One Night at Cavanaugh's

The green-eyed man held on a fraction of a second longer, then pulled me hard against him, his teeth catching my shoulder, holding not biting, shooting his load into me, and I could feel his cock, squeezed tight by the rolling, sucking contractions that were still pummelling him, hear his low, drawn-out groan as his fingers splayed out and dug into my thighs, both of us, I think, losing track of what was him and what was me.

For what seemed like a long time, the three of us just clung together, the two men sandwiching me tightly, both leaning in, four legs more stable than two, I guess. It took a while for the aftershocks to stop rebounding, for me to become aware that they were softening, shrinking inside of me.

I was, finally, I thought, satiated. Wrung out. Empty. Clean. Clear and transparent as a piece of glass. Barely there, to be honest. I could hardly make my arms lift and as they slipped out, the man holding me slid one arm under my back and the other under my legs, staggering both of us out of the bathroom and over to the closest bed. He half-fell onto it, getting a knee up in time to stop himself from crushing me, a long exhale as he manoeuvred himself around to lie along me gusting into my hair.

The blond wasn't far behind, but I didn't feel him collapse onto the bed beside me, because I was already gone.

~o-o-o-o-o-o-0-o-o-o-o-o-o~

There is something both utterly weird and completely comforting about waking up naked in a bed with a man's warmth and arms wrapped around me on both sides. Not that I'd done it enough times to make an empirical observation, but as a subjective opinion, I finally rated it eight out of ten. The two dropped points were because the men in question outweighed me by quite a large factor and I soon discovered I couldn't even turn over with them pressed up against me, one arm over my breasts, the other draped across my hips.

Lying there, cocooned and warm, it came to me that I love men.

I love their bodies. I love the way they feel and the way their minds work. I love the hardness of their muscles, in such contrast to the plush, soft feel of a woman's body (well, those who aren't attempting to turn themselves into Sarah Connor, T2-style). I love the way they smell. And taste. And their generally straightforward approach to sex. They're enthusiastic. They might hide their romantic tendencies, but they nearly always have them. And men who've been raised well, who take their responsibilities seriously and have that strong protective streak are the most gorgeous men of all. Given what I'd spent the last ten hours doing, it might seem surprising that I hadn't realised it before, but I don't think I'd given the matter much thought until now.

I stretched out as much as I was able, every muscle in my body soft and loose and relaxed, my skin feeling like silk and my mind in a Zen-like state of calm happiness. Pheromones, they reckon, the scientists who want to qualify sex. Pheromones, shmeromones, I say back. It's the honesty that makes for unforgettable sex. Wanting to give and take the most pleasure. Not being afraid of what anyone thinks. That's all.

Letting the previous night's memories trickle back, feeling the return of those tingles, those tantalising, tickling, trickling tingles, I let my hands wander over the bodies I was squashed between, stroking, smoothing, caressing and rubbing, watching their eyelids tremble when I touched a place that stirred a response, watching the muscles flutter a little under their skin when it was a hot spot.

I felt like a rampant, rapacious whoring slut, and it felt good. Before you think too badly of me, I'd like to point out in my defence that the now-departed-with-my-savings-ex had been ... well, to put it kindly ... unimaginative in bed. A few nipple twists, a couple of swipes with his tongue in the vague region and on top, in and out, all done in about five minutes. I hadn't had a satisfying orgasm with him for the eighteen months we'd been going out, and I hadn't an orgasm like those I'd had the previous night, inhibitions be damned, ever. So, as Stephen King once wrote, I was developing a greed for a mature woman's appreciation of good sex. Actually, I was developing a raging addiction for the way I'd felt last night, if you want to get technical about it.

It didn't take too long for the restrictions in my range of movement to become irritating, and I wriggled out from under their heavy arms and sat between them, indulging myself with their supine bodies, getting wet as I watched their cocks harden and twitch, their sacs fill and become round and distended.

I leaned over the blond's shaft and ran my tongue down its length, wrapping a hand around the base and sliding my other hand up and down the dark-haired man's rapidly engorging club of a penis. I switched back and forth, between them, slicking and coating them with as much saliva as I could muster, working those long cocks until the veins throbbed in them. Both must've been awake, or close to it by now but neither opened their eyes, hips lifting and jerking a little as they got closer, drops of pearly liquid spilling from the thick heads. I saw the blond's hands clutch hard at the sheets under him and squeezed and sucked, swallowing down the come as it pumped into my mouth, milking him out until he stopped moving at all, then I turned, my gaze lifting to the dark-haired man's face and seeing his eyes half-open, watching me as I took him down my throat, relaxing my jaw and sucking him in. He arched up, driving himself deeper into my mouth, his chest rumbling with a groan he didn't quite let out and I had to swallow fast, pumping him hard as his cock pulsed with each thick spurt over my tongue.

He fell back with a loud, gusting exhale, eyes closed, and I sucked him more gently, licking off the last of his come as I let him go, lifting my head to see his friend watching me, his expression unreadable.

"How the fuck is it that you're not married and chained to a bed?" the dark-haired man said after a few minutes. He propped himself on his elbows, looking down the length of his body at me.

"Who said I'm not?" I asked him, smiling lazily as I stretched out across their legs. I was horny again, deliciously, wantonly so, but in no rush. They'd last a lot longer now.

"I say," he retorted lightly, leaning forward and catching my wrist and pulling me up until I was lying beside him. "No way you'd be running around like this if you belonged to someone."

I made a face at him at the comment. "I belong to me."

His mouth stretched out in a slowly growing grin as he slid his hand down my body, curling his fingers between my legs, pushing them inside insistently. I shivered against him and the smile got wider. "I rest my case."

"Well, my last boyfriend ran off with the waitress from the diner," I told him, wriggling a little higher and sliding one leg over his hips to give him more access.

"Bullshit," the blond said, closing the gap between us and pulling me over to start lapping my breasts. "No one's that crazy."

I lifted my arms above my head, privately agreeing. "He didn't have the special skills to bring out what you two have," I told them, giving credit where it was due. "Darla's a better match for him."

"Darla? Seriously?" the dark-haired man muttered against the back of my neck.

"You heard it here first," I said, closing my eyes as the blond left a trail of fiery kisses down my stomach and pushed my legs apart, crawling between them.

"I take it back," the blond murmured, his tongue hot and soft as it flicked over my clit. "There is someone that crazy."

"Mmm," the man behind me said, rolling closer, his mouth closing over my breast, sucking it hard and pulling back to tug and graze his teeth over the nipple. I was so goddamned aroused by what they were doing, I had to retract my not-in-a-rush mental statement.

"You want to be fucked again, baby?" the dark-haired man asked, his voice deep and low and gentle, lifting his head as he rubbed the palm of his hand over my breasts, the calluses catching on the hard nipples and twisting them a little, the sensation sharp and languidly sensual at the same time.

"Yes," I moaned, my hips arching as the blond started to tongue-fuck and finger me simultaneously.

"Ask for it," the dark-haired man said, leaning over me, his breath on my lips, his eyes staring into mine. "Tell us exactly what you want us to do, and how you want us to do it."

"Oh god." I licked at his lips, wanting him to kiss me as deeply as the blond was tonguing my pussy. "I w-w-want-I want you to kiss me, I want-I want you fuck me, both together, I-I-I want you to touch me, and feel me, taste and lick and suck on my-"

That must have been detailed enough because he groaned softly and covered my mouth with his, thrusting his tongue in at the same time as the blond between my legs did.

The body has a lot of erogenous zones, some of which tend be pretty universal, some which are particular to each person. They hit them all, teasing out responses that shocked me, unmindful of each other's nakedness, brushing over and past each other without worrying about what was touching or rubbing against what. That was a surprisingly big turn on as well. The biggest, though, was watching their faces. They were very aroused, their concentration occasionally marred by that desire, by what they were doing to me. I don't know why that was a surprise, maybe because the men in my life till now had been more concerned with their dicks than the whole experience? Got me, all I know is that I was soaked and shaking with the need for them in what seemed a short time, and they were both rock-hard by the time they decided I was ready for them.

The blond rolled onto his back, pulling me on top of him, his arms wrapped around me as he kissed me. He was a good kisser, there was no doubt about it, but it didn't have the same effect as being kissed by the dark-haired man, and I tried to make sure that didn't show.

The dark-haired man's hands slid down my back, his breath light over my cheeks as he drew them apart and slid his tongue down the crease. I forgot about the relative merits of kissing as it reached my asshole, every part of me flushing with a turgid heat. I felt his hand between my legs, belatedly realising he had the blond's cock in it and was stroking the head against my pussy, my mental image of that just about tipping me over on its own. Under me, the blond was panting, his legs spread to give the other man access, and his eyes screwed shut as the dark-haired man guided him into me. He stayed still, the long length of him filling me, as the dark-haired man turned his attention back to my ass.

He slid one finger in, gently at first, then pushed it in further, and began to stretch me out. The blond rocked his hips slowly, his cock sliding in and out, in time with the finger, then it was two fingers, and then three and the rhythm got faster, more beat to it, and I felt myself starting that long process to liquification as that cock and those fingers stimulated those pleasure centres more and more deeply.

They say you have to be extremely aroused to enjoy double penetration and I'll vouch for that. There was no way in hell I could have been any more aroused than I was under the attentions of the two men, and I wanted - no, needed - them inside of me, filling me entirely from front to back. It was a yearning desperation, an insatiable itch, an unbearable, unendurable craving by the time the head of the dark-haired man's cock pushed up against my hole, wet with the cool stickiness of the lube. I pushed back against him and heard his soft chuckle, his hands spreading my cheeks as he pushed again, the lube slicking the entrance and my body welcoming his intrusion, impatient at his deliberate, slow progress.

He inched in as if he knew how maddening I was finding it, then relented, thrusting all the way in a long but not fast push, until I felt his hips against my cheeks and his balls against the cock in my pussy. I looked down at the blond, seeing his eyes darken, his cock nestled against the other man's inside of me, just a thin barrier of skin between them, heat and pressure surrounding them both. And I slid back on him, pushing against the cock in my ass, both men jerking a little at the move. Behind me, the dark-haired man started to pump, leisurely at first, lazily even, and then faster, and then harder and then pretty much everything dissolved in a tangle of paired and conflicting sensations, his thrusting driving me forward and pulling me back, the blond's cock sliding in and out of my saturated pussy to his rhythm.

As before, I got lost fast, although I didn't have the luxury of abandoning my body to the pleasure completely in this position. It gave me more control, I found, to push back harder, to speed them up or slow them down and I could rock my hips, from side to side or back and forth, twisting them inside a little, pulling at them. The blond's head scraped over the clump of nerves at the front of my pussy with every single breathtaking stroke, in or out, and the other cock was hitting a similarly sensitive area, somewhere deep inside that sent shocking reverberations detonating along every nerve I had and lit me up like a fucking pinball machine.

I wasn't expecting it, when the first temblors hit my cunt, and I started to shudder, my hips shaking as my body began to vibrate uncontrollably. I couldn't suck in air, my chest hitching as I struggled for every breath and every muscle surrounding those thick shafts started fibrillating along their lengths then spasming hard around them.

I could feel it, through a tidal wave of pleasure that kept coming and coming, submerging and drowning me, I could see it in the blond's eyes, snapping wide open as the staccato pulsations rippled up him, his mouth falling open, hips ramming convulsively into my thighs. I heard the dark-haired man cry out behind me, felt his fingers curl around my shoulders, yanking me back onto him as he came hard, and it made the rolling waves that were filling me up higher and wider, punctuated by high-voltage shocks that made me jitter between them.

Vesuvius? Krakatoa? Pinatubo? Defective fireworks in comparison. Just sayin'.

I collapsed onto the blond's chest, and the dark-haired man collapsed onto me, none of us moving apart from the involuntary twitches, trembles and panting that followed for what seemed like a long time afterward. Behind the blackness of my closed eyelids, colours were sparkling and exploding, I wasn't sure if that was due to the lack of oxygen, or the lack of blood to the brain. I can't say I cared much in either case. I wanted to stay here, preferably forever, my body warm, pinwheels of sensation crackling along the nerve ends and slowly, slowly dissipating, warm skin against mine, and the comforting, crushing weight of men on both sides of me.

Eventually, though, it stops being so comfortable. The dark-haired man rolled off me when his cock had softened, leaving an arm over my lower back. I straightened out my legs with some difficulty and eased myself off the blond, who didn't move at all, but whose chest did rise and take a deeper breath, the first one he'd been able to get for the last five minutes, I guessed.

I was surprised, very pleasantly so, when the dark-haired man's arms came around me and he pulled me close, his mouth feathering over mine, his tongue teasing my lips open. I wound my arms around his neck and kissed him back, feeling that feeling again, that half-sorrowful, half-yearning feeling from him, mixed up with the aftermath of sense memories of the last however long it'd been.

I opened my eyes to see him looking at me, his pupils still big, hiding most of the deep green irises, an expression in them I couldn't quite get.

"You get what you wanted?" he asked against my mouth, his voice soft and deep enough to drown in.

"Oh yeah," I told him honestly. "All of it and more."

Looking at him, it shocked me to realise I didn't want him to leave. I'd been kidding myself for hours that it was just sex, that he was an interlude, a passing ship, all those fucking clichés.

Some of it must have shown in my face, because his eyes widened fractionally as he asked, "What?"

I didn't know what to say. I didn't even know his name.

"You heading out today?" I asked instead, my brain feverishly thinking up more and more outlandish plots to convince him to stay a bit longer.

He nodded, glancing past me to the blond lying on the other side. "In a couple of hours."

"Could I get a ride?" I blurted out. "If you're heading for a city?"

He pulled back a little, his expression considering as he thought about it, then he nodded again. "Sure."

I thought of my car, filled with my stuff, and pushed it aside. Whatever it was, alchemy or destiny or something else, that made his kisses as intoxicating as fine wine, his touch as addictive as the most potent heroin, something in me didn't want to just let that go.

I didn't want to move but I got up, wriggling backwards off the bed and going to the bathroom. As I started to close the door, I heard the blond say, "You fucking kiddin', man? Your old man'll kill you if you take her along."

"Just a ride, Caleb," he said in response. "Not getting married."

"Just a ride, now," the blond said, his voice thickening with anger. "Then what?"

"Then we'll see."

I closed the door and leaned back against it, my heart pounding like a jackhammer against my ribs. Did it mean anything? I didn't know. What I did know was that I dripping their come on the floor, checkout was in an hour's time and I had to make a fast decision about my stuff. What I knew was that he wanted me with him, for however long and that, right now, was enough.