What Her Look Asks

Her look to her husband as the man eats her pussy. She holds his head, forcing him to dive in. A co-worker? A friend? A stranger they picked up? All of these have sexy story possibilities. Whomever he was, one thing is certain: they had wine first. A lot of wine. 

The story I think of is that a couple had been talking about this happening for a long time. They considered friends. They considered co-workers. But either could potentially have after effects. 

They wanted it to be one time. No strings attatched. A stranger from Craigslist they'd bring in just for this once, and never have to see again. 

They were ready to try, excited, brave, but still they rallied themselves to really go for it with wine. 

She told the man: you came over to eat my pussy, so do it. And he eagerly obliged. 

He wasn't the best looking. Maybe he was married. Maybe not. They didn't care. He wasn't important. 

She looked up at her husband, who was holding the camera. Her look seemed to ask: is this what you were hoping for? 

Ben's "Basic" Photo Shoot Wasn't So Basic

My friend Ben called me up one night to tell me he'd gotten the new camera he'd been wanting for Christmas. Ben is an avid photographer, and his enthusiasm for it is contageous. I'd say I'm just an amateur photographer. A hobbiest. Ben is a fanatic. He takes pictures of anything and everything. I've never seen him without a camera in his hand. He was really excited about his new camera. It was the very latest, and though it'd been his Christmas present to himself, it had been on back order, and he'd finally just gotten it in hand.

Since he lived alone, he didn't have anyone to show it off to, so he was basically calling me up, fishing for an invitation to come over and show off his new toy.

So I asked my wife, who was in the middle of cooking dinner, if it'd be alright, and she said sure, there was plenty of food, and it'd been a while since we'd seen Ben.

She always liked Ben, because he was super polite. He was one of those guys who had grown up putting women on a pedestal. He'd always say please and thank you and complement the food, and offer to help with the dishes. He was sort of like this overgrown overly eager Boy Scout. My wife thought it was cute. She adored the attention and appreciation.

So Ben came over, and as usual, he complimented her on the great dinner and asked her about her work, and told a few funny stories about his recent photoshoots. The more wine, the funnier his stories, and the more my wife laughed. She was getting flushed. She really loves wine. Personally, I've never been much into wine, and I switched out to PBR. This left the two bottles to Ben and Kate, and they proceeded to drain both.

By now we'd adjourned to the livingroom. Ben and Kate were on the couch, and I was in my favorite arm chair. I was sort of listening in, and sort of spacing out. Ben was playing with his new camera, and had been taking photos all over the room for practice shots. When he snapped a photo of Kate, she struck a silly pose, and that caused him to snap more photos.

She laughed and said that she was hardly the models that he shot for clothing companies. And he, always the gentleman, assured her that she was actually much more pretty, because she had the "girl-next-door" look. He went on to describe how the best models are the ones who look and act natural. He said the worst ones were the divas. They thought they were so hot. He preferred to work with women who didn't even fully realize how hot they were.

Man, he was sure laying it on thick. But it was causing Kate to glow. She loved hearing every word, and was playfully allowing Ben to snap shot after shot of her.

As he continued to complement her poses, her smile, her hair, her nice eyes, she wanted to know more about his work with models. He told her that he'd recently done a lingerie shoot for a local boutique, and occasionally got the request for a private boudoir shoot. This really seemed to interest Kate, and she wanted more details. 

He said that his clients were mostly affluent women from Lake Oswego, late 30s to mid 40s, who were still very into being hot for their husbands. He called them palates wives. He said it was good work and he was happy to help keep a romantic spark in marriages. He said generally it was like clockwork. A client would call and book him for a boudoir shoot for her anniversary. He'd casually say, "Oh, that's lovely, how long have you been married?" Seven years. It was always the seven year slump when people needed a boost. Kate and I were at six years.

"That must be really exciting," Kate said, "Doesn't it turn you on to see those hot milfs decked out in their lingerie?" 

He said it was "good work when you can get it" but that the women who tended to book him all had a type. They went to tanning booths, waxed, wore heavy make up, dyed their hair three-tones of blonde. They were attractive, he said, but not like Kate. 

Kate had brown hair, sort of straight. It wasn't dyed or styled. She didn't wear makeup much, and her skin was pale with light freckles over the bridge of her nose, not at all fake tanned. 

Kate must have really liked being told that she was prettier than his other clients. Everyone likes being told they look good, but women can get competitive about it.

Kate asked how much he charged and he told her he had two packages, the Basic and the Deluxe. The Basic was $500 and the Deluxe was $1000.  The Deluxe involved three changes of outfits, and a special location, like a luxury hotel room, or an in-studio shoot with backdrops and props. The Basic was one outfit, shot at the woman's home, using her available location for the backdrop. He said that when he first started, he booked a lot of the Deluxe packages, but with the economy being down, he'd really only been doing the at-home sessions.

"That sounds really fun," said Kate, "but I could never afford it. We're saving to replace the broken dishwasher." Her mood definitely made a downswing, thinking about the stupid dishwater that had gone out. Ben, who had been excitedly hopping up and down snapping photos with his new camera, didn't want his fun to end, and he quickly said that if Kate was interested, he'd do it for free.

"Oh, no, I can't ask you to do that," she said. "It's your profession. It's how you make your living. I wouldn't ask you to come to my office and process my paperwork for free."

"It's different," said Ben. "Photography is my passion. It's not like work for me, shooting someone as beautiful as you." 

Kate's mood had snapped back from the glum thoughts of the broken dishwasher to her original mood of being flattered and the center of attention. She smiled. Ben snapped another photo. "Perfect!" he said. "Just like that!" And the shutter clicked again.

"Besides," he said, "my portfolio is really one-sided; I only have those fake-tan wives. I don't have anyone like you, natural. You're so much younger, and more hip." (Kate certainly enjoyed hearing this.)

"And it'd really help my portfolio," he added.

"So it'd help you?" she said. 

"Yes, definitely. I don't have any shots from this new camera and it'd help me market myself." 

"I see," said Kate. She seemed to be giving the idea some serious consideration. I guess I already knew the answer was "yes" in her head. Our living room was scattered with back issues of Vogue. Kate loved looking at models, and it seemed like it was always an unfulfilled dream. She certainly had the looks for it, but at 5'6"she wasn't tall enough to be a professional fashion model.

"Well," she said, softly. "If it will help you, I'll do it."

For the first time, Ben let the camera drop from his face. His eyes were gleaming and a huge smile was plastered on his face.

"What do I need to do?" asked Kate.

"Um-um...." Ben seemed lost for words. "Um... well, um.... you could pick out something... um..."

I could tell he was struggling to say "sexy to wear," or something like that. Perhaps it was easier to talk to strangers, the rich wives who were paying him $1,000 for professional photos. With us, we were friends, and Kate wasn't paying him, and, apparently, he really liked her looks. It even seemed like he had a crush on her.

Perhaps that's the real reason she wanted to pose--not purely altruistic to help his portfolio, and not just because she'd had several glasses of wine, but probably because when she's a little drunk, she turns into a flirt and a tease.

Kate got up and went to the bedroom. As she left, her legs wobbled a little, and she swayed.

Once Kate had disappeared into the bedroom, Ben turned and looked at me with his boyish grin on his face, but also a look of concern in his eyes. "Is this cool with you?" he asked.

I shrugged. "Her decision," I said. "I'm not the one modeling."

Kate returned wearing her pink fuzzy robe. It's cute, but she wears it every morning to and from the shower. It's certainly not her sexiest outfit.

Ben seemed elated with the choice and almost immediately began to snap photos. Surprisingly, I realized I was a little disappointed. I knew Kate owned more revealing intimate wear. I guess she was just being modest.

Then, after Kate reached the center of the living room, she unknotted her robe and let it fall to the floor.

For the second time, Ben dropped the camera from his face, and just stared at her.

She stood in the center of the room in her favorite lingerie--the set I'd bought her when we were first dating: a matching set of black garters, black lacy thong panties with little red roses embrodiered on the top, and a matching black bra that cupped only half of her breasts. 

Kate's breasts were small, 34a, and so having them cupped by the bra made them look a full size bigger, and having them half exposed drew attention to her bare nipples. I've always thought that sexuality is not simply what you have, but how you frame what you have. 

Ben's mouth was a-gap. His face frozen with shock.

"Will this work?" asked Kate.

It felt like five minutes passed before Ben snapped out of his stupor and stammered, "y-y-yes. th-that's perfect."

Ben is probably one of the most fast and smooth talking guys that I know. Born in Jersey and of Italian heritage, he wasn't the type of guy at a loss for words.

Having studied every issue of Vogue since she was 14, Kate seemed to know how to strike fashion poses. When she put her hand on her hip, the camera snapped. She turned, the camera snapped. She lifted her arm, the camera snapped. Then she stopped, suddenly realizing that she'd exposed her underarms.

She'd stopped shaving for No Shave November, and through the bleak December weather and business of the holidays, hadn't picked up her razor. Now January, she'd nearly grown out her full tuffs of natural hair.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I wasn't prepared for a photo shoot."

"It's not a problem," Ben assured her. "It's just what  I want--a real woman, not the waxed ones of Lake Oswego. I love it. So bohemian!"

Apparently he'd fully regained his fast talking skills. He'd reassured her, and she resumed her posing.

Ben moved quickly, the camera shutter snapping dozens of images with each flip of her hair, each glance.

He was really into it, and so was she. I was out of beer and excused my self to go to kitchen a get another.  

I took time going back into living room. I wanted to give them space. And, I don't know, honesty, I sort of wondered what Kate would do without me right their. How far would she go? 

Kate was getting into poses. She sat on the couch, her back to Ben. From the kitchen doorway, I could clearly see the thong disappearing between her butt cheeks. Ben approached, and I could tell he was getting a close up.

When she turned around, she opened her legs to the camera. That's when I remembered that those panties were crotchless. The lacy black fabric framed her patch of overgrown curls. 

She had turned around so quickly that Ben hadn't had time to retreat back. He was still close to her, his camera eye level with her crotch.

He hesitated for only a second, and then snapped the camera. He rotated it to get a vertical frame, and snapped a second.

Kate's fingers dropped down and stroked her curls. This caused Ben to snap more photos.

"There's too much hair there," she said, embarrassed.

"No no," he said. "It's natural. it's perfect."

"But you can't really see anything, can you?" she said.

Before he could answer, she parted her pussy lips, revealing the smooth pink folds of her labia. "Does this help?" she asked.

She was really turned on, I could tell, even from a distance. Her lips were rosy, and slick with wetness.

Kate leaned back, one arm over her head, exposing her hairy armpit, and the other hand still on her pussy, holding it open for the camera.

She started gently rubbing herself, touching her slickness. As if to test how turned on she'd actually become, she slipped her middle finger inside her. All the way to the knuckle. This caused her whole body to shiver with the sensation.

Ben's camera snapped. 

She then lay back on the couch. Ben stood next to her, leaning over her, snapping photos. When he stood up on a chair to get a higher perspective, I could see by the tent in Ben's pants. But always a gentleman, he never touched her.

I was standing awkwardly in the kitchen doorway. I wanted to go back to my seat, but things had sort of taken a turn and I didn't want to interrupt.

The more Kate touched herself, the more turned on she got. At one point she moaned, and though I couldn't see where her hand was, I could guess, because I'd watched her touch herself before. When she gets really turned on, she likes to push a finger into her backside. From the expression on her face, I knew she'd just slipped a finger inside her butt.

I wanted to see more, but she wasn't facing me and Ben kept blocking the view as he moved in for different angles. I could tell by the increase of her breathing and her occasional sigh, that she was now no longer holding back, but touching herself as she would alone. Slow at first, but then gradually faster and stronger. One hand rubbing her clitoris, the other hand pressing a finger up into her backside.

Her breathign got deeper, her sighs more fequent, turning to low moans. Her hips began to buck. I knew all the signs. I knew when she was two mintues away, and then one mintue, and then, like a countdown, her breathing sharp and her moans fast and high-pitched, and with a shuttering gasp, she brought herself to orgasm.

She lay there, legs parted, lips open, rosy, dripping with her own juices. Her eyes were closed. I knew she was still floating in bliss.

Ben stepped back and sat down. I used the opportuntiy to return to the living room.

After a moment, she sat up. Ben was flippig through the images he'd just shot. Obviously very pleased, he was grinnign his big boyish grin, and also still tenting his pants. 

At that moment, Kate's eyes, still glossy from the climax, locked onto his pants. Oh shit, I thought.

After six years, you develop sex habits. After making herself cum, Kate always like to suck me. She said that having my cock in her mouth while she was still reeling from an orgasm prolonged the buzz. Normally, she'd beeline for my hard cock, but she'd seen Ben's first and, almost by pavlovian habit, was moving toward it. 

"I really think I should pay you for your work," she said. "It's not fair to you."

"No, no, it's fine. No payment is needed," said Ben.

"I insist," she said, as she came up to him and ran her hand over his pants.

Ben jumped nearly out of his seat. Kate stroked him through his pants and then unzipped him. His cock sprang up, ready. It all happened so fast.

This scene had played out in our house hundreds of times: I'm in the chair, Kate kneeling in front of me, sucking on me while her free hand plays with herself. She loved to time the blow job just right so she could make herself cum right as hot semen splashed down her throat. 

For years I was right in front of her, looking down as her hand and mouth bobbed on my fat cock. Now I was off to the side, seeing the whole scene from a new angle.

I probably should have been raging with jealously. To my knowledge, Kate had never done anything like this; we'd been 100% monogamous our entire relationship. But instead of it seeming like Kate was cheating on me, it was like seeing us having sex--just from a different angle. And it was pretty hot.

I picked up Ben's camera and began to shoot. It's weird but looking through a camera isn't like seeing reality; it's seeing a digital image, like watching a porno.

When we first stared dating, Kate sucked dick like the inexperienced college student that she was. After six years of living together, she was 27, and had learned a few things.

She started with swirling her tongue over the fat cockhead, coating it in saliva, as her hand gripped the base of his cock. Gripping so tight, she nearly blocked the blood flow, causing the cockhead to throb. She licked it like a lopypop, then turned to the shaft, running her tongue up and down the underside, along the full length of the thick vien. Then continuing down, she pulled one of his balls into her mouth and gently sucked. At the same time she released her grip. The combination made him almost instantly shoot his wad.

She sucked each of his balls in turn, and then stopped to look at the hardness she'd created. She let the moment of silence linger. She wasn't touching him and her mouth was mere inches from him. She was, I knew, teasing him. She was building his anticipation. Letting his balls fill with cum.

She knew how guys' bodies worked. She knew they hated starting and stopping. She knew it made their balls fill up, and cause an almost painful pressure. She also knew that made the ultimate release that much sweeter.

What she did next was practically cruel. She let a the saliva build up in her mouth, and then let it drip from her lips onto his cockhead. She let him watch this. Then, when his cockhead was covered in her saliva, she gripped him again with her hand and rubbed him up and down, swirling the spit all over his cock like lube. This caused him to whimper.

She began to rub him, up and down, fast and steady. With the upstroke her hand went over the cockhead, and each down stroke made his balls slap. She was jacking him as hard as a man would jack himself in the morning. She knew if she kept it up, she'd make him explode within 60 seconds. She pushed him right up to the point to shooting his load and then stopped.

She paused to bring her hand down between her legs to join the other. With both hands she rubbed herself as she watched his balls churn and his erect cock twitch.

What she did next is one of the most incredible techniques she's learned. I think it gets her off as much as the guy, and for that reason, it's even sexier for the guy.

With her hands rubbing herself, she lowered her head, and took him into her mouth. The more she touched herself, the more she moaned. With her mouth stuffed with his cock, it was a muffled moan, creating vibrations in her mouth.

She pushed her head deeper, taking him back to her throat. She never mastered true deep throat, but she'd take a cock as far as she could, often gagging as she forced herself to take it deep.

She gulped and grunted as she took it deeper, to the point his pubic hair was tickling her nose. From the way she rocked her hips, I knew she had two fingers pushed up inside her, curving and pressing into her g-spot as she slowly finger fucked herself.

I knew that when she sucked me and touched herself, she would imagine that she was being taken by one man while sucking another off. We'd never had an actual threesome, but it was a powerful fantasy for her. One she used to get her to a powerful orgasm.

Finally with a gasp for air she came up.  She looked like a wild, frantic animal.

I knew what was next.

She grabbed his cock with one hand and began to pump up and down, bobbing her mouth on his cock in perfect unision. She'd make a twist with her wrist on the up stroke. That motion, in combination with a powerful suction of her mouth, would make me cum within a minute.

With her other hand, she fingered herself hard, bouncing up and down on her hand as if riding a cock.

Pushing against her g-spot, she started to squirt. At the same time, his ass tensed as he began to shoot a giant load.

He shot into her mouth, but she was bobbing so fast and hard, and orgasming at the same time, globs of white erupted from her mouth and splashed on her cheeks and chin.

They both continued to cum, Kate squirting and shaking and gulping on his cock as semem splattered everywhere.

Finally she slowed and then stopped. Releasing him from her grip and pulling her hand from inside her.

"Oh fuck," she said, "that felt good." 

Ben slumped back, spent.

Kate wiped her chin and smiled. She still had cum spatted in her hair and eyelashes.

It was time for Ben to leave and he sensed it. He zipped himself up and got his camera. He thanked us both.

No sooner than he'd shut the front door, I laid Kate back on the livign room floor. Unzipping, I pulled my cock out, not even unbuckling my belt. I parted her legs with my knee, and as I lowered myself on top of her, I positioned my cock head between the fabric of her crotchless panties. Propping myself up on my elbows so I could look down at her body, my cock was poking into the briar of wet curls. I was ready to fuck her, and she was ready to be fucked.

With one smoth firm stroke, I drove my cock into her to the hilt. I was deep inside her, hard, pulsing. She was warm, and the muscles of her vagina were still quivering from the two orgasms. She was continuing to have non-stop small aftershocks of mini orgasms as I began to pump.

I wasn't gentle. I was hard. With each thrust, my balls slapped her butt. I rammed her as hard as I could, driving as deep as I could, pushing her hips off the floor with each push. "Do you like it like that?" I said.

"Yes!" she said

"You you want it like that?"

"Yes!" she cried.

I was pounding so hard that her breasts had bounced all the way out of the bra.

I grabbed a handful of hair so I could push against her as I thrust, forcing more leverage, and driving harder and deeper.

"Yes!"she screamed. "Fuck me!"

 I gave her everything I could, as she started to orgasm.

I continued to ram her, knowing I was about to unload deep inside her. Having watched the sex show she put on for Ben, and seeing her suck him off right in front of me, had caused my balls to fill with a massive load. I could feel it churning in my balls and beginning to build pressure.

"I'm going to shoot it inside you," I said.

"Give it to me," she cried. "Give me your cum!"

After cumming long and hard and draining every once, I slid out of her soggy pussy and stood. She remained on her back, limp and sprawled out. She was covered in an thin glow of sweat and her pussy seeped my fresh semen. She looked spent, content, and sated. 

I realized she could still taste Ben's cum in her mouth and feel mine leaking from between her legs. For the first time, she'd been filled by two men. Maybe it wasn't at the exact same time, but she'd just experienced something she'd only fantasized about, and it had left her happy, floating in bliss, wet, sweaty, sticky.

Still laying on the living room floor, in her lingerie, her breasts out of the bra, exposed, her crotchless panties framing her hairy, leaking cunt, she looked like a woman who had just been fucked hard and good. She looked slutty. Beautiful and Slutty. Pretty and Naughty. Mixed opposites that seemed to compliment rather than contrast, all the better in a single image.

I didn't need a camera to capture it. I'd remember the image exactly, always.

Run, Jump In

Reminds me of being on the beach one night in Santa Cruz (rather buzzed).

Drinking in The Shower

Now that's my kind of girl.

Sharing Couple

By the time they finished dinner and cocktails, she was pretty buzzed. They had dressed up to go on an official date, which is not always easy to do after a few years of marriage. They had been talking about sex, and specifically, how to spice it up between them. That led to a discussion on unfulfilled fantasies. 

She admitted she had sometimes fantasied about being with her husband and another man, but, she said, she would never cheat on him, and the sticking point was always the other man. 

He, somewhat surprised and aroused by this, half joking and half serious, suggested they visit the adult arcade they'd walked past on the way from the parking garage to the restaurant. With a glory hole, he said, no eye contact. Would have no idea who they were playing with, and no strings attached. It's harder to feel jealous that way, he said.

To his astonishment, she looked at him with a silly grin and a sparkle in her eyes, and said, "Ok."

They finished their drinks. Without talking, they quickly got up. She hooked her arm in his to steady herself. Was she really that drunk? It was more the shaking in her knees of anticipation.

Jim Beam is to Blame (Again!)

Oh the many things Mr. Jim Beam can lead to...

Jim Beam is to Blame

Motorcycle Monday: Biker, Beer, and Boobs

Have you been having a good summer? Hurry up, it's almost over!

Jacket, Beer, Come Over Here

College Is A Time To Try it All

My wife and I met freshman year at a small liberal arts college in New England. Niether of us were from back East, and we never totally felt like we fit in with the East Coast kids.

It seemed a lot of the East coast kids who went to boarding school got a lot of the "sex,drugs, rock and roll" out of their system by college. For us, growing up each in small towns, we'd actually never been exposed to that. We'd dated, and had some degrees of sexual experience, but we sincerely considered each other our "first."

This fact was rather romantic. I felt like I'd found that "special one." We really had no doubt that after college we'd get married and spend our lives together.

The only drawback--a nagging feeling that I tried to ignore--was that we had a short 4-year window to be young, wild, and foolish. All the other students had their share of wild parties and sexual expereinces. It seemed all my buddies had been in threesomes or even orgies. I had no idea how that even came about--if it was bragging or just bullshit. Yet, you'd have to be blind and deaf in a dorm not to see the morning "walk of shame" or hear the thumping of headboards echoing down the halls.

Semester after semester, year after year, the other students were ticking off their list of sexual experiences, while my girlfriend and I remained totally monogamous and comparatively inexperienced. The first year we were so into each other it didn't matter, and we did experiment a lot between us. But by senior year, there was the feeling that we'd done every thing we could just between us. Added to that was the sense that the clock was ticking. Day by day we were getting to the end of our college experience. Where else would we ever be surrounded by young 20-somethings who drank and had sex as much as they attended class?

We felt like it was "now or never" to get our last chance at the free pass of "anything goes" college sex. We even started talking about it. We didn't want to break up, we didn't even want to date others. We just wanted to somehow not end college without some memory, some "I can't believe I did that" story that we could secretly take into adulthood and then look back on with a private smile, and a little nostalgia. "Those sure were the days!"

We both agreed we should do "something" wild and even a bit reckless, embarrassing, or genuinely naughty; we just really didn't know what that'd be, or how to go about making it happen. However, as in the case with most things college, the answer was presented by alcohol. It was at a party. 

We didn't know anyone at the party, and awkwardly drifted from kitchen to living room to the back porch and back to the living room. Eventually we got bored and wandered out onto a small second-story balcony. It was spring and the air was still warm, the evening turning slowly to twilight. Jennifer sipped her drink and looked out over the lawn. Neither of us were used to the "houses" in New England. They were more like 19th century English manors.

Jen wore a light sundress. It was sort of a vintage 70s dress, strapless. The top was supposed to be held up like a tube top, by her breasts filling them. But her perky A-cups didn't offer much in that way, and it seemed like if she had to run, her dress would fall right down to her ankles.

"I'm not wearing any underwear," she said, casually, still looking our across the groomed grass. 

I slipped my hand down the small of her back, and grazing over her buttocks, I could feel no underwear. "You're naughty," I said.

"Ummhum," she said softly. 

Her hips were moving slightly, barely noticeable. She was pressing herself against a corner of the stonework. I realized what she was doing. I'd actually caught her once, totally by accident, doing what she was now doing. I walked in on her in the bathroom, as she was pressing her hips up against the corner of the pedestal sink. She was mortified at the time, being caught. But afterwards I assured her it was not only perfectly normal, but actually sexy to see her masturbating. She relaxed and admitted that one of her favorite ways to get herself off was to rub up against something smooth and hard.

Now she was standing on the small balcony, quietly and stealthily pressing her body through the thin fabric of her dress against the smooth marble. "You could take me right here," she said.

"Someone might come out," I said. 

"Then he could watch," she giggled. She was making a joke, I figured. She always got a little silly when drunk. Also bolder. Sober, she probably never in a million years would rub up against the stone balcony railing, but tipsy drunk, alone with me, and half concealed by dusk, she was plenty willing. We could here the murmuring din of partygoers from the first floor.

I let my hand slide lower, and reach up under the hem of her dress. I felt her warm bottom, bare, with goosebumps from the cooling air, or her excitement. I knew what would really get her excited. I slipped my hand slowly, and gently between her legs. I felt the soft pelt of her curls. Once, she had let me take scissors and a razor to her thick brown bush and trim it down to just a stubble, exposing her thin pink lips. (It gave her ingrown hairs and itched like crazy so we never did it again, but at least she'd let me try.) I wiggled my finger, parting the hair, and dipped my finger into her wetness. She was already soaking, warm.  

With her clit pressed against the stone, I couldn't rub her there, but I knew what she really preferred. I slicked my finger with her sticky juices, and then, gently, slid it back up her crease, to the soft, sensitive skin of her anus. She shuttered to my touch, but rocked her hips further back, giving me a better angle.

I circled my finger around her wrinkled skin, lubing it with her own juices. Before penetrating her in the back, I dipped my finger into her front once again, recoated it in her slickness. Then, with a slow, but firm push, I wiggled my fingertip inside her up to my first knuckle.

She gasped.

I waited and let her clenched muscles relax. She continued to slowly hump the stone. Her ass was incredibly tight. In fact, after dating for three years, she'd finally agreed to let me try anal with her. We were able to get just the tip of my penis inside before she begged me to stop. She cried it was so painful. We hadn't had anal sex, but she had at least been open to the idea. And she did, in the process, discover that she actually enjoyed anal stimulation--especially my finger.

She exhaled deeply. I felt her muscles relax and her sphincter open more. "Ok," she said. "More."

I pushed a little further, pressing my finger into her up to the second knuckle. This caused her to moan.

"Yessssssssssss," she said quietly under her breath. 

She continued to roll her hips against the smooth stone to stimulate her clit, while I slowly matched her rhythm, working my finger gently in and out.

"That's nice," she whispered.

"Tell me what's happening," I whisphered. This was one of our newer games. Really a way we'd learned to share fantasies without it being so awkward. At first I'd asked her yes/no questions like, "does that feel good?" She'd say yes or no, and it was good training, mechanically, of how to please her. But I learned that when I'd asked her more open-ended, and abstract questions, she could slowly reveal deeper fantasies. 

I first discovered it when we were in bed and I was very gently grazing just the tip of her clitoris with my finger, trying to be as soft and light as possible. It was obviously making her writhe with pleasure, so I didn't ask if it felt good. Instead, I said: "Tell me what's happening."

To my surprise, Jennifer said, "she's licking me, using just the tip of her tongue."

Jen had never had a bisexual experience, but, she later revealed, she often used it as a fantasy when masturbating.

So as we stood on the dark balcony, Jen pressed up agains the marble rail, me standing behind her, my hand secretly slipped up under her dress, my finger pressed inside her butt, softly sliding in and out, I asked: "what's happening?"

"I'm being taken," she whispered.

"By whom?"I asked. 

"A stranger," she whispered.

This was new territory. We'd mutually fantasied about her with another girl, but never with another guy.

Apparently the mental image of her being taken on a balcony from behind by a stranger charged her, though. She began to shake. Before I could ask another question, her muscles were clinching around my finger, and she was quivering in a quiet, but powerful orgasm.

After her spasms relented, I slipped my finger out of her, and smoothed her dress down. She raised herself off of the marble rail and steadied her shaky knees. Her face was rosy and flushed. The casual observer might think she was just flush from alcohol, but I knew she was glowing from her secret orgasm.

I was of course hard as rock under my pants. I was ready to take her back to the dorm, rip off her dress, and have my way with her. I half wanted to take her then and there. I fantasized about lubing my cock with my own spit and forcing it into her ass, taking her right then and there. It might cause her pain at first, but sometimes I thought if I could just get my cock in past the ring of her tight muscles, It would slide easily the rest of the way. But I knew we'd already pressed our luck with privacy.

In fact, just at that moment, we heard, "Oh hey guys."

We turned and saw our old friend Mark.

Mark had been my Freshman roommate, and he'd known me before I'd met Jennifer. When I met Jennifer, the three of us hung out on the first few dates. (You know, have a buddy there to make it less awkward, more of a group thing, not a date.) There was a lot of flirting at the time, because I was so attracted to Jen, and she to me. Though I always felt like maybe she was flirting with Mark, or that he would have gladly moved in on her had I not already claimed "first dibs." At the time it made me really jealous. I wanted Jen all to myself, and felt stung by the innocent flirting between Jen and Mark.

Maybe I felt a little insecure, too. We were only 18 at the time, and I didn't have as much confidence in myself. And at that point, Mark and I both knew Jennifer equally. She really could have picked either of us. Maybe that's why I sort of stopped being friends with Mark after Freshman year. We didn't have a fight or anything, but after we weren't assigned to live together, I sort of let us drift apart. Sometimes it wasn't even conscious, it'd be as simple as just spending more time with Jen. If we ran into each other, we'd say, "yeah, we should hang out." But it never seemed to happen. 

So, three years had passed. And Mark was standing in front of us, smiling, also a little drunk, hi-fiving me and saying "Dude! how ya been?" 

He turned to Jen and gave her a big bear hug. I braced myself for the electric shock of jealously, but for the first time, it didn't come. I just smiled, relaxed. Maybe more confident in myself, or more mature. Or maybe I was secure in the fact that Jen had been dating me exclusively for three years and we knew we were in love. I didn't even care that their hug seemed a little long, or that he seemed to squeeze her against him. 

It was like old times, and we instantly fell into the comfortable conversations about movies and tv shows and classes and teachers and just other silly things. It felt good to be hanging out and have someone to talk to at the party, and enjoying how easily we laughed together. 

As we chatted and laughed, I noticed Mark kept glancing at Jen's chest. The evening had set, and it was now cold outside, and her nipples were poking against the fabric of her dress.

Jen noticed, too, and teasingly asked: "Whatcha lookin' at, Mark?"

He'd been caught, but instead of being embarrassed, turning red, or apologizing, he asked: "Did you get your nipple pierced?"

Jen laughed. "Yeah," she said. "Last semester."

Mark shook his head in disbelief. "I never would have thought..." he said, trailing off his sentence, now looking directly at the fabric stretched over the small cups of her breasts.

I guess I should probably admit that Jen and I first met through a college church group. She'd grown up in a religious family in Littleton, Colorado, and I'd grown up in a tiny little town in Wyoming. I wasn't especially religious, but church was the one way I had grown up learning to socialize. The picnics, the meetings, the volunteer service created an instant network of friends. I'd felt so lost in the East, that joining the college church group Freshman year seemed like a good way to meet people. And it had worked. I met Jen.

So, when I'd introduced Jen to Mark Freshman year, he'd basically met an 18-year-old church-going virgin. He knew her as the young girl from the Rocky Mountains who had never been back East, who studied a lot, and read, and got straight As. The girl who had a somewhat plain, tomboy body and mousy brown hair and glasses.

He never knew about the time Jen let me take digital photos of her naked. Or the first time we went camping, before we'd even "gone all the way," and she gave me a hand job and let me cum on top of her small pale breasts. Or the time we were driving all the way back to the Rockies for break, and she opened my pants and sucked me right then and there as we sped down the highway at 65 mph. He didn't know that her very favorite kink she'd discovered is that she loves-loves-loves to be tied up.

She also has extremely sensitive nipples. She can almost cum just by having her nipples sucked. So for me, it was no surprise when she announced she wanted to get her nipple pierced. (This might date us, but piercings were really popular and common those years we were in school.)

I really can't explain what happened next. I've thought about it a lot over the years. The only thing that even comes close is 8th grade. The playground. I had a huge crush on a girl named Mandi Clements. She never liked me back, and this made me only tease her all the more. I had no idea how to social with her, or get her to like me. Somehow I thought tormenting her, stealing her backpack, juvenile things would get her to like me. The thing that the guys did back then was to "pants" each other. One guy would be the distraction, and the other slip up behind the victim, and yank down his pants. It was "horseplay"as they called it, and we never got in too much trouble. "Boys will be boys" is how we were raised in Wyoming.

Unfortunately, I aimed my mischief on a girl, Mandi. When I came up behind her, I yanked down her gym shorts. I expected, at best, to get a glimpse of her white cotton underwear. To both of our surprise--shock and horror, really--her panties came down with her shorts, and in plain view to me, to the other students, and to the teacher, was a patch of copper hair. None of us boys had ever seen anything like it.

Before we could study it more, Mandi yanked up her shorts, and ran off crying. At that exact moment, the teacher latched my by the ear, and marched me to the principle's office.

 I could have been expelled from school, but instead, I was suspended for a week, had to apologize in person to both Mandi and her parents, and then had to give an apology to the whole school assembly. 

Given that background, you'd think I'd learned my lesson. Apparently I hadn't. Somehow, drunk on the balcony with Jen and Mark, an impulse from 8th grade shot through me. I yanked down the top of Jen's sundress, exposing her two small breasts, and the nipple with the small silver ring.

To my surprise, she just giggled. And then yelled, somewhat delayed, "Hey!"

"Nice," Mark said. "That's actually really hot."

"Really?" asked Jen. "You don't think they're too small."

Mark of course had been talking about the piercing, but Jen's mind had gone to her breast size, a topic she wasn't always the most confident in.

"No, no, no," said Mark. "They're perfect."

The compliment must have worked. Jen smiled and blushed even more. It didn't really sink in to any of us that at least a minute must have passed and Jen was still standing outside on the balcony with her top down, her pale breasts almost glowing in the moonlight.

"I've never seen a pierced nipple," Mark confessed. "I mean, not in person. In hot photos, yeah, but not up close."

Perhaps it was the phrase "up close" that stood out. But Jen offered, "Well, look as close as you want, I guess."

Mark didn't need to be asked twice. He glanced at me, but I must have been beaming like an idiot. I was sort of proud of how bold Jen was, and how much confidence she was gaining. I'd always loved her little firm breasts. In fact, they seemed like they should be called "titties"or "boobies"to express their  youthful, petiteness. 

Mark leaned in a little closer, eye level with her breasts. The cool evening air pinched her nipples hard. 

"My breasts are so sensitive," Jen said, not really to anyone in particular, just more as a matter of fact.

"Yeah, she loves to have them sucked," I said, proudly. As if her boobs were mine to show off and brag about.

"Can I?" Marked asked. 

I don't think either Jen or I expected this. But Jen glanced at me and looked at me with the "I'd really like that," look of glee I'd seen when she's excited about getting something. And I, a little slow, a little buzzed, and (admittedly horny), just sort of smiled like an idiot.

Mark leaned forward and softly kissed the tip of her nipple, as if politely kissing someone on the cheek in greeting. When she didn't retract, he kissed again. She let out a little "oohh," squeal, encouraging him to lean forward and take a breast into his mouth.

From the way his jaw worked, I could see that her was gently sucking her breast, while flicking her nipple with his tongue. This caused Jen to writhe and moan. She was in pure extasy. When she yelped, I knew that he'd gotten a little bold and nipped her tit with his teeth. I knew she loved a little pain when it came to playing with her breasts. Sometimes when we fucked doggy style, she'd ask me to lean forward and pinch her nipples hard. The harder I pinched, the harder she would climax.

Her head was titled back, eyes closed, mouth slack, as he nibbled, sucked, and slurped her little boob in his mouth.

Just then we heard a group of drunk students. Mark quickly jumped back and Jen snatched up her dress just in time. The other students came out on the balcony and started to smoke. We left, casting sideways smiles at each other like naughty kids who had a secret, and just gotten away with something.

As we crossed the lawn back toward the dorms, the sprinklers suddenly kicked on. Must have been an automatic timer. Maybe it was midnight.

We got soaked as we dashed to my dorm room. We were cold and dripping wet.  It was the time of night when we could admit it was late, we were cold, tired, and it was time to call it. She didn't have a change of clothes, but I could have lent her a hoodie or some sweat pants, and loaned Mark some of my dry clothes. Or, we could take the next step, tip into uncharted sexual territory that we'd started on the balcony.

In only a couple weeks we'd graduate. We'd probably move back West. I'd start helping on the family ranch. We'd probably get married, start our family. We'd probably never see Mark again, or be in the East. I think we both felt this, and knew somehow this was our one shot. this was the magical window of sexual opportunity that had opened for us, and if we let it close, it was going to close, and we'd never  get the chance again. Sure, we knew maybe we could be those swingers in our 50s, after kids, hitting a second sexual peak. But when you're 22, that seems (no offense) really gross. Old and over the hill. We had out youth, our young sexual bodies, ripe and ready to explore, and a wide open sexual frontier.

"I don't know about you, but I'm getting out of these wet clothes," said Jen. Instantly she peeled off her wet dress. Because she hadn't been wearing underwear, she was now totally naked. Her small breasts almost blue from cold. The triangle of dark brown curls between her legs damp. She had goose bumps all over.

Without word, we followed her lead. I kicked off my wet shoes and took off my pants and shirt. We stripped in solidarity. 

We were all still shivering a little, but being drunk helped us think we were warmer than we really were.

"Oh I'm so out numbered," said Jen. "You two could just tie me up and have your way."

I knew her well enough by then, that she was using a private code between us. That she literally did like being tied up, and that was how she felt she could offer her permission to what was about to happen. I understood, and picked up my tie from the floor. 

I gently bound her hands behind her back. The knott was so loose, it could have fallen off, she could have easily slipped out, had she wanted to. 

Instead, she was enjoying now standing between us, her arms back, which made her little breasts stand out on her arched chest.

Since I had moved to bind her hands, I was standing behind her. Mark was facing her, looking up and down at her body. It was as if Jen and I were both offering her up to him.

"Where where we when we were so rudely interrupted?" said Jen.

Mark leaned forward and kissed her cold hard nipple. He resumed sucking on her breasts. I stepped up closer behind her and began running my hands up and down her spine, and over her goose-bumped bottom. The more Mark sucked on her nipples, the more she squirmed. Soon I had my finger pressing up against her backdoor again, and this was also causing her to writhe. She seemed completely taken in pleasure being lavished upon her from both sides.

As her knees got weak, we helped her onto my bed. Then we were moving around her, sometimes in front by her mouth, feeding a hard cock to her warm eager lips, or behind her, pushing in and taking her. We had her in every position we could think of, her hands still tied be hind her. She left us move her, bend her, open her up.

I don't remember falling asleep, but at some point I woke up because I had to pee. It was almost dawn. I woke up in my bed. Jen beside me. Mark was gone. 

I peed and then crawled back in bed. Jen was snoring very quietly, the way she did when totally exhausted and in a deep deep sleep.

I lay awake, unable to sleep, replaying the night in my head over and over. Had she really gotten herself off on the balcony as I finger fucked her butt? Had we really let Mark suck on her tits outside at a party? Had we really invited him home to share our first threesome?

Our clothes were in a heap on the floor. Had they really been wet? Had I just made up the sprinklers? 

I looked at Jen, naked in bed beside me, her body sticky with sweat and cum, her hair tangled. Her eyes blurry with sleep, and her face a bit puffy from hangover. Looking around, I soon spotted our tube of lube on the night stand, left open. I didn't remember that part. When did that come out?

Hours later, we were sitting at breakfast. I knew enough not to ask her any questions until a shower and at least two cups of coffee. I asked what had happened last night. She said that we had been on the balcony, and I had fingered her and made her cum as she rubbed against the stone. Mark had appeared and, yes, in a random drunken act, I had pulled down her top, the equivalent of "pantsing" her in front of Mark. 

But at that point her version of the story differed from my memory. She claimed Mark did look at her breasts, and was indeed fascinated by her nipple ring, but that she'd pulled up her top right away, and that was all that happened. Mark had walked home with us, and the sprinklers did start up, but we hadn't gotten soaked. 

We'd said goodbye to Mark, come back to my place, and then, said Jen, I'd had the idea to tie her with my tie and have sex with her. The whole time, she said, I was asking her to fantasize about if Mark had joined us.

"Don't you remember that?" she asked, joking, but also a little concerned.

Maybe I had been drunker than I realized. Maybe we both had. "Yes, of course I remember," I said.

I had one last question, and then I knew that I should just shut up. "We had anal sex, didn't we?"

Jen smiled. "It was wonderful wasn't it?" she said. "It actually worked this time."

I nodded. I still wasn't sure exactly what had or hadn't happened. Had Mark kissed her nipples or just gotten a free look? Had we invited him home with us, or said our goodbyes at the door?

To be honest, it certainly wasn't the first time my memory after a college party was a little "hazy," but the weird thing was that all the sensations seemed so real. Closing my eyes, I could still picture Jen with her hands tied behind her, one of us in front of her, one of us behind. It really felt like it had happened, so why did our versions of the night differ?

Was she trying to protect me, perhaps from an after-shock of jealousy or regret? Or was she protecting herself? Was she now sober, a little embarrassed or ashamed that she'd allowed herself to be tied up and fucked by her boyfriend and his friend?

I thought about this in silence, sipping my morning coffee.

"Don't worry," she said. "It'll happen again."