Bastille Day Ch. 07

Anna let my ball slip from between her lips and returned to arousing Marge. After a while, she tried to suck my other ball, but could only lick my puckered sack. When her mouth returned to Marge's clitoris, Marge's hands left mine and found Anna's head.

I already knew how good it was to feel a pussy squeeze my cock in response someone else licking it, but that had been a year ago - no, six months ago. After Christmas, with Liz and her brother, we had all done it, but it was being better than I remembered.

For Marge too? She was trying to hold still. Her feet slipped around my calves, her legs tense against mine, trying to control the twitches of her hips, as her moans became more aroused, and her muschi clutched my cock, my surging cock.

Oh, it was going to be good! I felt her hands clasp Anna's head tighter to her muschi, as her moans began to pulse with the uncontrollable twitches of her pelvis. My hips began to rock up. I hoped that I wouldn't come before she did.

It doesn't matter which of us started to come first; we both were, my cock spurting and her love juice flooding hot on my cock, being lapped up by Anna. I wished I could taste it. Marge's body was still convulsing.

It stilled, as she gasped and sighed with moans, both of us sighing with moans. The tension left her body, and I was aware of her weight on me. I heard Anna give a satisfied hum, apparently pleased with her success. I felt Marge's arms move a little and assumed that she was fondling Anna's hair in agreement.

But then Marge's hips twitched, and she exclaimed softly:
“Not again!”

I heard moist noises from Anna's tongue and felt it lick up the back of my cock, but only once. Marge exclaimed: “Oh, shit!” and I felt her muschi contract on my softening cock.

“Uhn-hnn!” Anna confirmed that it was going to be “again.” Marge's body tensed, her feet pressing against my calves, and I felt her shoulders move like they had before, when she had clutched Anna's face to her pussy. Her “not again” had just been a surprised response; she was accepting that Anna wanted to give her another orgasm, had to! Her pussy was already clutching again, as her pelvis twitched. My cock came back to life, but it was obvious that she was already about to be overcome by another orgasm. I clutched her chest to me and pinched and twisted her nipples.

It must have been good! It was almost frighteningly good for me to experience; her body convulsing again, as though it were trying to escape my grasp and that of her feet behind my calves, while she tried to suppress too loud whimpering moans and laughs. I thought she could have muffled them with her hands, but she was still clutching Anna's face to her twitching pelvis, despite her pained noises, apparently still wanting more. Finally, she cried out:
“Oh God! Enough!”

I felt her arms move and her shoulders shoved down, pushing Anna's head from her pussy. Her body convulsed again, and her pussy clutched my cock again. It twitched, but couldn't do more. Then all the tension left her, except for her heaving stomach as she gasped and moaned.

I heard Anna hum again, a chuckling hum, and felt her fingers jostle my balls. Despite the arousal of my cock in Marge's pussy, my sack was still slack, but I wasn't disappointed. Marge sighed a couple of times more, and then I felt Anna's fingers pull my cock out of her. They both chuckled. Then my cock was in Anna's mouth! “Oooh!” She sucked and licked, but then she raised her head and let it drop, murmuring:
“Oh, that too,” and I heard her slurp. Marge chuckled. Of course, her pussy was leaking!

However raunchy that looked, I wasn't surprised that Anna wanted to taste it; she loved to have me come in her mouth, and so did Marge, and I liked to kiss them when they had. She deserved to taste it after giving us both such good orgasms.

Marge raised her head and looked down her body, remarking:
“If you want it, you deserve it after that, but you deserve something else now.”

Anna had stopped slurping and snickered. I envisaged her grinning, maybe licking her lips. Marge's feet pressed against my calves to help her sit up - heavy, all her weight on my hips. As she leaned forward and got her feet on the floor, she said something in German. I only understood the word “Muschi.” Anna replied in German, sounding like she was agreeing. Marge rose off me.

I raised my head and shoulders, just seeing Marge and Anna's head as silhouettes from the light through the window, but it must have shown my face. Anna hummed - I envisaged her grinning again - and explained:
“She wants to do it to me.”
“Good idea, but not with my help, not like that again.”
“You just have to hold her,” Marge said, adding: “Move back, so she can sit between your legs.”

I did, sitting up, and Anna did, and Marge dropped down between our legs. With a chuckle, I reached under Anna's arms and overlapped my wrists, grasping her breasts. She chuckled with a nod, turning her head and offering an ear for me to nuzzle. Had Marge told her why I had to hold her, I wondered. It was obvious what she was going to do, but so that I had to hold - restrain - Anna?

Marge's mouth found Anna's muschi, eliciting the expected, delighted noises in response. They became more aroused, and my fingers and thumbs did what they could to help. Anna leaned back against me. Did she want to make her muschi more accessible to Marge, maybe also her asshole? I drew her back on me, lying on the bed. She agreed with a vigorous nod and “um-hmm!”

That was good for me too, for my cock, that had become aroused again from listening to what was happening - rather, of course, from my knowing what was happening. It enjoyed having space to extend. Would Marge notice and change her mind about my just having to hold Anna?

She didn't, and I couldn't tell if she did anything with Anna's asshole, but a different slippery noise and Anna's gasp and aroused moan suggested that Marge's fingers had slipped into her muschi. Definitely! That rhythmic wet sound couldn't be from licking!

It continued, and I knew why Marge had said that I had hold Anna; her hips were twitching up and down, as she drew her legs up and grasped her thighs and gasped and moaned, whimpering moans. I held her fast to let her hips move as much as they wanted to - had to from what Marge was doing. It occurred to me that her fingers knew more about the G-spot than my cock could.

That was a little consolation when Anna's orgasm reached its climax, but maybe it only seemed better than the ones we had had together because I wasn't distracted by my own. The wet noise stopped, but her body convulsed again. Then she let her thighs flop down, still sighing with long moans.

“That was for you,” Marge murmured. Anna just nodded.

Her remark suddenly suggested to me that she might be suggesting another orgasm: “for me,” or “for him,” or for us both, even a third one!? Anna had given her two orgasms. Did that also occur to her?

Anna gave a slightly questioning hum, and then her hand quickly moved down between her thighs. I felt her body jolt slightly on mine, as though something had pushed it up a little. She grunted softly and then nodded with an “um-hmm!” Her body moved again, and I realized that I hadn't noticed before that it had moved like that.

No wonder some brothels had mirrors on the ceiling, not that I had ever been in one. But the movement of Anna's arm suggested that she must be grasping Marge's hand and encouraging it to arouse her again. Again! Recalling her desperate sounding noises before, I suddenly found the expression: “a passion for pain.” Was wanting multiple orgasms masochistic?

But she wanted it, and got it, like Marge's second one, very soon, her arm jerking until it finally stiffened, and she cried out: “Gott! Genug!” [Hope I spelled that correctly. Sounded like she meant “enough.”]

Her body convulsed again, but stopped jerking on mine. She started to recover again. I was thinking that it was very interesting to experience a woman's orgasms without being involved. [My original choice of words was: “without being plugged in.”]

After a few moments, Marge murmured:
“That was for him.”

Anna nodded, still sighing. Then Marge murmured:
“And now for me, thank you.”

Anna's body jolted again, and she grunted. I felt her arm stiffen again, but her shoulder moved.
“Nine!” she complained. [I found later that “no” in German is spelled “nein.”] Marge didn't relent,

Are women sadistic when they have sex together? Or do they just know that they really want more - more times - than men can give them?

Anna's shoulder stilled, her arms relaxed. Or was her hand again encouraging Marge's fingers on her G-spot? They must have been; for a third time I had to restrain her almost violent convulsions, clasping one hand over her mouth to keep from waking the neighbors.

Anna rolled off me, curling up in a ball, fetal position, still moaning, like a small child. Marge discovered my aroused cock, and it disappeared between her lips. I didn't come as quickly as Anna had the last two times, but almost, and better - more - than I expected.

Marge hummed and rose up and crawled up over me, giving me a kiss and good taste of what I had given her. We both chuckled comfortably and reached out and rubbed Anna. She rolled back towards us, extending her legs and murmuring:
“That was unfair. At least you two did it again.”
“Marge did, thank you,” I replied.
“Didn't seem like you really minded, and I wanted to,” Marge remarked, adding:
“Besides it looked so frustrated; couldn't let it stay that way.”

We all chuckled. Marge reached over me and fondled one of Anna's breasts. We all moved around on the bed, and they both rolled closer with a thigh over mine and my arms under their heads, and we fell asleep. One of them must have pulled the light covers up over us when we changed positions later in the night.

When I woke up in the early morning, my arm comfortably around one of them, I did have an erection, but only because I needed to go, and had to disturb them as I got up. When I returned from the bathroom, I was a little surprised to find that they had rolled together. When I raised the covers, they rolled apart and complained that they also had to go and got up.

Back in bed together, the two of them together, since I had moved over, we all chuckled, agreeing that we couldn't - shouldn't - try to do that again. I was surprised when Anna then said something about it being a pity that Sans-culotte didn't have a female companion. Marge seemed to have understood her remark better than I did, asking with a snort:
“You want to help him?”

There was a short pause before Anna replied:
“Wouldn't you? I guess I was thinking of that.”
“Why not?” I responded, adding: Marge also thinks he is nice.”
“But I wasn't thinking about that.”
“Why not? Either of you? Hm-hm-hmm! If we don't want to do that again?”
“You want us to?” Marge asked.
“Hmm! That didn't sound like you objected to the idea.”
“Hmm? Maybe not.”
“I would,” Anna replied after a moment, adding:
“If you both didn't mind; I'm your guest.”
“But not with any obligations,” Marge replied.
“If you want to,” I agreed: “ … but I'm not going to tell him.”

We all chuckled. I snorted and added:
“Maybe just that you both think he needs a companion.”

They chuckled again, but it sounded like they understood my implication that I had no problem with thought of one of them sleeping with him. I didn't, but mostly out of curiosity if it could happen, There was another brief pause, then Anna asked Marge:
“Have you ever slept with a French man?”
“No. You think they're different?”
“Hmm? Probably not, just - you know - Latin lovers.”
“Sounds more like Italians or Spaniards.”
“I guess so.”
“Before you ask, not one of them either.”

I had to chuckle at their conversation, and again, when Marge added:
“Oh, once - no, twice - with a guy in college with an Italian name, but he wasn't any better than the others, just macho talk.”

Anna and I both snickered. I suggested:
“Couldn't expect his “papà” to tell him how to be one in bed.”

Anna and Marge chuckled. Then she replied:
“And the macho talk wasn't that good either - with hindsight. Hm-hmm! I expect Sans-culotte's bite would be better than his bark.”

We all chuckled and then decided to get up, agreeing that we needed showers. When they both looked at me, I avoided the question of which one might take hers with me, remarking:
“I'll watch you two first.”

They glanced at each, snorting with nods and slight smirks, and preceded me to the bathroom. I sat on the toilet and offered to mop up the floor. It was obvious that they enjoyed washing each other, their glances including me in their fun. When one more than washed the other's breasts and then her pussy, that one would grin at me with a hum, maybe more for my entertainment than because it was really arousing. I fondled my soft cock and slack balls to show my appreciation. I handed them their towels and watched them make a show of drying themselves, grinning as they fondled their own breasts - not always using their towels.

I started my shower, closing the curtain, but one of them pulled it back, so I tried to make washing my cock and balls more interesting. Marge chuckled and remarked:
“It likes it better when I do it.”
“When I did, too,” Anna agreed with a grin.
“Of course. It doesn't like an audience when I try to do it that good.”

We all snickered. I pulled the curtain back across. They both laughed and both said: “Don't!”

I didn't, of course, finishing my shower and shaving. They had mopped up the floor and left the bathroom when I opened the curtain again. When I joined them, for a moment I was surprised that they were still naked, not putting on something to go to breakfast like the previous summer.

Anna was rubbing the fuzz on her pussy and remarking that she would have to shave again. Marge replied that she had waxed before the trip. When they glanced at me with slightly wry smiles, it occurred to me that despite what they had both done the night before, taking a shower together somehow had led to a different level of intimacy. I grinned and remarked:
“I am not going to, either way, no matter how many shaven mens you look at.”
“They look too self-consciously naked,” Marge replied. Anna nodded, remarking:
“Maybe when only a few women did, they looked like that too, but now the few with hair seem the odd ones.”

I nodded and said:
“Besides, artists and sculptors have always liked to show women without, but the men, always with. You both look like artists' models.”
“Not so sure about that,” Marge replied, feigning a scowl.
“You do; stop fishing for compliments.”

At breakfast, we chose to sit with others from our group. They were polite enough not to say anything about the three of us, just greeting Anna and saying that they remembered her and that it was nice to see her again. Then we talked about our project. One of them had watched the race on TV the previous afternoon and described that 10 km before the finish there was an inflated arch over the road and TV cameras covering the scene, apparently some waiting there, not just the ones traveling with the racers. We all agreed that that sounded hopeful for coverage of our flash mob.

We spent the rest of the morning with them and others from our group. Anna thought to separate herself from us to avoid possible questions about our menage à trois. From a distance, I watched her politely fend off the interest of a couple of young men, feeling flattered that they found her attractive and that she had. Marge remarked: “Of course, she did,” but we agreed to tell her that she could do whatever she wanted.

When she rejoined us at lunch, I said something about its being nice that she had met other younger people. She grinned and replied:
“They spoke French, and I pretended that I didn't understand them - mostly true. That discouraged the first one, but the next one could also speak English; had to tell him that I was already with someone. Hm-hmm! If he sees us here, he will probably be surprised.”
“With Daddy and his girlfriend,” Marge suggested with a smirk.

We all glanced at each other in response to her remark. Anna nodded with a smile and replied:
“Maybe next time, if someone asks. Kind of fun teasing them.”

I returned her smile and then replied in a more serious tone:
“You don't have to just tease them, if you don't want to.”

She gave me a surprised look, seeing Marge nod in agreement to what I had said. Her lips moved, a wry expression - not a smile - as she hesitated a moment, then replying:
“I told him I would be with you. Hmm! Didn't mention you.” She glanced at Marge, continuing:
“And like I wrote that time after he and I first did, it would be different with them - one of them.”

I nodded, remembering her delightful email about the first time with her father.
[Posted on Literotica last year: “He wanted to see more of me.”]

Marge nodded and replied:
“That's nice; we just wanted to tell you that.”

Anna nodded with a sweet smile, then snorted and whispered:
“I'd be more tempted to with Sans-culotte.”

Marge grinned with a nod, and after a glance at me, replied softly:
“I would be, too.”
“Help yourselves,” I remarked, grinning, adding: “I'm all in favor of younger women preferring older men - as long as I am included.”
“You are!” Anna replied immediately, Marge nodding with a grin.

We all chuckled and returned to eating. After lunch, we lay in the sun, the two of them together, and I on the other side of Marge, to avoid too much speculation about our threesome. At first, we lay on our backs with full stomachs, almost dozing. I was, at least, but maybe they weren't, perhaps more aware of passers-by. As I had observed on previous days, single men did discretely wander about. Maybe single women also did, but I hadn't noticed them, and they couldn't have been interested in me, especially not in my company.

When Marge and Anna turned over, I also did, enjoying a glance at their round asses. I dozed off again. I was stirred by Anna's remarking softly:
“I think I've had enough sun for a while, before my bottom gets burned.”

I raised my head and saw that she had propped herself up on her elbows. When I did the same, she smiled, seeing me look down her body at her round bottom. The line from her bikini was still obvious, but it didn't look like the rest of it was in danger of getting a sunburn. Marge only raised her head, still turned to Anna, to remark:
“Maybe a good idea. I'll be fine.”

My glance confirmed that her better tanned ass could take a lot more sun. Anna got up and left with her towel, and I settled back down. Marge turned her face to me, smiling slightly. I smiled back, and we lay there for a brief while. My eyes had closed again, when she murmured:
“Maybe you should worry about your 'bottom' too.”

She was right; it was about as pale as Anna's, all of it, since I certainly had not been wearing the kind of brief shorts some men in Europe wore.

“Maybe you're right,” I agreed, opening my eyes. Only when I saw her smirking at me, did it occur to me that she could be suggesting that Anna wanted company. Had the two of them smirked at each other before Anna spoke, or after she did?

“I think so,” Marge replied - just to what I had said, or also to what her smirk had suggested to me?

“If you say so,” I agreed and began to get up. When I started to pick up my towel, she said:
“I'll be alright, but leave your towel; makes it look like I'm not alone.”