Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Consensual, Heterosexual, Fiction, Group Sex,
Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - A first date turns into a threesome and ... (more to come, so to speak).
Things with Bronwen started off on the wrong foot. I was still relatively unaware of the women's movement and made the joke that if feminism won we would be forced to use unisex bathrooms.
"That's sexist," she replied to my joke.
This plane ride, I had discovered since my freshman year, was a great way to meet women. Sometimes something came of it, sometimes not. They said women need men like fish need a bicycle but I can vouch that some bicycles attract more than one fish.
In any case, Bronwen was going into the "not" column, I thought, until she actually offered me her number.
I waited the requisite three days, rang her up and she invited me for dinner at her place. She lived in a quarter of the city known as the "student ghetto." Never palatial residential row houses had been hastily refurbished to break up a family dwelling into small, one-room apartments with a tiny kitchenette and bathroom. They went cheap. I had a similar place a good ten-block hoof away.
During the cold walk there I composed the witty dialogue I would use to entrance her. No jokes about women. She had casually said she was having a friend over and maybe we could play a board game. Anything. My goal was to slake the desires of a groin that, although cold because of the snow and ice, had its needs. To my aid, I'd bought a bottle of wine. A little alcohol, a little joking around, she'd ditch her friend and...
When I got there, however, it was hard to decide who was more beddable, Bronwen or her friend.
Bronwen was a slim, blue-eyed young woman with the long brown hair of a folksinger framing an oval face whose pulpy lips I just knew could kiss up a storm. Roberta's hair had been coiffed to a fuck-me fake blonde, her former curls flattened, it looked like tinsel; however, she also had blue eyes and good lips, as well as, underneath her tight turtleneck, a buxom figure that cried out to be explored.
The personality department would decide who would be the bedmate.
Unfortunately, both turned out to be interesting, good conversationalists. In addition to the game, the jokes and the wine, a joint Bronwen generously passed around convinced us all that we were stellar and hilarious. As for munchies, well, we were there for dinner. We sat cross-legged on her purple shaggy rug, busy strutting out our best repartee to impress one another when, seemingly out of nowhere, Roberta leaned over to Bronwen, put an arm around her shoulder and smacked her lips in what was an unmistakable romantic kiss.
Now this was not in my script.
Bronwen put an arm over Roberta and kissed her back. Again, this was unmistakably passionate. They began making out a hurricane right in front of me. Was this my cue to leave? Should I have another glass of wine and enjoy the show? Should I harrumph as if to call attention to the fact that my anatomy could better fulfill what theirs had to offer?
I sat agape. Not a word crossed my lips.
It was surprisingly sexy: two women making out, two pairs of breasts rubbing against each other, two female bodies twisting each other in passionate knots ... you get the idea. Were their nipples standing at attention? I knew vaguely the theory of what lesbians did with each other ... hey, were they lesbian? ... but try as I might I could not put myself in their shoes. I could only put myself invisibly between them, their sweat and heat arousing me to drilling hardness. But how did this work?
A combination of these and other thoughts were going through my mind when they both turned to me, as if I had spoken. Had I?
"Aww," Roberta said. "He's all alone there."
Next thing I knew, they were each at one side of me, kissing and caressing me all over. I fell back and they continued, taking turns at my mouth. I had been right: Bronwen could kiss up a storm. Roberta nipped at my throat, went up my cheeks.
I just went with the flow. The kissing and caressing and rubbing went on for a while until Roberta interrupted to ask Bronwen, "Do you know how to give a blow job?"
Now, OK, I was no virgin. But I didn't think I knew anyone who would do that. That was for prostitutes, right?
"Oh, sure," Bronwen replied. "You want me to show you?"
Then she turned to me. "You wouldn't mind, would you?"
Mind? Mind? "Oh, of course not. But could we all get a little more comfortable?"
A new scene had been written into the script. So what? A good director adapts, right? We disrobed and climbed into Bronwen's spacious queen-size bed. I was the corpse, Roberta was the med student, Bronwen the experienced doctor. Let the lesson proceed.
"First, you caress it a little, to warm it up." She took my penis in her hand and ran it up and down in masturbatory fashion, but very gently, enough to titillate but not to engage the throttle.
"Then you lick around the balls. Make sure the guy has bathed," then turning to me, "You bathed, right?"
Of course I had bathed. I'd planned to fuck, for fuck's sake! "Uh, yeah, this morning."
Bronwen shrugged. "Good enough."
Then I saw her mane descend on my groin, felt her hand lift my penis gently and the tip of her warm and wet tongue slide first around the edges of my testicles. Using the full flat surface of her tongue, she lathered one ball.
Roberta's tinsel came down on my right ball. She did the tongue-tip bit around the edges, then she attempted to gobble my testicle.
"Ow!" I cried out.
Roberta halted, her mouth loosely pocketing my right testicle.
"You've got to be careful. They're very delicate there," said Bronwen, laughing. "Big strong men, but touch their balls and they're babies. You, OK, Fred?"
Fred was OK. It was a technical glitch. On with the show, please!
Roberta got better. Bronwen was already good. Each slowly stirred the sperm sacks. Bronwen leading, they proceeded to the base of my penis, first the two tongues circling, then touching one another, playing a peek-a-boo game climbing up what was quickly rising to become the Leaning Tower of Penis. The caressing by two tongues hardened my cock pleasurably.
At that point, they reached the rim of the cockhead and the glans. My balls began to boil. Did I want to come all over them?
"Slow down a bit there," I said, "or the lesson will be over real quick."
They laughed but were not entirely dissuaded. Bronwen ran her tongue just under the rim, providing a tickling shot of pleasure I'd never experienced. Roberta imitated. Bronwen then took my penis like a handle, opened her lips and took me into what felt like a vagina that did all the pump work, plus sucking, tongue touching, alive and welcoming, pulling me into a near-orgasm as I felt that almost imperceptible ooze that precedes it.
She stopped. She must have known. "Now you."
Roberta's mouth was smaller and tighter. This felt more like a fuck. I wanted to guide her head.
"If I may... ?" I gestured with my hands. Bronwen, the teacher, nodded.
I lay my hands on Roberta's tinny hair, took her head by each side and began to power it up and down. Every time I seemed to go deeper. Roberta seemed to get into it and speed up. We began going and I was almost there.
"Aaagh!" She choked. Swiftly she pulled out. "I couldn't breathe."
Bronwen smiled. Without a word she took my slightly deflated penis and started up again. Bronwen's actions needed no hands. She was a one-woman suck-o-matic 7000. Oh, oh, oh! Then she stopped.
"Poor guy, let him come," Roberta complained. "Let me do it, I want to taste him, anyway."
Roberta took over, this time more energetic, and I let her go without manual guidance. By now Mr. Tower was more than ready and it wasn't long before, as she pumped her head up and down, running her tongue all over me, pressing and sucking, her warm wetness a passionate invitation, I felt the staff of life fill up then release a jet of sperm into her mouth. She let me slide out.
"Yummy, here taste," Roberta said, kissing Bronwen in the Frenchest of all French kisses. That was ... um ... unexpected. Now they were making out with my sperm in the middle.
"Not too tangy," said Bronwen, periscoping up for a moment, her eyes smiling at me. "Just right."
They stopped and we three lay entwined together quietly. Bronwen thought the occasion called for another joint. She must have had the rumored aphrodisiacal qualities of cannabis in mind. I did.
Indeed, having passed around and exhausted the peace pipe, it wasn't long before we began to kiss and caress whomever and wherever in a delightful romp around the universe of bodily passion. One moment I was kissing Bronwen on the mouth while she fingered Roberta and Roberta literally kissed my ass. Next, my mouth was on Roberta's nipple while she tongued Bronwen's genital lips. And on and on until the moment of truth came.
Always the leader, Bronwen mounted me, took my penis, now fully recovered and ready for action, and slid her wet and open cavity over me like a glove. Her Martini glass breasts jiggled as she began to pump. She closed her eyes and pumped harder, trying desperately to come. She grabbed my hand and put it on her clitoral button. I applied my thumb and forefinger, rubbing her wetter and wetter as she moaned louder and louder. She shook, cried out, then stopped.
I had had to fight hard not to come. After all, I still had Roberta to service. Nonetheless, I went up to that apex and glimpsed the bright lights. Only will power stopped me.
Roberta and I chose, wordlessly but by common accord, for me to climb on top. I penetrated her easily but she was spacious. Either my cock was not among the largest in girth, a downer, or her pussy had been petted on so many occasions that it had stretched; I chose the latter, suddenly anxious that I was not wearing protection, but not anxious enough to prevent me from giving her a long series of good humps, until her eyes closed, her teeth clenched, and she shuddered and shouted out her release. I came within seconds after.
I slid off her and lay back, sinking into an almost ecstatic afterglow with a sensation of utter well-being and peace, of pleasure in almost every cell of my body and at the psychic core of my soul. They must have been somewhere near or about that state, too, because not a word was said for ages, until we moved into a group cuddle in which we fell asleep.