My Holiday Treat an Mmf Threesome

My Holiday Treat, an MMF Threesome.

My first time with two guys includes double penetration.

It was the third time in two hours that he had fucked me. I had never experienced anything like it. It was part wonderful, part ridiculous, part degrading and part very risky. That is, fucking the twenty-one-year-old kid in my marital bed in my home. The kid who cut our grass, the kid on vacation from uni, the kid who came to our house each week and yes, the kid I got far too close to and ended up so close he was in me.

But by God it was amazing.

Not that it started that way because the first time we kissed standing in my kitchen and he touched my D cup boobs it all went wrong. As he rolled my top up and looked at my unfettered by a bra pair of, though I say it myself, natural beauties and I slid my hand into his shorts and grasped his stunningly hard cock, he exploded. His spunk went everywhere, on my hand, up my arm, onto his boxers and into his jeans. There was so much. I had completely forgotten just how much a young guy produces but then being in my forties I had not been with one for over twenty years! I told him to undress and said. "I'll wash them for you."

Naturally he was embarrassed and rather shy as well but in just his tee shirt and with his dick in that slightly ridiculous-looking horizontal position both were understandable. I comforted him and gave him a kiss before putting his clothes in the washing machine, turning it on and saying with a smile. "Well, that should take thirty minutes or so, any idea what we can do to occupy the time?"

He did have an idea and what a good one it was as we had sex twice? As it happens that was during the wash cycle and after it was twice more.

A few weeks and I have lost count how many fucks later, we were in bed. Not the marital one, just in case he came on the sheets or made me squirt, but in a guest room where I wouldn't need to wash the sheets immediately if either happened. We'd done it twice and were enjoying some nice oral sex that I had introduced him to, when I heard footsteps on the stairs. There was hardly time to do anything, let alone get dressed before the bedroom door flew open and there was my husband.

*

It was the holiday that most, if not all divorced women dread. The first one alone. There are many aspects of being a divorcee in your mid to late-forties that are difficult to handle. Family functions, relatives wanting to help by giving advice, people asking embarrassing questions, children seeing 'the bastard ex,' loneliness and missing sex to name just a few. But none match up to that first holiday by yourself. It's characterised by the stares as you go into breakfast and worse, dinner alone, the searching for one sun bed around the pool and lying there bikini clad being ogled by the married men and the day finishing at nine or so after dinner and you being in your room without even your vibrator having been afraid to pack it in case the airport security found it! Also, the other women making sure they stay close to their partners when you're around and of course some of those very partners making eyes at you once they're alone and away from her watchful eyes.

Having said all that, though, we still put ourselves through the traumas of the alone vacation. Why do we do it? Is it worth it? What are we really looking for? I had no answers to all those questions so, just on two years after my then ex had caught me fucking our grass-cutter, I was at this nice five-star hotel on the Algarve, alone.

I had booked for ten days which, in retrospect was probably too long as it was largely a golfer's hotel and as I don't play and have no interest in the game that rather spoiled the atmosphere. That said the facilities were good, the restaurant was lovely and the pools were fabulous.

I hadn't been happy in the marriage for some time. I had found him cheating a couple of times which, in itself was discouraging but was made worse because the frequency of our sex had declined to an unsatisfactory level of probably every other week. Maybe a little ambitiously I put my silly fling with the young man down to that.

I knew that it had nothing to do with my appearance as I was still the busty blonde with glasses that I had been for the past few years. With my dress size being eleven to twelve not having changed for ages and my natural boobs staying at their D cup size where they had been since after my daughter was born some 22 years ago, I knew that I hadn't altered very much. Ok, maybe I had changed with my personality but probably the main reason why our marriage, like many others failed was that we had just grown apart.

Whatever the real reason and whoever was really to blame we separated and after a trial we got divorced that thankfully was and still is reasonably amicable.

I had quite unrealistic thoughts about what it would be like being a divorcee. It was nowhere near the fun I had thought it might be and overall, I was none too pleased with most aspects of my new life including sex. I didn't really enjoy dating where it seemed to me the pair of you faffed around until you felt you knew each other well enough to have sex and then realised you were not that keen on each other after all, so you split. Alternatively, you had a few one-night-stands which were even less satisfying. So, what's a girl left with? Right, her good old friend, her vibrator.

I had been on a holiday with a bunch of girls shortly after the separation and had a couple of long weekends with a pair of friends but had not had a proper beach holiday for any length of time until my Portuguese ten-day venture. Even now, looking back I am not quite sure what prompted me to book it. Perhaps I was testing myself, giving myself a challenge maybe as I knew only too well that it would be tough. And it was. From struggling through the airport, checking in, the near three-hour flight and the first couple of days in the hotel all seemed complicated and embarrassing.

On about the third or more likely fourth of the ten-day holiday I had just about got to grips with things. I had bribed the pool guy to save me a bed tucked away in a corner of the big pool area, I had worked out where to sit for the buffet breakfast and for the served dinner. But I still wasn't relaxed and I certainly didn't feel very comfortable.

A couple of times around the pool and in the restaurant, I had seen two guys together without partners and as maybe most would, I had assumed they were partners and gay. On that fourth night I was seated at a table next to them and they nodded and smiled as we were all finishing and we chatted. They, asked if I was enjoying myself and was it my first visit to the Don Filipa? I told them it was and we got into a where do you come from conversation before they told me they were on a golf holiday but had booked too late to stay with the rest of the group as their smaller hotel was full. They introduced themselves as Mike and Tom and I said.

"Hi, I'm Christina or Chrissy if you prefer."

"So, we're stuck here," Tom the one who looked a little older at I guessed early-fifties said smiling at me as we were presented with our dinner checks as he went on after putting glasses on to check the bill. "You going to the bar Christina?"

"Well no I wasn't."

"Maybe we can persuade you to join us then?"

I agreed and we went to the almost empty bar and the other guy, Mike ordered a bottle of red wine after asking what I would like. We chatted away quite easily and I was enjoying myself and the wine seemed to vanish so quickly. Just after ten they said they had an early start and were going to bed. I walked out with them and we found we were all on the same floor. It felt rather strange and was another example of the holiday alone syndrome to be walking along a hotel corridor with two guys as we went to our rooms. We came to my room first and stood for a moment or two as Tom said, "maybe we'll see you around the pool tomorrow we should be back around three?"

"Well, I'll be there and hope you can get a sun bed, it gets very crowded."

"Anyway, if not perhaps you'll join us for dinner?" one of them said.

"Yes sure, what time?"

"If we miss at the pool let's say eight in the bar, ok?" Mike said leaning forward as we said goodnight and pecking me on the cheek which I thought was a little forward.

Alone in my room, I undressed and sat at the dressing table to remove my make up. As I was doing that, I couldn't help noticing my breasts swaying and wobbling and that my nipples were hardening. 'Why's that? I thought, 'what the fuck's happening?' I asked myself as if with a mind of its own my hand cupped one of my breasts and squeezed it. Staring at myself in the mirror I watched my thumb and forefinger pinch my nipple. I realised, of course, that I was getting aroused and that led to me thinking that I would masturbate. As that thought came into my mind so did images of the two guys. It had been some time since I had been in any male company that could be considered as a pick-up situation and that thought was stimulating my sexual equilibrium.

I considered lying on the bed but seeing the full-length mirror on the wardrobe door I decided I would like to watch myself so I stood before that. "Mmmmm not bad for my age and having had two kids,' I thought looking at my body. Ok, there was a little excess on the hips but no more than a couple or three inches and there was a bit of a mumtum where I hadn't been as strict with myself as I should have been after my second child. But the rest was ok. My legs were shapely, slender and quite long, the butt hadn't fallen at all and the D cup tits were as pert as mounds of that size can be on a woman of my age.

As usual when I need to get myself off, which had become more frequent in the past few months, I started with those. Stroking, cupping and squeezing them I built up my arousal which as always seemed to be trying to burst through my nipples. They were aching so much that I had to pinch them in an effort to relieve some of the pressure and that felt lovely. Still fondling one boob I let my other hand slither downwards until it was firstly stroking and then cupping my bald pubic mound. My fingers slid down a little more to find my clit and my extensive wetness and I stroked around and inside my lips. Lately when masturbating I didn't have a partner in mind as I mostly had in the past. Instead, I simply imagined a mouth sucking my breasts and gently biting my nipples as I held and stroked a lovely hard cock. Seeing my face in the mirror and watching my hands invigorating my body, I sank to the floor and lay looking at myself. I opened my legs wide and stared at what in that state I called my cunt. My dripping wet cunt I thought as I saw two of my fingers slide into it just as if they were guy's cock. In fact, they were a surrogate cock. A pretend cock I was thinking, smiling as I thought, or maybe even said out loud, that's fucking my cunt.

The next day the weather was perfect. Just on eighty degrees, without a cloud in the sky and a gentle, cooling breeze it was perfect for sunbathing and that's exactly what I did from just after nine o'clock. I was wondering if my two new friends would show up and around four-thirty they did, luckily as others were leaving the pool meaning they were able to find sunbeds that they placed either side of me. They both had nice bodies I was thinking as they chatted away telling me about their rounds of golf, much of which I didn't really understand. Although I had picked up some of the buzzwords from my ex who was an avid fan of what I always thought was a rather silly game agreeing whole heartedly with Mark Twain on considering it to be 'a good walk spoiled.'

I didn't usually go in the pool much during the day as oiling up after drying off was a bit of a pain but as the heat was reducing and I was due to stop sunbathing around five-thirty I agreed to go in with them. I was wearing a rather skimpy, yellow bikini the panties of which were a near thong and the bra was cut rather acutely across my breasts so that there was almost a 'pink show' when I moved suddenly. A part of me felt pleased when I saw both of them ogling my tits and ass as we walked to the pool. I'm not a very good swimmer and I didn't want to have to wash my hair so I swam carefully keeping my head well out of the water for ten minutes or so when I said I was finishing and I went to the steps and climbed out very aware that both of them were staring at my ass. I knew that the swimming action would have pushed the thin material of panties more into my crack and thus it would have become a thong.

"So, are we on for dinner?" Tom asked as we sat down in the sun.

"Yes fine, eight in the bar?" I replied

"Ok, or shall we give you a knock at five two as we go past?"

We had a nice dinner where the conversation flowed as easily as the wine and we ended up in the bar at just after ten. They had told me that they weren't playing golf the next day and that they'd bribed the pool attendant to reserve three beds together with Mike asking, "is that ok Chrissy?" I said that it would be fine as it would give me the chance to chat. They laughed. At my door an hour or so later, they both gave me light kisses on the cheeks.

We had a nice day and I enjoyed their company as much, I hoped, as they enjoyed mine which, going by some of their lingering stares at my body, was quite a lot. I was wearing a more modest black bikini that covered a little more of my boobs and stomach and was not as clingy around my bum so I didn't have the minor embarrassment of it creeping between my cheeks as the yellow one had.

"Same time for dinner?" one of them asked as we were packing our stuff up preparing to leave.

"Actually, maybe a little earlier," I suggested glancing at my watch and seeing that it wasn't yet six. As I slipped into the thin mid-calf length sun dress, Tom said.

"Ok, how about we knock you up at seven thirty?" which made me giggle particularly when Mike joined in with.

"You sure you want to be knocked up Chrissy?"

"Well, it's been a long since anyone has either offered to or actually has knocked me up," I quipped back quite enjoying the light banter.

"Do you miss it?" Tom asked smiling.

"Not sure it would work too well at my age," I grinned back.

"Might be fun trying though," Mike said placing his hand on my bare upper arm and continuing with. "Listen out for the knocking up at seven-thirty then."

I had a bath, washed and dried my shortish, blonde hair and pampered my body and face with the creams and lotions that us women are seduced into buying to battle the ageing process. I shaved my legs and then my pubic mound before rubbing baby oil into it which turned me on a little. I pondered on whether I should masturbate but I resisted the temptation and looked through my wardrobe wondering what to wear. Before the holiday, I'd been warned that the restaurant was quite dressy and had brought the appropriate clothing and so far I hadn't felt out of place. As I looked through my underwear drawer, I wondered just why I had brought my new Perla diaphanous thong and skimpy bra with me. Clearly underwear to be undressed in, which wasn't something I had expected to happen on the holiday. I have always thought that holiday romances are rather pointless and tacky and I hadn't had any since I was in my early twenties and certainly had not expected anything like it on this one. As I idly ran the silky panties between my fingers enjoying the tactile sensations, I wondered just why I had spent nearly two-hundred pounds on such erotic lingerie particularly when I had no one who I would like to see me in it. Other than my recently increased frequency of masturbation, sex had not featured highly in my life for the last six to nine months. That wasn't completely a conscious choice but just how things had gone. My social and business lives were not conducive to meeting new men and I had to admit that the last sex I'd had was with my ex when I stayed at his house after a family party some four months ago.

Over the 'underwear to be undressed in' I wore a blue, mid-thigh length dress with some sparkly bits all over it and red heels. The dress was fairly low cut and quite tight over my breasts, tummy and hips and looking over my shoulder into the mirror I saw it was very tight across my bottom. Thinking that'll do I jumped when there was a loud knocking at my door, my dates for the evening were here!

The atmosphere at the 'dinner a trois' was different to our previous times together. We knew each other better and had become friends. The conversation was more personal, at times verging on being intimate and then at others rather flirty. I told them more about my divorce and the reasons for it and Tom told us, well me really as Mike already knew, about his separation. As we finished dessert, I was admitting to not dating much and when questioned admitted that it was due to not wanting to make another commitment or enter into a permanent relationship. Tom said that he felt the same but asked, maybe a little too pointedly. "Do you miss anything about being married?"

Fiddling with my glasses and sipping my wine I bought a little time before replying rather coyly but with a mile. "Not sure that's a question you should ask me really, is it?"

They both smiled back and Mike added. "No Crissy it isn't but is there anything?"

"Oh, stop it you know damn well what that would be don't you?"

Diplomatically they didn't push things and finishing dinner we went to the bar and sat outside in the near darkness at a small round table with them on either side of me. I sat back from the table a little way with my legs crossed which caused my skirt to ride up almost to crotch level. Like my most women would be, I was aware that I was probably showing too much leg. But I was in a holiday mode in Portugal, we had drunk sufficient to remove many of my inhibitions, I was with my two 'new best-friends,' it was outside on a warm night and we had developed a flirty mood and atmosphere. So, I didn't cover up nor did I try to avoid the guy's frequent glances and stares at them. In fact, almost unconsciously, I uncrossed and crossed them a few times nearly, but not quite 'a la Sharon Stone!' Nothing was said about my 'exhibition' as we left the outside bar and made our way upstairs stopping outside my room.

"This'll be our last dinner Chrissy," Mike said, "we have the presentations dinner at the other hotel tomorrow night then we're off home on Thursday."

"Oh right," I replied genuinely feeling a little disappointed but grinning as I went on. "I'll have room service tomorrow then?"

"Talking about that, how about coming into our room for a drink?" Tom asked.

I was surprised and stammered. "What now?"

"Yes, why not, it isn't late," Mike said looking at his watch that I had noted was a Rolex but couldn't be sure if it was real or a phony. "Just on nine-thirty."

I was half-inclined to refuse but felt that would be churlish and, in any case, I was enjoying their company; I had not had much male company for a long time and didn't really want the evening to end just yet so I agreed. We walked down the corridor three abreast I noted grinning internally at the play on my words!

Their room was far larger than mine which I commented on and they told me that it was called a mini-suite. It had a sort of bedroom area and a sitting area in front of the floor to ceiling windows with a lovely sea view.

"How about some bubbles to celebrate our friendship and to say our farewells?" Tom suggested. Mike and I agreed and it was ordered. "It'll be fifteen minutes, or so they say," he told us.

In the quietness and privacy of their room sitting in easy chairs with Mike facing me and Tom off to my right we seemed to lose our ability to chat and things went quiet. However, as I sat there again, but this time unintentionally, flashing loads of leg I felt things were more than quiet but tense and rather heavy. It was almost as if we had just met and hardly knew each other. Fortunately, room service was as good as their word and the Champagne turned up on time. Tom took over and poured us flutes of Prosecco and we toasted each other.