife chuckled, looking at her best friend, shaking her head and eyeing heavenward. She whispered: “You spent the entire evening looking at her titties, you wicked perv.”

I cleared my throat.

My penis began to swell.

“Hey,” my wife growled, “listen…”

Now my heart was really pounding.

I had films playing in my brain of moving trucks and divorce lawyers.

“Who’s gonna start?” my wife mused, gazing at Danielle.

I shivered.

“You came up with the plan,” Danielle sing-songed.

Kimberley sighed.

“My tit crazy husband jerking off just to avoid having to deal with two randy women.”

I swallowed hard. “What?”

“Bob,” Danielle began, having woken me up enough to have me gaze at her boobies again.

“We have been comparing how you guys perform…”

“I haven’t played the saxophone in years,” I joked.

The girls broke into fits of giggles.

I raised my eyebrows, happy to hear this, feeling my fear settle and sink.
Danielle grinned at me. “My husband’s dick is six inches long. Kimberley said you… uuh… are… nine inches long.”

There was a long pause after that while I looked at my wife.

Kimberley smiled.

I laughed in relief.

“I knew you wanted to fuck Danielle when I saw you two at the birthday party,” she whispered. “I figured turning a meeting into a gang bang would be better than having you go behind my back and fuck her in some back room.”

Kimberley shrugged.

“Show her your dick.”

I hesitated.

“You threw a frying pan on me when you discovered me masturbating over Kirsten Imrie,” I said.

Kimberley gave me long sensuous tongue kiss.

“Show her your cock,” she mused.

I nodded.

I stood up, strolled up to that big jugged woman, biting my lip.
The horny whore unbuckled me, unbuttoned and unzipped me, letting my jeans flip open. As she reached into my undies, my dick plopped out like a jack-in-the-box into her face.

Danielle gazed up at me, at Kimberley, and back at my cock.

“It’s enormous. You are such a lucky lady, Kimberley. I bet you suck it a lot.”
Kimberley laughed.

Danielle lift my tan banana, put it on her forehead, gazing at Kimberley.
“Look, Kimmie, I’m a unicorn.”

They both giggled, which made me gaze at my wife, who, to my surprise, now had lift her skirt and was fondling her cunt.

“Can I suck your husband’s cock?”

“Be my guest,” Kimberley answered.

“Thanks, girlfriend,” Danielle said, ever so sweetly. “I’ll start licking his balls, okay?”

“Okay.”

Danielle now started licking my hairy testicles. No, not licking. Eating. She left me senseless, putting them both completely in her mouth and playing with them with her tongue. Kimmie never ate my balls like that. I hadn’t shaved my pubic hair, but Danielle, that horny slut, seemed to like that. She plopped my balls off her tongue and lowered my long dong, kissing and fondling my cock hair with her entire face, eating my dick wig.

Kimmie was now totally naked, having thrown off all her clothes onto the terrace floor, sticking two fingers into her furry furburger and whining like a fucking hyena.

Danielle sucked my one eyed willie so well and with so much saliva it looked like a sailor protecting the mast of a resting sailing ship with a wet, oily cap cloth.

“You blow his dickie so well, Danny,” my wife told her. “Do you like sucking my husband’s cock?”

Danielle now nodded, my schlong half way into her mouth like a regular prostitute. “It’sh the tashtiest womb brrhoom I’ve ever shucked. Shhoooo damn loooohnng.”

I really was in heaven. The woman I had longed to slap bellies with for so long now was short circuiting my banana boat like a space port docking in a rocket. And my nuptial three vulva on legs was watching us, masturbating her clit and loving it.

Kimberley took in about a third of my cock in her mouth. Danielle managed to stick in over half of it, stretching her tongue forward and licking my balls. It made me smile. The best sight in the world was still a beautiful woman with a cock in her mouth.

Now Danielle began stripping while sucking. I don’t know how she managed to do it, but she kept sucking all the while giving the best whore blowjob of my life.

It didn’t take long for my wife to join her girlfriend. Soon enough, Kimberley and Danielle were both on their knees, taking turns in giving my nine inch mouth pleaser the tongue ride of its life.

“What a fantastic sight,” I groaned.

My wife, who right now sucked on my right testicle while Danielle sucked on the tip of my lollipop, added, smiling, male hairy ball still inside her right cheek: “Did I promish you too much abouth hish penish? It’sh tashty, ishn’t it?”

“Uhmh-hmmm,” Danielle moaned.

I think it was then that I disappeared into a dream land, closing my eyes while the bimbos took turns who got to play with my marbles and who got to swallow my XXL chili dog.

In my mind, the wind caressing my bottom, my long dong in a two girl heaven, I reviewed my sexual experience, initially remembering how much I had jerked off as a teen. Sex objects like Suki from Men Only, the Eurasian crumpet with the short pussy hair, big boobed and black haired Natalie from Oxfordshire from Club International, her combed vulva had the pages sticking together every day, 60 inch knockered Jo from Mayfair, British Julie Hart with the fuckable mouth and yummy hairy cunt, dark pussied Sophie Fernandez, all those babes paved the way for my first blowjob. Conny knew how to suck in that high school back room. Not quite as fair juggied as Charlotte, whose milky-ways I squeezed after the disco one night. My first fuck, blondie babe Marie, was nice, because the bimbo had a cute butt that wobbled while I banged her from behind. She was my girlfriend for a while. Simona, a Polish babe, after a long marathon shag, said my cock fit perfectly in her pussy. Lena was a charming woman from Montreal, whose 36C tits I squirted on, who, when seeing my nine inches, exclaimed: “I don’t like you, I love you!” Tatanya from Moscow was afraid my dick wouldn’t fit in her pussy, but it did. Olinka from Madrid was my favourite pussy for a while. She was a cute and small little chick with a very sweet tasting clit that I adored shagging. We met just to fuck and drink champagne for about a year. Olga from Mexico was a big breasted thing who laughed while being shabanged. Then there was Kerstin from Hannover who asked me what we should do next, so I suggested she go down on her knees and suck my dick, so she did. Monica with the 60 inch balloons, Viola, whose ass I kissed, MILF Bertha where my condom broke, Bionda from Florence whom I fucked six times in one night (her moans, vibrating titties and happy complaints of sore cunt were gorgeous), fifty-something rock-groupie Kim sucked on my balls for ten minutes, Suzanne, who refused to go down on her knees for me, Dora, who grunted during sex, Zoe, who deep throated me, Chloé, who begged me to fuck her asshole, Mila with the longest tongue I have seen and Amanda, who exclaimed: “What a great idea!” when I suggested she take my nine inch penis in her mouth. Oh, sex. Oh, women. Oh, sperm.

Now, all that dreaming had me forgetting reality. When I returned, the bitches were still at it, sucking and licking, slurping and deepthroating. My two little whores really knew their business, it made me understand that a woman is at her best when she has a prick in her donut shoot. I had fucked Kimberley repeatedly by the stove while she cooked, slapping her butt, telling her what a good little obedient housewife she was, cooking me a meal while I stuck my Boeing in her damp little girlie snatch.

Oh, man.

I couldn’t stand it anymore, so I took out my humongous clarinet out of their Wurlitzers and threw them across the terrace table.

There they were, two buxom bitches, their rear ends waiting to be slapped and penetrated like horses at an auction.

I took turns fucking one and then fucking the other, back to Danielle and then Kimberley, then Danielle’s asshole and Kimberley’s pussy and vice versa. Oh how their asses wobbled. Dickpleasers. The sight of their bottoms wobbling, their moans high, the sun powered terrace lights now filling up the night, the stars shining, the bright full moon glittering in the lake, me leaning over to reach for the bottle and drink the rest of the champagne.

Finally, the chickies let me hump them one by one as the lay spread on the table, me squirting my sperm on their faces. We fell asleep in one bed that night, me waking up in the morning with the girls giving me a blowjob.

I can only say we had a magical weekend, my long cock getting more attention than ever before.

Jorge joined us that next day, but that is a totally different story. I can only say that it was a joy to see my wife being fucked by another guy while I shagged her big boobed girlfriend under the stars.

Nightcap By Ty Spencer Vossler‏

Mexico City has just about anything you’re not looking for. Lucia had been many times— had lived in the ghetto of Colonia Guadalupe Chalma as a child. She didn’t care much for the broad-shouldered city—too fast and aggressive. Given her past it was a miracle that she added Doctor to the front of her name. Lucia specialized in Topology—a branch of algebra so intangible that few women dare to swim its abstract waters. Lucia was in Mexico City to sit on a Masters exam panel.

She spent leisurely hours in the hotel room, resting, reading, and channel surfing. Flipping through options she paused at an advertisement for a blues concert at the convention center across the street. She walked to the balcony window and saw the billboard: Smokey Harris—One Night Only. Lucia owned several of his CD’s. On the announcement Smokey Harris stood tall and handsome—posing with his signature hand-made guitar. She thought to check if tickets were still available, yet felt too lazy. She returned her attention to the television.  Smokey was singing a sad tune—eyes closed, swaying and lost in the music.

After a short nap Lucia showered and dressed in an embroidered gold and black Indian blouse, partnered with a pleated ankle-length skirt. As an afterthought she wore an ankle bracelet with semi-precious stones and tiny brass chimes that tinkled when she walked. She took an elevator down to the restaurant, sat in a dark corner, ordered a glass of white wine and a chef salad. With few other diners to distract she was soon covering a napkin with new Topology ideas. Shaking free for a moment, she reminded herself to call home.

Lucia was mother to a beautiful Four-year-old—married to an American writer she’d met by chance many years earlier. They’d lived in the States for nine years before moving to Mexico.

A lot of water under the bridge, she thought. Having Rita changed their lives. Her passion for Wyler was gradually replaced by her focus on Rita. They talked about how the fire was reduced to embers—yet Rita was worth any sacrifice.

# # #

Lucia’s focus changed when Smokey Harris and two others sat nearby. They didn’t appear to take notice of her—yet as he perused the menu, Smokey looked up, smiled and winked at her.

“Buenos tardes.”

Lucia returned his smile with a corrected, “Buenos noches.”

He glanced at his watch and nodded, “So it is, so it is.”

After a waiter took his order, Smokey whispered something and gave a nod in her direction. The other men at the table shook their heads. A few minutes later a bottle of Dom Perignon arrived to Lucia’s table.

“From the gentleman,” the waiter gestured.

Taking his cue, Smokey walked over. His friends stayed put—one said, “You too much, man.”

“I took a risk that you might like Champagne,” he began.

She smiled, “An expensive risk, Mr. Harris.”

“Blues fan?”

“And jazz too. I’ve heard you play both.”

“You know baby—jazz is just blues that’s tumbled down some stairs.”

Champagne traveled up her nose and she coughed as she laughed. Smokey patted her back and then rubbed the back of her neck.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You had me a little worried—thought I’d have to do some mouth-to-mouth.”

Lucia smiled and a swallowed some water.

“Coming to the show tomorrow night?”

She shook her head, “No—I don’t have a ticket.”

“Too late—all sold out,” he reached into his front shirt pocket, “but there’s ways around that.” He presented her with a ticket.

“Oh, that’s very nice of you, thank you.”

“That’ll put you front and center and get you backstage after the show. “

She touched a hand to her heart, “I don’t know what to say.”

“How ‘bout sharing some bubbly with ol’ Smokey?”

The waiter brought another flute without being asked.

“Here’s to beautiful Mexican women,” he raised his glass adding, “pretty lady, you got a million-watt smile.”

They touched glasses and sipped.

The getting-to-know-you chitchat ensued.  She was teaching in Acapulco and last year he’d played on a cruise ship that stopped there.

“I watched those cliff divers,” he said. “That’s some scary shit.”

He learned that she was married and had a daughter. She discovered that he was between relationships—father of two sons from previous marriage.

Lucia’s salad arrived and Smokey leered at it with one eye closed.

“That all you havin’?”

“I’m not very hungry.”

She nibbled her salad while he waited for his steak.

“How’d you get cozy with the blues pretty lady?”

“I don’t remember—college I think. I like the sadness and passion—how the songs tell stories.”

“That’s right they do, and you know what?”

“What?”

“You gonna leave me with some bitter blues if you don’t join me for a nightcap—might even play a song or two.”

“What is a nightcap?” She wasn’t familiar with the word.

“Last drink folks have before they call it a night.”

“Oh,” she nodded, “yes, and I’d like very much to hear you play.”

“Great.”

After dinner he signed for the tab and proffered Lucia the crook of his arm.

“Shall we?”  He paused briefly to introduce her to his friends, who stood.

“Dorsey,” the first man said, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Everett,” introduced the other, “you folks have yourself a nice evening. Don’t keep him out too late, young lady,” he wagged a finger.

“Later brothers,” the three men shared a special handshake. Smokey escorted Lucia to the elevator.

“Dorsey, Everett and me—we’ve been playing together since we were kids. Our first band was, The Smoking Lizards.”

# # #

He had rented an entire suite, replete with a lighted fountain in the living room. He flipped on the lights and rotated a knob to dim them down.

“My goodness,” she managed as she watched the fountain spring to life.

“There’s another one in the bedroom.” He kicked off his shoes, “Make yourself at home.”

Lucia lifted her legs to remove her sandals.

Smoky led her into the bedroom.

“This’s where I keep Baby Blue—my guitar.”

The bedroom fountain was a sculpted mermaid, emptying water from a giant shell into a waiting pond. A full bar took up space beneath a flat-screen television hanging on the wall.

“What can I get you?” He asked.

“Nothing for me, thank you—the champagne was enough.”

He gestured to the bedroom fountain, “Doubles as a Jacuzzi—feels real nice after a concert. I always get this room when I play here.”

The over-sized bed was covered with bright throw pillows and his acoustic guitar was leaned against a nightstand. He reached for it and motioned for Lucia to sit next to him on the bed.

“This song’s for a beautiful flower called Lucia,” and he began playing.

His fingers lifted, pressed and wiggled changing mere notes into his signature style of play. His song was about a woman he’d given his soul to—only to be left twisting. He played with eyes closed, peeking at Lucia now and again until the final note resonated, and faded.

“That was so beautiful,” she smiled.

“Let you in on a little secret,” he answered, “right this moment—nothing in this world’s as beautiful as you.”

Lucia didn’t resist when he touched her face, and kissed her. His lips were soft and she returned it with the tip of her tongue. The moist sound of subsequent kisses made her lightheaded. His lips journeyed to the bird’s nest of her throat—to her ear—delicate, slow kisses that made her wet. His strumming hand slipped up beneath her blouse to rub her smooth brown back. Then, with a deft twist of thumb and forefinger he released the catch and her tits sprang forward.

Lifting the front of her blouse he trapped a brown nipple with his front teeth. Lucia combed her fingers through his hair as he suckled.

“Beautiful,” he whispered easing her to her back. His tongue traveled to the softness of her belly. She lifted when his fingers hooked inside the waistband of her skirt and panties.

“Sweet Jesus,” he groaned as he peeled them down, “the Garden of Eden.”

Smokey knelt to spread her pussy lips with his thumbs—flicking his tongue over the hooded flesh of her tiny pearl. She responded with a melodious moan and thrust against him.

“Like honey,” he said, pausing to slipped out of his pants. Lucia gawked at his thick, attenuated cock pulsing like a separate animal. He returned, licking, sliding a long, tapered index finger inside and curling it upward.

“Ayyy, get inside,” she gasped, “Huh-huh-huh!”

Smokey scooted until his bulbous tip touched her outer pedals. Caressing up and down until it glistened—he slowly pushed inside. Lucia stiffened and then shivered with pleasure as her pussy sheathed his broad shaft.

“We’ll take it nice and easy, baby—that’s right—nice and slow.”

When his entire length was wetted, Lucia moaned, spread wider and squeezed his lower arms. He cupped his hands under her knees to lift them over his shoulders.

He saw that her pussy lips were stretched taut around his thickness. He gazed into Lucia’s almond-shaped eyes—glazed with passion—loved how she inhaled so deeply when he was slipping in, followed by a deep, satisfied groan when he was in all the way. She dug her heels into his shoulder blades as he moved. When he bent to suck a nipple she unhooked her legs and brought them around his back to set a counter-rhythm with her hips.

Her first orgasm surprised him with its intensity—rhythmic muscular contractions, desperate cries.

“That’s right baby,” he said as he pushed through each successive spasm.

“Oh-oh-oh—ayyy—ohhh, ayyy!” Her sea-gull cries filled the bedroom.

She twitched and squeezed around his cock as Smokey stroked relentlessly—kissing and suckling until another one took hold. She thrashed beneath him, lifting her ass, clasping his shoulders and rubbing her calves over his back.

She’s playing her song, he thought. Each woman he’d been with had her own distinct way. Lucia’s song was original and lovely to the ear.

Smoky plunged to the hilt, balls leaping.

“Jesus—awww,” he growled as he spurt, “awww—shit—aw-aw-awww!”

# # #

For a long while after he stayed inside—kissing her tenderly. The impressive size of his cock afforded the luxury of staying inside until he was ready to leave. When he finally did, the wet sounds of compressed air were followed by a splurge of semen.

His ebony cock was glazed and Lucia’s dark snatch was matted with leavings. Smokey hummed an appreciative, “Mm-mm-mm” and thought he’d never seen anything so wonderful in all his life.

Breathing slowed—the bluesman leisurely nibbled and left a mark on the skin around her nipple. Lucia felt so sensitive that she thought the slightest breeze would make her cum again. Her knees were still lifted and she rubbed a foot lazily over his hips. They smiled at the same time.

“That husband of yours is one lucky buck—waking up to a smile like that every morning.”

“You make love like you play guitar,” she answered.

Smokey kissed her.  She smelled like cinnamon and sex. He had cried out for Jesus when he spurted. Must be a reason for that, he thought. Almighty must know that the secret to heaven on Earth is written between the parentheses of a pussy.

A short time later Smoky was ready to play another song and this one lasted much longer.

# # #

The next night Lucia phoned home before she walked to the concert. Smokey sent her a large bouquet of roses.

After the concert he welcomed her backstage with open arms, yet she saw he was already hooked up with another fan. Undoubtedly she would soon enjoy a free concert. Lucia was okay with that. She’d come to Mexico City without expectations and been privy to Smokey’s most intimate song—oh-so-sweet. Her memories would travel away from this city along with a pressed rose.

As she turned to leave Dorsey caught her by the elbow.

“Hey Lucia—where you goin’ girl?  I was hopin’ you’d hang around, join me later for a little nightcap.”