My First Threesome Ch. 02

And isn't that what the feminists said about blow jobs—at least the ones who used their feminism as a cover for their prudery? Didn't they talk as if guys wanted blowjobs because it but them in a dominant position and the women in a submissive one? That's bullshit, of course. Any guy could tell you that guys want blowjobs because they feel wonderful; it's just a sensation thing; it has nothing to do with the politics of dominance and subordination. But what I had never realized was the incredible sense of power the "blower" has. You're the one in complete control of the guy's pleasure. And you can turn it up to an unbelievable degree. That's power!

I decided to use that power actively again. I took Ben's stiff shaft back in my mouth. I think we both moaned as I did. As I worked in earnest on Ben's cock, I felt my own cock, rigid in my boxers. It was pointing straight up and the underside was rubbing against my underpants as moved my head up and down Ben's pole.

I kept one hand on the base of Ben's cock, but stole the other away from his balls in order to rub my own cock through my pants. We were both climbing the peak toward orgasms. My arousal had at least as much to do with Ben's as it did with the pressure of my hand against my pants. The level of my excitement was linked to Ben's. The sound of him breathing harder and the feel his hips writhing drove me up toward my own climax.

Ben exploded first, but the sensation of semen flooding my mouth pushed me over the edge quickly. Maybe I should have been ashamed, or at least embarrassed, about shooting my load in my pants. But the fact was that this was an incredibly intense orgasm. The moment was right for it and it would have been foolish to let it pass out of some silly sense of propriety.

I rolled away and collapsed against the couch, the taste of cum in my mouth and its scent filling my nostrils. I think Ben was slumped back in the couch, reveling in his own post-orgasmic glow.

We both lay there, lost in our own thoughts and feelings for some time. I began to come to my senses before Ben. I became conscious of the wetness in my underpants, as the load of cum I'd shot there cooled. And then, for the first time, I felt embarrassed. I didn't know whether Ben knew that I'd cum in my pants. Maybe, maybe not. But if not, I didn't want him to. And even if he did, I didn't want to display the stain that was on my pants.

I got up, mumbling some excuses about having to go home. Ben stopped me to tell me how terrific this evening was. I looked back at him, his legs still spread and his cock now wilted from my ministrations. I could still taste, and feel, his cum in my mouth. I nodded and said, "Yeah." And it was the truth, though a serious understatement. I grabbed my jacket and headed for the door. The exit was abrupt, but the awkwardness of a hasty exit seemed better than letting Ben see the growing wet spot at the top of my pants.

Fortunately, my jacket covered the spot as I walked back past the still overflowing bar to my car. I'd be home in 20 minutes, still a good hour before Lynn got home from her yoga class. I'd have time to throw my slacks in the wash with some other clothes and no one would have to know about this event, which I'd come to think of as highly embarrassing.

No one had to know but, as it turned out, I told Lynn all about it. She got home about her usual time for these evenings: about nine. I had the load of laundry (from which I'd washed my load of cum) in the drier by then and, as was my practice, I had dinner in the oven when she came home. It's not like I'm a great cook but nowadays there are so many surprisingly good things you can just pop in the oven that anyone can do a decent job. Thursday nights cooking always fell to me because of Lynn's yoga.

When she came in, she kissed me on the way to her shower. I had dinner on the table when she came out in her robe. Her hair was wet and, as always when it was wet, it curled wildly. Lynn looked incredibly sexy like this. All through dinner, I thought about getting her into bed early enough to have a good long fuck session.

I put that plan into action after dinner, suggesting to Lynn that we leave the dishes until tomorrow. She didn't need any encouragement. Lynn had a pretty high sex drive—intensified since last weekend—and yoga classes always seemed to increase her receptiveness.

We got back to the bedroom with our intentions quite obvious, even if not explicitly stated. But things got derailed. Lynn, who didn't have much undressing to do, flopped back on the bed in her robe while I got my clothes off. Idly and innocently, Lynn asked what I'd done this evening. I said, "Not much," but something in my tone or a momentary hesitation made Lynn pursue the issue.

Lynn and I have a very honest relationship. And over the past few days, I'd become even more trusting of the relationship. With little prodding, I told Lynn about my evening. At first I spoke very generally, saying only that Ben had called and I met up with him for a drink. Lynn asked questions, naturally—it would have been strange if she weren't curious about what had prompted the call and what we'd talked about. While I was irritated that this conversation had deflected us from the trajectory we had been on only moments ago, I wasn't about to simply cut it off. I don't think clamming up would have allowed us to get back on that path anyway.

So, I told Lynn that "one thing had led to another and I'd wound up giving Ben a blow job." I said it as casually as I could and I monitored Lynn's reaction closely. She seemed intrigued by it—not at all threatened, worried, or disgusted. She wanted to know how it happened. "One thing led to another" wasn't sufficient. And she wanted to know how I'd felt about it.

I filled her in and I tried to be reasonably honest about my reactions. I didn't want to make it sound like I was too into this but I didn't pretend that I disliked it. She seemed not at all put off by the fact that I had enjoyed sucking Ben off.

Then the pivotal moment: Lynn asked if Ben "returned the favor." I told her, "No," but didn't say more at first. She thought that was weird and was puzzling about when, without even thinking through what I was doing, I told her that I'd shot my load in my pants when Ben blasted off in my mouth.

"Oh, wow!" She said—and it seemed as if it was an expression of genuine surprise and, I think, excitement. "Wow! So you really ..." and she couldn't stop herself once she'd thought of it, "you really got off on sucking his cock, didn't you?"

We both broke out laughing. Not because it was particularly clever. We both knew that, as humor, this was low-hanging fruit. But it broke the tension and we—especially I—found great relief in that.

"So, you got off, but this guy," she said, reaching down to grab my cock, "didn't get much attention, did he?" Lynn stroked my cock and went from semi-hard to rigid in seconds. "That's too bad. This guy needs attention." She started to move down toward my cock. "Really, though, I like being the one to give it attention."

At that, Lynn's lovely lips were around my cock and I was in heaven. There's no such thing as a bad blow job, at least there's never been such a thing in my experience. But this was special: first, because Lynn was right that, while I'd gotten my rocks off—and it was a very intense orgasm—I hadn't felt the caress of another's touch on my cock; and, second, because Lynn's action gave me complete confidence that the incident with Ben hadn't changed our relationship at all. It was a demonstration of love and acceptance.

My plan had been to fuck Lynn crazy tonight. But that plan would have to be deferred until tomorrow. There was no way I was going to push Lynn off my cock and she had no intention of stopping before she'd finished me off. She wasn't trying to rush things. She liked drawing out my excitement. She planted herself between my legs and fondled my balls while she sucked my cock. Then she moved down and took each nut in her mouth and sucked on it very gently, because she knew I couldn't stand anything more. And, she lifted my sack and tongued me on the sensitive skin of my perineum. That always drove me crazy, and Lynn knew it.

When she had me in a complete lather and had teased me long enough, she looked up at me and said, "Now I want you to give me all that sweet cum. I want you to blast my mouth full of it." She wasn't going to get any argument from me, of course. When she wrapped her lips around my shaft again and began bobbing up and down my pole while she jacked it hard from the base, it didn't take more than a few minutes before I was giving her exactly what she'd asked for, and maybe more than she'd expected. It hadn't been that long since I'd cum at Ben's, but I seemed to shoot an unusually large load in Lynn's mouth.

After the storm had passed, Lynn crawled up next to me and kissed me deeply. For the second time today, I sensed the taste of cum, though this time it was only the trace that was left in Lynn's mouth. After a few minutes of very sweet and passionate kissing, we fell asleep spooning. For me, it was the sleep of the innocent, completely untroubled by the events of the last day, and the last week.