5 comments/ 24481 views/ 0 favorites It All Just Came Together By: MyMPTP Part One She'd once confided – after dinner, over some good red wine and some even better weed - that if she was ever going to be with a man again, she hoped it'd be a man like my husband. I'd confided to her that if I ever took up with a woman again, I hoped it was someone like her - and that if we'd been classmates in college - in my "experimenting-with-women" phase - I'd have pursued her. She'd confided that we'd have collided, since she'd have been pursuing me, too. We had a good laugh over it, sitting there, semi-cuddling, each of us huddled in a blanket on the couch in my living room. We fell asleep. Hours later, I woke, and considered touching her, just gently, waking her softly and making love to her, but thought better of it. In a way, it was vanity that stopped me. I was 47; she was barely 30. So I slipped away from her, settled a cushion under her head, a blanket over her scantily clothed little body, touched her cheek, and went to my own bed, looking very much forward to my husband's return from a business trip the next day. That had been three years ago. Soon after that evening, she fallen in love with a woman we tried hard to like, but didn't much. We'd had them over a few times; been to their place once. My husband and I eventually realized that the main reason we didn't like the girlfriend was simply that the girlfriend didn't like us. I wondered if she'd told her girlfriend about our shared attraction and, probably worse from the girlfriend's point of view, her fondness for - and her innocent attraction to - my husband? I'd certainly shared it with my husband; why wouldn't she have done likewise? The difference: my husband (predictably!) was fine with it. Her girlfriend, I suspected, wouldn't have been. When she called, her voice sounding a little strained, "just to say hi" that evening, I asked a couple of questions and soon she was weeping, telling me that she and the girlfriend had had a horrible fight "over nothing." Soon after that, she was no longer weeping, but sobbing, and we couldn't really talk. She managed to say that her girlfriend had stormed out, taking their car; she dreaded seeing her when she came home. "Pack a few things; leave a note; I'll come get you and you can stay here tonight." She whispered her thanks and hung up. I got out of my corporate clothes, showered and put on loose jeans and a top. Another few hours, and we were on my couch, under blankets. We'd followed a familiar and comforting pattern of ours. There'd been some food, some more good wine, some more good weed. It was a chillier time of year than that other time we'd had one of these "slumber parties," the time when we'd confessed – more or less – our mutual attraction. That time, we'd been out on the deck, watching the last of a summer sunset; this time we had a fire going. My husband was having dinner with a partner and a client. We were all cried and talked out and there was a long pause. We watched the fire, sipped some, smoked half of the second joint, all in silence. She came over from her end of the couch, and leaned against me. We re-snugged the blankets around us. But it grew warm under the blankets, as the fire grew intense. We kicked them off, and giggling, peeled our clothes off, most of them. But in a few minutes, we were chilly again, and pulled the blankets back up. But his time we were not each under a separate blanket. We were side by side under them, mostly skin to skin under the blankets and when we realized that, the giggling stopped. She sighed. Her hand began to idly stroke my thigh. "Thanks," she said softly. "Any time," I answered, maybe even more softly. "Your friendship means so much to me. Yours and his, I mean." Another long pause. We watched the fire some more. I heard her sniff, and with a finger on her chin, I turned her face to see if she was crying. There was one tear rolling down her cheek. I kissed it off. She turned more to me, turning her face up, and kissed me. We kissed each other. "Will he be home soon?" "We have some time." "Good. But I want him to know. Is that OK?" "It'll be fine." And just like that, we'd agreed. My hand slid to her small, firm breast, our lips met, and we began to make love. I'll admit that her youth made her all the more desirable, but somehow her clear, smoothly taut skin and her firm flesh didn't make me feel less desirable with my riper body, my looser skin, my softer flesh. On the contrary, as our heat built up, she was so clearly hungry for me, so full of longing for me, to feel my body, to hold and kiss and caress me, that I felt as desirable as I ever had in my life. In much the same way that my husband's lovemaking lets me know how much he wants me, how much his body enjoys mine, her touch, her whispers, her downright horniness let us both get lost in each other, let us shed every thought but the anticipation of the next breath, the next moan, the next wetness, the next sliding of skin on skin, the next sly insertion, the next squirming, probing stroke, the next muscular clenching, the embrace, the heat, the smell, the taste ... This was very, very good sex. We came for each other easily, which had been especially sweet, but the sex was really good already, even before either of us came, and would have been good even if we never had. It was that good. A little later, as we lay on the carpet together, the blankets over us, cushions under our heads, me on my back, her curled against me, her head on my breast, her leg over mine, our hands soothing as I gently pressed my lips to her head and smelled her hair, her wet sex pressed against my thigh, after we'd made our shy, silly "thank-you's" and murmured to one another how lovely it had been, confessed how nervous we were at first, and how quickly, how wondrously that had slipped away, there was another long pause and then: "So, how much longer do we have?" "Not long; any minute, actually. We should probably get up and sort things out." "Oh?" "I mean ... " "It wouldn't be good if he found us like this?" I thought for a moment. "Well ... actually ... I think it'd be fine." "So we don't have to scramble to get dressed and hide all this?" "No. No, if you don't want to, I don't think we have to at all." "But it'd be better if we could just sort of ease him into it, right?" "Well, probably." "Do you think we could do that tonight?" It occurred to me that I wasn't quite sure what we were talking about any more. "Tell me what you want to do," I said. "Whatever it is, I'm sure it'll be fine, for me and for him. We're fine with whatever." "Do you think he'd like me? I mean ... you know. Sexually." Ah. So that was it. More than just letting him know, she was asking me to let her be with him. Wow. I thought for a moment. "Yes. I do. I think he'd love being with you. In fact I'm sure of it." Actually, he'd confessed to finding her very attractive. And he found the fact she and I were both attracted to each other pretty exciting, though I'd told him it would never happen, but we sort of teased each other about it sometimes. "And you'd be ok with it?" "Yes." I paused, thinking, and then said "more than ok with it, actually. I'd like it. But he'll be just in from a long day at work and all ..." "So were we," she said. "Didn't slow us down much ..." We both laughed a little. "Indeed. But let's let him settle in; join us for a drink, maybe. And whatever you want from there on is fine." We kissed and it was all we could do not to make love again, but it was time to move on to other things. When he came in, we were puttering in the kitchen. I'd called him when I'd first told her I was coming to get her, and he was all for letting her hide out with us for a day or two, until things settled down between her and her girlfriend. There was still pasta from our meal; I set it aside for him with come snacks, and a salad. So he wasn't surprised. He was, though, a little surprised when his "hi-honey-I'm-home" kiss was greeted with a silent request for more. I pressed myself to him just so, looked into his eyes, and drew him in for another, softer, more significant kiss, and I think he understood right at that moment. When we broke the kiss, he looked into my eyes pretty much as I'd looked into his, and said softly, but loud enough for both of us to hear "I think I'll go shower up; I'll be right back. I'm glad you're here," he said, looking over at her, still holding me. "And I'm sorry it's been such a rough day for you. Let's just relax, be glad it's Friday, and make the world go away." With that he left for our bedroom and his shower. "God, he's wonderful," she said. "He is." "And he's ... well ... he's really good, right? Best you've ever had?" "Definitely. And as you know, I did my share of 'sampling' before I found him. I think he's awesome. But we'll see, ya know? I think you'll be good together." "And it's ok if ..." "Yes ... I told you. It's more than ok. I want you to." "Thank you." Arm-in-arm, we returned to the living room, where we restoked the fire, set wine and three glasses out, and settled in at opposite ends of the couch, our bare feet touching in the middle, under our blankets, where we stroked each other's toes softly. We looked at each other across the distance, her eyes twinkled with the firelight, and I guess mine must have, too. We smiled and waited. "Oh, god," she said. "Oh, god," I agreed. It All Just Came Together Ch. 02 "He won't be my first, you know." "I know ... remember? You told me about one." "Oh. Yeah. That's right. But that was a long time ago. And there was another one." "Mm hmm." "And ... well ... he'll be different, right?" "Definitely." Another long pause. We could hear him in the shower. "I'm getting a little scared." "That's OK ... go with it. It's exciting." "Yeah. It is. I'm ... I'm wet again." I laughed a little. "You little slut ... you're playing with yourself under there, aren't you?" "Uh huh ... a little." "Don't make me come over there ..." "I'd LOVE for you to come over here." "Just be patient," I said. We heard the shower turn off. "Oh god!" she said, as she playfully pulled the blanket up to hide everything but her eyes, squealing and kicking her feet under the blanket like a little kid. This was so much fun. Then, he was coming into the living room, a towel around his waist, drying his hair with a towel, his biceps bouncing, he smiled at us. "Hi," he said. God, how I love that man, I thought. He tossed the towel he was using on his hair aside, and went to the fireplace. He stoked it some, threw on another couple of logs. Is it possible he knew how his back rippled as he squatted by the fire? Did he know how hot he looked in the firelight? Probably not. A few years older than me, middle age had taken its toll on him, and he now found it hard to believe that I still found him sexy. But I did. And I knew she did, too. When he was done, he put the poker back in the rack and turned to us, the fire lighting him from behind. By this time, I was playing with myself, too. And yes, I was wet. "May I," he asked, as he gestured to the middle place on the couch. We both pulled our feet back some, and he sat, then drew our feet back to the middle onto his lap. He arranged the blankets so they covered his lap, our feet, his hands. He just sat there, his legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankle, and began to massage our feet, staring into the fire. I was tempted to seek out his cock with my foot, but I didn't. He seemed to have a plan or something. I realized that he probably had his hard cock trapped down between his own thighs, keeping it out of play, as it were, for now. He knew there'd be plenty of time for that. He's a smart one. Two heads, as they say ... After a while, he began to focus most of his attention on her feet, to the neglect of mine. Giving me "the look," and a final, comforting pass of his hands on my feet and ankles, he turned a bit more toward her. He must have smiled at her, because although I could only see the back of his head, I saw her look at his face, then look away, smiling shyly. God, I was so turned on. I was actually starting to feel impatient. I wanted to just lunge at him, scramble up on his back and push him onto her, into her ... I didn't, of course. lnstead, I just pressed the heel of my hand against my sex and made slow, firm circles there, leaning back in the corner of the couch to watch. Her eyes closed and he leaned toward her a bit more. I realized he was now massaging her legs, probably her calves. I saw her stir under the blanket, and realized one of her hands was on her breast. Nice. I found myself gently stroking my breast, as well. She was breathing slow and deep now, and he leaned further toward her, the muscles of his back and shoulders stretching out some. She sighed a little. He was stroking her thighs. I saw one slender leg slide down, off the couch, her foot touching the floor. She sighed again, and I knew that if he wasn't touching her cunt, he was very, very close. Then there was a little gasp and I was sure of it. If she was wet before, I bet she was nearly coming now, but having just heard her come earlier that day, I'd know when it finally happened. "Come here," I heard him say softly. She opened her eyes and looked at him. Total doe eyes. "C'mon. I want to kiss you. Let me hold you." He reached out, and she finally took his hand and let him draw her up. He stroked her hair, her face, and leaned in to kiss her, softly. It lasted a while, but it was soft and gentle. They broke the kiss and he drew her more into his arms. She pressed her face to his chest. Then she pulled back a bit. "Again," she said, and they kissed again. This time it went from soft, gentle and slow to deep, breathy, and slow. I saw her hands come around his torso, sliding over the smooth, pale skin of his back I wanted to reach out and run my hands with hers over all that skin, to feel his muscles tense up as he held her, to feel his heat, to let him know I was there, and was in this with him, but I resisted the urge. There'd be time for that. Now, it was time for them to connect, for them to find out how to touch each other, how to kiss, how to hold each other. How strange that now they were seeking just a little bit of what he and I had found over the years together, and I realized that they would, in just a few minutes, just as she and I had done only a few hours earlier. How quickly it would come to them! It wouldn't be what he and I had, but it would do. It would do just fine. I heard him moan and realized that her hand had found him under the blanket, under the towel still around his waist. Their kiss grew wetter, a little noisier, as his fingers teased at her, and her hand stroked him. Then, I heard her say "yes ... yes ..." and I saw that they were no longer kissing. Her face was against his neck, her eyes closed, I could see her face over his shoulder. She was straining against him and she gave a little cry and I knew he was making her come with his fingers. "Yes! God, yes ... " she whispered and their movement slowed. "The bedroom?" he asked. "No," she said softly. Then, after a moment, she said "here." Her eyes opened and she looked at me, dreamily. "Right here, all three of us." She smiled and kissed his neck, his ear, and then his mouth as she slid onto his lap, facing him, their mouths sealed together, an even deeper kiss and then I heard her moan as she slid down onto him. I leaned further back into the corner of the couch and drew the blanket up over myself, watching them begin to rock together, watching my husband fuck our friend, watching her fuck my husband. She hung on him, her arms resting on his shoulders, her hands in his hair, his hands sliding over her everywhere, her small body rising and falling, for a while, then settling down on him and just rocking back and forth, back and forth, then rising and falling on him again. My fingers pressed into me, the heel of my hand still grinding on my clit. When my other hand pulled hard at my nipple, I began to come. I'm not as quiet a lover as she is, and I cried out. She broke their deep kiss and looked at me, she moaned and said "oh, god, yes ... do it ... do it ..." and began to ride him a little faster, a little harder, looking into my eyes as she rolled her hips on him. "Do it ... come with us ... come with us ..." and then she buried her face in his neck and I heard her soft little come-cry and his began soon after, as he bucked up into her, drenching her inside, I knew, as he groaned his deep, throaty come sound, holding her to him hard, but somehow still gently, the way he does sometimes. I came again, too. She settled on him, then, and they kissed some more. Some time passed. It was almost like sleep. "Now, the bedroom," I heard her say and she reached out to me. She and I helped each other up, and I put my arm around her and led her down the hall to our bedroom. As we went, I heard him putting the fire to bed. We crawled under the covers, and I held her to me as we listened to the sound of him closing up the house, turning off the lights. Soft music came on through the bedroom speakers. She looked up at me sorta surprised. "Did he do that from out there?" I nodded and she just laughed. "You are so spoiled! I could get used to this." Her wet pussy was against my thigh and we kissed. "Make love to me," she whispered, and I did.