"Are you really sure about this," you say, as we are about to enter our bedroom, "because this might be the last moment you can stop it."
"I'm positive," I say to you, "I love you and I want this to happen." I kiss the back of your neck and gently nudge you onwards, inwards towards him.
He is sprawled on the bed already, awaiting the drink you have for him, with a smile which manages to be both smug and nervous spread over his boyish face. He's a handsome fucker, the guy we found on the website we found, the kind of pretty boy you used to go for, in the days before you found me. He's a bit too ripped for your tastes though, or so you said, back when we were looking at the pictures he emailed. But don't think I didn't notice the slight gasp, though you quickly turned it into a giggle, when you saw the picture of his cock.
I dare say he does well for himself this guy. But I could see he was taken aback when you opened the door to him tonight. And he should be, you are gorgeous, my darling: eyes as blue as a husky dog's and big in your face like a baby's; succulent lips that look like they long to be kissed, even when they don't; you're still as slim as most girls wished they were at sixteen; your little tits are hard and high, pink nipples like strawberries on vanilla cones; your tight little ass is the most beautifully curved thing on the planet, makes a Porsche look like a Volvo. I wish he could see your bum properly, you're wearing a skirt, it looks better in tight jeans. But I guess he'll see it soon enough.
You hand him the glass of wine and sit down beside him on the bed, shuffle yourself upwards towards him. You watch while he has a sip, then you take the glass from him and have a sip yourself. It is one of our big goblets, can take half a bottle, we have all shared two bottles already and you and I had a couple of gin and tonics before he arrived.
I take my place, in the corner, where we put one of the dining room chairs earlier.
You two continue to share wine, but he starts to stroke your bare thigh now, whenever it is not his turn to hold the glass. You let out a slight sigh when he does so, at each first touch. I am not sure if this is from genuine pleasure, or from anticipation, or to encourage him; but I am hard as fuck already. I stroke my arm against myself through my trousers, subtly, though neither of you are looking at me anyway.
When the wine is finished, you turn to place it on the floor and you look into my eyes as you do so and I just nod and mouth 'I love you', my lips barely moving, but certain they convey what I say.
And as you turn back to him again, as if by unspoken agreement, you both move your faces together and kiss. Softly at first, gently, then you move slightly on top of him and then the kissing becomes more constant, you are more or less sealed at the face.
I feel the first knots of jealousy then, but quickly his hand, which was stroking your leg moves up to your ass, which lifts your skirt; and the sight of your beautiful peachy bum being groped by this near-stranger's fingers makes me want to come in my pants there and then.
You straddle him, and grab at his T-shirt from the bottom, make him lift his arms so that you can pull it off. And you pull off your own top as well, press against him, so that he can feel your stiff little nipples rubbing into his chest. You kiss like this for a while, rubbing your hands over each other. Him quickly gathering the confidence to squeeze and hold your delicious tits.
While he sucks on them, one after the other, you look into my eyes. Is this what you wanted? You seem to be asking me, but I just stare at you loving you, more aroused perhaps even than you.
You look away first, and as if that look was the final permission you have sought, you move your straddle lower, onto his thighs, and you start to rub his cock through his jeans. If it weren't poking sideways it would doubtless be above his beltline anyway, but you generously unbutton his flies to free it. You have to reach right into his pants to pull it out. But you spend some time in there stroking it, probably rubbing the underside of his helmet in that special way you do. When you eventually manoeuvre it out, pulling down his pants and jeans a little with your other hand, I see the size of it. It looks huge wrapped in your little fingers.
You edge further down the bed, ass in the air, as if you were going to suck on it, but you don't, you pull his trousers and underwear right off and return to wanking him. Wanking is too crude a word for what you do though, for what you are capable of. You encase and wrap him. You twist as you pull up on his thick shaft and work his own precum round his glans. Your other hand alternates between cupping and stroking his balls and working in unison on his cock. You elicit the same moans and gasps and pants from him as you do from me. You are an artist. And you are relishing every second of this. You can do things with two hands on this monster cock that you could never do on mine.
Soon you discover that even pumping and kneading him with two hands, there is still space for your mouth at the top, and you suck at it eagerly, gleefully, moaning yourself now, though you are untouched except where his fingers occasionally grasp through your hair, or hold you head steady for a moment, perhaps in efforts not too cum.
When you move your legs off the bed, in order to get at him better - so that your too skilled fingers and hungry mouth can appreciate this new cock the more – your knees are on the floor and your ass is right in front of me. It is more than I can resist. I come over to you, behind you and you obliging lift your knees up one at a time while I take your skirt of you.
