Note: I've always skewed towards an omniscient narrator, but in this series I'm experimenting with first-person narration. It creates interesting constraints and opportunities when you can only get inside of one character's head. In this second chapter, the narrative voice switches from Ryan to Jun. Each chapter will have a different narrator from the prior one. I hope you all enjoy it. It's not necessary to read all chapters, in order or otherwise. Each story stands on its own. But if you enjoy any of them, you'll probably enjoy all of them. I hope you all enjoy it. All characters are in their 20s or older.
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Paul entering our lives was like a gift from above. Ryan and I had been a couple for only a few months, and our sex life had been nearly non-existent. That wasn't for lack of desire on either of our parts, but rather for lack of a venue. I lived with my parents, and Ryan lived in a grad student dorm with three other guys. When we met Paul at Starbucks that fateful morning and he offered to let us use his apartment for our trysts, Ryan and I were finally able to start building a real sexual connection.
On top of that, I had feared that Ryan was too vanilla for me. Not that I'm some kind of kinky sex freak or anything, but I've got an exhibitionist streak. Ryan, by contrast, had never suggested anything kinkier than a blow job. Fucking at Paul's pushed both our boundaries. I'm not sure that Ryan got as turned on fucking in front of Paul as I did, but he definitely didn't hate it.
The first time we went to Paul's we had fucked alone in Paul's bedroom. Then after I flashed Paul on my way to the bathroom, Paul came in, stripped, and jerked himself off while he watched us fuck a second time. In the weeks since, we had fallen into a great routine -- I would strip the second I stepped inside Paul's door. I would stay naked until Ryan and I were ready to leave. I loved those first minutes of every visit when I was stark naked with those two men, fully clothed. And in that state, we would make ordinary mall talk as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
Adding to my excitement, Ryan, it turned out, got totally turned on by showing me off. He told me how hard he would get watching Paul watch me.
I don't know whether Paul's corpulent physique subtracted from or added to the eroticism of it all. Paul was short, fat, and hairy. He had a beard and stringy salt-and-pepper hair. Nobody would call him attractive. But to me that made our encounters in Paul's bedroom, under his gaze, just that much more transgressive. 'Some gross geezer old enough to be my grandfather is drooling over my splayed pussy,' I had thought to myself on each occasion that we visited him. And the thought made me drip. Paul also had a very large uncircumcised penis, and watching him stroke it while Ryan and I fucked pushed me to the edge every time.
On our first visit to Paul's, he had watched us have sex in two or three different, relatively vanilla, positions. In our following encounters Ryan and I had started going down on one another regularly, sometimes simultaneously. I liked to stare intensely at Paul with Ryan's dick in my mouth. It felt so lurid.
The first time, I had smeared Paul's come all over his chest after he came on himself. And I held his hand to my breast. Ryan thinks that was a turn-on for Paul. For me it was an act of gratitude and affection. I just appreciated so much that Paul was making it possibly for my boyfriend and I to be intimate on a regular basis at last.
But in any event, neither of us had had any physical contact with Paul since then. From the first moment he introduced himself, Paul had been kind and polite and respected our boundaries. The first time we fucked in his house, Paul didn't even watch. He worked in the next room with us moaning and mewing in the next room. He didn't enter his own bedroom until we invited him in.
In the weeks since, Paul would usually just strip and sit in the comfy chair in the corner of his bedroom and watch me and Ryan suck and fuck. Paul's masturbatory technique was consistent, which I guess makes sense for a guy in his early 60s. By that age, most men are probably pretty clear about what they like. He would stroke the length of his cock with his right hand, while cupping his pendulous balls with the left.
Paul would grunt when he came. I think Ryan thought it was a little gross, but I liked it. I thought it was cute. And when Paul ejaculated, he would shoot large jets of thick white semen onto his hairy chest and belly. Especially for a man of his age, he seemed to be producing a lot of come.
After we all came, Paul would always take a shower while Ryan and I cuddled in the afterglow. Sometimes, following that, Ryan and I would shower together. Sometimes Paul would sit in the bathroom and watch us. Sometimes not. But if Ryan or I had class, we'd usually just get dressed and go. The slick ooze from my pussy would be my subtle reminder all day that Ryan and I had a secret sex life that was definitely kinkier than our peers'.
And so a little routine had developed over the course of five or six weeks. Ryan and I would visit Paul two or three times each week. We usually stopped by in the late morning or early afternoon. Sometimes on Friday's or Saturday's we'd go there in the evening. The rest of each encounter was generally the same.
Then on one particular Tuesday morning, after we had all finished, Paul was sitting on his sofa in boxer shorts fresh from the shower. I exited the bedroom and sat down nude across from him, my right foot pressed against my left knee to make sure my glistening pussy was visible. Ryan emerged from the bedroom a moment later fully dressed and stretching his sweatshirt over his shoulders.
"Babe," Ryan said to me. "I just got a text that there was a small fire in the undergraduate chemistry lab. They need me over there to help assess the damage -- I've got to run right now."
Ryan looked at me, stark naked, knees splayed. He looked at Paul, boxer shorts, hairy chest. He looked back at me. I could tell he was hoping I would volunteer to leave with him, but he didn't want to demand it. Ryan was like that. He never wanted to seem pushy, jealous, or controlling. Usually, I honored that, and I would have gotten dressed and gone with him. But I wanted to hang out with Paul for a little while, and so I sat there, unmoving.
"That's horrible." I offered. "I'm sorry you have to run. Is it ok if I stay for a little while? I mean, if it's ok with Paul. I'll get cleaned up and go soon, but I'm moving slowly. I'll see you for dinner tonight, though, right?"
"It's fine with me." Paul said, unsurprisingly.
"Uh, yeah. Right." Ryan stammered. "Ok then -- thank you Paul. See you soon."
Ryan grabbed his backpack and left. Paul and I sat on opposite ends of his couch. I could see Paul's cock stiffening a little under the thin fabric of his boxers.
"Would you like some water? Or perhaps a glass of wine?" Paul offered.
"Ooooh -- wine before lunch time! Let's be edgy!" I joked -- as if a glass of wine at 11:30 was somehow edgier than letting a fat old man watch and jerk off every time you fucked your boyfriend.
"I like the way you think." Paul chuckled, as he strode to the kitchen to pour us each a glass of champagne.
"Bubbly!" I exclaimed, taking a long sip from my flute. "I love it! I had no idea you were so fancy!"
"Every day is a good day to celebrate." Paul offered.
"I agree!" I said, toasting him as I lifted my left leg to rest my ankle on Paul's thigh.
Other than a handshake, that was the most touching between us since the day we had met. Paul put his hand on my calf and warmly caressed my shin.
"I've really enjoyed these last couple of months with you and Ryan in my life." Paul said. "My erotic life had become pretty non-existent until you two came along."
"We're loving it too, Paul!" I agreed. "We feel so lucky that you decided to approach us."
"Nothing ventured, nothing gained." Paul responded. "I couldn't have known what exhibitionists you two are. But I'm glad that you are!"
"Mostly me." I offered. "I don't think Ryan would opt for spectators if I didn't find it such a turn-on. What about you?" I asked. "Is it the watching us that gets you off, or knowing that we're also watching you."
"I think it's both," Paul answered.
