The Black Room: Door Two

by Jasinda Wilder

  Alone, now, we turn our attention back to the porn, and soon I feel his hands begin to wander. Starting at my ankles, they drift upwards, caressing and massaging my calves, and then he begins to knead my thighs. I suppress a gasp and try to surreptitiously slide a little closer to him. His touch moves closer to where I want it, and he nudges my thighs apart a little.

  He gives me a long, searching look. I return his glance, noticing that his zipper is even tighter, the front of his jeans visibly tented. He attempts to relieve the pressure without directly touching himself, and I’m tempted to help him out, but I’m enjoying his discomfiture.

  I’m going to make him wait a bit, draw this out.

  Back on screen, the actress has moved from her knees to sitting on the edge of a counter in the kitchen. The actor is between her thighs, giving her head. Enthusiastically.

  She’s got her heels hooked around his back and her hands on his head, jerking him against her just as roughly as he did to her.

  I’m sure it’s not meant to be comical, but the actor has somehow removed what were rather tight brown shorts, and is now on his knees wearing the shirt and the boots and socks, but no pants. Bare white ass, bright white socks, chunky boots, and a brown shirt…the guy looks like an idiot. Who does that? Nobody.

  But the way he’s eating her out looks…phenomenal. I almost buy her enjoyment of it. She’s propped herself up with one hand now, and has the other cupped around one of her big heavy tits. She’s pinching herself, kneading, bouncing, playing with her own breast with as much enthusiasm as the actor had earlier.

  This is so stupid.

  But yet…

  I can’t stop watching.

  And my core aches a little.

  My breasts feel heavy, my nipples sensitive. Even as I realize this, I feel my nipples hardening.

  He notices. His tongue touches his lips and his hand burrows between my thighs…and they part for him. Quickly, easily.

  On screen, they’ve moved to another room. Either we missed it, or it was a quick cut. Now she’s on her hands and knees on the bed, and he’s finally naked. He’s shoving that mammoth horse cock of his into her pussy, slapping her ass at the same time, which makes her tits jiggle and bounce. The camera goes close, then focuses on the slide of the actor’s cock into her wet channel, on the juices coating it, on the way it stretches her pussy. She’s fingering herself as he fucks her, moaning a little too loudly and breathily to be believed.

  And then her bedroom door opens and a second actor stands at the threshold, doing a half-decent impression of indignant anger, or jealousy, or something. He demands to know what’s going on. I miss the explanation the other actors give, because fingers have found my clit and my slit, and when I come back down from the sudden ripping zing that sizzles through me at the unexpected touch, the new actor is on the bed, too, and he’s unbuckling his pants and pulling out his cock. And, yes, he too is hung like a horse. Although, given the build of the actor, hung like a rhino might be more apropos. They are not handsome men, these actors, nor do they possess any real acting skill. It’s the somewhat improbable size of their cocks that got them the job, I suppose.

  Oh—

  Oh my…

  Oh my god.

  The actress is taking it from both of them. Behind her, the first guy, the deliveryman, is delivering a serious fucking, hard and fast and rough and brutal, while in front of her, the new guy is ramming his cock down her throat. The fucking from behind pushes her forward, so she’s forced to deep-throat the other guy, who shoves his cock at her, pushing her backward once more. Back and forth, like a Ping-Pong ball.

  I’m trying to tell myself how unpleasant this all looks.

  I’m trying to tell myself I’m not at all curious.

  Beside me, on the couch, there’s a lot of shifting going on. His hands pluck at the front of his jeans. His hips flex. He winces. He finally shoves his hand in his pocket and adjusts himself.

  How long can I pretend I’m not horny too?

  Not long, is the answer.

  I sit up and try to act casual, although I’m not sure there’s any point; we’re playing a game, but I don’t know the rules, and I don’t care. I just know, deep down, that this is how he and I do things. We tease each other. We pretend. We don’t speak of what we’re doing…and I’m not sure why. All I know is that it’s fun. I snuggle closer and lean against him. He pivots a little and tugs me against his chest, and we fall backward.

  On screen, things have shifted again. Now both men are on their knees, and the woman has a hand around each impossibly, absurdly huge dick, stroking, kissing, sucking, and licking each one in turn. Paying lavish, loving, exuberant attention to each. Never neglecting one for the other. She pulls them closer, fits both in her mouth at once. Damn, she has a big mouth—that’s a lot of dick.

  Who would do that, in reality? I mean, really. Come on. It’s stupid. The scene on screen seems improbable—it’s hard to imagine anyone, let alone me, doing something like that.

  We’re horizontal now, his head resting on a throw pillow on the arm of the couch, and I’m wedged between him and the back of the couch, more on top of him than anything else. I trail my fingers down his bare chest, tracing the outline of his pectorals and then fingering the grooves and ridges of his abdomen. Slowly and teasingly, I work my way closer to the waistband of his jeans and, once I’m close, I palm his belly again. Then down once more, a little closer, just close enough to hook a fingertip under the edge of his jeans. His breathing hitches as I get close to his dick, and his stomach goes concave.

  On screen, the actress is riding one man, taking his cock in her cunt while the other is on his knees behind her, fucking her in the ass. She’s moving desperately, moaning and whimpering breathlessly, thrashing her hair everywhere. Taking a double fucking and making it look…almost hot. Well…she is a pro, I guess.

  And no, I do not wonder what that would feel like. There’s no way on earth I could take that much cock. Or take it that hard, especially not in my ass. No way.

  …Or could I?

  I glance back at the gorgeous man beside me and I rub my hand over the top of his jeans, pressing against the thickness of his bulge, then move down his thigh and back up again. He’s straining to remain in control. He looks—really looks—at me, saying nothing, yet he frowns and clenches his jaw, then looks back at the TV screen. There’s an odd expression on his face as he looks from me to the double-penetration happening on screen.

  Ah. The penny drops. Maybe that’s what he was getting at, earlier. In fact, I’d wager anything that that’s it.

  But he remains silent, not saying a word.

  Still, the idea takes hold in my mind and I find myself becoming turned on by it with every passing moment.

  Between the man beside me and the porn on TV, I’m horny as hell. I attempt to casually, almost accidentally, nudge open the snap of his jeans. He looks at me, and I grin and shrug, as if to say Oops, how’d that happen?

  His hand is on my waist, just resting there in no man’s land, not near my ass, not near my core, not near my breasts. He’s being careful and precise; this is not an accidental hand placement.

  His gaze fixes on me then, and my acting ability flees. I abandon the game, for a moment at least. Keeping my eyes on his, I pull the tab of the zipper all the way down.

  Commando.

  Bare skin beneath the denim, black pubic hair trimmed close to his skin. His cock springs free. He’s long and thick, dark, heavy, veined, circumcised. It is every bit as massive and perfect as the rest of him. If this man were a porn star, all other men, such as the guys on TV, would be out of business. He’d dominate the industry. No woman would ever want to see another man on screen. And no actress would ever want to work with anyone else. He’s that perfect.

  But…there isn’t actually much porn available meant for women. What would that be like, I wonder? Hot guys, naked, jacking off on screen? Lots of close-ups of ripped abs and big cocks, and the guy on screen
pleasuring himself slowly. That would sell, guaranteed.

  Shit, I’d watch that.

  God, where is my head going? Why am I fantasizing about female porn when I’ve got the real thing right here?

  Back to reality.

  I look at him, wait for him to say something, but he remains silent.

  On screen, she’s on her back now, head tipped back to take one cock down the throat, hips lifted to take the other in her pussy, which is splayed open, nothing left to the imagination. There are lots of grunts and groans, lots of fuck yeah and oh baby going on, lots of sweating skin and close-ups of sliding, glistening cocks, and her spread open pussy.

  As we both watch the screen, I trace the thickness of his cock with a thumb and forefinger. Toying, playing.

  He’s barely breathing, his eyes are glazed and he stares into the middle distance.

  He’s waiting.

  Finally, unable to resist any longer, I wrap my fist around his cock and stroke the considerable length of it; he’s so large my middle finger and thumb don’t meet.

  He turns to look at me again, and then glances between the screen and me.

  “That’s what you asked me last night, isn’t it?” I ask, gesturing with my chin at the TV, where the two men and the woman have shifted positions yet again.

  “Ménage à trois.” His voice is low, a grating rumble. “Yes.”

  “Threesome.” I try the word.

  He looks as if he’s waiting for me to express disgust, to get up and leave. But that’s not going to happen. I just stare at him as I rub my thumb around the tip of his cock.

  His jaw flexes and tenses, his eyes narrow. “You’re not saying anything.”

  I shrug. I pulse my fist along his root, then back up. A quick glance at the screen shows the actress fisting one man’s cock, and deep-throating the other. My nipples throb at the sight of those images.

  He notices my reaction.

  “You aren’t serious, are you?” he demands. “Last night, you—”

  “This isn’t last night,” I cut in, because I don’t know what happened last night. Or today, either, for that matter. I don’t know anything. I don’t even know how to explain why I feel so turned on watching this stupid porn flick… or why I feel so curious about it.

  This isn’t me. Is it?

  Could it be?

  He watches my hand lazily gliding up and down his length. Toying, playing, teasing. “You better not be playing some goddamn game,” he murmurs, his voice hard with warning. “Don’t fuck with me about this. I don’t want to if you don’t.”

  I shake my head. “Number one, I’m not playing a game. Number two, either you do, or you don’t. You can’t change what you want based on what I want.”

  “It’s just…your sudden change of heart has me nervous.”

  “No games.” I kiss his shoulder. “I swear.”

  “You have to say yes. I need to hear you say it.” He grabs my hand, stopping my hand mid-stroke.

  “You haven’t asked.” I’m being coy. Coquettish.

  “Do you want to have a threesome?” He growls the questions.

  I pause a moment before answering. “Will the other man be as sexy as you?”

  “I think you already know my friend is good looking,” he says with a grin.

  I slide down and pull his cock away from his body. I breathe a hot breath on him, and then flick my tongue over his tip.

  A wild scream from the TV has us both glancing over at it: full-on double penetration. One man on his back, thrusting into her ass as she lays on him reverse cowgirl style, the other kneeling in front of her, pounding away at her pussy.

  God, that looks…

  …Equal parts terrifying and fascinating. I tamp down on my curiosity—no way I could do that. No way.

  But the other parts of the onscreen three-way…god, yes, I’m curious.

  I’m more than curious. I want that. I’m not sure what I’m capable of doing myself, but I want to try. If one cock feels good and tastes good, what would two gorgeous cocks be like?

  I shiver, thinking of it. My imagination runs wild and I conjure up a dozen different ways I could play with two cocks…

  The possibilities are endless.

  He glances at the screen, and I follow his gaze—she’s getting ready for a facial. Both cocks are aimed at her face, her mouth and eyes are open and her hands stroke both cocks in unison.

  “Yes,” I whisper, as curiosity and inflamed lust blast through me. I lean in and run the tip of my tongue along the side of his dick. “Yes.”

  “Shit,” he says with a gasp. “I didn’t think you’d actually agree.”

  A thought just occurred to me, “Or did you mean me and another woman?”

  “That could be fun, too.”

  My thoughts disappear when he bends, lifts me in his arms, and carries me into the nearest bedroom. “Let’s go wake up our friend. Nap time is over.”

  The bed is huge and the blond guy is turned on his side, sleeping deeply. I’m laid gently on the bed, right near the edge, on the far side from Rip Van Winkle.

  “We’ll take pity on him, wake him up slowly.” Then he sinks to his knees, places my knees over his shoulders and then, without a word, he begins his assault. Ohhhh, god, yes. His scruff feels every bit as delicious against the tender skin of my inner thighs as I had imagined: scratchy, rough, yet somehow soft and tickling. Abrasive and amazing. And then his tongue spears into me, laps against my clit, and I can barely breathe.

  For the next several minutes, he pleasures me with his nimble, eager tongue. He laps and licks and sucks with mind-altering skill. It’s not until he slides two fingers into me that I can come, but he waits until I’m gyrating my hips and jerking at his hair to give me that, and when he does I come apart in his hands and on his face with utter abandon, screaming and whimpering and cursing.

  I’m floating, dizzy, wracked with after-shock spasms.

  As I lay on the bed, recovering from the incredible orgasm, I’m aware of something. I feel the bed shift ever so lightly.

  My heart palpitates. I sit up on the bed, but my man is beside me, mouth on my breasts, whispering, but his words are muffled against my skin.

  “What are you saying?” I ask.

  “Telling you how fucking sexy you are.” He cups my breast in his hand, letting the flesh mound and overflow. “These big beautiful tits of yours drive me wild.”

  I smile, then, and reach down for his cock, stroke the hard length of it.

  I feel someone moving behind me, look over my shoulder to see that the blond man has woken up.

  “Holy shit, what a way to wake up,” he murmurs, his voice low with anticipation.

  For the second time, my brain is fried by a vision of raw masculine sex appeal:

  The blond man slides off the bed to stand in front of me, lifts the hem of his t-shirt and strips it off. He’s lean and toned and razor sharp, rather than bulked up and heavy with muscle like my man is.

  I flop back against the mattress, flush and shivering with equal parts nerves and excitement and fear and lust…

  And the lust quickly wins out.

  Blue eyes rake over my body, and I find myself arching my back, posing.

  I stare back at him as he unbuttons the top snap on his jeans, touching himself as he does so. He pops his fly open and I get a glimpse of his cock as he kneels on the bed.

  But only a brief glimpse, because on my left, my man is flicking my hardened left nipple with his tongue, lifting the breast to his mouth, cupping, kneading, and stealing my attention.

  On my right, the blond man is reaching a reverent hand to my right breast. His eyes are on mine. There’s no hesitation, it’s just as if…he’s giving me a moment. I’m silent as he cradles my right tit in his hands, and now…

  A mouth on each breast.

  Oh god.

  Oh shit.

  Tongues toy and flick at both thick, pebbled, sensitive nipples.

  At the same time, an unfam
iliar hand skates down my right thigh then slides back up. I gasp, and writhe my hips as long, strong, fingers ply my opening, gentle, quick, sure. He pinches my clit and then his fingers slide in, finding my wetness and smearing it over me. God, I’m so wet. I’m dripping.

  Who’s touching me where? I lose track, can’t follow the hands as they tweak and twist my nipples and caress my clit and slide in and out of my cunt. Whose mouth is lapping at my breast, and whose mouth is licking at my clit…?

  I close my eyes as a blistering blast of ecstasy shudders through me.

  Together, the two men wrench me into a wild and furious orgasm, one I can’t help but scream breathlessly through.

  ..

  When I return to my senses, I realize both men are still wearing their jeans; there’s entirely too much clothing, since I’m the only one naked; I decide to rectify that.

  My left hand tugs the faded blue denim down. He lifts a knee and kicks away the jeans. Naked. Glorious, hot skin covering hard muscles. I spend a moment devouring his beauty. Then I find his erection with my fingers and begin stroking. A slow rhythm, I’m toying with him again.

  A few moments later I focus on the blond god to my right, help him out of tight black jeans, exposing a long, thick cock. Similar to the one in my left hand, a little shorter, a little less thick, but his has a slight inward curve to it. He’s just as magnificent and mouth-watering with his beautiful cock standing straight up, flush against his belly. I give him an exploratory caress and watch his face as my fingers slide down his length. He closes his eyes involuntarily, and then they open once more and he watches as I cup his balls. Heavy, tight to his body, sparsely dotted with blond pubic hair, unlike the trimmed thatch of dark hair at the base of my man’s cock.

  Different, these two men, but equally delicious.

  I keep my right hand busy, sliding slowly up and down. Twisting at the base, gliding up, curling around the soft, springy head. I rub my thumb around the tip and he moans low in his throat, flexing his hips at the same time.

  Now that I know I’ve got his attention, I turn my face to the left. Dark eyes, hooded, heavy-lidded, are fixed on me, watching every move I make. I lean close to him and as I grip his manhood to draw him closer he lifts up on his knees in front of my face. Now his cock is within reach of my mouth, and I keep my eyes on his as I stroke him, then I part my lips and take him into my mouth. He groans, eyes fluttering.