A Summer with Gina

"How much spunk came out?" gasped Claire as she examined her smeared fingers. "Bloody hell," she added, jaw slack, "he's filled you to the brim with this muck."

Gina laughed and gurgled at Claire to lick her clitoris. She sat up, arms behind her, hands against the bed while she kept her thighs casually splayed. "Suck my pussy," she crooned. "It's my turn to come." Gina's pelvis moved back and forth, her need obvious in the tone of her voice and the yearning in her expression. "Please, Claire, do it to me. I want to come."

Claire managed it, all right. She got to it with fingers and tongue, my jizm squelching and farting around her digits when she probed and rubbed hard at Gina's insides.

I could tell the girl was getting there by the way her eyes glazed and her mouth hung slack. Her hair curtained her face, Gina's head lolling while her hips jerked and she forced herself onto Claire's hand.

"Oh, fuck," Gina mumbled at me, the words coming out curdled with yearning. "I'm coming, Andrew."

And then, with a waggle of her fingers, Gina's look and tone of voice causing a resurgence of desire in the flaccid giblet between my legs, she implored me to kiss her as she rode the wave.

It turned out that the expenditure on the boutique hotel was wasted. We spent the night with Claire, the two women sharing Claire's bed while I, drained and exhausted by another energetic round, occupied a more than adequate double bed in a second bedroom.

The following day Gina and I rendezvoused with Claire on the beach after a quick visit to the hotel to shower and change and collect our things. It was a nice time, with me sharing a picnic with two lovelies in bikinis beneath a high blue sky. Later on that afternoon, when we returned to Claire's house, I spent a very memorable time fucking into the curvy older woman from behind, her big tits swinging, a white bikini bra dangling redundant by its cord around her neck.

We did it in the kitchen, with Gina getting me off with her hand and mouth, jizm squirting onto her tongue as I grunted and gasped my pleasure.

"You filthy mare," gasped Claire when Gina let ejaculate slip from her lips.

The girl winked and smirked, enjoying the effect of her lewd display, semen sliding over her chin, dollops of the stuff plopping onto the tiles.

"You should kiss me now," Gina responded, smearing goo over her chin. She winked at Claire, the mature lady merely rolling her eyes and tutting.

"When do you have to leave?" Claire asked.

"Here or England?" Gina replied, frowning.

Claire chuckled and said, "Both."

The girl shrugged as she rose to her feet. "I have lessons on Monday..."

Claire grimaced, obviously disappointed. "And when do you go home to Russia?"

"In a few weeks."

Claire then turned to me and, ignoring my nudity and slackening cock, asked, "Will you be coming down here again?"

I glanced at Gina but directed my words to Claire. "Well, we could. There's the dog to think of--"

"Bring him down, too," Claire interjected quickly. "You can stay here again with me. I've got plenty of space. A dog won't make any difference"

"I would like that," Gina put in, the back of her hand smearing spunk over her chin.

So that was it, settled. It seemed I was sharing the girl with Claire.

And, oddly enough, I didn't really mind the arrangement.

Seven

September

We visited Claire three weekends on the bounce. A strange kind of domesticity crept in to the relationship. It was all so casual: we would make love as a troika, with me enjoying the physicality of both women. Gina would sleep with me on one night while sharing Claire's bed the next.

Gina and I might begin a spontaneous round of frantic sexual activity, with Claire often joining in, and sometimes I would go back to the house after being out with Buster to find Claire and the girl using tongues and fingers and Claire's sex toys on each other.

There was never any independent action between Claire and me. Whenever Claire and I were involved, Gina was always a part of it.

Later on, when Gina had gone home to Russia and I was analysing the events of the summer, it occurred to me that our time together as a triad was therapeutic. In a way it helped me get over my obsession. I came to realise Claire's involvement in the situation went a long way to exorcising my juvenile case of puppy-love.

In short, Claire's intervention helped me see things clearly, and while I was upset to see Gina leave, her departure wasn't the total devastation I had originally envisaged.

Of course that came later. At the time I was still enjoying the days of summer we had remaining, the three of us, together --four including Buster. Although the dog's involvement was limited to walk's along the prom.

I had thought the experience of helping a beautiful young woman to a climax was a thing of the past, but during those final weeks I witnessed the girl coming innumerable times. I would watch her face as the joy took her, soaking up the detail of her muscles taut with effort, her thighs juddering, her eyes closed while her mouth hung slack. The sounds she made will stay with me. Hearing Gina moan and gasp and murmur her delight always sent a thrill through me, while feeling her body clench around my girth never failed to draw me towards the surge.

Kissing her while pouring my desire into her pussy, our tongues writhing as jizm spurted deep was another delight.

But I wasn't in love with her. I loved Gina as a friend and companion, but there was no longer that melancholy attachment I'd mistaken for romantic love.

Still, the early morning at Heathrow airport was a sad one for me. We left Claire's house at 5 in the morning for Gina's 8:55 a.m. departure to Omsk via Moscow, driving up to the M25 motorway in Claire's old Mercedes.

All the farewells had been made the previous night, with little sleep to be had since we were all so keen to wring every last drop of pleasure from being together.

By then, after several weekends, Claire and I had arrived at a new level of intimacy. We no longer saw the need for condoms. She accepted my seed with the same enthusiasm shown by Gina, with neither woman showing any reluctance to get right down and lap at one another's sex as the stuff seeped out.

We arrived at the airport and there were a few raised eyebrows at the baggage drop when Gina gave both Claire and I a final and very fervent kiss.

Gina kissed Claire with as much passion and enthusiasm as she showed me, her tongue sliding into the other woman's mouth while she moaned with apparent longing.

"Goodbye," the girl sighed, eyes glistening with the threat of tears. "I will miss you both very much."

Then she was gone, her pert derriere packed into tight jeans the enduring image seared into my mind while the scent of her lingered on my shirt.

It was an awkward moment that followed.

I looked at Claire, almost shy, suddenly lost for words now the common denominator was gone.

"Looked like it could be a nice day," she commented.

I pulled a face of agreement. "Yes. I noticed on the drive up."

Claire looked at me and shrugged. "Might be good to go to the beach. I could wear that white bikini?"

Following a quick look at the gate through which Gina had walked, I turned my attention to Claire. "She'll be back at Christmas, right?"

The woman nodded. "You're paying the fare. I hope she's gonna come back."

"White bikini?" I asked.

Claire smirked when I deliberately surveyed her impressive frontage. "Yep. You don't have to rush home, do you, Andrew?"

I returned the grin and said, "It'd be good to spend some time with you, Claire. It might take the edge off her going. I could phone my sister. I'm sure she'll be okay to look after Buster for another day."

Claire's raised eyebrows emphasised the point. "Or two?" she asked.

"The beach sounds good." I offered her my arm. "I love that white bikini."

"I know," Claire replied, slipping her arm through mine.