Kenny Wright
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Our Three Threesomes, Part 3
🕑 Added 2024-04-22 11:15:25 +0000 UTC
[photo: photographee.eu]
Surprise! Publishing this one a day early because I need to shift my schedule around slightly this week. I'll be out of town Friday, and wanted to monitor the release of Castaway Wife, which I wanted to start getting out this week.
That said, please read the note at the end of this story. Your comments and feedback will actually determine what I work on next.
For Her
Farah runs her hand down my chest until it comes to rest just over my heart. She glances up at me through her long, dark lashes. “Your heart is racing.”
“I’m a little nervous.” I put my hand over hers, clutching it to me. Her engagement ring digs into my palm. It’s a nice reminder of what I have, and what I stand to lose.
“Good,” she says, surprising me. “I don’t like being the only one.”
“You don’t think Jordan will be?”
Her laugh is all breath, a single, incredulous exhalation. “No. I don’t think so.” She steps back. “How do I look?”
“As always, amazing.”
She’s wearing a dress tonight, elegant and red. It hits mid-thigh, leaves her arms bare, and offers only a hint of cleavage. She could wear it to a wedding reception. She could wear it to the theater. Tonight, she was wearing it to meet a man she is going to fuck.
This is the third and final threesome, although I still wonder if Taylor will want her turn to fulfill some other fantasy, despite maintaining that she’s done it all. If this really is the final night of fantasies, though, it makes sense that this one comes last. I don’t think I’d be able to handle it were it any other way.
Farah turns to the mirror in our front hall, checking her dangling earrings, making sure her hair is just right. She had it cut and straightened earlier, nothing dramatic, nothing more than a trim, but it looks sexy as hell, dark curtains of silk pouring over her shoulders.
“You could have worn literally anything tonight,” I say. “You could have worn nothing.”
“So you want to know why I got dressed up at all?”
“Yeah.”
It’s been two full weeks since the last threesome, and she’s been working out like crazy. She went to the salon yesterday. I saw the Honey Birdette package arrive earlier in the week. Now here she is, looking like she’s ready to head out to a lounge rather than the back patio.
I realize something. She’s doing all this to impress another man. Makes my insides tighten with jealousy, and yet it makes me throb all the same. “This is for you. Not… us.”
“Part of my fantasy is being sexy with my two men. To be looked at. Wanted. Desired.”
“You’re always that.”
She glances at me, one brow cocking only a fraction of an inch. It’s enough. I correct my statement: “You should always be that with me.”
Farah shakes her head. “I’m not blaming you. I’m not going to blame us, either. We have been together a long time, and I love you, honey. I love our life together. We’re going to grow old together. I will always want you, in that sense. But this last month, with our little ‘arrangement,’ I’ll be honest, I’ve wanted you so much more than ever. Like when we first met. Or maybe even more than that. And I think you have, too.”
“Shouldn’t take another man putting the moves on you to remind me that you’re a hottie,” I say.
Farah laughs. “I suppose we could have just installed a mirror on the wall of our bedroom instead.”
That’s a new one. Before I can ask, though, our doorbell rings. The nerves are back for both of us. Farah leans in. “Whatever happens, remember that I love you.” She grabs my tie and pulls me close. “I’m going to grow old with you.”
She draws me in for a kiss, and surprises me by pushing her tongue into my mouth. I turn into it, kissing her back until the doorbell rings again.
“Please answer,” she says. “I’ll get the wine.”
I let her walk away, her heels clattering on the hardwood floor that runs through our home. Her nude stockings have seams down the back that match the long zipper that runs along the spine of the dress, right down to her ass. I wonder who will get to pull it.
I take a deep breath and open the door. “Jordan. Please come in.”
I smile, but honestly I feel like vomiting. I hold out my hand, and he takes it in his own. His grip is strong and confident.
“Thanks, man.” Jordan is taller than me, too, and looks better in a suit. In my charcoal gray one, I feel like I’m attending a nephew’s confirmation or something. Jordan’s suit has an almost metallic sheen to his, cut to emphasize his broad shoulders and his boxer-like body. “You clean up well,” he says.
I like Jordan. Always have. I like him still, despite the fact that he’s responsible for turning me into a cuckold. Some men, I’ve read, would thank him for that. I’m still on the fence.
“Come on. Drinks are on the back patio.”
I lead him through our home—a home that he’s been to plenty of times—to our recently renovated patio—which he’s also seen. But everything about this situation feels new. He carries a small bag with him. I wonder about that, but don’t ask.
Farah stands near the fire pit, smoke silhouetting her. She turns, smiles, and holds out a glass of wine to our guest. “Welcome, Jordan.”
“I feel welcomed,” he says, going to her. This could have been awkward for all of us, but Jordan eliminates the possibility. At least for the two of them. He slides his hand over hers as he takes the glass, but doesn’t release it immediately. Instead, he steps close, hugging her against him, and kisses her.
She doesn’t hesitate to kiss him back, pressing close, opening her mouth to his. Farah isn’t a petite woman, but in Jordan’s arms, she looks tiny.
I stand there, watching in disbelief, as my heart tries to work itself up my throat. I know that this kiss is nothing compared to what they will do—what they’ve already done. It’s still shocking. It’s still something that I never thought I’d see.
He finally takes the wine glass from her hand and holds it up. “A toast,” he says, including me with that confident smile. “To showing Farah the best damn night of her life.”
“Cheers,” I say. What the hell am I doing? I think. But the train is already in motion. Here we go.
Farah drains her glass quickly. I see her nerves jangling as fast as my own. I know her pulse is doing that same climb as mine is. Jordan, on the other hand, seems not to share any of it.
As we led up to this night, I wondered how it would unfold. I guess I figured it would be like a dinner party—meeting, greeting, drinks, small talk, slowly moving into the dining room, gradually settling in for the main course.
What I never considered is what happens. Jordan takes Farah’s hand after finishing only a small portion of his own wine, and guides her towards the house.
“Give us a few,” he says to me over his shoulder. “Come up in ten minutes. It’ll be worth it.”
I look at Farah, who looks back at me as she floats along beside Jordan. I know her expression, the way she lifts her brows and parts her lips just so. She’a looking for affirmation. You want me to tell him no? she’s asking.
I shake my head. No, don’t tell him no. This night was always going to be wild, and at the end of it, she was always going to stay with me. Might as well see how wild it can get.
After the nod, Farah relaxes against Jordan. They murmur to one another as they disappear into the house. I watch as his hand slides down to cup her ass. I wonder what the hell is in the bag.
Alone on our back patio, I go to the fire pit and stoke the logs. Sparks pop into the evening air. The sun hasn’t even fully set. I check my watch, note the time, then promptly forget it.
I wonder if this is fantasy fulfillment or a devil’s bargain. I got my threesome, but at the cost of sharing my wife with someone else. Twice. And, apparently, she really enjoyed it. It’s not a thing that sits comfortably with me, yet I realize, as I stand there poking the flames down to embers, that I like that discomfort. It’s a reminder of how much I care about her. If it wasn’t there, we would have bigger problems. Whether it’s worth feeling it at all, well, I just need to walk into the house and hear Farah’s cry from upstairs to tell me that yes, it’s definitely worth it.
I ascend the stairs, unsure of what I’ll find. Blood pounds in my ears, nearly masking Farah’s moans. My dick is so hard. I arrive at the closed door to our bedroom and adjust myself, my cock too tight in my shorts.
Has it been ten minutes? Did it only take ten minutes to start the sex? I take a deep, fortifying breath and open the door.
Farah is bound on the bed, her wrists wrapped in black rope above her head. Her dress is gone, as are her matching red panties. The rest of her lingerie is intact—an expensive, red corset bra, red garter belt holding up those seamed stockings, expensive red heels. It’s all new. So is the black satin blindfold that I’m pretty sure she didn’t buy.
Jordan’s head is between her legs. One hand holds her thigh open. The other works between her legs, his elbow rising and falling as he fingers her. She moans and writhes, twisting against the bonds as he eats her out.
He hears me enter and pulls away from her, although he keeps his fingers going. They’re bigger than mine, I can’t help noting as I watch his dark skin thrust in and out of her smooth sex. She’s still bare, only this time she waxed the landing strip away during her salon trip yesterday. She didn’t let me feel it, or even see it. Jordan is now the first.
“You have such a pretty pussy,” he says, glancing at me. He runs a finger over her mound. “Your hubby like it this way?”
“Yes.” She arches her back and strains against her bound wrists.
“And you?” Jordan swirls his thumb down across her button.
“I like… it… and I like how turned on… it makes you.”
“You like to please.” He pushes his fingers deep. Her whole body crests. “Yet tonight, you’re here to be pleased.”
He kisses the exposed skin in the hollow above her hip. He slides his fingers free of her—with an audible groan from her—and moves along the boning of her corset top.
“This is very hot, Farah. You buy this for me?”
“Yes.”
He pulls the cups down, baring her rigid nipples. She gasps as his hands cup her soft tits. Then he nods at me.
I move to the edge of the bed as he continues to tease her. “It’s very sexy. Taylor pass on how much I love lingerie?”
“Yes.” Her breath comes shorter now. He plays with her tits with one hand and teases her bared stomach with the other. Two hands she can clearly track until—
“Uhh!” Her body seizes as I run a hand up the inside of her thigh. Behind her blindfold, she can’t see us. “Is that… uh!”
Jordan pinches her nipples as I find her pussy, feeling her waxed skin.
“No questions, Farah. Wrong part of your brain. We want you to feel and experience, not to overthink.”
He’s been moving closer to her lips as he speaks. Now he covers them in a kiss that she returns like she needs it to survive. I bury my face between her legs, tasting her, licking her, feasting on her wet sex.
She squeezes her thighs around my head. I reach up, running my hand over a breast. I know Jordan is fondling her other. We want her to lose count of the hands. We want to overwhelm her. How many men are in bed with her? How many hands and mouths are on her.
“Oh, my!” I hear her cries, muffled through her squeezing legs. It’s me and Taylor and Farah all over again. It’s the power of group sex that fuels her runaway orgasm.
When I finally extract myself and look up, my hair wild, she’s kissing Jordan again, deep kisses, like she’s trying to dig out his tonsils. I’m so hard, watching that. Also, so insecure.
“You want to get fucked,” Jordan says. Hard to tell if he’s telling her or asking. Doesn’t matter. She nods, and he nods at me.
Jordan pulls off her blindfold as I work on the bonds above her head. Then I start to strip out of my shirt and tie. Farah blinks when she sees me, greedily taking me in. I tug the tie free and she practically purrs. “Love a man in a well-tailored outfit.”
Jordan looks at me. “Hope you’re dressing up for her all the time, man.”
“I need to way more often.”
I start to open my shirt. “Rip it,” she says. I look at her skeptically. She bites her lip, embarrassed at her own command, but I do it anyway, and her eyes flare as the buttons pop and fly all over the place. It feels about as silly as it does thrilling. I don’t do things like that.
Jordan doesn’t, either. He strips in a more measured way, and is working on his shirt as I finally kick off my pants. By that time, Farah is mesmerized, barely seeing me.
I don’t blame her. Not really. Jordan’s body is like something a horny sculptor prone to exaggeration carved out of ebony. He’s all sleek, chocolate brown curves, bulges, and ripples. He’s got no body fat on him, no body hair, and no embarrassment showing it off.
“Fuck her,” he tells me. My brain stutters as it realizes someone is talking to me. Farah giggles, turns to me and hooks a toe behind my thigh, reeling me in.
I don’t need any more encouragement. I’m hard. She’s wet. And generally, when things align like that, I don’t need any more encouragement. Still, it is weird sinking into her with another man just a few feet away.
“You’re so excited,” I whisper. She is. She’s so wet.
“So are you.” She squeezes me with her pussy muscles. I groan. She’s already back to watching Jordan, though. The man is on his feet, brawny upper body exposed, eight pack abs leading down to his narrow waist. The belt buckle clatters as he opens it. Farah is back to biting her lower lip. I need to remind myself to breathe, then remember that I’m fucking her.
My arms begin to ache from holding myself up. My core, not quite as fit as Jordan’s, starts to burn. I ignore it. I’m not going to show weakness in front of this man. Stubbornness, but it keeps me going.
When Jordan drops his pants, I don’t see it at first. I feel it in the way Farah tightens, the way she gasps, the way her eyes light up. Then I look and see what she sees, and I probably have a similar reaction.
The man is huge. What they say about black men and their cocks is apparently true, according to my sample size of one. He’s also hard, bouncing into sight fully erect, both thicker and longer than me. He’s shaved all the way to the root, his black balls hanging swollen and ready for my wife.
The thought guts me. It also triggers me. Before I know what’s happening, I’m coming, pumping deep into her. Feels like diving into the ice cold embrace of the ocean, vast and unknown. I’m frolicking. I’m drowning. I’m reminded that I’m alive.
I pull myself out of my orgasm only to find Farah and Jordan kissing again, my wife’s hand curled around that massive dick. Her fingers look tiny. His taut flesh looks so dark.
I roll to the side, and Jordan takes my place. I hold Farah’s hand as he lines himself up, forming a one armed plank over her supine body. I swear he does it just because he knows how it makes his muscles pop.
“Oh, yes!” Farah gasps as he pushes into her. She squeezes my hand until it hurts, opening her knees, trying to accommodate all that girth. “Oh, my… yes!”
“Goddamn, you’re tight.”
Farah’s coming before he’s all the way in, going wild under his bulk. I’m hard, just watching. The insecurity is still there like a neon light in the middle of my brain, but it’s incredible watching my love in the throes like this. She’s looking good, feeling even better.
When he’s in, he lets her get used to his size, but only so much. He pulls her heeled feet up onto his shoulders as he begins to fuck her. She rides one orgasm into the next and into the next. This guy isn’t just blessed with a big cock, but has developed the skills to use it.
I hold her hand as she moans, bucks, her ass rising and falling from the mattress as the two go at it. He doesn’t come, though. He doesn’t succumb like I did.
Instead, he pulls free, breathing hard over her. He flips her onto her hands and knees and starts to work open the clasps of her corset top.
I feel her hand grip my cock. Surprised, I look down at her. “I need this,” she says. A moment later, she closes her lips around my shaft. A moment after that, freed from the constricting piece of lingerie, Jordan is back inside of her, taking her from behind.
“She likes the idea of two guys at once,” Jordan says with a grin to me. “She liked being between me and Taylor, and I told her she’d like two guys even more.”
As if to prove his point, Farah sucks me even harder, right down to the root, then slowly pulls back until she has just my cockhead. I shudder. “That feels so good.”
“Taylor also taught her a few tricks.” Jordan spanks her butt, not hard, but harder than I’ve ever dared. It makes a nice slapping sound. “She’s got a nice, juicy ass.”
“She does.”
He spanks her again, this time grabbing a handful of cheek and squeezing. I feel her moan around my dick, but she didn’t stop. If anything, she steps up the blowjob.
“This view, man… fuck.” He starts fucking her harder, faster, one leg up, foot flat on the bed for leverage. She keeps her mouth on me as best as she can, but at some point she just can’t. She hangs her head between her shoulder blades, body supported on her elbows, as she cries out yet another climax.
“I’m close, too,” Jordan says. “Your night. Where do you want it?”
“In me,” she hisses between moans. “I want to feel it in me.”
“You’re the boss.” With a final drive, he grabs her hips, pulls her against him, and barks out a throaty, “Fuck!”
“Ah! Ahh!” She screams out as she feels him flood her, feels his great big black dick throb, feels his hands all over her.
Jordan is spent, for now, but Farah isn’t. She needs more. She wants to keep going. She crawls forward, out of his grasp, and right up over me. She takes my cock, lifts it into place, and sits down on it with a sigh.
But she’s not passive. She knows what she wants, finally coming to realize that tonight is her night. She wraps her arms around me, tits against my chest, and starts to ride me. Our wet skin slaps. Her juicy pussy, lubricated by both of her men, makes squelching sounds as I hold her ass and she bounces.
I don’t think she’s stopped coming. It’s like one long wave of pleasure she’s riding. Seems to make her insatiable. “Give it to me,” she begs. “Give me your come. Baby, baby come!”
It only takes a few more thrusts and I obey, dick swelling and balls emptying, pumping a third load of the night into her.
I think I’m done, but Farah is far from it. Jordan isn’t either. He’s hard again, or maybe he never got soft. Farah sees it. She leaves me, climbing back into Jordan’s lap.
I just lay there, watching as Farah takes his thick cock back in her hand and drops back onto it.
“You’re insatiable,” he says.
“Guess so.”
She’s the one who starts the kiss, but Jordan is all in on it. Watching the two make out as they fuck is almost as intense as watching them actually fuck. There’s a physicality between the two that I’ve never shared with Farah. There’s something raw and unbridled, their skin dripping with sweat, their bodies rubbing with impassioned exertion.
Jordan’s hands are huge as they palm her ass. He does what I just did, only makes it look effortless. My biceps still burn. I bet he barely feels her weight. He’s certainly able to manhandle her easily enough.
A moment later, she’s on her back and he’s piledriving all that sleek muscle over her. His dark skin looks good, glossy with perspiration. So does Farah’s lighter, caramel hue. He lifts a leg high, holding it there as he fucks her to yet another orgasm.
He slows, letting her catch her breath. I’m surprised when I hear him draw ragged gulps of air of his own. So this man is human after all.
“I’ll get water,” I say and slide out of the bed, not sure either hear me. Farah’s eyes are closed, her head back, damp hair spilling over our expensive pillows. Jordan lies atop her, but tense, like he doesn’t want to crush her beneath his bulk.
It feels surreal to leave the bedroom, like I forgot that we were still in our home, with our own art on the walls and our familiar books on their shelves. I remember selecting the rug that runs the length of the hall.
Downstairs, I grab our Hydroflasks. Farah’s pale blue one is covered in stickers from our travels. I know where she got each and every one of them, from the black-and-white OBX oval to our trip to Yosemite to last year’s travels through Germany. It’s our history in sticker form. Or part of it, anyway. That’s just it, we’re so much more than a bunch of decals.
I fill both, and Farah’s cycling bottle for Jordan. I head into the downstairs bathroom to relieve myself before heading back up. Catching my reflection in the mirror, I’m still the same man—little exhausted, little on edge, but still me.
I hear the fucking before I’m all the way back upstairs, Jordan’s deep growls, Farah’s percussive, “Uh, uh, uh!” My insides swim. I actually feel dizzy as I reach the top of the landing. I take a sip of water. It’s cool, running along the inside of my chest.
“Oh! Oh! Oh my—” Farah really is insatiable.
“Take it,” Jordan grunts.
“Yes, give it to me!”
“You love my cock.”
“Ugh! Ugh! I’m… I’m coming!”
I enter, and nearly drop the water as I do.
They’ve moved to the edge of the bed, facing the door, Jordan with his thick thighs and bare feet planted firmly on the floor. He holds Farah in a sexualized full nelson—arms hooked beneath her knees to spread her legs, hands behind her head to keep her folded in half. With Farah completely immobilized, he drives his cock into her as she hangs on to his wrists and screams through her orgasm.
Then he fucks her like that through a second orgasm. He’s glossy wet. Her hair is damp, sticking to her forehead and clumping along the nape of her neck. He folds her legs together, handling her body like a fuck doll. Farah loves it.
I go to her. She looks up at me, eyes glazed, and sucks down the water that I offer her. Then she’s reaching for my cock, insatiable as she is. She’s still in Jordan’s lap when she starts sucking, her dark eyes coming into needy focus on me.
If I come, it will be the last of the night, and I want to save that for when we’re alone. With great reluctance, I back away. Or I try to. Farah isn’t having any of it. She grips me by the hips and holds me close, staring up at me with those lust-filled eyes.
This is her night, and if this is what she wants, this is what I can give her. Jordan encourages me and eggs her on. “Don’t be shy. Pump those hips. She can take it.”
Farah nods up at me, then proceeds to take more of my cock than she ever has. I slide into the back of her throat and nearly lose it. I brace a hand on her temple and do as Jordan says—I pump my hips.
Farah chokes, and I want to stop, to pull away, to apologize. But her hands still hold me to her, guiding me back to her mouth, her throat. She adjusts, and the gagging becomes something wet and controlled.
“Taylor’s a good teacher,” Jordan says. “Isn’t she?”
Farah just stares at me as she delivers the best blowjob she’s ever given me. It’s incredible, watching her cheeks cave and her lips pucker up as I pull back. Her eyes flutter wide each time I press back in.
“Use her, man,” Jordan says, as he, himself, uses her. He’s got his hands on her hips, bouncing her on his dick. “She wants it, trust me.”
But I can’t. I look down at her and I just can’t bring myself to fuck her face. Farah helps out, opening her throat to me. She relaxes her mouth until her lips barely touch my dick, and starts bobbing her head in short thrusts. The sounds coming out of her are borderline gags, wet, suffocated gasps. It feels incredible, and the wrongness of the sounds pushes me over the edge.
“Baby, I’m right… I’m close…”
Farah pulls back, relatching her lips to my cockhead just as I burst inside of her mouth. She swallows it all, every drop, continuing to pump my dick as I soften in her grasp. “Go take a blue pill,” she says huskily. “We’re far from done.”
I nod, wincing a little at the mention of the ED drug in front of a stud like Jordan. I don’t need to worry. He actually asks for one, too. “Even I’m human,” he says, “and I think your wife deserves an all-nighter.”
I go to the bathroom as the two rearrange themselves on the bed, Farah beneath Jordan as Jordan folds her in half and plows her. I retrieve the bottle of Viagra from the medicine cabinet, pop one pill, and take another to our neighbor with a glass of water. He doesn’t bother with the water, swallowing it down before he starts kissing Farah again. I don’t know if he really needs it or not, but appreciate the camaraderie.
We don’t make it all night, but it’s very late by the time Jordan leaves, and by the time he does, Farah is completely fucked out. Aided by the miracle drug, we take turns with her. We share her between us, with her sucking one dick and getting fucked by another. At one unforgettable point, she kneels between us, alternating jerking one of us off as she sucks the other—her own idea.
But it’s the final image of the two of them fucking that I want to remember long after the night is over. They’re on their sides, Jordan behind her, holding one of her legs up with his arm as he plows her puffy furrow. It’s a sex position designed for show—my show. It’s the position they’re in when he finally blows his load, pumping his milky seed into her overflowing sex for the final time that night. She arches into him, eyes shut tight as another climax squeezes out through her pours.
I vow to remember that expression—one of pure, unadulterated ecstasy.
But it’s the one that comes next that stays with me, when she opens her eyes, sees me there, and I know that everything will be just fine.
When Jordan leaves, it’s not awkward or weird. We don’t make a big deal of it. He kisses her when he’s dressed and shakes my hand. “Hope tonight lived up to your fantasies,” he says to Farah.
“And then some. Thank you.”
He chuckles. “Anytime. My pleasure is your pleasure.”
Once he’s gone, we fall into bed together. It reeks of sex, but we’re just too tired to do anything about it. I feel like I’ve run a marathon. Farah looks it, too. She’s definitely sweaty enough. It’s almost 4 in the morning.
Farah’s the first to speak, but it’s the same question on both of our minds. “We okay?”
“We are.”
“You still love me?”
I stare at her like she’s nuts. “How can you even ask that?”
“I fucked a man in front of you.”
“You sure did. It was amazing. You looked… amazing. Should be me asking you that.”
“Please,” she looks just as incredulous as I felt. “How could I love you any less? You let me have some amazing sex.”
“Best sex of your life, looked like.”
“No,” she shakes her head. “Not the best.”
“You don’t need to lie, Farah. The guy’s built for fucking. He’s got the body, he’s got the experience, he’s got the attitude. He’s just better at it than me at it.”
“It’s not so cut-and-dry. He’s not better. It’s just… different.”
I must have looked at her skeptically. She smiles, full of empathy.
“I’m serious,” she continues. “Like… sex with you is different than when I use, like, a vibrator.” Her face colors. We don't usually talk about masturbation, but I’m glad that we now can. “I would much prefer being with you, but… sometimes I have needs and you’re not around.”
“That’s so hot.” I kiss her, thinking of her playing with herself when I’m out. “Next time, have your camera ready.”
She laughs. “My point is—”
“It’s different. Like when you’re with Jordan and his super cock. I can’t compete—”
“Because it’s not a competition.”
“Definitely no competition. I heard how loud you were screaming.”
She studies me carefully before answering, touching my face, looking deep into my eyes. “I can’t lie. You know. Sex with Jordan is good. Like really good. But it’s all physical.”
“You could say that again.”
She ignores that. “With you, sex is a complete experience. We know each other. We love each other. When you have an orgasm, I feel a part of it, too. With Jordan, it’s not like that.”
“Yeah, same. Watching you come with him is so sexy. Makes me want you more.”
“Yes! Exactly.”
I can’t give her what this man does, no more than I could do what a fancy toy does. But Jordan can’t give her what I can, either.
I pull her close and kiss her. Her hand slides down between us, wrapping around my cock. “Want to go again?” she asks.
I stiffen in her grasp. “So now that the arrangement is completed, are we done?”
“I could be.” She mounts me with the grace of a professional equestrian. I slide right home. “I don’t need it.”
“But you had fun.” Not a question. She nods anyway. I love her so much. I love the adventure we are on together. “I want to watch you again.”
“And maybe fuck Taylor again?” I don’t hear jealousy. It’s like she was asking if I want to try a new flavor of ice cream. “It’s okay, I want to watch you with her, too.”
“I do, too,” I say, remembering how the two made out. “I never did get to see you go down on her.” I love how she blushes, even after all I’ve seen her do these last few weeks.
“Just… let’s not make it a regular thing.” She leans down and nuzzles my nose. “I don’t want to lose this, right here.” She kisses me. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“You never, ever have to worry about that.”
“This was always for us.”
“For us,” I agree.
“Now, more of my favorite part, please.”
“What’s that?”
“Time to reclaim each other.”
And we do.
***
Hope you enjoyed Our Three Threesomes. It was a fun one to write, a twist on a tale that has been done successfully in the past, but with my own twist on it. If you enjoyed it, definitely check out Kirsten McCurran's version: Devil's Bargain.
But here's the real question for my patrons: does it end here? Taylor's seen and experienced everything, but maybe there are some things that she wouldn't mind indulging in. I wrote this in three parts because I liked the triptych nature of a threesome in three parts, but I think it begs for a fourth, bonus chapter. What do you think?
Comments
Kenny Wright
Right?! But no one else said anything! Maybe I’ll write a fourth chapter after I wrap Castaway Wife.
Tracey52
Chapter 4 needs to be a foursome, no?
Smoke
I enjoyed this story, as I have all of your previous work. The ending was particularly well done, and I do not believe more is required. I was a little confused at the beginning as the 'agreement' wasn't explained until chapter two. Also, as has been mentioned previously, it is difficult to develop the characters in a short story. Again, I thought it was a good story and enjoyed it. Thank you.
Kenny Wright
Thank you for reading! Do not fear, I also prefer longer stories—sometimes to a fault. They take a lot more energy and time to create, but are also so rewarding when they're done. I've got a few of those that are all set, one of which will start publishing here this week. I actually thought that I was done with it, but apparently there's still more story to tell, so while it's not something I normally do, I'm going to start posting here before it's completely in the can.
Jim Reeves
I think I’ve read all of your books. My reading in this genre started with Kirsten McCurran, quickly followed by you and Max Sebastian. No one else holds a candle to you three. I must confess I prefer book length stories by a substantial margin. I think because it gives more time to develop the characters. Perhaps not the best return for your time. But I’ll keep reading anything/everything you write. And certainly, please continue the Threesomes series! Faithful Reader Jim Reeves.
