One Week – An OFS Story Pt. 02

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Previously:

Sharon tells me it’s nothing personal–she had been willing to “do it,” until she wasn’t. She says maybe some day, we could try again. She knows she’ll be ready for more, but today just wasn’t it.

Even so, I find myself hoping that she’ll suddenly change her mind. That she’ll unearth some undiscovered kernel of enthusiasm and freely give herself to my pleasure.

Instead, we get dressed. I drive her home. She bids me a warm goodbye, but she leaves me without so much as a peck on the cheek.

Fuck.

FUCK.

ONE WEEK: AN OFS STORY, PART 2

Fucking Sunday Night: Emmett

Okay, that’s it. Pure stubbornness, kicking in.

I will have one more date before I have to give my lecture tomorrow, and that date WILL involve me receiving epic oral pleasure.

I hop back on the dating app, the same one I’d found Sharon on.

I decide the best way to filter out all but the most ideal candidates is to find someone who has pussy-eating energy practically radiating from them.

Sadly, there’s no sorting tool for pussy-eating energy. So I have to hunt for it. After a few swipes, I find someone whose pictures are saturated with it.

His name is Emmett. He looks like if Michelangelo painted Marlene Dietrich’s character from Morocco onto Adam’s body. He’s big, tall, and smoldering.

Be still, my beating heart.

Our messages are flirty, and only lightly coded. I make no bones about what I’m looking for. He makes no bones about giving it. We talk about little else.

I show up at his place Sunday evening. I text the address and a picture of the house to about a half-dozen friends in case I end up getting murdered, then I head up the front walk.

He’s waiting for me at the door.

He greets me with a smile and holds the door for me. He’s even bigger and taller and more smoldery in person.

He’s dressed in a suit with the jacket off and the sleeves rolled–I can’t tell if he just got back from something or if he’s dressed this way for me.

His voice is soft and feminine. He smells like soft grass after a good rain.

He fixes himself a martini and invites me to help myself to the bar. I select a wide-mouthed glass and pour some bourbon. About 30 seconds pass before we’re making out on Emmett’s plush living room sofa.

He has my blouse partially unbuttoned and his hand down my bra. A nicer bra this time, I promise.

I’m about to warn him about the screaming, but he expertly steers around my nipple, exciting just the periphery of it.

When he finally touches it, it’s with a wide, flat palm that covers it completely. It actually feels great.

He asks if he can take me to bed. I say yes enthusiastically.

He sweeps me off my feet. He bridal carries me.

We pass a couple rooms that look like they’ve been bombed with children’s toys.

“They’re visiting Grandma for the weekend,” Emmett explains.

Emmett’s bed is big and soft. He tosses me on it like an armload of clothes.

To the right of the bed is a freestanding cabinet. On top of the cabinet are condoms, gloves, dental dams, and a 100 ml bottle of lube with a pump nozzle.

He helps me out of my boots and my slacks. He hooks a finger around the strap of my thong and gives me a look. I nod, and he whisks the thong away with the flick of his wrist. Like a magician.

He grabs a pair of gloves off the stand and tosses them at me. I gladly put them on. I’m ready to put my hands on or in anything he wants.

I’m on my back. I spread my knees apart. My hairy vulva is on display for his consideration.

He’s on his hands and knees in front of me, still dressed. He spends a long time just looking at me, looking at my pussy, and I almost start to worry that he finds it unattractive.

“You are so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs. “I’m going to eat you alive.”

He grabs a dam and splays it over me.

Then his mouth descends.

The heat through the nitrile on my genitals is immediately gratifying, like scratching an itch. Except it’s an itch I’ve been unable to scratch for a week.

An mobil porno actual fucking week.

There’s nothing perfunctory or workmanlike about what Emmett does to me. He’s savoring it, taking his time, lavishing attention at every step.

He licks me upward, covering my vaginal opening from bottom to top, making periodic incidental contact just under my clit. The tip of his tongue play-fights with my labia.

He doesn’t let me get too close to orgasm without adjusting. He takes nothing away, but he’s creating a plateau and holding me there. He’s making me be patient. He’s building something.

My pussy and ass and tummy and thighs are warm and tingly–a suspended state of pre-orgasm that feels more intense and urgent the longer I’m there.

They get more tingly every time Emmett’s face squishes the damp dental dam against my body. My pubic hair is saturated with my secretions.

I try to focus on my breathing. Deep, long breaths. Deep in, long out. The room is draped in the smell of my pussy. It lights up my brain and turns me on even more.

When it feels like I’ll explode if I don’t get any relief, he finally gives it to me.

His licking is consistent, strident, strong but not overwhelming. His nose is mashed into my pubic bone. The pressure is fantastic.

My hips are off the bed. I’m climbing. He stays with me as I go, holding me, doggedly maintaining his attentions.

I don’t remember the next however many seconds. I would later learn that there was howling involved.

I lie limp on the bed. The afterglow is as warm and tingly as an orgasm all its own. It’s all the way down to my toes and up to my hairline.

At some point, he removes the dam. My bush, soaked, cools in the air between my splayed legs. Sticky girlcum drains into my asscrack, collecting in the divot of my anus.

My eyes come into focus. Emmett is kneeling on the bed between my feet.

His face is glistening with sweat and his own spit; his fringey hair is a mess. He looks pleased, in an inscrutable way. A smile at the corners of his eyes and mouth.

He lies down on top of me, between my knees, and kisses me. We make out, our faces smearing each other with mingled saliva. The smell of the air is thick with sweat and spit and pussy.

I sneak a gloved hand down and feel the front of his slacks. He’s rock hard behind the zipper.

He reaches down helpfully and unzips. My hand goes inside the waistband of his slim-fitting underpants and clasps his cock. It’s not too long, and it’s thick.

He has one of my tits out. He’s thumbing my big, coffee-colored nipple. It’s rigid–inured enough by horniness that it can be touched without sending me through the ceiling. Each touch pangs in my gut.

He’s kissing my shoulder, which is partway out of my blouse. I have his cock out–a big, heavy rock in my hand. I jerk him loosely, luxuriating in the velveteen feel of his skin.

I’m about to tell him I sure could go for another orgasm, but we both freeze. I can see in his tense posture that he heard it too.

We look to the doorway. A man is standing there.

He’s short, compact, slender. He wears a printed short-sleeve shirt, unbuttoned almost to his navel, and tight blue jeans with heeled ankle boots.

His hair and eyebrows are neat, in a severe sort of way. Like Spock from Star Trek.

He looks more like a stylish lesbian than a lot of lesbians I know.

“Hi, Gregor,” Emmett says awkwardly.

“Hi yourself,” Gregor says. He almost sounds amused. But my brain is full of confusion and orgasm chemicals, so it’s hard to tell.

“Gregor, this is [OFS’s name redacted],” Emmett says, his cock still throbbing in my hand. “[OFS], this is Gregor. My husband.”

Gregor gives me a curt nod, then leaves the room without another word.

For a moment, Emmett and I are frozen, neither of us willing to decide what to do next.

I find myself thinking, is Gregor angry? Have I brought trouble on both of us?

Or maybe he’s into it. Hell, I don’t know. I don’t spend a lot of personal time around people who aren’t alman porno hardened perverts, and it’s hard to tell if Gregor is one or not.

Perhaps realizing that an explanation is in order, Emmett says he and Gregor have an open relationship.

He says they’re free to fuck anyone they want, but they each make a policy of notifying the other if they’re bringing home a date.

That’s how they manage jealousy. And, occasionally, how they coordinate group play–something else they’re both fond of.

The only reason Emmett didn’t bother to inform Gregor about tonight is that Gregor had gone on a business trip and wasn’t supposed to be back until tomorrow night.

Emmett says Gregor might have been surprised, but that he won’t be mad.

Emmett tries kissing my neck. It’s nice, but–I’m sorry to say–I’ve lost the horn. Emmett’s reassurance came just a moment too late.

It’s not that getting caught is a big deal for me. I’ve done lewder things in front of bigger audiences.

And besides, I like getting fucked in front of an audience.

It’s just that sometimes, you just can’t get back into it after the mood is broken.

Gregor comes back, carrying a tray of martinis. When he sees us putting our clothes on, he looks disappointed.

While we drink our drinks and wait for my rideshare, the conversation drifts to politics. Gregor, as it turns out, is an organizer for a queer advocacy group. He’d been on a short speaking tour.

His last stop was supposed to be tonight. The venue cancelled when the owner caught wind of the nature of the event. He headed home instead.

“I did call ahead before I got here,” Gregor insists. Emmett says he believes him, but I catch him checking his phone under the table.

As my rideshare pulls up outside, we promise each other we’ll all get together again sometime.

As the door closes behind me, I overhear Gregor teasing Emmett about getting caught in bed with a girl again.

By the time I get in the car, they’ve already texted me an invitation to meet again.

EPILOGUE

About a week later, we go out for drinks–not to a student bar, but a restaurant for proper adults. We’re all busy this week, but we carved out some time tonight, just to meet properly.

Emmett explains that they always take new partners out for a first date, to make sure everyone has a chance to express their desires and their limits. One of their rules before sharing someone new.

And, Gregor clarifies, “to make sure everyone gets along.”

After an entire bottle of red wine and a lot of horny conversation about what we want and don’t want in a threesome, we make our way to the parking lot.

I’m sitting between them in the backseat of their spacious SUV. I feel warmed by the heat of their bodies and the wine in my belly.

Emmett procures a fistful of black nitrile gloves from the center console. By habit, we all don gloves immediately.

I feel like we’re getting along famously.

Gregor kisses me. I reciprocate, my eyes falling shut. He tastes minty.

Gregor reaches across my lap. My hand finds his, resting atop the hard ridge beneath Emmett’s fly.

Soft breath in my hair and a hand on my tit–Emmett. I don’t have a bra on; the knotted straps of my halter-back rockabilly dress are all that’s holding me in.

Still, he’s gentle. His thumb finds my nipple through the cloth, drawing a loose perimeter around it that makes the whole side of my body tingle.

I break away from Gregor and look to Emmett. Emmett kisses me, with a good deal more tongue than his husband, evoking a stirring in my loins.

Gregor gathers up the skirt of my dress in a fistful, drawing it up over my knees. His fingers look for panties, finding pubic hair instead.

I stroke Emmett and Gregor’s cocks through their pants. I kiss Gregor, more aggressively this time. His spit mingles with Emmett’s on my face.

Gregor’s fingertips touch my vulva. I slouch to give him better access.

Emmett’s undoing the knot behind my neck. He loosens the straps and pulls them away, alexis texas porno letting the front of my dress fall open. My tits are out, spilling over the waistline of the dress.

Gregor, apparently delighted, abandons my mouth and my vulva. He loops one arm around my shoulders and grasps my tits in both hands. He avoids the nipples, perhaps at Emmett’s advice.

My pussy isn’t bereft for long. Emmett’s hand slides across the width of my thigh, tracing dimples of cellulite, until he finds my vulva.

He circles me there, long elliptical movements that tease my perineum and my frenulum. It’s sweetly satisfying, like scratching an itch.

The hotter I get, the bolder Gregor gets with my tits. He’s stroking my areolas, then playing with the nubs.

It feels really nice; between the tingling in my breasts and Emmett’s fingers on my pussy, I feel that earliest feeling of heat spreading through my middle, like a sneeze slowly coming on.

Gregor cups my tit, lifts it, and lowers his mouth to my nipple. He applies a light, rhythmic suction. He lifts the other one as well, inviting Emmett in, who gratefully dives in.

My head is back. I’m breathing slowly. It’s humid in here; the air is thick with pussy and suckling sounds. It’s making me even tipsier than I already am. The windows have fogged up.

Through the condensation, I see the forms of people passing by on their way to their cars. Some of them pass too closely, and linger for too long, for them not to notice what’s happening inside.

I hear an occasional voice, too muffled to distinguish. But the subject of the commentary is obvious.

Between the crush of two bodies, two mouths on my tits, and Emmett’s attentive fingers, the tingling warmth and the fluttering in my belly are getting real.

I focus on breathing steadily, on stroking their cocks, wishing their pants were off, not wanting to break the moment to ask for it.

Emmett’s fingers are on either side of my vulva, holding my clitoral hood loosely between the knuckles. He rubs me there, never making direct contact, never quite intense enough to overwhelm me.

I’m getting very close.

“Don’t stop,” I breathe. “Don’t stop…”

Unbidden, my hips start to hitch. Pinned between their hard, masculine bodies, there’s nowhere for me to go.

“Ah!” I gasp.

Emmett’s free hand, thrown across the seat behind my shoulders, reaches around and clasps my mouth to keep me from raising too much attention.

The smothering weight of his big palm just makes my orgasm that much more intense. He smells like perfumed hand soap. Gratefully, I cry out into his hand as I come.

Electricity flows through my belly and thighs as they hold me down. My belly and my thighs quiver with a restrained vibration.

After I’ve come my little heart out and mostly come down, they disengage their mouths from me. Their spittle cools quickly, stinging my sensitized nipples. A garnish on my delight.

Once we’re all settled down, they drive me home.

Regrettably, I have no time to invite them in.

As we come to a stop in front of my place, they assure me I’ve earned my place as a third in their marital relations. And they promise they’ll have me over soon.

As I’m getting out, I say, “I’m sorry I soaked up all the attention tonight.”

Emmett laughs.

Gregor says, “Don’t worry. The night isn’t over for us.”

Emmett says, “We’ll be thinking of you when we take care of each other.”

I watch the SUV recede into the distance, then go inside. I strip out of my dress, admiring the spot of dried girlcum on the backside.

I shower, carelessly dab myself with a towel, and collapse into bed atop the covers.

Just thinking of Emmett and Gregor together makes me horny all over again.

But I’m worn out. And a little drunk. Masturbation isn’t in the cards, at least, notuntil morning.

I close my eyes, feeling the last of the water drying on my naked body. Visions of hot men dance through my head.

As I drift off to sleep, I make two promises to myself.

One: next time I see them, they’re both getting full service from me.

Two: I’m going to inform them, none too subtly, that I would like for them to have sex with each other while I watch.

I’m sure they won’t mind.

~THE END~

OFS (Our Favorite Slut) will return.

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