He She and I

Really Chapter 2-1/2: Her Story

Friend comes around sometimes when boyfriend is not at home.

by MsScrewloose and MrScrewloose

SHE

You've read about the threesomes that my boyfriend and I had with his best friend. Well, that wasn't all there was to it. His friend came back for seconds - and thirds and more - for months afterward. And I let him. I was a horny little tart back then. And my boyfriend had encouraged me and his friend to get together sexually for those threesome nights. I knew how good his friend was in bed, and I was pretty sure that my guy wouldn't mind a little more extracurricular sex between his best friend and his girl. He loved watching his friend fuck me, and he loved how much pleasure I got out of being fucked.

So, after the first couple threesome events, it happened that my boyfriend was on a business trip up to Boston for a few days. His friend called to say that he (the friend) would be in town on business one day, and would I like to go out to dinner. Sure. He picked me up at the apartment after work and we went to a nice restaurant. Bottle of wine at dinner, we were feeling no pain.

We went back to the apartment for coffee before he had to drive home, which was like fifty miles. He caught me coming from the kitchen back to the living room. While we were still standing there, he kissed me. Really kissed me. Deeply, passionately. Just like the threesome days. He started to put the moves on me, also just like the threesome days. I was hesitant, but he was forceful.

We kissed for a couple minutes just standing there. He held me tight, pulled my hips into his, his hands reached below my waist and held me by my ass. That was almost innocent. Then he reached up to fondle my breast and pushed his leg between mine. Not so innocent. It was clear to me that he meant to have me. That was okay with me.

He walked me over to the couch and we sat down. He laid me back, lay on top of me. While we were kissing and squirming there, he got his body between my legs. And he pulled my skirt up. I could feel his erection pushing against my thigh and up to my goodies.

I don't mean to imply that he was forcing me or anything like that. After all, he and I had had sex a number of times before - and at the express invitation of my live-in boyfriend and lover! So I certainly had permission, and this friend had permission, and so we thought that it would be a good, fun activity for the evening. I just wasn't quite as enthusiastic as he was. At least not at first. But he was a pretty good lover and I knew it, so I got into the act. I wasn't going to get any tonight from anyone else, and I liked his dick in me the first half-dozen times. Sooooo. . . .

We adjourned to the bedroom, our clothes fell off into a pile on the floor, and we lay on the bed.

He was concerned, "You won't tell him about this, will you?"

"No, I won't. I wouldn't. Of course not." I was at least as concerned as he was that he not mention to my boyfriend this little private tryst. "I wouldn't want you to tell him, either."

With that out of the way, we went at it like animals. He was more attentive than in our previous engagements. He took it slower, paid more attention to my arousal than he had before. No rush this time. He didn't have the feeling that we might stop because my boyfriend changed his mind.

He used his fingers to make sure I was hot and wet and open for him. I spread my legs wide and begged him to "Fuck me! Fuck me!" I had a small orgasm when he first pushed into me. I held him tight with my arms and my legs around him, until I got used to his size. Then, when I was accustomed to that delicious feeling of my vagina being stuffed full of man-meat, I let him start moving.

We started in missionary. Pump, pump, pump! Deep. Hard. I loved that. I always have. His pubis banging against mine with every stroke! With my legs way up, he drilled me extra deep. I pulled my knees back to my chest to maximize the depth of his outie going into my innie. His hardness plumbed to the end of my fuck-tube and I felt it pressing, bottoming out on every stroke. That's my favorite position: on my back, folded in half, with the barrel of my vagina pointed straight up so my man can drill me straight down.

Before either of us came, he wanted me to sit on him, so I did. I sat down slowly onto his cock, slid it slowly into my hot box, stirred it around like a swizzle stick in my fleshy pink cocktail. (Love that word, cocktail!) We both loved the feeling. He held my hips and moved them around and up and down until he came, groaning loudly, almost shouting, "FUCK Fuck fuck!" I lay down, my sweaty chest on his, until he recovered and could breathe again. Then I sat up and lifted off his hips and his shrinking manhood. His semen came out of me easily, a gob onto his balls, and more down my leg, and a lot onto the bedsheet.

He spent the night. Once was not enough, for him or for me. We went at it again before we went to sleep. He woke me up twice during the night for more sex-fest. The last time, around dawn, he just slid his cock into me while we were still 90% asleep, spooning. He wasn't normally a cuddly guy, but this night he held me close while we both slept.

I should note that I had not had a really big orgasm through all that sex. So, sometime during the night, I reached down to my sensitive, slightly sore, well-used slit, and massaged my clit until I came. I didn't care if he would wake up. If he did, I think we would just have screwed again and gone back to sleep again.

Next morning, the bed was a mess, a veritable pond of a wet spot. I had to change the sheets and hope that my boyfriend would not question why. (Not a problem: most guys don't even notice.)

This started a real affair that went on for several months. He would take an afternoon off to come up to see me. If my boyfriend was out of town, he could stay the night. It got so he brought a change of clothes so he could go to work the next day without having to do the "walk of shame." Which guys never care about anyway. If this was just an afternoon delight, we would use a no-tell motel between our cities to avoid possible detection.

We screwed on every surface and every piece of furniture, just as my boyfriend and I had done in the first months we were living together. Usually, we didn't even make it out of the living room for the first bout. And I was always careful, when I knew he was coming, to have no underwear that might impede access to my sex lips and my hole. I knew that was what he wanted. No pants, no shorts, no panties. Just skirts, loose if possible. You know, the usual young-lovers' obsessions with feeling and groping and sticking and driving and squirting and other erotic activities.

I was on the pill, so no real fears of pregnancy. No telltale condoms lying around. We even started to use a lot of towels to catch the drips of his spunk out of my cunt, so the bed and the couch and the carpet didn't get crusty.

Meantime the three of us still had our threesomes now and then as well. We would get together and all roll around on the floor and the bed, and both men fucked me multiple times. I admit I was pretty much a sex object at that time. My boyfriend really loved me, and I really loved him. His friend, on the other hand, pretty much treated me as "a vagina on legs." He fucked me a lot, and well and hard, but I rarely came with him. My boyfriend was a lot more considerate and always either ate me or fingered me to an orgasm sometime during the marathon.

Yes, the excitement of newness did wear off after a few more times, as did the excitement of an illicit weekday affair. The whole affair thing lasted maybe twelve or fifteen times, afternoons and some nights. But of course, we fucked multiple times - or rather, he fucked me multiple times, and then my boyfriend fucked me, too, when he got home - whenever we got together.

Eventually, he found a girl and got serious. She was the type who would cut his nuts off if she ever found out, so he has never told her about fucking me in those threesomes that my boyfriend wrote about. He's now just a married suburban dad. I'll bet she is nowhere near the hot piece that I was, though. She's really pretty, but I don't think she rates being ravaged three or four times a day. I just hope he remembers our times together fondly.

You may wonder, Did *I* tell my boyfriend about this affair? Two answers. One: yes, I did, and yes, he loved it. The only thing he was upset about was that I didn't tell him at the time, and didn't tell him every detail while my memory was still fresh. And I didn't save a pussy full of friend-juice for him to fuck when he got home. And two: yes, we are still together. Married, long term, a serious love match. Our friends think us an almost ideal couple. And the boyfriend-now-husband's best friend is still his best friend. Those little dalliances brought us all closer together if anything. We as a couple both got lots of physical and mental pleasure out of the experiences, more than we would have if we had been more conventionally faithful. The memories still fuel our libidos.

HE

When she, my wonderful wife, told me about her additional dalliances with my best friend, I was not particularly upset. I don't think I was even surprised. He was a bit of a horn dog. And she was available. Hell, I had basically given her to him as a sex toy for those threesomes we had. Not surprising that they both thought they had a free pass to continue screwing whenever the opportunity arose (as it were).

After thinking about it for a day, I wasn't the least bit upset. I have always wanted her to enjoy life, and the thrill of sex for us was a big part of that enjoyment. Being in love only added to the long term satisfaction. Before we were married, we had a pretty open relationship that included a number of other people. So long as nothing got in the way of our deeper commitment to each other, not a problem. We were close, very much attached, but not jealous.

I have to say, she was very subtle and secretive about this affair. I really did not know, did not really even suspect, until she told me. But then, as I said, I was not upset or even very surprised. There were a number of other, shorter affairs, from a night to a month for the most part, but they weren't secrets for very long, usually revealed in a week, sometimes the next day.

This was sort of an example of a thing in guy psychology, that once a man has had a woman, he thinks he has rights to return and have her again in the future. I have to admit to having that feeling myself. I have only rarely had the chance of a repeat performance, but I always wanted it. Once hot pussy, always hot pussy.

A more extreme case, as you can read in the previous chapter, should have happened a dozen years later. My best friend, again, and my wife, again, screwed in the back seat of a car I was driving, and she told me all about it as it was happening. (They didn't actually get to intercourse, too bad, but they did fondle and play a lot and she did get his fingers inside her.) Not that much of an opportunity: just a little bit of drink, some close proximity, her sitting on his lap in the back seat, memories of their lustful times together, and enough time to get into the swing of things, that was all that was needed to renew their lust.

I didn't want to object. Why would I? (I was disappointed that they didn't actually have full-on sex in the back seat.) I remember them making out and making love together as some of my hottest memories. She was more concerned than I was, but that soon passed as her excitement peaked. I'm actually looking forward to creating another opportunity for them to couple again for their pleasure and mine. She's still my horny little tart.