I was making a Caesar salad for dinner when the doorbell rang. I mumbled a curse, hoping it wasn't some salesman or Jehovah's Witness as we'd been getting a lot of both lately. A polite "no thanks, not interested" on my lips, I opened the front door and instead breathed "whoa" at the very attractive woman standing on my porch.
"Hi!" she said, perky as she could be. "I'm Kyra Lane, your new neighbor."
She had a lovely heart-shaped face, cute straight nose and full gleaming lips. Her thick black hair was a cascade of ringlets that fell to the center of her back. Her eyes, large almond-shaped pools of royal blue, sparkled with life and--if I wasn't mistaken--a hint of mischief.
I ignored the voice in my head yelling, "Inappropriate, inappropriate!" and allowed my gaze to slip down to the halter top that matched the shade of her eyes; to the tight jean skirt that hugged her waist, hips and thighs; then back up to her large yet natural-looking breasts.
Dear God. This sexy creature was all-woman, all-natural; full-figured with long curves and an aura of sensuality that sent my heart rate soaring.
It took me a few seconds to stop gawking at her. I figured she was used to such reactions, the way she smiled at me patiently until I had finally regained the ability to speak.
"Oh . . . um, I'm Josh Barrett." I extended my hand. "Welcome to the neighborhood."
Kyra accepted my hand and offered a firm yet gentle shake; I nearly shuddered at the warmth of her velvety soft skin. "Thanks. But it isn't anything permanent--three to four weeks at the most. The company I work for sent me here to straighten out some software glitches and create new databases at a local accounting firm. I'm renting the house next door while I'm here." Then she pouted. "Just a short stay then back to the home office, I'm afraid."
Damn, I thought. What a shame.
"Oh, well, that's too bad."
She nodded, a subtle motion which made my cock twitch.
Jesus Christ, Josh, keep it together.
"Well, um, my wife is upstairs. I know she'll want to me you. Please"--I opened the door wide--"come in."
Kyra accepted my invitation and stepped past me into the hallway, trailing the heady scents of vanilla and roses. I had to stop myself from leaning forward and inhaling deeply.
I called to Brie who was upstairs changing out of her work clothes. A minute later, she rounded the corner into the hall and for the second time in the past few minutes I was rendered speechless. Brie was wearing my favorite pair of cut-off shorts that left a good deal of her voluptuous ass uncovered and a tight t-shirt with Tweety bird centered right between her tits. She wasn't wearing a bra, either, which wasn't unusual as it was normally the first thing she removed at the end of the work day.
Brie rarely wore much clothing at home, especially in the summer months, which was fine with me. But she was a little on the conservative side when it came to how she appeared in front of others. She wasn't some bible thumper or uptight bitch, just a little self-conscious about her body, with all its big round curves. She was always complaining about how she needed to lose weight and how people looked at her like she was some cow, despite my adamant objections. The truth was men and women stared at her out of appreciation and--I'm sure--lust, though she never saw it that way.
I felt my face blush, an anticipatory response to how I imagined Brie was about to react: she would let out one of her cute little squeals of surprise before bolting back upstairs to put on more clothing. Instead, she smiled brightly, walked right up to our new neighbor and introduced herself. I was a bit stunned but didn't say a word.
As they exchanged pleasantries, I was struck by how much they resembled one another. They were the same height, and their bodies were practically mirror images. Brie's hair was a shade lighter and her skin a bit darker, but the overall similarity was uncanny.
Brie asked Kyra to stay for dinner. She politely refused, at first, not wanting to intrude. But after a little cajoling from both of us, she agreed to stay.
We dined on Brie's famous spaghetti and my crisp, tangy Caesar salad. During the meal, we downed a couple bottles of red wine that left us all quite talkative. Our conversation was far from original, but we talked with the ease of old friends, exchanging standard background information: where we were from, our jobs, our families . . . Then with a third bottle, we retired to the living room.
Brie and I sat on the couch while Kyra eased into the recliner, caddy corner to our left. I continued where I'd left off at the dinner table with a rundown of my work at the university. Kyra seemed particularly interested in my teaching, or more specifically, my subject matter: Myth and Lore. Apparently she liked the idea of a magical world rife with vampires, werewolves, fairies . . . I'd always been more interested in the cultures that bred and fostered those fictional beings, those legends, but I appreciated her questions, nonetheless. Our conversation then segued into movies and books inspired by creatures that go bump in the night, which isn't really my thing. But Kyra and Brie seemed excited about sharing an affinity for sexy creatures of the paranormal.
At some point, I excused myself to visit the little boys' room. When I returned, Brie and Kyra were sitting next to each other on the couch, still chatting away about this gorgeous vampire or that hunky werewolf. I settled into the recliner and listened to them talk, enjoying the way their equally impressive breasts jiggled when they got really animated about some character or plot point. They touched each other's thighs as they talked, too, which, despite my best efforts, gave me a raging hard on. After a few minutes, when I'd reached the point where I was either going to have to cross my legs or put a throw pillow in my lap, they suddenly hopped off the couch and walked over to the shelves that held most of our books and DVDs. I frowned at their departure, poured myself another half-glass of wine, closed my eyes and relaxed.
Perhaps it was a little too much wine, or maybe a full day of teaching, but I drifted off. Next thing I knew Brie was gently shaking my shoulder and telling me Kyra was leaving. I stood up, rubbed my sleepy eyes, and saw that Kyra was holding a plastic bag full of books and movies. She was grinning from ear-to-ear, thanking Brie for letting her borrow them. I followed them to the door and exchanged goodbyes with Kyra before returning to the living room for the wine glasses.
When I came back into the hallway, Brie and Kyra were talking about getting together sometime for a swim in the pool or dinner and a movie. Then Brie wrapped her arms around Kyra's shoulders and gave her a friendly hug, which seemed to linger a little longer than new-friend protocol would call for. When they broke their embrace, both of them had fully erect nipples, perfect little nubs that strained against the feeble material that contained them. My erection swiftly returned and didn't bother going away until Brie and I fucked thirty minutes later on the couch; a wild, near-desperate and--in hindsight--inspired coupling that left us both breathless and covered in sweat.
#
The three of us spent a good deal of time together over the next few weeks, mostly after work and on the weekends. We shared dinners, went to the movies, out for drinks; Brie and Kyra went shopping every-once-in-a-while. I was especially fond of our pool time together, watching them sunbathe in skimpy bikinis along the apron or while floating on inflatable lounges. I usually had to sit in a chair with a book in my lap, or make sure I was submerged in the water to my waist, lest I show the ladies my straining erection, which I was tempted to do on numerous occasions. What would happen? I'd wonder. Would either of them say anything? Do anything? Or would they storm off in a huff leaving me and my engorged cock all alone? Sometimes it'd get so bad that I'd retreat to the house, ostensibly to refresh our drinks or retrieve some snacks. Once inside, I'd rush to the bathroom and masturbate furiously, emptying a ridiculous amount of come into the waste basket. When I returned to the pool, Brie and Kyra would knowingly smile at one another, making me blush scarlet red.
The time for Kyra to return to her company's home office arrived all too quickly. Each of us was saddened by it and made a point to keep reassuring one another we'd call, e-mail, take turns visiting, maybe even share a vacation. All those things people say though deep down they know they'll probably never see each other again.
Two nights before Kyra's departure, after turning the lights out, Brie rolled over on her side. Facing me, she said, "I really want to have a threesome with Kyra."
We'd talked about bringing a third into our sex life on numerous occasions--usually a woman though I'd told Brie a man would be fine, too. And often during sex we'd tell each other made-up stories about having trysts with strangers, people we'd pick up at bars, or meet while hiking in the woods, or some other random occurrence. I'd tried to get Brie to actually go through with it a couple times but she'd gently refused. I never pushed the issue, though. If I had, she would've probably gotten defensive, making the chance of us ever engaging in a threesome pretty much nil. I could also tell she genuinely felt bad, maybe even guilty, that she couldn't go through with it, like she was disappointing or failing me somehow. So when she announced her desire for Kyra, I nodded my head and said in a calm, even voice: "She's very attractive, and I'm pretty sure she has the hots for you."
In the near darkness, I noticed Brie beam when I mentioned my suspicion that Kyra wanted her. She brushed a wisp of hair behind her ear and started rambling: "You think so? Really? God, she's sexy as hell, don't you think? I swear I've been fantasizing about her and me--and her and you and me--" she quickly added, "since she arrived." She shook her head. "Damn, there's been so many times when I thought something was going to happen, you know, but it just . . . didn't." Brie paused long enough to grin, a slow, Cheshire cat curve of her lips. "And I can tell she has the hots for you, too, stud. She's always eyeing you, checking out your ass and bulge."
I returned her smile and thought, Huh? Sure, Kyra was definitely a flirt and I'd caught her ogling me a few times, but that was part of her charm, her appeal. Surely, she flirted with lots of other men. Nevertheless, I sincerely hoped Brie was right in her assertion.
"Well," I offered, "maybe she wants something to happen but is afraid we don't."
"Yeah, you're probably right." Brie pressed her lips together thoughtfully. "Hmm, I suppose we could give it a shot. And if it doesn't work out--well, Kyra's leaving in a couple days. That would at least cut down on the awkwardness. But"--she groaned--"I hate the thought of ruining our friendship, you know? I really like Kyra."
I was treading on dangerous ground. If I pushed the issue, Brie might balk. "That's completely understandable. She probably feels the same way."
"But if we don't try, I'll always wonder if it could've happened."
I exhaled a long sigh and briefly considered admitting that I'd been fantasizing as well; simple daydreams at first, fleeting images, whispered sensations. But for the past week I'd dreamed of us every night without fail, fucking like animals in a rut, tasting and penetrating one another for what seemed like hours on end. They were the most vividly detailed fantasies I'd ever had, each one ending only after I'd come into Kyra's pussy, mouth or ass; never Brie, odd as that sounds, always Kyra. Then, with the last spasm of my cock, I'd wake with a start, certain I'd orgasmed all over myself. But, to my surprise, I was always clean except for a slight stickiness along the length of my fading erection.
"I mean," Brie continued, "how would something like this happen? Do I just kiss her, start playing with myself while we're in the pool, or say, 'Hey, want to fuck?'"
