Triple? Treat!

Author's Note:

This story is quick, simple, was easy and even faster to write (the only story I have ever written in one sitting - not counting the time it took to get up and give the hounds a pacifier in the shape of their evening bone - and the only story I have ever submitted within a week of starting it. In fact, I submitted it within three hours of starting it) and got me out of a month-long lull caused by adapting to a new job. I like the job, but it doesn't leave me much time for writing after I've finished spending time with my partner.

By the way, I know that the title is misleading. That's half the fun of writing it :)

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Triple? Treat!

"No way!" I had to laugh, even with how serious he was looking when he asked.

I'm fairly rampant when it comes to sex, and I'm aggressive enough that my pursuit of cute boys in bars had been known to scare off the more timid ones and get me a completely undeserved reputation for sluttiness that has seen more than one would-be Lothario savagely humiliated in front of his boozy friends (hey, is it my fault that they're dickheads?) but, really, I'm quite straight with my preferences. I'm not really in to toys, I don't like bondage, I'm not bisexual and although I love the smell and like the taste of cum, I'd really rather not be covered in the stuff. Oh, and absolutely no anal. I mean, what the fuck? Have you perverts really thought it through? And, frankly, the idea of tit-fucking, although I play with mine and tease any boy's cock with them, just strikes me as too weird and I can't hack it.

But I do go harder and more intensely at the simple pleasures that I do like than many boys can cope with.

Which is why I was so happy to find Justin. He has a body to absolutely die for, looking nice but average in a suit until he takes it off and you realise that he may as well be sculpting it. To find out that his fat-free, chiseled physique was the result of rock climbing was just a bonus. Adding to which, the cock stuck on the front is nicely proportioned, therefore versatile, being not too large to get all the way down my throat but long and fat enough to satisfy my deepest cravings for pussy-pounding. As if that wasn't enough, he found me in the bar and was gentlemanly courtesy itself when he introduced himself.

So I took him home, of course. And fucked him.

OH MY GOD.

He goes hard. Not only does he not get intimidated by my raw aggression in bed, he doesn't bore me and never leaves me unsatisfied. In fact, I usually have to recover before I can move again after one of our sessions.

I said "never" and not "didn't", and then added "one of" because he was so good that I invited him back. Turns out that neither of us really wanted a long-term 'thing' so we meet, we have a couple of drinks, we explore the satisfyingly large range of boutique European beers available at the local bottle shop, and then we fuck like rabbits on speed.

What could be better?

Then he asked if he could fuck my tits. Hence my uncontrolled laughter.

Luckily, he didn't even flinch, raise an eyebrow, or chuckle indulgently which /would/, let me tell you, have seen him lying in the street curled up in agony.

No.

Instead, he made me an offer I couldn't refuse. Largely because I just didn't believe it.

You see, I've never been able to enjoy the multiple orgasms that you keep reading about. Not once. Nearly, years ago, but that was when I was easily pleased. Never since.

Until Justin.

He was so hard, fast, and controlled, with such an incredible ability to last when deep inside me, that by jumping from fucking to tonguing, or vice versa, or something similar, he could, every other day, get me to cum twice in a row. And then, by the time my head cleared, he would have cleaned up, cleaned me up and got us a drink each.

So he backed himself, and said "Well, if I give you three orgasms, can I fuck your tits?"

"Honey," I said, still laughing, "If you give me three orgasms you can do whatever you fucking well like to me, because I won't be noticing!"

I was, as it turned out, wrong, and I should have realised it.

You see, whenever I do cum twice, if he starts at me soon enough to make it happen I haven't come down far enough off the first one to crash, and I'm still buzzing, and I still know what's going on. Otherwise, even he wouldn't be able to do it to me.

So yes, I bet him that if he could give me three orgasms in a row, he could treat my tits like he treats my pussy.

I'm not even sure why he wanted to: I'm a C-cup, but I'm still not sure that there's enough there to fuck.

We don't bother undressing each other sexily. Maybe if wear something to bed because it's cold there'll be a mad scramble in the morning, but we're basically naked as soon as we hit the bedroom (couch, kitchen table or balcony). So he's half stiff already, and I'm moist already with nice tingly nipples already when he straddles me and treats me to one of his trademark head-spinning kisses.

When I was gasping for air and damp enough to glisten on the outside, he slid into me so smoothly and easily that if it hadn't hit my brain like a tidal-wave I might not have noticed. But when my body arched so far off the bed I thought my spine would break, and my mouth made gurgling noises because I wasn't, just then, capable of coherent thought, let alone speech, I noticed it.

Then he started to pound.

I'm lucky, I guess. I have girlfriends who can't cum without direct clitoral stimulation. Most of them, in fact. But not me. No, I can cum just from stroking. And /boy/, does Justin know it.

He worked me. I can't think of a good metaphor: There aren't any good ones left. I'm never even sure how he does it. Nobody else was ever able to. I know it has something to do with varying stroke, and pace, and twisting it around a bit, and pushing sideways as well, but I'd need to see footage before I could describe any of it.

He worked me, and there was no way on God's green Earth that I was ever going to be able to say no while he was doing it, or do anything other than writhe beneath him, whimpering incoherently as every different thrust or every teasing near-withdrawal dragged out of me the full range of responses from pathetic wail of despair to a near-coherent "OH FUCK!" that took all the breath in my body with it.

And then he did something I wasn't expecting, and which screwed my head into such a mess that I wasn't about to recover, either.

He withdrew (cue heart-rending wail), then flipped me over like a pillow, grabbed my wrists together in one hand behind my back and slammed into my pussy as though he meant to finish in my throat.

I can't stand having my hands pinned down. I can't stand not being able to use them, and the frustration just goes /wham/ right into my libido. It makes me writhe, it makes me gnash my teeth and, if I'm lying on my back, it makes me try and use my breasts to fondle him. It drives me wild, and so therefore it drives every boy I've ever slept with wild as well. And if I'm on my front, I can't see and I can't kiss and my hands are pinned behind me, all you have to do to make me cum is blow on my pussy. I don't know any way to be hornier or to cum harder. And Justin knows it as well.

In fact, he worked it out very early on, and uses it every now and again when he feels like playing with my head as well as my flesh.

This time, he went so hard that I could barely believe it, even in my nearly-delirious state at the time. I could barely believe that he could keep it up, and I could barely believe that he could do it without cumming.

But he didn't have to endure it long, because I rocketed straight from horny-as-all-fuck to fucking-hell-I'm cumming faster than I could believe, as well.

It felt as though the top of my head had lifted off, and how I avoided ripping every muscle in my cunt I don't know, but I'm pretty sure the neighbors were asking themselves the same question I yelled so hard.

I knew what to expect next, of course. He wanted to make me cum again. And then, after that, again. So he didn't even leave me time to stop spasming about that gorgeous shaft of his. He released my wrists, grabbed my shoulder and leg, and flipped me over again. I'm pretty sure he must have looked after my other arm as well, because I didn't end up lying on it. He ended up lying on me, though.

He dropped straight on top of me, slamming me to the bed, and crushing my breasts in a way that made the next orgasm almost a formality. I was expecting him to drive into me, and somehow managed to twist my thighs wide apart to receive him, but instead he slapped his dick on my belly, rocked his hips back and then just started /rubbing/ along my clit.

Have you ever had that done to you, girls? Like, before he gets on to getting in? Frustrating as all fuck, isn't it?

And effective as all fuck, too, don't try and deny it!

He lay on top of me, pinning me down so hard that I couldn't do anything about it, twisted my arms together over my head and held them there with both hands, attached his lips to mine and then rubbed, slowly but hard, grinding the rough, knobbly flesh along the underside of his cock along the top of my cunt, my flesh rolling up to bring my clit into contact just long enough to send a big spike of pure lust right through me and lift me just that little bit higher again.

I struggled, I writhed, I tried to throw him off, release my hands and suck his tongue out of my mouth, but he was immobile. Justin is immensely strong, out of all proportion to his size, with a body that might have been chiseled out of steel after clinging off vertical cliffs with no safety rope for half his life, and I may as well have tried to get out of solid steel shackles.

I was helpless and I knew it, but there was nothing I could do to stop myself from squirming violently than I could to stop myself feeling that tickle, then glow, then rushing, rampaging, completely unstoppable fucking WHAM of orgasm.

In a month of hard fucking, not even Justin had been able to get me to cum twice /that/ fast.

I really was blank for a second then, and barely noticed when he mounted over me and twisted around, his hard cock dangling enticingly just out of reach of my lips as his tongue went to town on my pussy. He had my arms pinned with his calves, and I couldn't shake that off either. I couldn't get that delicious meat in my mouth no matter how hard I strained, and when I managed to touch the tip he jerked it smoothly out of the way.

His hands were spreading my thighs and pinning them there, and his tongue was taunting my lips, my clit and the very entrance to my hole as only his tongue knew how.

I didn't think he could do it. Even then, I didn't think he could do it. I should have known better, but then if I had known better even the presence of his naked body wouldn't have made me confused enough to agree to that bet.

It was his cock that did it. It distracted me. I was so busy trying to get a taste that I forgot about what he was doing to my body, and when I realised it was too late. The anticipation might have blocked it, in the bastard way that the mind can, but I didn't have a chance to notice until it was too late.

It really wasn't a big orgasm. There just wasn't enough left in me. But it was big enough to leave no doubt about the fact that it was an orgasm.

He had done it. The bastard had actually done it. In the lingering glow, while the pleasure was still twisting and writhing inside me and before I crashed, disbelief was probably the strongest emotion inside me, but then that cock was dangling in front of my face again, and this time he was facing me as well.

I'll probably never forget the look on his face at that moment. It wasn't a smirk, it was definitely a smile, but it wasn't malicious or self-satisfied. It was just very, very, contented. I think that giving me those three orgasms was just as satisfying as caressing his cock with my pillows was about to be.

"Wet it," he said.

Wet it? I almost sucked it off at the root before he pulled out, not ungently, and slid back down my body. He needed to use his arms to hold himself up so, gracious in defeat, I grabbed my flesh in both hands and squeezed it together around his and, to my great surprise, there was enough there to properly swallow it.

Then he settled down to enjoy himself and, although there was no way that this felt as good as my tight-clenched pussy, he was certainly letting himself go, the happy-goofy look on his face and the sounds he was making were proof of that. I have to admit that even I was getting into it before I felt him twitch in his rhythm, and then his abs clenched even harder than they already were, and then he juddered and, trying to milk the occasion for all it was worth (pun intended!) I raised my head, closed my eyes and opened my mouth.

He must have done this before. Well, clearly he had. But he had must have had a fair bit of practice, because it hit me right in the mouth, and I swallowed as fast as it did. The next one wasn't as hard but still landed, the next one trailed down my chin at the end, and then the last three he aimed at my neck. I believe they call it a pearl necklace.

Then I collapsed on the bed, and this time I didn't recover. I just fell asleep.

I was clean when I woke up, being spooned, with the sun sliding in next morning.

"You win," I said when he was half awake. "I kind of liked that. But no trying to get me used to anal sex, right?"

"Fuck that," he said sleepily. "Filthy fucking habit."

Then he added, while falling back to sleep, "Pun intended."