What to Wear to Your First Threesome

They dropped the man off uneventfully and drove on. Her eyes lingered on the image of him receding ever smaller in the side view mirror wistfully until he vanished from view around a bend, leaving her with a yearning and a renewed sense of optimism that returned her to their carefully anonymized profiles to review matches. Even if it couldn't be him, his mere existence proved that somewhere out there, there was someone.

And boy, was there ever. It didn't happen right away, but one day in late autumn, she tripped across a prospective match from a familiar gentleman with a kind, broad smile. Of all the towns in all the world, what are the odds Mr. Man with a Stable Career would settle in one 20 miles from theirs? Close enough for sex. Far enough to avoid running into him if it didn't work out. Swipe. Message, message, message.

For him, what a pleasant shock: that couple - who would have thought?

Schedule. Wait. Think and rethink again. And again. Touch yourself to the thought, until a week out, when you start saving yourself for the big night.

"Are you excited?" her man asked. He'd read somewhere that it was important to check in with your partner before and after. Exercise care.

"Yeah."

"Not very convincing."

"I don't know. A little nervous, too." A lot nervous, still.

"You know," he told her, "You can call a halt at any time, even in the moment. You're in complete control."

It didn't put her at ease. She didn't need the reminder. The woman always has final say. Duh. You know...her pussy, her rules. The privilege and the burden. That's why, whatever happens, it's all my fault. If it turns out his fragile ego can't deal with seeing another man's dick in her pussy, it's she, not he, who will be the greedy little slut. If she pulls out (ha - that's a first!), he's not going to be not disappointed at his little fantasy falling apart.

"That's not half as reassuring as you think it is."

"I mean, any of us can pull out at any time..."

"Okay, nice to not feel quite so alone, but choice of words?"

"...but we each have to make our own decisions," he finished, "I can't make yours for you."

"Just tell me you're nervous, like I am."

"I am," he lied.

He was already living in that future moment that this whole night spun around, the moment when she has dissolved into a puddle of want, her yielding confines outlining a hunger that her hips are trying desperately to satisfy, voraciously swallowing him in search of that something sublime that will tip her over the edge of ecstasy. She will destroy them both. She will milk the last lingering vestiges of self-control from him until he loses himself inside of her, leaving her on the precipice of yawning despair.

In that moment of raw hunger, he finally has his prize, and there is almost nothing he won't do to give her everything she wants, almost no help he won't invoke to coax the sated gasp that escapes from between her lips, when her body stretches to the line dividing pleasure from pain, and the line melts away.

It would all unspool backwards from there, in a series of scenes carefully choreographed and rehearsed to perfection in his mind. He knew every move he'd make. He had the perfect role for the other man.

--------

At the front desk of the hotel, they were ensconced in the bubble of mirth that surrounds people who have a juicy little secret. She draped herself on his arm affectionately, as he checked in, turning to her every chance he got with a giddy grin, like they were two illicit lovers sneaking away for a tryst, while the clerk tried hard not to roll her jaded eyes. When they got to the room and opened the door, he followed on her heels, like a puppy dog. He hung back in the entryway, as she checked out the scene, trailing her fingers along the hallway wall, depositing her bag on the bed on her way to staring absentmindedly out the window, before shutting the brocade curtains resolutely shut.

"I'm gonna get ready," she announced in no one particular's direction.

He rather expected she might remove herself to the bathroom and shut the door, but no, she pretended he wasn't even there. Standing right where she was as he looked on, she placed her graceful fingers on the waist of the jeans hugging her hips maddeningly tight, undid the buttons holding them in place and peeled the denim off the round shape of her ass and over the soft skin of her thighs, the indentation of her knees, and the inverted pears of her calves, bending over to the floor in the pale yellow thong he had desperately hoped she would have on. He already knew she was wearing the matching bra. For the entire length of the chauffeured drive from home to hotel, he'd been staring at the familiar lace through the thin fabric of the t-shirt she now lifted over her head. She teased the panties from between the spot where they were swallowed by her ass, pausing just a beat so he could catch the sight of them pulling away from around her lips before they dropped to the floor. She turned, and as his eyes slid from her mound up the smooth skin of her stomach (his constant dilemma - which part of her to ogle first), the bra was unclasped and came off, revealing the teardrop shape of breasts he would cup in his hands if he could. She paid him no mind, as she gathered her vanity kit and something black and lacy from her overnight bag on her way to the shower. He trailed behind her naked form and watched as she got under a stream of steaming water, soaped up her breasts, her pits, her stomach, and...her mound, the strip of hair over which she tidied into a trim little line, until it practically screamed for him to follow it to the cute little dimple where he would bury his tongue to smother her clit then eat her pussy out, if only she asked. But the slightest gesture of her hand towards her midsection, and he would be on his knees or on his back.

Still naked, she leaned over the sink to wipe the fog off the mirror and color her lips bright cherry red. The way she pressed her lips together and oh, that bare ass, he thought, bent over the counter, right there for his hands...but no, must wait. She took up the pile of lace she'd retrieved from her bag, and he watched every painstaking flourish of the slow-motion striptease-in-reverse, as she slid the ephemeral black panties up her legs until they were snugged over her pussy and stretched across the curve of each side of her ass, making it look even rounder than it already was, a juicy peach begging for a bite. She walked away, and he watched every jiggle, every bounce in the flesh below the line of the panties as her hips swayed. She paused to pick up...nothing at all, and as she bent over towards the front, her lips - swaddled in that black silk - practically bulged in his face. She went to her bag and retrieved her bra and dress, shrugged both on.

Sitting on the side of the bed, she finally acknowledged he was in the room, beckoning for him to approach and asking for his help to clasp her shiny black stilettos around her ankles. While he was at her feet, she carelessly let her legs spread apart - oops - hiking the slinky hemline of her dress up her thighs enough for him to sneak a peek.

"I think my panties are already soaked," she said as she stood and turned away from him, "Honey - would you zip me up?"

He clasped the dainty zipper resting just above that ass. Puppy dog no more. His dick was a chained beast, straining at its cage, slobbering away for the juicy chunk of meat just out of reach, tucked away underneath just a couple of layers of clothes. He dutifully slid her dress closed over the ivory skin of her back and the emphatic line of her bra. Show's over.

And now...the interminable wait. Bzzt bzzt, He checked his cell phone. Their special guest was late. Just traffic, he texted, so mundane. Be there soon. And then he was.

He led other man back to where she awaited them both. They only stood in an awkward triangle of silence for a few seconds before she was suddenly content to wait no longer. Her man watched in horror as she rushed to claim a far more meager prize than what he had in store. She lifted herself away from the desk and walked over to the other man, hooked her fingers inside the buckle of his belt, undid the button guarding the zipper, and began to pull the teeth apart against the pressure of something squeezing them shut, sneaking a first feel of that obdurate mass as her fingers glided the pull down as far as it could go, whereupon her fingers returned to his waist to slip inside, and....just like that, her man saw an evening so ripe with promise rapidly crumbling into ruin. Honey, I have so much more in mind for you. Don't fumble it away.

She felt a tug. It was her man, trying to pull her away. She resisted. Over stubborn shoulder, she glanced his way.

"What's up?"

"I," he stammered, unprepared. He had foreseen this moment, knew to interrupt. She'd turn, they would kiss, and... He never expected anything different. "I...I..."

"You what?"

"I want to kiss you," he finally blurted out.

"Oh, that's nice, but I've kind of got my hands full right now. Or I'd like to." Wink.

"This isn't what I pictured." He looked confused.

"Didn't you tell me I was in control?"

"I mean...yeah, but I...that's not..."

"I've decided I want you to watch."

"Watch? But I..."

"Shhh. Shhh. Here, take a seat."

He suffered himself to be put back in the dull chair, as she leaned over him. He stared down her dress at the smooth shape of both her tits pressed together, spilling from her black bra, as she whispered into his ear, "Let's see how you feel about it after."

He sat in shock, as she turned back to the task at hand.

"Now where was I?"

In no time at all, her hands were back at other man's waist, fingers hooked inside the broad elastic band of his underwear, just inside of which...

"My husband," she shared with the man, "reminded me not days ago: I can call a halt to the proceedings at any time. If I'm going to violate my wedding vows, I should probably have a pretty good reason, so before we go any further, if you don't mind, I need to find out if what you have is worth my time. That's fair, isn't it, dear?"

Another glance behind.

Her man swallowed and gave her a solemn nod. The other man just gave her an understanding smile, dark jeans hanging open in silent invitation. Please, inspect the goods. She placed her hands flat on the outside of his hips inside his clothes and slid both his jeans and his underwear down to mid-thigh.

"Well, well," she remarked and stepped a bit aside, so her man might see what she saw: other man's dick hanging between his legs, semi-hard, twitching in time to the thick vein pumping away at its base.

"Wow," she sighed, "Here I haven't so much as seen one of these besides his [she tilted her head in the direction of her man] in I-can't-tell-you how long, and I'm seeing that. And to think I'm allowed to touch it. I mean, kind of allowed. Can't take back what I said in front of family and friends."

She couldn't take her eyes off of it, hypnotized. From the chair, he watched her stare. He knew that look. Don't tell me women aren't visual creatures. He'd seen this one gaze too many times at his cock like a cat cackling over a bird as if it were already caught. That look, always reserved for his cock, was trained on strange dick, watching every beat of other man's heart engorging it more.

"Good lord, such girth," she enthused, "And it's not even fully hard. I don't know if I can."

"Physically?" Which man asked? Not sure.

"Well, yeah. Just look at it. It's a lot more than my pussy's used to." Oof. "But mentally, too. I mean, I haven't been with another man in, well, ever. I don't know how I might feel about myself after getting fucked by that, but as a wise man recently told me...."

He and his fate hung on her every word, which he knew would mirror his own. Sigh. She was something else.

She went on, "...the only way to know the alternate path is to take it. I'd like to take it. All of it."

It was already too late. No longer if, but how and when. She took one halting step towards it, then another, until all that separated her body from that bare bully cock was a sliver of space, a slip of a dress, a wisp of black lace, and rapidly vanishing shame.

Her wanton gaze burned into other man's eyes. Their hands remained down at their sides. Oh god, do it already. The waiting is the hardest part. The first touch was his hands resting gently on her hips, to which she responded with her hands gripping the contours of his upper arms. It wasn't long before her hands were moving beyond, to the bottom of his shirt. He helpfully lifted his hands away from her waist and above his head so she could expose his abs. She pulled his shirt up slowly, her touch lingering over each rippling muscle of his torso longer than strictly necessary to pull the shirt up and off, but soon enough, it was gone.

She turned her back to her bare chested plaything and gestured to her neck. He swept her hair out of the way with a gentle motion that tickled her skin. Her man could see the shiver run down her spine, as other man clasped the dainty zipper of her dress between his fingers and slid it down to the small of her back. She shrugged the dress off of her shoulders, pulled it over her hips and dropped it to the floor. For a second, she faced her man. Oh, that bra. Those panties. So much black lace. He knew it would make other man want her all the more. It filled him with...pride: infatuation is the sincerest form of flattery after all. She turned around and posed: hands on hips thrust forward an inch, shoulders pulled back the tiniest bit in alluring suggestion. That was all it took to tell him to drink all this in: nipples (stiff) fully visible through her bra (just a halter of lace, designed to halt not much at all). Thin strip of hair still calling attention to the one thing still hidden from his sight: her pussy, tucked safely away by the patch of fabric between her legs.

Only temporary modesty, her man thought. He'd watched her get ready. Ready to be seen. In hindsight, he now realized: ready to be fucked.

Other man took the hint. He traced from her high heels (still on) up her calves, up her thighs, to the panties (long approach on the landing strip), to the bra, to her eyes.

"Your wife is hot," he said (hotter still through the leering gaze of another man, her man thought), as he looked her in the eyes with a wanton smirk.

She didn't return the look. Her eyes were on his cock, watching it lurch, now at half mast, reaching practically beyond his hip.

"I need to see it fully erect," she said and drew near.

She took him by the shoulders and guided him to sit on the edge of the bed. She unhurriedly took off his shoes and socks, then returned to where his jeans and underwear were still stretched at mid-thigh to finish the job of undressing him. She tugged his clothes over his muscular legs and whipped them off, then kneeled between his now naked knees. Her man stared at her ass, so juicy floating above her heels, the bulge in their center visible from between her legs as she leaned forward and rested her palms flat on other man's thighs. The two of them were looking into each other's eyes, as her hands fidgeted against his skin. She looked back at her man.

"Well, honey, I guess this is it. There's no going back."

Was that a question? He held his breath. No, statement of fact. She lifted one hand off other man's thigh. Time slowed down, as he watched her palm move towards the monster lying in other man's lap. There was a dull explosion in his brain and a stab in the seat of his pants at the moment of contact. The touch of her fingers wrapped halfway around that shaft marked the first time she'd touched another man. That line crossed, another just ahead. She lifted his cock and - barely leaning forward - sunk her painted lips around the tip. Her cheeks sunk as her lips squelched past the ridge, and her tongue began to massage his dick.

Other man sat back, his dick rapidly swelling inside her mouth. The harder it grew against her tongue, the more she could picture it between an even softer set of lips. The motion of her mouth grew more lurid still, as other man's eyes closed. He draped his fingers in her black hair in gentle encouragement she didn't need - praise enough in the tumescence she'd achieved.

He leaned forward, his chest curved above her head, his hands wandering over her shoulders and down her back to undo her clasp. His hands wandered inside her loosened bra and squeezed her breasts in time to the movement of her chin. As his hands massaged her hardened nipples, the bra freed itself bit by bit from her shoulders, until it was draped across her elbows. She wriggled it off one forearm, then the other, until it was resting across his thighs, just below the spot where her hand was sliding up and down the base of his shaft to meet her mouth descending from the top.

Oh, how lucky he was to be holding her breasts. Her man can feel them in his mind. He wishes he could feel them in his hands, cup them, caress them; but it's an even more intense thrill experiencing them vicariously through the other man, while sitting denied, the want multiplied by the intensity of other man's desire and the physical distance between her man and her body.

The increasingly fervent motion of her mouth led his hands back to her head where he caressed her hair more and more distractedly, the feeling of inevitability rising up towards the spot where her tongue trips over his frenulum. Did she want him to come? Was she going to do for him what she never did for her man - make him jizz on her tongue, get the job done? And then to fuck for as long as they could want. No, other man has too much pride, too much self-control: he'll fuck her good, even if he hasn't come. He pulls back and cups her chin in one hand and pulls her mouth away as he begins to rise. He takes her hands and leads her to change places with him, until she is lying on the bed.

The other man stood between her legs and bent down towards her, his hands steadying himself on her lap, thumbs indenting her flesh almost, but not quite, indecently high up the insides of her thighs. He kissed his way up her stomach just above the spot where the elastic of her panties imprinted itself on her skin, beside her belly button, below her breast bone, the underside of her breast... When his delicate lips reached a pert nipple, her head rolled back and her hand reached down to grab his cock. It was between her legs, tip almost touching her panties. She caressed it, as if measuring it, tugging on it in an insistent plea, as if trying to pull it into her, if only the panties weren't still in place. But thank god for that.

"Do you want me to fuck you?" he finally asked.

She nodded.

"Say it."

"Yes."

"Yes what." Not a question. More like a command.

"I want you to fuck me. Please."

He stood up. Her hand was still on his dick. He got ready to take her panties off. He gripped the waist gingerly between his forefingers and thumbs just above her hip bones, ready to tease them off. Her man could tell the other man was going to do it the way it should be done, take his time, make a ceremony of it, remove them reverentially. Worship the sacrifice.

Oh, the panties. Everything was okay, as long as the panties stayed on. That was the rule when they were young. Staring at her there on the bed, that was the thought that passed through her man's mind. Everything was permitted, as long as her pussy remained safely tucked away from harm. The pussy was sacred. It made everything else more profane. It wasn't like she didn't have urges. He could tell back then. There was nothing chaste about the way her tongue rolled over his - all the hunger from between her legs had to spill out somewhere. He felt it in his very core. His fumbling fingers touched every inch of naked flesh above and below the lines of the underwear and traveled over the satin cloth that was keeping her virtue intact, in desperate hope of getting her to let them go all the way. She once even let him slip a finger inside to rub her clit and get her off, which was when he learned how wet those panties got. Oh god, the secret of chaste panties soaked with want. And now? Now another man was about to take them off.