My Boyfriend's Boyfriends

by Primula Bond

  I wound my thighs hard round his hips and then we started to move together, my cunt squeezing to suck him in, the pleasure building uncontrollably as Jon thrust at me really violently, but before I had a chance to get into it he started to shudder and groan, losing his cool as he thrust again once more, twice more, then shouted out in fury as he climaxed, pumping into me, my legs tight around him as he totally lost control.

  I pushed him off me, heard him swear and fall back heavily against the chair.

  ‘OK,’ I breathed after a moment. ‘If you’re man enough, Rick, Ollie, then come and get it. Otherwise I think I’ll go back to the man who does it best.’

  There was no answering chuckle from Sven, but as my hands were freed a scarf was tied over my eyes.

  ‘Hey guys, not sure about this.’ I got up and groped about me, disorientated. ‘Sven?’

  ‘He’s just nipped out to get something. A good wank, probably. Don’t worry, you’re safe with us.’ Rick came up behind me and, as one of the others changed the music to a faster, heavier kind of rock, he pushed me down so that I landed clumsily on my hands and knees. ‘Now, we’ve waited long enough.’

  In the blindfolded darkness I realised there were two pairs of hands at work. I was straddling someone lying beneath me, and that person’s fingers were crawling over my bare skin. The other hands were still on my back, keeping me where I was.

  ‘Your lucky day, Ollie,’ Rick said, his rough stubble tickling my ear. ‘You and me are going to put madam here right in her place.’

  ‘Fuck,’ breathed Jon hoarsely, probably kneading his receding erection back into life. ‘Oh, fuck.’

  The darkness and the heavy music filled my head and, as the fingers probed my pussy, the other set of fingers ran over my buttocks. Without my eyes and with my ears deafened, my other senses were on red alert. I shifted slightly, and Ollie obviously took the movement as a sign that I was ready, because he lifted me slightly off him.

  Then I felt something jabbing at me. A little scream bunched up in my throat as I realised I was sitting on his incredibly thick, hard penis. I started to shake on my knees, and Ollie eased me downwards to engulf his waiting cock. I tilted forwards a little and it slid inside, and I felt him quiver with surprise or wonder or delight. Did my little niece do this for him? I tilted myself forwards to balance on his shoulders, and now my butt was raised in the air. I started to slide up and down Ollie’s cock. My tits dangled in his face, and I felt his mouth scrabbling and nibbling at my nipples, but he didn’t buck or thrust beneath me, just let his cock stand still and erect inside me, growing harder all the time it waited.

  All very well for him to be so controlled, but I couldn’t stop my body gripping, and his cock jolted every time I squeezed. Just as I wondered if we were going to sit still like this for ever, Rick pressed up against my back and pulled open my buttocks.

  ‘You OK with this, Sara?’ he muttered in my ear, pushing his stiff cock up between my cheeks. ‘Because it’s too bad if you’re not. We’re going to do you both ways!’

  I didn’t care any more. My body was aching and stretched, and my own pleasure was still waiting to be sated. All I wanted was to be fucked, all night if necessary. I wanted Sven back in the room, watching, and I wanted his mates to do me. I was pulled forwards onto the waiting Ollie, his young dick rubbing against my clit, and then tugged towards Rick, sliding his cock up and into my butt. I started to rock, the knot of desire ready to unravel, but they kept stopping me, stopping themselves, an incredible test of teasing and control, before starting the three-way dance all over again.

  Ollie started to move his hips. My insides were melting. The other hole loosened to let Rick in. His thick knob pushed, and I sucked him up my backside. Two cocks impaling me – God, it must look so dirty. I was a love machine, milking them for all their hot spunky pleasure.

  I heard the floorboard by the door creak. Sven was back. But all thoughts scattered as Rick started to rock back and forth, his breath hot on my neck, one big hand fanned out over my stomach to hold us both in that position. I let the rocking move me, carefully at first, amazed at how my body could accommodate two cocks at once, conflicting zones of exquisite pleasure as I fell forwards onto the rigid cock inside my cunt, then back onto the one inside my arse, and as I moved off one the other penetrated me, so that the storm of orgasm gathered at both places, sluicing up both orifices.

  I must have been groaning out loud, though nobody could hear me through the deafening music. We were all three rocking frantically, both men ramming their cocks until Ollie couldn’t hold it any longer and he jerked and bucked, still frantically sucking my nipples, spurting spunk, and then Rick brought up the rear as he yelled out loud with his final thrust.

  Someone turned the music off and a leisurely handclap started.

  We lay in a muddled heap for a moment, and then I tore the scarf off. At first the flickering candlelight made me dizzy, then I made out Sven, Rick and Jon gathered round a small glowing screen over by the piano. Ollie looked as if he’d passed out beside me.

  ‘Baby, that was amazing.’ Sven sat me on his knee and held out his video camera. ‘Not only do we have our own private porn film, but the guys want copies for themselves. What do you say?’

  I grabbed my red negligee and feebly tried to cover myself. They all looked at me, eager as puppies.

  ‘OK. Just make sure you show it to the wives.’

  Pussy Hunt

  Janine Ashbless

  ‘Stay in the car for the moment,’ says Dane, opening the driver’s door.

  I obey, watching as he walks out around the front and greets the others. Ours isn’t the only Land Rover parked here in the trees and, like Dane, the other men are all dressed in camouflage greens. It’s momentarily hard to tell everyone apart. I squint through the windscreen, trying to identify faces I’ve only really seen in photos. There’s Lewis – I remember him from his daughter’s wedding. That was almost my first weekend away with Dane, over a year ago now. And that blond guy – he looks familiar. I think he was the one who sang karaoke to Nickelback’s ‘Rockstar’ at the reception. But it was all a bit of a blur then, and I’d only had eyes for Dane at the time. If the others were at the wedding, I don’t remember.

  They’re grasping hands, and thumping each other on the back, and sharing cigarettes. There’s none of the awkward social fumbling I’ve seen when other male friends meet up. These guys are close. They’re supremely relaxed in each other’s company, I think, hearing the bark of their mingled laughter. Seven men. All ex-members of the same special forces troop. Dane went to a funeral back last February. He didn’t talk much about it, but that was one of theirs. Drove, drunk, into a motorway bridge, I gather.

  My mouth is dry, but I can feel myself sweating a little. My heart’s running fast. I thrust my hands down between my thighs and feel the warmth there. I clench my thigh muscles rhythmically, because there’s nothing else I can do for my nerves.

  I’m not sure which scares me more: the thought of them saying yes or the possibility they might reject me.

  Then Dane half-turns, and beckons me out.

  I step from the car and the smell of the summer woodland, overlaid with diesel fumes and cigarette smoke, hits me, along with the sound of birdsong. I feel ungainly as I walk forwards, into what has become a semi-circle of men turning to watch. I should slink seductively, but I’m too tense. I lick my lips, wrecking the scarlet lipstick I’ve painted on so carefully.

  They’re all remarkably similar-looking, in their military get-up. Big, tough-looking men. They haven’t let themselves go, though most have been retired from active duty for ten years or so, like Dane. He runs a military fitness business now, honing soft managerial types and skinny wannabe-tough-guy youths. He works hard and makes lots of money. And every six months he drives up to the Lake District to meet up with his old comrades in a bit of private woodland, and they shoot the crap out of each other with paintballs, and piss lager into bonfires, and smoke themse
lves cross-eyed.

  So to some extent they all look like him: weathered, fortyish, high foreheads, lined about the eyes, deep notches forming like bookends around their mouths. I don’t mind that. I’ve always liked older men. Dane’s got fifteen years on me and a lifetime of experiences he won’t discuss, but that just makes him more interesting as far as I’m concerned. He’s like a puzzle box of nested secrets.

  I see all those open, smiling faces close up, becoming guarded.

  ‘Zadie,’ grunts Lewis, with a tiny nod of his head. I’m surprised he remembers me, but at least it’s an acknowledgement, albeit a reluctant one.

  ‘Meet the boys, Zadie.’ Dane drops an arm around my shoulders and rattles off a list of names, but I’m not able to take them in. Or meet the guys’ eyes.

  ‘Hey,’ I mutter.

  The ginger one isn’t as polite. ‘Come on, Dane,’ he complains, grinding out his cigarette end. ‘No wives, no girlfriends – you know the rules.’

  ‘Fuck off, Dec,’ says Dane amiably. ‘It’s my turn to set the Game. Well, this is it. We’re going on a Pussy Hunt.’

  There’s absolute silence for a moment. I feel six pairs of eyes locked on me like sniper scopes.

  ‘Huh,’ says someone.

  ‘What sort …?’

  ‘A Pussy Hunt,’ he repeats. ‘A proper one. I reckon we give her twenty minutes’ head start. She’s pretty good across rough country. The first man to catch her – or the last man standing – gets her pussy.’

  Someone snorts. Slow grins break across those hard faces.

  ‘Shit …’

  ‘You dirty bastard, Dane.’

  ‘Whose idea was that?’ asks Lewis, mildly incredulous.

  He lifts an open hand to me. ‘Hers.’

  That’s not exactly true. But he’d made very sure of his ground before he suggested the scheme to me. He’d known about my porn stash since the early days of our relationship: Three and More! The Gang’s All Here! Greedy Bitches! – all that stuff. I like the idea of one girl, several guys. That’s my thing; it’s the notion of being the centre of attention, the star of the show. It took Dane to suggest bringing it to reality, though.

  I think I shocked him at first, with my use of porn and my sexual enthusiasm. His ex-wife had barely believed in sex, the way he tells it. He was like a kid in a sweetshop with me, and we pushed each other to extremes. I’ve never come so close to getting arrested as that night in his car – getting it on in the service-station car park, astride his lap, steamy and sweating and giggling like crazy; then pinned by police headlights.

  He drew all my deepest dirtiest fantasies out of me. I’d tell him wild stories as he licked my pussy: the rugby-club changing room, the van full of policemen taking me into custody, the ship full of pirates with me a captive damsel. Silly fluff, really. But he’d never laughed at me. Grinned, yes: that considering, narrow-eyed grin of his. Taken thorough advantage of my arousal, yes. Suggested other scenarios, yes. Driven me to the brink and over with whispered suggestions about fucking me in the public bar of our local, or on the bus … or, yes, at Lewis’s wedding reception.

  Then he’d introduced the fantasy of the hunt through the woods.

  Then, one day, he’d remarked, ‘We could do that, you know. For real. If you wanted.’

  I’ve never even had a threesome, until now.

  ‘You sure about this?’ asks a guy with a scarred lip, almost accusingly.

  I swallow. Am I sure? It doesn’t seem real yet. Here I am, standing in front of seven fit, hard men, and they’re all looking at me and picturing what it would mean to chase me down and fuck me. ‘Yeah,’ I say, my voice all hoarse and strained. ‘Yeah, I’m sure.’

  ‘That’s my girl,’ says Dane, giving me a hug. Then he flips a small rucksack off his shoulder and presses it into my arms. ‘Go get changed into this lot,’ he tells me, jerking his chin to indicate the stone hut we’ve all parked in front of.

  They watch me go. I can feel their eyes on my back and my ass and my legs. I slip into the dark interior of the bothy. It’s pretty rough and basic – stone floor, plank bunk-beds, sleeping bags and six-packs of beer dumped for later use. I drop the rucksack on the rough table and explore the contents.

  The change of clothes has taken me by surprise. I had intended to run in the sports gear I’m wearing now, the same kit I wore when I met Dane. Yes, I’m one of the soft managerial types. A local government officer. My Saturday workouts were what led to us starting our private one-to-one exercise regime.

  Now he’s presented me with costume, and I struggle to make sense of it. A narrow black skirt, almost knee-length, in some nasty shiny fabric. A white button-fronted blouse, but over a cami-top of red lace. Knee-high black suede boots – with no heels, thank goodness. I couldn’t run in heels. A short scarlet jacket, very 80s style. It all looks a bit like formal office-wear, but also a bit cheap. And quite dated.

  It doesn’t convey anything to me, but older men always have baggage.

  Military men have shit-loads of baggage. I know that. I’m from an officer’s family.

  I can hear them talking outside, their voices deep. Each rumbling syllable sinks to the pit of my stomach. When I squint out through the half-open door, I see one of them shake his head dubiously.

  Dane can handle the discussion. I get changed, deciding not to bother with bra or panties. What would be the point? I touch myself between the legs, exploring the pussy Dane lovingly shaved this morning. I’m as soft as a plush toy, but there’s a secret slipperiness hidden there. My body is eager for this.

  The clothes fit snugly, but well. My fingers tremble as I do up the buttons on my blouse. That’s when Dane comes in to check on me. I hear the deep intake of his breath, and he blocks the light from the door as he enters. ‘Hey, Zadie.’

  ‘Hey.’

  He’s got a paintball gun like a rifle hanging from his shoulder.

  ‘You OK with this?’ His knuckles graze my cheek softly, and he cups the back of my head. I look up into his face, like it’s going to tell me something I need to know. But his expression is closed, as always, his eyes watchful but betraying nothing. Everything about him is reserved. Except when we fuck. It’s one of the few times he opens up.

  No, he’s not going to be my forever guy. But he’s a good man, I think. And good to me.

  ‘I reckon so,’ I say, my voice a little weak. I’m scared, but I want to try this. I want to take the leap. I want to do something that isn’t just fantasy. These guys … they’ve done stuff for real. Here in their woodland hideout they’re playing a game, but it hasn’t always been a game to them. They’ve killed people, I suppose, and that freaks me out a bit. They’ve hunted people down. They’ve been places I can’t imagine, and don’t want to. When they run round with their paintball guns, they are just pretending – but these are men who don’t have to pretend.

  I don’t want to just pretend either, any more.

  ‘I’ve told them the rules,’ he says, one hand on my waist. I can sense the tension crackling off him, and as our bodies brush together I feel the push of his erection. ‘You’ve got nothing to worry about.’

  ‘They’re all up for it?’ Even the married ones? I might have added.

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  I nod, and decide to ask. ‘What’s this clothing about then?’

  His gaze flicks to my breasts. For a long moment I think he’s going to blank me, but then he speaks. ‘That’s how Lelia was dressed. In the hotel.’

  Oh. Lelia.

  That makes sense.

  Lelia is a framed photo on his desk. She’s standing in the courtyard of a nice-looking house, with a bright-pink bougainvillea vine sprawled over one tiled wall. She’s got her hands on the shoulders of a boy in front of her, and both face the camera with grave, formal smiles. Wearing a long-sleeved, embroidered blouse, she looks Southern European or maybe Arabic. The kid looks about ten years old in that picture – though I think it’s an old photo – and he’s fair-skinned, but
with dark curls and eyes like hers.

  ‘Who’s this?’ I’d asked, picking up the frame.

  Dane came up behind me, and looked long and hard at the picture before replying. ‘Lelia,’ he said quietly. ‘The boy’s Yusef.’

  ‘Who is she?’

  ‘She was a lobby girl. She worked out of the lobbies of the tourist hotels.’ He suddenly spoke with the contempt of the military for civilian parasites: ‘Journalists, businessmen, diplomats … pond-scum like that.’

  I recognised that tone of voice. I had a sinking feeling that I’d stepped into deep waters. ‘Where?’

  ‘Somewhere we weren’t supposed to be.’

  When he said ‘we’ I knew he meant his troop. I didn’t know what to say to that, and didn’t feel keen to ask. But he carried on.

  ‘We were pinned down for two days. They dropped all sorts of shit on us – the roof shaking, great chunks of concrete falling down. We thought we were all going to fucking die. Three of us did.’ His voice dried up and he swallowed. ‘She stepped up and kept us sane. This … girl. She was … like a light in the dark. The only light. You can’t imagine. You won’t understand.’

  I couldn’t imagine, but I think I understood. A bit. That was the only time he’s ever really talked to me about Lelia, but I know he sends her money regularly, and she writes to him. I wonder if Yusef is Dane’s son – but there’s no obvious resemblance.

  I’m not jealous of Lelia. If I was going to be jealous of anyone, it’d be the ex-wife with the two kids. Like I say, older men come with baggage. I’m not escaping it now, on this sunny evening in this beautiful woodland. Whatever this is, it’s not escapism.

  ‘Oh. I see,’ I say now, and lay my hand on his breastbone, as if I might feel his heart. ‘That’s … heavy stuff. Are you OK?’

  He pulls his mouth – only his mouth – into a smile. ‘It’s been tough since February. The funeral. For all of us. But you’re going to be fine, babes.’

  I nod, letting him know I trust him. He responds by kissing me – gently at first, then more warmly.