Absolute Threesomes

by Sommer Marsden

  “They’re sitting on the bed,” she whispered. “Talking softly. He’s holding her hand and she’s looking into his eyes. She has no fear.”

  I was a couple of inches from Claire’s mouth and I could see how it pursed and opened, how she moistened her lips with her tongue as she searched for just the right word. It was a small mouth, the lower lip receding slightly below the upper, now partly open, now giving the impression of a constant state of awe.

  I was free to look at her in a way I never could before, to examine her body uninhibited by the prospect of discovery. My eyes turned periodically from her face to her hair, which absorbed the nascent light from the knothole. My vision wandered to the curve of her back, elegantly lordotic, in the manner of a ballerina. And the grace of that long, tapering waist.

  Her breasts were of great interest, and though my view was incomplete I was conscious of the movement of her body and imagined how, with each breath, they might be pressing slightly against her bra, shifting with each weave of her spine, skin rubbing against cloth.

  “Oh,” Claire said. And she almost giggled. “He just kissed her. On the cheek. She’s turned her face directly to his and now it’s full... full on the mouth.” She sighed, My god! Claire was romantic after all.

  Then she suddenly put her hand over her mouth.

  “Come on,” I whispered, edging so close to her ear my lips were touching and releasing sound like a passing wind. “The deal was you have to say everything.”

  She paused, then swallowed. “He just moved his hand from her face to her... .”

  “Come on, come on.

  “... her breast.”

  I was having conniptions. I pushed my face against hers. She didn’t withdraw but pushed against mine to keep her view. “Say more,” I said, pushing against her ear, “say more.”

  “He’s stroking it.” Claire almost choked on the words but it was a good choke. “Round motions. Running his thumb over her nipple, back and forth.”

  I realized I’d never heard a woman say that word. Nipple! This was fabulous!

  “I can see it sticking out against her blouse.” Now Claire seemed to be volunteering more than responding to my prodding.

  “Are they still kissing,” I asked, my hand reaching under Clair’s hair to her opposite shoulder.

  “Yes. Open mouthed. He’s almost, uh, gobbling... gobbling for her tongue... . Oh!”

  “What, what.”

  “He just reached inside her blouse.”

  At that point, perhaps by instinct, perhaps by suggestion, perhaps because some silent planner in me had timed it, I put my hand on Claire’s breast.

  She jumped. She drew back from the knothole and gasped, closing her hand against the escaping of the sound. I jerked my hand away and froze, holding my breath.

  She closed her eyes, bowed her head a split second and then, without looking at me, pushed her eye back to the hole. I took that as a good sign and but decided to be a little more subtle, maybe to link my moves to her words.

  “He’s taking off her bra,” she said.

  This time, so as not to startle her, I began with my hand on that long waist I admired so much, stroking up and down in the scaffoid curve of its angle and when she said...

  “... Now she’s out of her bra and he’s squeezing her with two fingers...”

  ... I ran my hand under Claire’s soft cotton bra to her breast, felt its firmness standing against me and gently squeezed her.

  She stayed in place.

  “He’s moving his mouth down her neck to her shoulder... to the edge of her breast... still squeezing her... now...”

  Claire had by now risen to her knees, which made her lean over a little to keep her eye level with the portal to the room. This made a little space between her and the wall where I could put my head. So that when she said...

  “... Now... he’s sucking her...”

  I clamped my mouth, through her blouse, on her nipple, flicking it with my tongue, nibbling lightly.

  Out of the corner of my eye I could see Claire’s face, intent, astonished, eager to see what would come next.

  A wet spot was growing on her blouse where the point of her breast pushed into my mouth. I was unbuttoning her, slipping her shoulders and arms from her blouse with a level of care equal to that of a surgeon delivering a new baby, the angular light from the bedside lamp illuminating the sides of her breasts with splashes of soft contrast, accentuating her pointed tips.

  It was amazing - Claire’s eyes occupied on their carnal feast, a certain permission granted by the grace of her submission to nakedness - I was free to examine, with a level of close attention I’d never before experienced, the startling beauty of a miraculous pair of breasts.

  They were a larger than they had appeared, cinched under her tight bra, but still small enough to create a feeling of separateness which conferred upon them the impression they were a perfectly matched pair rather than a unit cleaved. They had their separate identities. I was tempted to give them names.

  They stood out from her as if proud and unafraid and were tightly conical, rising in a nearly straight line on all sides from the ribbed wall of her chest to the pale pink tip, so perfectly shaped, there was hardly any sag to the underside - just the slightest arc of grace.

  They seemed very young, suggesting a quality of innocence in that most transcendent of moments in the maturation of the female body when the breasts first appear, still holding the future secret, pressing along the path of their perfect shape.

  I watched with fascination as they rose with her breathing, swayed slightly side to side as she shifted positions, brushed against her inner arms, shaping to the form of each little pressure.

  Claire was either too intrigued with her own observations or she had decided to just let me have my pleasure, for she made no move to disturb me.

  I wanted to memorize her, to record that which I knew must pass from us into the slowfall of the past. I stroked upward from origin to rosy tip watching them lift and swirl to the contour of my hands.

  Claire was speaking again. Her voice seemed slower, a little more mellow. “She’s beginning to undress him,” she said. And with that she turned away from the knothole and looked at me briefly, fingering the buttons of my shirt, then turned back to her work. As I was taking off my clothes, it occurred to me that Claire could be making all this up. She could be directing my actions by planting elements in the story that weren’t really there.

  For a moment I wanted to push her gently aside and see for myself what they were doing. Why should I? How could I improve on this miraculous sequence? If the mechanism of a story line allowed her to reveal her desires while protecting her from openly identifying with them, more power to her. She wants me to take off my clothes? I’ll take off my clothes.

  Claire’s face just turned dark red. “Oh my God,” she whispered.

  “What?” I said.

  “I can’t,” she said.

  “You have to, that’s the deal” I said, reaching one arm around her waist and hugging her with my newly naked body.

  “Maybe you should look,” she said.

  “I won’t look,” I said. “You can skip this one if you like but if it’s going to be said, I’d rather hear you say it.”

  She took a deep breath. I felt her relax in my embrace as if to signal acceptance of a new and deeper intimacy.

  “She’s sucking him,” she whispered almost inaudibly.

  And with that she looked away quickly from the knothole and saw me, for the first time, completely naked.

  I was embarrassed, being half limp, wishing I was harder. When I was inexperienced with someone new, or anxious, or mostly, I realized in retrospect, this happened when I was with a woman I idolized too much.

  She looked up at my face, smiled, and although I
did not see a single eyelash move, I could have sworn she winked. She reached over and tenderly took hold of me, cupping me in her hand and squeezing with a downward pulse of her thumb.

  Then, without announcement or ceremony, she leaned over and put her lips around me.

  This act of blessing must have given the little dogger all the reassurance it needed for it stood right up, as if hesitation had never been an issue. I, meanwhile, couldn’t move. I just knelt there while she worked it a few times, then she peeled it out of her uplifted mouth and went back to looking.

  “She’s taking him deeper,” she said and turned and smiled mischievously.

  I worked myself around behind her and placing two hands on her waist, lifted her into a half-standing position, her feet on the floor and her hands on the wall bracing her at the level of the eye-hole.

  Her tight muscular bottom rolled into view stretching her close-fitting slacks into a sharply rounded contour which, as she described how G was moving the professor’s foreskin back and forth, I rubbed with my hands feeling her warmth.

  Claire was rolling her pelvis on the axis of her hips, her sex tilting inward then outward toward me, her feet shifting and rocking. My hands found the warm spot between her legs and rubbed harder. She kept right on looking into the next room.

  “He’s reaching for her pants,” Claire said. “Struggling to get them off.”

  Instinctively, and with one shocking move, I slid her slacks down over her buttocks to her knees, spread her legs slightly, and worked my fingers back and forth in her wet folds.

  “She’s fully naked now,” she whispered almost in a gasp. “Wow... . she’s really curvy. Tanned, even over her nipples and bottom. He’s feeling her. He’s pushing his fingers in her.”

  This time I was ahead of the professor so in place of my fingers I substituted the tip of my cock, sliding it along her moistened valley, lubricating my head in her little gush.

  She was describing G’s mouth on the professor’s penis, how her lips seemed to reach out to pull in more of his shaft, how he bobbed when she took him out and licked his tip... then suddenly, she gasped.

  “What?” I said.

  “She’s done it,” she said with undisguised admiration.

  “Done what?”

  “She took him right down to the root.”

  A flush went though my body and, instinctively, a thrust shot through my pelvis and buried my penis about half way. She let out a shriek and stood straight upright.

  Oh my god, I thought. I’ve ruined it now. And I started to withdraw.

  She jerked her hands down between her legs and held me there, still inside. “No,” she said, tilting her head to one side and closing her eyes, “don’t go away.”

  Partly because the shift in her body around my penis cranked me and partly because any interruption, even threatened, can call forth that instinct the body has to finish off procreation in the crescendo of intrusion, my come rushed against the bottleneck in the well of my loins and I felt my penis beat four times inside her. I was about to come.

  No, no, I thought... not now. Not yet. And quickly I imagined myself somewhere else, somewhere hostile - the snow, the cold. Shivering. I imagined the face of the ugliest girl I had ever seen. Sardines. Dry heaves.

  Claire held where she was. But she stood up and turned her head so that she nestled her forehead against my cheek. We just stood there for a while, for the first time, alone together, just the two of us.

  Lava settled in my pelvis and I could afford to put my arms around her without fear of finishing her off. We rocked side to side, her hands reaching around to my buttocks, holding me in. It was almost like singing.

  “Well,” she said at last, “shall we keep going?”

  I nodded and she bent slowly over the knothole.

  As she reached it she gave a quick laugh and stood up again.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  She giggled. “There’s an eye in there.”

  Suddenly I realized that the tables had been turned. Claire’s little shriek called the watched to become watchers. We laughed out loud.

  “Well,” Claire said. “Let’s give them something to look at.”

  She took her hands away from my backside and spread her legs a little. We were facing the knothole, our pelvises exactly at the level of their eyes. They would have a very direct view, a tennenbruso, I thought, that artistic effect in painting in which the background is dimmed around the most important visual effect at the center. We were the focal point of a masterpiece.

  Conscious now that we were being watched, I began to move slowly in and out of her, still at half penetration, working slowly deeper. Imagining all the while how this might look to them. Her hips pressed back against me. I liked the feeling that I had to roll over this tight cushion to penetrate her.

  For her part, Claire, rotated gently side to side, shifting her weight first to one foot then the other, her hands bracing against the wall. I placed my hands on her waist to feel these shifts outside and inside.

  Claire was getting in to it. Her slacks, which all this time were still sliding around down below her knees, got kicked off. She noticed the small bedside lamp, now very near to us, and by sudden inspiration she picked it up and placed it at her feet. We could feel, it seemed to me, the impact of light and the looking eager eyes on our skin, now sensitive to every nuance of motion and touch. My hands slid up her waist to her breasts, pulling her tight against me as I pushed from behind.

  Applause came from the next room.

  We laughed and though it broke the spell a little, we picked up the pace, concentrating on each other.

  Claire was breathing deeply, at a pace that rose faster and faster until she swooned slightly, buckling at the knees. We both went down to the floor, kneeling, still attached.

  We recovered to find ourselves at eye level with the little window. Claire crawled over to it. Turning to me she whispered, “surprise package.” And leaning against the wall she placed the tip of her breast into the hole. Then suddenly, she laughed loudly and drew back. I caught sight of a tongue quivering in the window. Claire looked around at me and we kissed. It was a loving kiss. Something spiritual had awakened between us.

  We just sat there and held each other for a while, as if no one was watching, as if for an instant the permeable part of the wall glazed over with an impermeability of will. There was, in that moment surrounding us, a sense of blessing.

  We had not been paying attention but we heard giggling we looked back to the hole to find, lo and behold, a penis sticking out of it.

  Claire laughed a little sarcastic laugh and raised her eyebrows. Showtime, she said and almost with a sense of resignation grasped the professor’s penis, and tilting her head to the side in a posture of contemplation, palpated it as if to see, first hand, how this thing worked. Her palm and fingers wrapped it while her thumb rubbed the tip, lubricating it with its juices.

  With all the commotion, I had fallen out of Claire and was now watching her face and hands when a sharp knock came at the door. My first impulse was to ignore it, engaged, as we were, in a private intimacy. But the knock came again, quickly... and then once more with palpable intensity.

  I rose, the spell half-broken, or at least suspended, and wrapping a towel around me, opened the door part way. In pushed G. wearing the professor’s bathrobe. She shut the door behind her, then turned and looked me square in the eyes, penetrating me for what seemed like half a minute. Then, satisfied she had found what she was looking for, she let the robe, with a single gesture, slide from her shoulders to the floor. She watched me watching her. Her shoulders were fuller than Claire’s, rounded and bronzed. Her breasts were globe like, hanging in a straight line of tangent from her breast bone to the darker, puffy areola. Her waist was short, her hips beginning high and rounding down to a sharp
angle with her thighs.

  She reached over and loosened my hand from my towel, letting it drop. My penis stood out directly at her.

  She kissed me hard, pulling me into her mouth with the curl of her hand at the back of my neck, teasing my tongue with hers. Then, in one decisive gesture, she grabbed my cock, rose on tiptoes and climbed on to me, all the way to the hilt.

  I saw her eyes close just before mine did, and, overcome with pleasure I jammed her to the wall and poked her fifteen to twenty times before she pushed me away gasping for air. She grabbed me by the root and dragged me to the closet where Claire, with both hands, was running the professor’s foreskin up and down.

  G bent down and grasping a kneeling Claire by the tight curve of her waist, brought her legs to a standing position once again. Claire hardly altered her attentiveness to the professor. G. looked at me and smiled and stroking Claire’s bottom she outlined the gradual curve where the waist flared over the trim buttocks, the tight turn at the base where her legs joined, the rounded curve at the juncture of inner thighs and the soft mat of the pubis. It was as if G. were displaying, for the pleasure of an audience of one, an object of great beauty, a painting by Vermeer, adding a tactile dimension to a visual masterpiece.

  She did this with one hand for she kept the other firmly attached to my penis, periodically squeezed me, keeping me fully hard and stimulated. Each time she squeezed, her eyes, full on my face, lighted with electricity.

  G. was now reaching other parts of Claire’s body, the fronts of her legs, her ankles, the inner thigh just above the knee, G’s full arm made contact with her as it slid over her skin if to encircle and embrace each part.

  Now she reached below Claire’s torso, cupping her hand to draw up, as if from a well, lifting the warm juices of her sex. With these she slathered the crease that runs behind, rocking the side of her finger back and forth over the tight circle of her anus, then circling it, softening it, pulsing at it in a slow, almost beseeching manner. I could see it swelling and softening under her careful attention, enough so that it would emit a finger tip now and then, as now, even to the base of the nail, as now, to the second joint - each thrust carrying before it a little bead of mucous to line and protect the tender passage.