Chapter 1: THE GOOD GIRL
It was finally happening. My lovely girlfriend was on her back, being penetrated by another man, and I was watching. It was a heart-stopping moment of near painful excitement -- part of me wanted to push him off of her, and the other part was enjoying the look of pleasure on her face. Her chest rose and fell in time with her shallow panting -- she was clearly as excited as I was. But, to my surprise, her eyes were not gazing at her new lover, nor closed as they usually are when we make love. They were locked right on mine. The look of love in her eyes was my savior just then. I felt her connection to me, and it became alright.
Once it was all the way inside her pussy, Carl's cock stayed perfectly still in her pussy for almost a minute, though her low moans indicated that Carl was making some subtle movements, probably probing her cervix in ways that my slightly shorter tool had never done. In fact, from my vantage point -- they had both insisted I sit on the sofa right next to them -- I could see that it was Anja who began moving first, thrusting her pelvis up at him, urging him on. Finally, he began to slide in and out of her, and her moans began to get louder.
Still looking at me with her big brown eyes, she snaked her arm out, beckoning me with her fingers. I took her hand, and she smiled that thousand watt smile, the smile that has always made my heart sing. It felt so intimate, holding her hand while she was being fucked, feeling her squeeze her fingers harder and harder as Carl picked up the pace. I wanted so badly to caress her lovely breasts, those small but perfect mounds rising and falling on her chest. I wanted to kiss and nibble all around them, before teasing and finally sucking on her stiff nipples as I had so many times before. I wanted to touch her legs and her belly, stroking her impossibly smooth skin. But we had agreed that I would give them their space this first time.
"I want to feel everything he's doing to me, Paul. No distractions," she explained in that firm tone she used when she didn't want to discuss matters further.
So I respected her wishes and kept my distance, though my cock was so hard it was almost bursting. Holding her hand like this was more than I had bargained on, and I was going to take what I could get.
I only later figured out that looking at me as she was, and grasping my hand, was her way of grasping on to the notion that she was still a good girl. This was one of her basic subconscious urges when it came to sex -- to do dirty things, and yet somehow remain a good girl. She must have settled on this formula to keep her sanity when she did this truly dirty thing -- fucking another man in front of her lover. So, even though I was grateful for her gesture, it was just as much for her own peace of mind as it was for mine. She was looking at me so she wouldn't have to look at him, and admit to her inner self that she was enjoying him so much.
Carl started to pick up the pace. I couldn't blame him; she gets hot so quickly, and her pussy urges you on. It sometimes takes me a while to get her in the mood, but once she's aroused, she likes to 'sprint up the mountain and jump right off the cliff', as Carl later remarked.
His cock was pistoning in and out of her at a remarkable rate, and I could see his pelvis bumping hers hard on each downstroke, giving her clit the extra friction that she normally had to provide with her own fingers when we were fucking. I could see and almost feel how the rocking of his belly pressed the slick surface of her pussy lips to rub her clit in just the way she liked, and she was going wild. He was now nibbling on those nipples I so badly wanted to taste, and her back was arched, trying to get him to take her entire breast in his mouth. Her legs had opened wider than I'd ever seen them, allowing him full entry into her most secret place.
She was still looking my way, but her eyes had lost their focus -- she wasn't seeing anything now, just feeling. Her moans had risen in volume and pitch to screams now, so filled with her urgent breathing that they could easily be heard beyond the walls of my cozy little cottage. But there were no other cottages near mine, and the sound of the surf would have drowned out her cries in any case.
Carl raised himself up higher, bracing his arms and feet so that all of the force of his thrusts was focused right in the center of her being. The only part of him that touched her now was his cock. Nothing else cushioned her from that slamming motion, and her whole body rocked with each urgent thrust. Finally her eyes were closed, and her rosy lips had begun puff out and quiver like a wounded bird. If she does this when I'm the one making love to her, I can't resist planting my lips on hers, feeling their lovely contours and pushing past them to taste her delicate, pointed tongue. I love telling her to stick her tongue out -- she never does it on her own -- but it's always worth it. My dick grows an inch every time she does that. The look of a good girl reluctantly being naughty.
But today this pleasure was forbidden to me. Carl was in control now, and his next move surprised me. Somehow, without losing the nearly upright angle of his torso or the steady pounding rhythm of his buttocks, he moved his big hands over her tits, and using his thumb and forefinger, rolled each nipple back and forth. Her eyes opened and she stared at him in alarm. He was pinching her stiff rosy nipples pretty hard. I was so close to them that I could see perfectly, it was not just the nipple itself but he was also mashing Anja's whole aureole, at first causing her pain but then shooting electric shocks from her tits directly to her crotch, stimulating her beyond belief. As she felt the shooting pain turn into intense pleasure, she screamed louder than I've ever heard her scream.
She couldn't take it anymore. She tightened her grip on my hand and began shaking. First her belly started to quake on its own, then her supple thighs and calves started trembling too, fascinating to watch. The cords of her slender dancer's neck stood out like piano wire.
She started panting, "Oh God, Oh God Oh God OhGodOhGodOhGod," while her whole body writhed like a snake.
Her voice reached its highest pitch as her orgasmic throes continued, which of course brought Carl over the edge as well. I could see his shaft pulsing, almost feel the rush of fluids deep into my darling baby, as she nearly doubled over, crunching her tummy in the intensity of her climax, just as she did for me our first time.
Their orgasm seemed to go on forever. The two of them shoved at each other like wrestlers going for a gold medal, twisting and thrusting and almost falling off the bed.
And did he pull out? No, even this moment, as spontaneous and wild as it was, had been negotiated carefully in advance. Earlier in the evening, while smoking a joint to help us get over our inhibitions, Carl had shyly asked, in his most polite tone, if she wanted him to pull out and come on her belly instead. No, she insisted, there is only one place for a man to finish off, and it always feels strange to her if it's not in the right place.
Oh, she's a good girl, all right.
As Carl collapsed on top of her, now softly kissing the breast that he had moments before been pinching ruthlessly, I thought back over the events that brought the three of us into the same bed.
Chapter 2: ISLAND PARADISE
I'm the director of a wildlife conservation project on a small Indonesian island. It is so small that there's no airstrip, and so remote that the regularly scheduled ferry service only comes twice a week. The evenings are long, but I have never been bored. Most women couldn't stand to be so far away from shopping malls, and even Anja joked about it during our first torrid weekend of sex.
Twenty-three years old and full of energy and idealism, she had come to Jakarta on a three-week trip to gather data for her final thesis for an ecology degree. She arrived on my island on a Thursday to interview me and beg for access to the primary data we were collecting. I was a pushover, and gave her everything she wanted and more. She took a fancy to me, and as she couldn't get another boat out until Monday anyway, she decided to have a fling. Presented with this young, charming, smart, slender, exotic Slavic bombshell, I gladly accommodated her desires, and we spent a wonderful weekend together.
I really fell for her, and I let her know it, but she was a class of woman that can have any guy she wants. She made it clear that while she appreciated my bungalow on the beach, she was at heart a big city girl, and wasn't about to settle in with a guy whose house was lucky to have electricity and running water. And anyway, she needed to get back to Prague and present her thesis. I begged her to stay, and when she left, I was sure I'd never see her again. Poor me.
In a strange twist of fate, on her return to Jakarta she learned that a brutal coup had taken place in her home country while we were doing gymnastics in my bedroom. The new regime was only recognized by a handful of rogue governments, and since her passport was no longer valid, she found out that she wouldn't be able to leave Indonesia until the situation resolved itself. With her savings dwindling rapidly each night she stayed in a hotels in Jakarta, Anja decided to sail back to my little island. Imagine my surprise when she showed up again on my doorstep, asking if she could stay for a week or two until a new passport could be issued.
Little did she imagine that it would be over a year before she would be able to leave Indonesia. This all seemed like a tragedy at the time, but was actually a blessing in disguise. She found to her surprise she could get used to long walks on the beach, fresh fish every day, plenty of books to read, and plenty of time to read them without the modern world's distractions. She had assumed that she needed her independence, especially her financial independence (from me), but somehow on this tropical island, all of that melted away, and as her body picked up more bronze from the sun, and suppleness from all the swimming and exercise she was doing, she found that such things didn't seem to matter the way they used to. With her country in such a mess, and no valid passport, she was helpless anyway, and she found that she could resign herself to it.
So could I. In fact, I couldn't believe my luck. She was a prize catch, there was no doubt about it. From the moment I first met her, she was fun, classy, and beautiful, with a smile that could melt any immigration officer, and legs that would make a supermodel jealous. A classically trained dancer, Anja had a way of gliding when she walked that made her clothes seem like poor substitutes for the ballet leotards she should be wearing.
On the island she began to relax and develop new talents. She quit smoking. She started enjoying sports that she had earlier only tolerated. Watching her play beach volleyball in her bikini, or jump up to catch a Frisbee, stretching her lithe torso and graceful arms, was watching poetry in motion. Everyone in our small community fell in love with her, but at night this beauty was mine, and life was good. For a 40 year-old researcher who had put career before relationships, Anja's presence in my life was a godsend.
On this island the natives wear sarongs -- both men and women -- and she quickly picked up the habit, finding attractive batiks in colors that matched her, and wrapping them skillfully around her slender curves. As she is taller than the local women, the standard-size sarong is a bit short on her, so it only manages to just cover her breasts and down to her upper thighs, leaving plenty of cleavage and long legs for my view...perfect for me and anyone else who happened to be around. To top it all off, she began taking lessons the island's humble dance school. Their folk dances were not as refined as ballet, but they had some lovely movements, and a wild local musical form called
