First Night

And now. A stranger is taking my husband to a place I never could. Effortlessly drinking his orgasm. Giggling along with him.

Polly swivels to face me as she pulls at the last of Paul's spasms, sliding her hand in long, firm tugs. Two hands in fact. Christ she's milking him. I brace myself for her gloating. But she undoes me with the sweetest, most livid blush, blooming from cheeks all the way down her neck. She averts her eye, staring at my feet.

This is not a cock-shy woman. If she's embarrassed now it's not because she's sucking my husband dry, it's because she's sucking him dry in front of me and knows it will upset me. My scowl melts from anger, to confusion. Her eyelashes flutter a peak back at me, then latch on. She smirks sheepishly and nods as if to say, "It's ok. I've got this."

Seriously, it's as if I've handed her a baby to look after. A woman-to-woman: "Don't worry, you can trust me." No gloating, no pride in my pain. Just... reassurance?

I am a fuckwit. Paul is a fuckwit. If Polly was angry with me, earlier, it was because I'd devalued her. I was projecting my own (dreamt) fantasy on her, and Paul was projecting his own (dreamt) insecurities. This is no affair. Polly's a professional. An artist. This is her job. We should be no more be jealous of her than of a Michelin starred chef.

She will do what we can't do. For our pleasure.

The realisation draws a smile over my entire body. I – we – need to relax and go with it. This could even be fun. Polly stifles a grin, challenging me with a cheeky flash of Paul's cream on her tongue. I wonder if it's in response to the rude tongue of my labia, poking out because I've hooked my legs wide apart over the arms of the chair. Just relaxing.

Paul tries to rise from the grave. "Mm-mm." She slaps his stomach. "You stay put till you're of use." She swipes a broad tongue from softening base to tip and sucks on, ignoring his feeble groans for her to stop, and pressing firmer to his spent, juddering udders.

Paul implores me over her nodding head. No hint of anger any more, that's jetted off with his semen. I think he thinks we're done!

Men.

Polly works languidly, braced over his raw body with a leg up on the bed, no doubt to rudely spread her puffy lady bits. As you do. I think Paul wants me to call an ambulance or something, but I've been where he is and he's just going to have to like it or lump it. Instead, I'm so swamped by a goo of lusty benevolence for Polly that I wriggle off my dress and knickers and slink to my knees behind the perverse creature's uninhibited display.

She might be on the job, but – like the best in any profession – she really does love her work. A glistening loop dangles in the fleshy dim beneath her. Is she aroused by my husband's orgasm, as I am, or horned up at her own genius? Whatever. I dip my head under, gathering it on my tongue. She grunts nasally on my husband's cock as I bury my mouth in her dewy pink blossom and sloop her juices over its fat, clitty stamen.

My own spot pulses as I lick hers, and Paul rumbles somewhere, so I guess he can see me. I eat Polly while my fingers diggle in my bits. I could cum in a flick of a finger.

I wonder if Paul's made the same decision I have: that all this is like some ten course taster menu at the flashiest restaurant money can buy and that, though Polly loves to tell us that she: "loves it all", she would never love us. And that's a good thing. He rumbles again as Polly shivers and moans on his cock and I remember he's a bloke. He's just glad of a meal.

Polly is in no hurry to cum – and I doubt Paul ever will again – but I'm stuffed full of over-oiled, overwound clocks. I multi-task to help speed things up, grabbing the base of Paul's cock and balls in our special way, so my little finger presses to his perineum. At the same time, I suck Polly's clit like a little cock. Some bugger is going to have to cum or I will.

I reckon I'm getting close, because Polly shudders and releases Paul. She makes a small creaky noise as she folds over her raised leg and hugs it. He's got his scaffold-pole back and is dead proud of it, too. Yes, well done, dear! But my lovely gentleman doesn't miss a beat, he's on his knees at Polly's feet, with very little coaxing (yanking on his cock) at all. He tips his head up to join me at the sloppy coal-face of her orgasm. So now, she's got two tongues at her: One from the back and one from the front.

I can highly recommend tonguing a wanton harlot with your husband. It is totally the most fun we've had in, well, ever, but a year at least. She whines, "Not fair," but we don't hear that. Our tongues run riot, squirming and slurping from clit to hole to her little pink knot, slipperily sliding over each other as we go; tongues, lips, labia and clit merging until I reckon it's not unlike snogging a squid.

I still have Paul's nethers in my special grip and he tentatively reaches out to mine. Silly bugger. I press him home and lock him there. It's so comforting to have his warm, strong hand stroking my pussy, that I actually meow.

He slides a finger in and matches my rhythm on his cock, curling it right where I need it, bang on, first time. I squirm on his hand and, in turn, slide two fingers up into Polly's slavering maw to replicate Paul in me, in her.

A clutch of caught sighs and whimpers and rumbles. A blood dark squish of wet wriggle and intimate plundering. Paul and I are lost in a kiss, passing this girl between our mouths, while we finger each other with that delicious deft expertise of long term lovers. I get my first threesome insight. In couple sex, as a woman, it's ok to let your partner make you cum. Actually it's kind of rude not to. However, in two-girls-and-a-boy, "triple" sex, it seems slightly rude to be the only girl letting go. Orgasms are given, not taken, and at it seems particularly grabby to be the only one enjoying herself.

Mercifully, Polly goes rigid between us, tremmors and screams, "F-Fuck!" then hops off us, hands clasped between her legs. "Stop-stop-stop! Too much!" She cackles and rolls back onto the bed.

I get a sting of irritation. I expected to do her better than that and secretly blame Paul. He has this raspy flatness to his tongue, sometimes. It all gets too sensitive. I was hoping he might take my soft-tongued lead and we could have done Polly proper. Taken her through the hyper-sensitive into the lovely warm cummy place. Then I could have cum with her, probably. And I am very needy.

Worse, without Polly separating us, Paul and I are left blinking at each other, faces a glistening horrorshow. We are dumped there in this unfamiliar situation and don't know what to do. She lets us sit like this for a moment, as if to prove the point that by cumming between us, she hasn't come between us. If anything, she glues us together.

"You." The pad of her foot all but slaps Paul's cheek. "Fuck me."

"And you..." She slinks along the bed on her back, beckoning me with a sly grin. "Feed me."

Paul and I don't let go of our old 'special places' on each other right away. He is still curled inside me and I beneath him. If we do as we're told now, we're both making the choice to do so. To give in to the harlot and see where we end up.

He leans over and kisses me, and the forgiveness in this has my heart pouring out into his mouth. Our tongues dance for joy. And he tastes of girl!

We jump to our allotted tasks. As long as Polly's calling the shots, then neither of us are to blame are we?

Paul takes Polly's little feet in his hands, spreads her legs as wide as bird's wings and slides straight to work between. She watches on her elbows, thrusting out her jaw, and maybe I'm just a doting wife but she seems genuinely surprised how well my thick-cocked hubby fills her.

"Fuck yes," she says and flops back, and I'm already there, standing over her face. "Gimme," she breathes and I slide down the upholstered headboard as slow as I can; making sure they both see just how splay-leggedly rude I am.

Then I hit Polly's hot mouth. And.

What is it about that girl's mouth? It's like an orgasmic whirlpool. A cum-guzzling monster. Paul pummels her, joggling the monster under me. Her lips and tongue are flickering wet flames. Time melts and drips down her cheeks and I'm balanced right there on the flip-flap of the tippety tip of her tongue, her hot hollow ready to gobble me up at her whim. And she knows it, she feels it, she suckers her lips to collect her reward, I cry out and...

Gotcha! Paul throws her leg over his shoulder, twisting her onto her side and she licks me sideways while he fucks her sideways and they're laughing at my curses while she yelps at the shove of his cock. I grab her head tight and grind on it, my legs porno splayed. Do me. Bitch, do me. My orgasm is a charging bull, snorting and pounding on my speeding heart toward me. Ready to hit. Ready to hit...

Olé! Paul flips her over flat on her front, pulls her legs together, and ploughs the furrow beneath her bum cheeks. Her top half is sprawled between my legs, face buried in me. I can lie back, at least. Oh at fucking last. I push my hips up. She burrows her mouth and...

God. God in the mirror above us. God in my hubby's heaving laughter. Everything bursts and dissolves together. Polly ignites me and attentively, exquisitely eats my climax; flares it up and sucks it up and flares it up again. I gawp at this shimmering marvellous creature. Her eyes closed, reading me by tongue alone. I wrap my feet around her neck. Grip her tight, and try to grasp the slippery tail of my orgasm.

Then it's gone.

And I'm back in the room. Polly searches my face as she kisses me down from orbit and I know she's calculating who needs what, now. Paul grunts, hard at work with the slap-slap-slap of his hips at her bottom.

"Your hubby... is a very good... fuck." She says, lifting on to all fours and raising a growl from him in doing so.

"I know." I kiss my taste off her lips and if there is a more delightful sensation than a beautiful girl kissing you while she is doggy-fucked by your hubby, then I'd like to know what it is. I really would. Tonight I might find out, too.

Paul is mightily attractive to me right now, a glossy pecked juggernaut with a rod of steel. Or Maybe the second opinion of a sexual expert like Polly has put a spell on me. Or Maybe it's like a crazy over-the-top post-fight fuck thing. Who knows? Anyway back to the naked people!

While you've been listening to me witter, Polly has pushed Paul onto his back with her irresistible booty. She's crouched athletically on his manhood and now they're laid open to me. A brand new private space between their knees. A playground of slippery piston and jogging bollocks and swollen clit. In a leery blink, I've got my gob all over it. Licking Polly when hubby's thrusting – with such force his balls whack me under the chin! – and licking him while Polly's doing her sex frog thing up and down his member.

Not that she can do that for long. Between Paul's pounding – he's sitting up now to watch his dirty wife work – and my suckling, Polly tenderises and melts. After a bit, she's just leaning back against his chest, eyes closed, mouth agape. Hubby and I are like the pervy King and Queen; we can't believe we're this good. Getting someone like Polly to cum again! We double our pumping and licking. But she must have some rule about letting go, because she takes these long puffs, says once, firmly, "No." And slides off my bloke, and my tongue. She slithers back heavily onto his chest, all jelly with the effort of calming herself.

Is it wrong that I lick her stuff off his cock, where I would never lick his? And that he thinks I'm doing him but actually I'm doing me? Slooping her long drips off his balls is so nastily sexy that I have my hands at my bits again.

He's quivering like a racehorse after his efforts, not to mention mine, and Polly must think he deserves a treat for all his hard work, because she shakily leans forward and swaps her hole for her mouth. We lick and suck him together, snogging over him whenever our lips meet, laughing as his bucking member tries to prod back into a hot wet hollow.

"Oh Ladies," he gawps down at us, "Oh, Ladies. Oh—hmff"

Polly splodges her sex on his gob, before he ruins the vibe, so now she's 69ing him even while I suck his base and balls. Lucky fucker indeed. Meanwhile, so much clitty action, while watching them fuck, has got me madly hole-hungry. I'm lying on my front and my hips are rocking at my hand, I need his loved-up, rock-hard beauty in me, and quick.

Polly senses it of course. She stops sucking him and sucks my face instead, pulling me toward her and away from the cock, which waggles below us like: "no!"

I straddle his hips and impale myself on that familiar and over-excited meat while Polly holds it still. The thick, deep filling plunges out a blissed "Oh!" right from my belly and makes Polly snigger. I don't care, my man hits every spot and she knows it. So does he, heaving up at me even as his tongue wriggles up into Polly. I try to mimic her athletic crouch but can't, collapsing onto my knees. We hug tight, panting in the crooks of each other's necks as my hubby works hard under us.

I'm in a different place. A place where bliss ebbs and flows and I can't tell the difference any more between cumming and not cumming. All the sex I have ever had was wrong. This is sex now. Every married couple in the world should have an expert in bed with them. A beautiful, fit, slip-of-a-thing leading the way while splayed on your other half's flickering tongue (and he's learned not to rasp!)

Paul takes my hips and rams me up and down and as I bounce, completely given over to him, I think: God, this is the best. Then I see his tongue darting up into Polly's flower and I think: no, that's the best. Then she flips her wet tongue around my nipples and groans and mutters, "F-ffucck" and I feel another cum rising and I know. This. This is the best, surely.

Paul's cheer is comically muffled as Polly and I cum together on top of him, grinding at both ends. But his glory is short-lived. Although it was no biggie, the sound of Polly's orgasm while I cum wakes up something deep in me. Something from the dream, and from our first night. A resonant feedback. Our sensations swap and even as we shudder from our climaxes we wilt toward each other's chewing hips as if to close the loop. We half roll, half tumble off Paul, our inverted fronts pressed together, faces locked between thighs; sucking more out of each other in our hungrily self-absorbed little sixty-nine.

I know this is being very rude to someone who has just given us quite a treat but we're lost. I have Polly where I want her, butterflied beneath my face and nuzzling up at my sex, and we are yanking the tails of our topsy-turvy senses. We have shape-shifted into one big blob; cunt at one end, mouth at the other, and are curled into a needy suckling circle.

I am dimly aware that Paul has been cut out, and wonder what he'll do. Then I feel a blunt intrusion at my hole...

If there is a better sensation than eating a beautiful girl, and being licked by her, while your rigid and unstoppable hubby fucks you doggy, then I'd like—fuck that. This is the best. This is just the best.

Polly gives us both a thorough going over like the uber-whore she is, just as I thoroughly do her and Paul thoroughly fucks me. The sensations on my clit and the deep slide inside seem to swell and join and become two sides of a throbbing heart where my sex used to be. My body trembles under the bloom of the biggest orgasm of my life. I try to mirror Paul in me, with increasingly uncoordinated fingers in Polly as I suck her. I know it must be a weak copy of what I feel but she has to share even a bit of it. She is cursing beneath us so I know she is close. This sets me off, and judging by Paul's grip on my hips, and his frenzied plumping at my rear, he's nearly there, too.

I hold on tight, not wanting to be the weakling who bursts first but it's too good. Polly's hole clamps on my fingers, her tongue quivers rigid at our bits and Paul wedges deep and roars. I let go, screaming into Polly. Just screaming. My body is tossed this way. That way. Impaled, sucked, smothered. I hang on tight to the wave of Polly's body as hot jets of pleasure erupt through me and I explode in all directions.

I rouse blinking, starfished on the beach of poor little Polly, while she stammers, "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." And Paul twitches against my bum, grunting. I can hardly move, all the power in my limbs has emptied out.

I heave to my elbows to take some weight off her, at least, kissing her flushed folds lightly while she makes a pervily lascivious noise at Paul's withdrawal. Something thick and warm rolls out of me and is followed by her cheeky tongue lapping around the aftermath. Paul jolts.

"Goodness," he says and I look down between my knees to find Polly's tipped back mouth around his idly pumping cock. She laughs and unsuckers from him to probe her tongue back into me.

"Polly. Please." I shudder. "Enough."

She smacks her lips. "Oh come on, sweetie, gimme it. He's done, but we can keep going."

She lunges again and I roll off her, flopped beside my hubby. She hops across us, sucking her lips, hair all over the place. "Later?" she says. "In the morning, maybe? I can't wait to show you some other stuff. I want to toss your man off onto your pussy – or into my mouth – so I can lick it all round your clit. A hot, creamy tongue is the best thing ever down there; I promise you on my life. You'll cum so hard that..."

I drift into a daze while she rabbits on with her foul combinations. Paul, I think, snores. I pat Polly's bottom to shut her up, and she squirms in between Paul and I.

"The drawing," she croaks, eventually.

"It's yours," I say. "I'll draw others."

"Don't be silly," she says to the reflections above us. Two long brown figures, one small pale one between.

"Yes, don't be silly," says Paul.

She snorts. I dig Paul's ribs. "Ok," I say, "Seeing as my art pimp won't let me give my own work away. I'll draw another for you. Of you. How about that? In fact, I'm going to start the next series with you."

Polly leaps to her feet. "A picture of me, for me?"

I beam at her. She leaps around her bed and slaps her thighs. I don't know if that's just because she's a real fan or because we've made her a millionaire. Both, it looks like.

"You do know what that means, don't you Polly," Paul mansplains. "The first of a series has to represent the last sex that Izzy has for a year."

She smirks, standing over us like a miniature Colossus.

"Just name a time," I gush. "Anytime. I'll take some photos and we'll get started."

Polly hunkers down, tongue curled out the side of her mouth. She kisses Paul's cock, then my clit.

"Now," she whispers.