Whoever said greed is good had the right idea.
If you asked, I guess I’d describe myself as a 49/51 bisexual; much as I love the taste of pussy, I crave cock slightly more intensely.
When I met Tom, he had just what I needed: eight inches of porn-star perfect ever-readiness. When we started dating I became rampantly cock-hungry, demanding he take me two or three times every day and still falling asleep dreaming of his prick. But as time went by, I found my thoughts drifting back to women. A cheeky glint in a girl’s eye was all it would take to trigger a vehement masturbation session, and I missed the tang of pussy on my lips. I even started sucking my own wet fingers as I used my sex toys, but it wasn’t enough.
I’m not sure what would have happened if it hadn’t been for Isabella. The moment I saw her at a party, I was smitten. Her big brown eyes and biteable lips were irresistible, and her glossy brown hair cried out to be used to tie her hands while I explored her body with a leisurely tongue. When she smiled and said hello, I melted. Her voice was as sexy as her face; and oh, that body. She was wearing a corset that cinched her waist and pushed her large breasts upwards as if inviting me to dive in. I smiled back and tried to control the lustful break in my voice as we made small talk. She was funny, interesting and sweet. Or so I thought. When Tom wandered over and told me we should leave as he had to be up early, I took her number and said a regretful goodbye. She leaned forward as if to air-kiss me and whispered, “If you want a fuck, you know where I am.”
I hadn’t even mentioned that I was bi, but as I pulled back and my eyes met hers, I knew she’d see the arousal in my dilated pupils and flushed face. Then, with a cheeky wink, she was gone.
I was quiet on the way home, absorbed in thoughts of Isabella. Tom commented on it and I thought about lying, but we don’t have that kind of relationship.
“I’m pining for my Sapphic days a bit,” I admitted. Tom was fine with my sexuality. He often asked me to tell him stories about my past in bed, the more graphic the tale, the better. We’d ruled out the idea of a threesome, but it was still a regular fantasy.
“The brunette?”
“Uh-huh”
“Well, go for it if you want. As long as I can watch.”
“I don’t want a threesome. I’d hate seeing you with another woman.”
“That’s not what I said. I love the idea of seeing you with another woman. If you don’t mind me watching, and she’s up for it, it could be hot. I wouldn’t lay a finger on her. But you’ll get a damned good seeing=to once she’s gone.” It sounded win/win. Isabella’s texted response of “yes, yes, yes!” suggested that she wasn’t averse to the idea either.
Having Your Cake
The hotel was perfect. We’d decided to make the experience extra-decadent and had booked a room with a claw-footed bath, huge bed and a balcony overlooking the grounds. Not that I was interested in admiring that view when Isabella knocked on our door, and I opened it to see her clad in a sexy wrap dress. It turned out that she had a bit of a photography fetish, so her one ‘rule’ was that Tom took pictures of us while we played: something he was only too willing to do.
Tom poured us all a glass of champagne as we made small talk. By the time our glasses were empty, I felt relaxed enough to kiss Isabella. Her lips felt perfect, and I gasped when she slipped her tongue into my mouth. I’d forgotten how good it was to kiss a woman. After glancing at Tom to check he was happy, and gauging from the erection he’d pulled from his jeans that he was, I resumed the kiss, running my hands over Isabella’s curves and feeling her nipples stiffen. She returned the caress and soon we were stripping each other and I was leading her to the bed. She lay back, soft and tempting, and I straddled her, letting my nipples brush hers as we kissed. She pulled away.
“The pictures?” Tom picked up the camera, leaving his erection out for easy access, and began clicking as we writhed against each other. One minute her nipples were in my mouth and her fingers in my pussy, the next I was sucking her fingers clean then moving down to taste her juices. The camera clicks were interspersed with our groans, and the occasional slapping sound as Tom tended to his own needs. Hearing him wank reminded me of something he’d asked me to do. I straddled Isabella’s face and buried my own in her sweet c**t. God, I’d missed pussy. She was already wet and her juices ran over my chin as I lapped her clit and slipped a finger inside her to stroke her G-spot. As I’d hoped, Isabella put her hands on my arse and pulled my c**t into her mouth. I knew that it’d be driving Tom wild: he’d always wanted to see two women 69ing. The slapping sound was joined by his groans as I lapped at Isabella’s pussy, splaying it with my fingers to present the ultimate picture. Isabella was being equally dark: she’d made me so wet that two fingers weren’t enough. She added another, then another, but still I wanted more so, with no need for lube, she slipped her whole hand inside me, her tongue still on my clit. I gasped and the vibrations must have set her off, because I felt her G-spot pulse and my face was drenched with a spurt of her ejaculate. That was it for Tom: with a loud cry, he too came, and I looked up to see his cock pulsing, three streams of come jetting out in testament to the strength of his orgasm. That sight, teamed with the fisting and clit-sucking, was too much and I joined them in orgasm, spasming wildly around Isabella’s hand. But even as I came, I knew that I was far from spent.
We finally stopped when there was a knock on the door telling us it was check out time. We’d managed to avoid a threesome, though at one point Isabella masturbated as Tom fucked me, and I suspected he would have enjoyed pleasuring her too. But rules are rules: and thank God for them. The photos Isabella had insisted on were quite a turn on over the coming days. In fact so much so that we’ve got another session booked next week. I guess some appetites just never get sated.
