All three men are around the bed. Gabe to my left, Paul in the center, and Chris to my right. They’re waiting for me to answer.
We haven’t even discussed what this is that we’re doing. I’d guess Paul hasn’t been articulate because he doesn’t know how to put it into words either. We haven’t nailed down any of the details.
Maybe I should feel disgusted with myself, how lascivious I am, how I want all of them, how I have no clue how to have them all at once but I’m excited to try. I am a tad ashamed, I have to admit. But my desire is much louder. It’s roaring in my ears, through my body, pulsing in my sex, my pussy. I want them. I want them inside me and I don’t care that they don’t love me, that they don’t want to marry me.
Those are the rules. And I’m breaking them.
But I don’t care. I just want Chris to make me hot, so hot I can only sweat and moan; Paul to make me soar through the heavens; and Gabe to ground me, be my earth, be my solid base. I want them so fucking much.
I nod. Oh, yes. I want this.
11
But under my raw desire, my aching sex, my sensitive breasts, I’m terrified they’ll leave me when it’s over. When the non-articulated this is over. And I’m worried they’ll leave disgusted with me.
Gabe sits on the bed beside me, caressing my cheek, my jaw. “You sure, Jane? You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
I nod again. Because I do want them. I want to know each of their touches. I want this intimacy. I’m just terrified of what comes after.
I’ve always thought that if I stuck to the rules then good things would happen. Due to the cursed words from my father and uncle, I’ve always worried Anne died as a consequence of wanting to learn, going to college then graduate school. I followed the rules with Tim. We didn’t have sex until we were married. Although, I ached to know what he felt like inside me, to shed my virginity long before we were wed. Still, I followed the rules, because I thought the consequences, whatever they may be, would be easier to face.
I never thought I’d have to deal with cancer twice. I never thought Tim would find so many women to sleep with.
I know thinking if I only follow the rules then good things would happen is childish. It doesn’t work that way. But discovering that lesson hurt more than anything I’ve ever known. And I just don’t know if I can face the consequences if the men leave me, sneers of repulsion on their faces.
So, I tell myself not to care. I have to stop giving myself away. I can’t fall in love with any of them. Although when I look at Gabe, his dark blue eyes focused on me, his hand calmly reassuring, I’m so scared that no matter what I tell myself, I’ll do something even more stupid than have sex with three men at once.
Chris is suddenly behind me, massaging my shoulders and neck. Then he kisses my nape and I arch my back, closing my eyes. Huge warm hands cover my breasts and I moan.
“Does that feel good?” Gabe asks. It’s his hands caressing my breasts.
“Yes.”
Chris works on the other side of my neck and I feel another set of lips on me. I glance up at Paul who’s come on the bed. He smiles reassuringly and I have to tell him everything.
“I haven’t had sex in more than two years. Almost three.”
He nods and kisses my lips. “We’ll be gentle.”
I caress his whiskered jaw, the corner of his lips. “I—I’ve only had anal sex once.”
“Did you like it?”
I can’t look at him. I can’t look at anyone, remembering how drunk Tim was, how he’d fumbled for me and tore into me. The pain was deep. I bled for two days.
Paul caresses around my eyes, leaning forward and kissing my lids. “I can make it feel good. I can make you come from it.”
I don’t doubt that he will. I kiss him while Gabe’s pinching my nipples and Chris is sucking my lobe. My senses are close to overload, but I anchor myself to these men and what they’re doing. It’s so good, so intense. I doubt I’ll ever feel anything like this again.
“Can I take your shirt off, Jane?” Gabe asks.
As soon as I nod, Chris pulls my camisole up and over my head. I look at Paul. “I want everyone’s shirts off.”
He smiles. I love the way men remove their shirts. They reach around to their backs, bunch up the fabric in their fists, then tug it over their heads. Gabe and Chris are first, and I’m amazed at Gabe’s musculature, the dark hair all over his chest. I lean back and savor the feel of my skin against Chris’s. As far as I can tell, he has no hair on his chest. He’s so warm. Hot. I feel the hills of his pecs against my shoulder blades. His stomach against my spine.
Chris rubs up and down my arms as Gabe feathers over the very tops of my breasts. But Paul…I check to see what he’s doing. He’s still smiling, looking at me. Only, his grin is so much more than it was earlier. I feel humbled the way he’s looking at me. It’s as if I’m someone special. Special to him. As if he adores me. I don’t know how to explain what I’m feeling other than something akin to bubbles bursting against my heart. It tickles. It fizzles. It’s so beautiful.
I feel cherished if I believe what’s on his face.
I’ve never felt cherished before. And although my body loves what Chris and Gabe are doing, I reach for Paul, kissing him with wild abandon. Now, he’s having a hard time catching up with me. But, god, I love the way he looks at me. As if the only thing he wants is to make me happy.
Or maybe I’m reading him wrong.
But for now, that’s the way I interpret his look. For this moment to continue, I will believe he’s cherishing me. I’ll worry about my heart and wounded pride later when he walks away from me.
Frantically, I tear at his t-shirt, lifting it up and over his head. Then I feel him. Oh. His skin is smooth. He’s not overly hot, but I like the heat from him. He’s lean with a cut stomach revealing every single muscle. I kiss down his neck, feeling with my hands along his goose bump-filled pecs to his belly.
“Let’s take off your pants, honey,” he whispers, taking my wrists in his hand and somehow twirling me around on my bed. I feel like a ballerina. Maybe that sounds fanciful. Or silly. But I love feeling light, delicate, feminine. Adored.
I’m on my back in a blur of motion and both Chris and Gabe are unbuttoning and unzipping my pants.
“Slow down, guys,” Paul says, still loosely holding onto my wrists now over my head.
Gabe’s gaze slowly ascends to meet mine. On the way he takes in my breasts, which I’d never thought were much to look at. They are enough to get in my way when running. I always need support. But they aren’t large enough for men to fall over for. Or to look at me so hungrily as Gabe’s doing.
“You’re so perfect, Jane,” he whispers. “So fucking perfect.
“I thought I was too skinny,” I tease.
He smiles and braces his arm beside me, leaning down for a kiss. At the same time, Chris is continuing to pull my pants off and has to get off the bed for his work.
“Not too skinny,” Gabe growls.
“Just right,” Chris finishes.
I can’t help but giggle. But then I stop when I notice Chris. It’s the first time I’ve seen him. I did feel engulfed when I had my back to him, but now I see why. He’s huge. God, he’s just…giant. None of the men are small by any token. But Chris is…then I check the bulge in his pants and can’t help but feel intimidated. That’s humongous as well. How could that fit? Oh Lord.
Chris catches me looking at him. I must have worn my apprehension on my face because his is instantly downcast.
“I’m sorry.” He looks away.
I sit up and cradle his face in my hands. “No, no.”
He shrugs. “You’re not the first woman to look at me like that.”
God, I’ve wounded him, and I bleed for him. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
He shrugs again. “I think I should go.”
“I want you in my mouth.”
He shakes his head. “I know what that look means, baby. I’ve seen it before
.”
“I want you in my mouth,” I repeat.
His blond brows pucker. His light blue eyes study me, and I wonder if I can read his thoughts: he wants me to suck him as much as he doesn’t want to scare me, hurt me.
Reaching for his jeans, I slip the button through the hole when he stops me.
“You don’t have to.” His voice is pure gravel.
I feel his past rejections inside my body. I know rejection all too well. And whatever intimidation I might have felt is vanished. Chris is so kind, considerate, and beautiful. If I hadn’t promised myself to never fall in love with these men, I’d fall for Chris. He’s clean. Pure of heart. I can’t say that about very many people, but I can about Chris.
And that turns me on. His huge body turns me on. My desire for him heats my veins, coaxing me to do what I want.
“I know I don’t have to, sweetheart,” I coo. “But I want to.”
He huffs for air as I take his zipper and pull down. Behind me, Paul’s there, caressing my back. Gabe’s watching, waiting for me to do something. I reach into the waistband of Chris’s white cotton boxers, the fabric so soft and smells of detergent and him. Through a small thicket of curls I find him. His cock is huge, pulsing, and I take him out.
Chris is nearly panting by then.
“Let’s take off your pants,” I whisper.
After I release him, he stands and makes quick work of his jeans and boxers. He’s the first one of us to get naked, and he’s beautiful. He should have been first. His gold hair, golden skin, even his huge penis has a tint of gold along the shaft, while the head of him is blushing pink. I clutch at one of my breasts as I look at him. God, yes, I’m scared of him being inside me. But I’m up for the challenge.
12
I crawl to Chris, feeling Paul’s fingers trail on my ass. Then I kiss Chris’s muscular stomach, his hip. Sitting on my shins on the bed, I nuzzle his shaft against my lips and cheek.
“Fuck,” Gabe whispers.
“Getting condoms.” I vaguely hear Paul say. Is he going to a store for those? It doesn’t matter, because I have all the time in the world with Chris’s cock.
I lick him up and down. Swirling my tongue around his head, I’m making him moan. Pearly moisture beads out of him. My pussy is throbbing. Aching. It feels so good. Such an odd dichotomy this sensation of almost pain mixed with pure pleasure. This is desire at its best.
I suck the dew at the tip of him, and he tilts his head back. Then I open my mouth and take him in.
“Fuck,” this time Paul says it, and I can tell he’s thrown something on the bed.
When Chris is in my mouth, Gabe caresses up and down my thighs then glides his fingers over my sex. I moan. Taking Chris’s shaft in one hand, I try to engulf him more and more, while my loose fist compensates for what can’t fit. I make sure to get him warm and wet, and he fiddles with my hair, gently caressing me.
Gabe takes both sides of my panties’ waistband with hooked fingers and pulls down the cream-colored lace. I lift slightly, my bum in the air. I need both my legs to support this position for Chris. So I can’t really help Gabe when it comes to taking off my underwear.
“Tear it off,” Paul grunts.
“Jane, is it all right if I tear off your panties?” Gabe asks, his voice hoarse.
Sucking Chris to the very tip, I extract my mouth, keeping time with my hand. “Yes. Please.”
Gabe chuckles then yanks my panties off.
Cool air touches my aching folds. But a warm, calloused hand sweeps over my sex.
“Jesus, you are wet, Jane,” Gabe growls.
I spread my legs more, arching my back, pushing my ass toward him, starving for him to touch me there, touch me everywhere. He runs a hand down my spine as I open for Chris again and suck in as much as I can.
“Blonde everywhere.” I’m not sure which man says this about my pubic hair. It’s said so reverently, on a whisper.
I’ve never been wanton like this. I’ve never allowed myself. The lectures I heard as a little girl to remain chaste have clung to me. Until now. I’m sure so many other little girls receive something similar, how only an innocent woman has virtue. Will I have any worth if I continue to let go?
The problem is I can’t help but give into this glorious pleasure, no matter the consequence.
Gabe’s hand is over my pussy again, just skimming. I rear back, needing to make contact, continual contact. Please, just touch me, I’d beg if I were more bold.
“Touch her.” Paul’s voice is raw. “You’re torturing her.”
I stop what I’m doing and glance over my shoulder at Gabe. He’s staring down at my backside turned up for him, his nostrils flare, his breathing is hard. His hand on me is stiff.
“Did I do something wrong?” My voice is too soft.
But I know I did something wrong. Feeling this much pleasure is forbidden. It’s in all the myths. Life can’t be this good; life isn’t this forgiving; life is dangerous and cruel.
Gabe glances up. “Chris, buddy, hang on.”
Chris holds his own cock, looking unsure, staring down at me. Then strong rough fingers grab hold of my ankles. In a quick move, Gabe twists me and shrugs me down the bed, closer to him. If the air hadn’t been swept from me, I might have laughed. But all I can do is stare at Gabe.
He glances at Paul and Chris. “I want to make her come.”
Paul smiles and I can’t even catch what Chris is doing before I feel warm, warm lips on my sex. Gabe kisses me open mouthed, pulling in my clit, sucking, making me arch my back. Clinging to the bedding, I moan and moan, turning my head side to side as Gabe then licks with quick motions.
All I feel is what Gabe’s doing to me. I open my legs more, let them fall to the side, feeling already helpless to the desire flooding my blood, my body. Butterflies escape from my heart and tickle through my belly, down to my womb and channel.
Hands are on my breasts, squeezing, caressing.
Gabe is licking down and around my opening then swirling back up and over my clitoris. He does this over and over until I’m dizzy, hardly noticing the hands helping me arch off the bed.
“So pink,” Chris says, taking my nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
“Like little rosebuds,” Paul agrees, leaning over and suckling my bud into his mouth.
Sucking, licking, kissing, touching, caressing, massaging, all of it is engulfing me. I’m nothing but my senses. Gabe finally gives me a second to breathe, stopping his ministrations.
“Like that, Jane?”
“You’re killing me,” I moan and look down between my thighs. Gabe’s wiping his mouth; Paul’s licking around my areola; and Chris is massaging my breast with his huge hand.
Gabe softly chuckles.
“Le petite mort,” Paul says. His French accent impeccable. Of course.
So the men are planning to kill me. Le petite mort is what the French refer to when passing out from an orgasm. Chris, Gabe, and Paul plan to kill me with pleasure. What a way to go.
Gabe licks me again, this time slower, more measured. Unlike before when I couldn’t even breathe, I can sip in air between his efforts. Paul and Gabe begin to time their movements. They’re in sync. Chris leans over and joins the rhythm, sucking my nipple to the beat too. And I feel it. My orgasm is pouring down from my skull, through my spine and is scuttling into my belly, making my stomach muscles contract and flutter down.
Gabe inserts a finger or two into me and I crest over the edge, clutching onto the men’s heads at my breasts, rolling my hips as my orgasm takes over.
I might be screaming. I’m not sure. I keep bucking my hips into Gabe’s fingers, into his face. After what might have been a decade, my orgasm finally subsides, and I fall onto the bed, trying desperately to catch my breath.
“That’s one,” Paul says.
“Are we going to make her come—”
Gabe interrupts Chris. “As many times as she can.”
My nipples bead and I can’t help b
ut look at them, giggling. “Now, why is everyone but Chris and me so overdressed?”
Paul pulls me to sit with him, his chest to my back, softly laughing, which I feel through my still boneless body. “Did that feel good?”
“Yes.”
“Is Gabe good at it?”
“God, yes.”
Paul wraps me in his arms, cradling me, soothing the orgasm to make me feel like I’m not just a sexual nerve. Of course, if I stop and think too much about the fact that I’m having sex with three men I might start maniacally laughing, walk out of my house naked and down the street, where I’m sure to get taken to a psych ward.
This is crazy. And weird, like Gabe said.
But why does it feel so good?
Why does it feel so right?
Paul’s palms cup my breasts. So much for no longer feeling like a sexual nerve. When Paul massages my breasts, I close my eyes, the feeling almost too intense. I moan and arch my back when he rolls over my nipples.
“That feel good too?” he asks with a whisper against my ear and neck.
“So good.” My voice is throaty.
“You ready for more?”
My orgasm washes over me again. Aftershocks. I’m shaking but nodding my head. My sex is already feeling needy and desiring to be filled. Gabe’s fingers felt so good, but it wasn’t enough. I want to feel someone inside of me for eons, pushing himself in and out of me, the slick friction of sex. I want that so much.
“Chris,” Paul says, which surprises me, “do you want to lick her?”
I open my eyes to glance at Chris. He’s smiling. His giant cock jutting up, slapping against his stomach. He’s so erect. So beautiful. I know I was scared of his size. But I’m not now. I will beg for him if I have to.
Paul lifts me. “Sit on your shins, honey.”
I do, while Paul leaves my back. I’m feeling cold without him. But then I notice Gabe placing a giant box of condoms close by.
“Someone was thinking ahead,” I say.
Paul’s back behind me, holding me tight, kissing my neck. “I was hoping.”
I turn to look at him over my shoulder. He had orchestrated this. I know he did. I wouldn’t have done this. I doubt Chris or Gabe would have either. We were susceptible to his suggestion, of course. But actually instigate this act, this coupling with more than one man, I would have never tried.
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