Three to Come



















The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet
or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal, and
punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do
not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.
Your support of the author's rights is appreciated.

 

This book is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's
imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or
locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

 

Three to
Come

Copyright
ć 2006 Annice
Dare

ISBN:
1-55410-730-X

Cover
art by Martine Jardin

 

All rights reserved. Except for use in any
review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any
form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter
invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

 

Published
by eXtasy Books

www.Extasybooks.com




 

 

 

Chapter One

"You'll
be going to Portland next
Monday."

I nodded, having expected it. The project was heating up. My task
was to do the advance work, to make sure that everything was set up for the
public meeting, and that all the media releases were sent to the right places.
This was an important project--a high rise apartment building with an assisted
living section and some independent living apartments. It was unusual because
there were also units for low-income single parents and people with disabilities.
A 'gestalt community', our planning staff called it. Something
for everyone--except the run-of-the-mill, healthy, heterosexual, married adult.

"I'll need Larry Wilkerson and Pete Ivanov," I told
Frank. "Pete can interface with the planning commission and Larry will
make sure the media are all brought up to speed."

As I named the two men, I wondered again if I wanted to spend a
week out of town with them. Had I been imagining the chemistry between us?

Of course I had. How on earth could two young, handsome, single
men want me? A forty-something mother of three, twenty pounds overweight and
contentedly married.

Still...

I don't know when I'd started sensing... something. Late last summer, I think, when we were doing the initial proposal
for the Gestalt Living Project. Larry had been coming down the hall from
the men's room as I'd been going toward the women's room. We dodged each other,
each stepping the same way, as people often do. After a couple of missteps, we
both stopped and stood still, just a few feet apart.

"I wish you weren't married." Larry said, after a
short, tense silence.

I looked into his dark blue eyes, a good foot above mine. Stared at his wide shoulders, his shock of straight, black hair.
And all of a sudden I could feel the pressure of his mouth on mine. On my
mouth, then moving down my throat and nibbling its way between my breasts and
across my belly.

My God! What was happening? I blinked, took a deep breath. And
for one single instant I wished I wasn't married, too. Just for that brief
instant, I wanted to be free. To explore what his eyes promised, to let the pheromones we were both emitting lead me to the
inevitable conclusion.

The next instant we both smiled somewhat sheepishly at each
other and passed, I to the can, him back to his desk.

Morris, Simpson, Mather occupies three floors in the Goddard, Olympia's
elegant, eighteen-nineties landmark. Unfortunately
they're not one atop the other, but on the third, ninth and thirteenth floors.
My office is on the thirteenth; the secretarial pool is clear down on three. I
spend a lot of time in the elevator or on the stairs, depending on how harried
I am and how much I need the exercise.

About a week after the encounter with Larry, I took a report
down to be typed. Ordinarily I'd have emailed it, but I wanted to talk to Edie,
to show her exactly how I wanted it laid out. The report was due the next day,
and so far it looked like it had been put together by a
nine-year-old-disorganized and with irregular pagination. I'd been so tied up
on three other projects that I'd let Tim Cornwell, the newest planner on staff,
shepherd it through production. His inexperience showed.

That morning I'd come in early and worked steadily until just
before noon to get
it reorganized and proofed. At five of twelve, I was heading toward the stairs
when the elevator opened. Pete Ivanov looked up from the papers in his hand,
saw me, and stepped back, holding the door open. I dashed inside. But instead
of getting out, he let the door whisper closed.

"I thought you'd ridden up," I said.

"I did," he replied. His wide mouth, the sexiest I'd
ever seen, twisted slightly, as if he was laughing at himself. "Then I saw
you."

"Oh, yeah, right, and you couldn't resist a quick
assignation in the elevator." I laughed. "Really Pete, can't you
think of a better line than that?"

"I wish I could," he said. "Cilla, I--" The
door swished open at nine and two of the draftsmen got in. They both nodded at
us and resumed their conversation. Pete and I looked at the walls the rest of
the way down to three--opposite walls.

But when I got off, I could feel the pressure of his gaze on my
spine.

Hot and avid. Hungry.

Yes, and you're on the edge of menopause, I told myself. Prone to hallucinations.

But what hallucinations they were. I could feel his hands on
me. Kneading my breasts until my nipples ached, stroking my thighs until I
quivered with desire. His fingers, plucking at my nipples,
smoothing the skin of my belly, delving into the hair at my delta.

Oh, God! What was I thinking?

 

* * * *

 

That was
the beginning of the best--and worst--period of my life. I couldn't stop
thinking about Larry and Pete. All through the fall and early winter, when we
were crazy with more work than we'd ever had, the three of us were on different
projects. That was good, in a way. If I'd been working with either of them
every day, I'd have probably gone off my rocker.

As it was, every meeting with either man ruined me for the rest
of the day. A good thing Larry was in San
Francisco a lot and Pete was shuttling back and
forth between Olympia and Washington, DC,
finishing up a project he'd worked on before coming to MSM.

Now it was late winter. They were both back in the office and
assigned to the Gestalt Living Project. And I was Project Manager.

I wasn't sure I'd survive. Or that my marriage would.

Bill, my husband of twenty-six years, works nights. He's a
staff radiologist at Angels of Mercy Hospital, having given up his practice
after having a triple bypass a year ago. He gave up sex then too, and didn't
seem to miss it. Nor would he talk about it. So far I hadn't pressured him.

I did miss sex, almost as much as I missed the physical
closeness we used to have. Bill had never been overly demonstrative, but any
more he seemed reluctant to hug me, or even touch me any more than was
necessary.

I slept alone five nights a week, in a king-size bed far too
big and empty. No matter how I barricaded myself with pillows, I hungered for
the warmth of another body in the bed with me. A male body,
hard and hot.

Before his heart disease made itself apparent, Bill had been a
good bed partner and a sweet, gentle lover. Sex for us was good, if routine. Not
a lot of excitement. Not a lot of passion. Then he'd decided he was getting too
old for innovation, too tired for adventure. The last time I'd suggested
whipped cream and chocolate syrup. He'd groaned. That was five years ago.

I like whipped cream and chocolate, even when it isn't
decorating a man's cock. But when it was--well, there just wasn't any better
way to get two of the basic food groups--fat and chocolate.

 

* * * *

 

"Cilla,
take off your shirt." I looked up at the man standing in the door of my
office, my mouth gaping. "Huh?"

Larry Wilkerson grinned, a shit-eating grin if I ever saw one. "Take
off your shirt. I want to see what color bra you're wearing today."

"And I want to see the look on your face when I slap you
with a charge of sexual harassment," I told him.

"You won't." He swaggered across the room and around
the end of my desk. Before I could react, his hands were on the tie of my
wrap-around silk blouse. "If I pull this, will it come undone?" He
tugged.

The silk ties slithered apart and the blouse fell open.
Paralyzed, I could only sit motionless, while his fingers barely touched me.
They traced along the top of my bra--raspberry lace and satin--and deftly
unsnapped the front closure. His forefingers slowly parted it. As the slick
fabric slid across my already turgid nipples, I wanted to scream. To howl. To grab him and rip off his loose
linen trousers and grab his cock in both my hands. To lick the droplet
off the dark red tip, to squeeze and rub until he was on the edge of coming.
And then I'd take him in...

"Cilla! Are you
all right?"

I moaned in frustration. To be interrupt-- "Who?
Bill? Oh, no! What time is it?" My husband was bending over the bed,
wearing a concerned expression.

"Quarter
to eight. What'd you do, hit the snooze button?"

Rolling over, I looked at the clock. "Must
have. God! I am so tired. Like I didn't sleep
all night." With an effort I crawled out of bed and headed for the
bathroom, shedding my nightgown on the way.

"You were sure going at it when I came in. For a moment
there, I was worried."

"I'm fine."

As I showered, every droplet of water was a ghostly finger
touching my sensitized skin. The loofah was calloused palms sliding along my
thighs. I cupped my breasts, thumbed the nipples, and wondered if Larry really was
a breast man. I knew Pete was. He couldn't seem to keep his gaze above my
shoulders any time we were in the same room.

Stop this. You're already late for work. I
soaped the washcloth, passed it between my thighs. The heat started at my toes,
swept like a tsunami up my legs and radiated from my belly, heat so intense, so
engulfing that I cried out with the force of it. I collapsed against the wall
of the shower, barely able to stay upright.

"Are you all right in there?"

"Fine," I gasped. "I...ah...I dropped the
washcloth and when I bent over I hit my head." Pretty weak, but the best I
could do. I rubbed my crown, hoping he wouldn't insist on checking for a bump. The downside of being married to a doctor.

He must not have been too concerned, because by the time I'd
finished the exquisite torture of spreading lotion all over my body--imagining Larry's
long fingers exploring every inch of me--Bill was snoring in bed.

I paused beside the bed once I was fully clothed. This was the
man I'd married at nineteen, the father of my children, the one I'd promised to
cleave to until death did us part. The love I still felt for him was still
there, but its fire was cool and calm, with little of desire left in it. A memory of something wonderful, delicious, satisfying.

We were good friends now, but lovers no more. Good friends with
memories of shared intimacy and with a comfortable, steady, enduring love that
would carry us through the rest of our lives together.

I wouldn't trade you for either one of them, I told him silently. But I'd
sure like both of them in addition to you.

There! I'd given life to my fantasy by speaking it in my mind.
I wanted them. Both Larry and Pete.

The gleaming red digits of Bill's bedside clock caught my eye
and all thought of men and hot, steamy sex fled my mind. I had a meeting with a
client at nine-thirty.

 

* * * *

 

Pete and
I took the train to Portland the
following Monday. I really hate driving I-5, so whenever possible, I don't.
Larry had insisted on driving his Mercedes down, so it was just the two of us
on the train. I'd be spending most of my time in the architects' offices, Pete
would be at the county courthouse, and Larry would be liaising between the
architects and the medical advisory people. One car among the three of us was
plenty.

Somehow the logistics didn't concern me as much as they
ordinarily would have. All I could think of was that we were going to be together
in Portland for
five days.

And four nights.




 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Two

Once we'd
established that we loved train travel, hated to drive I-5, and were far better
off where someone else was responsible for steering, serving coffee, and
remembering where we were going, Pete and I each opened our laptops.

He typed for a few minutes, while I read through the draft of
an interim report on a storm water management project in Puyallup. After
a while his rapid typing slowed. A minute or two later, he lowered the screen. "This
isn't working," he said. "I can't think with you next to me."

"Neither can I. These numbers are
making no sense at all." I looked out the window, seeing the woods along
the Nisqually River. The
alders were starting to show hints of the red catkins that would be the first
sign of coming spring. Green and gray lichens clung to branches and gave them a
furry look. The rain that had fallen the night before had wet the leaves that
lay thickly on the ground and they shone like highly polished wood in the
watery sunlight.

"So, are we going to talk about it?"

Pretending the scenery had my total attention,
I hunched a shoulder and turned even more toward the window.

"Cilla, pretending you don't hear me isn't going to make
it go away."

His voice was low, husky, and sent delicious shivers all the
way to my toes. I leaned my forehead against the cold window. It didn't cool me
a bit. Behind me, I heard him close his laptop and set it on the tray-table.

"Do you know what I'd like to do right now?" he said,
his words spoken right in my ear. His breath was warm and moist in my ear. Then
his tongue was hot and wet on the lobe.

"Oh, look, there's a deer!"

"That's a cow." Again he lowered his voice, until it
was barely a sound. "I'd like to slide my hand under that ugly jacket and
pull your silky shirt loose. I'd let my fingers explore you until they found
your tits, all bound and confined, and I'd set them free. Loose and soft, so I
could cup them in my palms. I've always wondered. Are your nipples pink? Or
dark, like coffee with lots of good, rich cream? Do they
taste--"

"Stop it!" I turned sharply and almost bumped noses
with him. "Stop it," I said again, this time not quite so loud. "Please,
Pete. Don't go there. It's too..." I faltered, not sure what it was, just
that it was too much of whatever.

"It would be good, Cilla. I promise you. We'd be good
together." But he withdrew, and returned to his laptop.

If I hadn't seen the hard knot at the corner of his jaw, I'd
have thought he was completely unaffected. Too bad the tray-table hid his
crotch. I'd have bet he had a woody that wouldn't quit.

We kept to our tasks the rest of the journey, both of us tense
and jumpy. If our elbows bumped, we both shrank back, as if burned. After a few
minutes he got up to go to the rest room. He looked less stressed when he came
back. Had he jacked off?

That thought made me wonder what he looked like under those
loose-fitting, casual clothes he always wore. Today's
were camel flannel slacks--pleated, as all his pants were--a coffee-toned
crew-neck sweater that looked like cashmere, and a navy blazer with carved
wooden buttons. Somehow he always looked better dressed than most of the men in
the office in their suits and ties.

He was fit, I knew. I'd seen him without a jacket often enough
to be fully aware of the hard muscle of his chest and shoulders. His butt was
one of the best in the office. All of us women agreed that he could have
modeled for a buns calendar. But I was interested in more intimate aspects.
Bill was, I'd learned from listening to other women, about average. Six inches, enough to fill me nicely, but not so big to make me
feel stretched.

I'd always wanted to feel stretched.

Stop it! I forced my attention back to the storm
water report, which might as well have been written in Chinese, for all the
sense it made to me.

 

* * * *

 

Pete
took off when the meeting broke up that afternoon. He had a cousin in a suburb
of Portland, so he
was getting family obligations out of the way. These week-long trips were
wearing. By Thursday night, we'd all be ready to hit the sack by nine o'clock.

Larry and I decided to have dinner together, then
go to our rooms to organize tomorrow's work. We found a little Chinese
restaurant, not much more than a hole in the wall, on the edge of Portland's Chinatown. I
ordered General Tsao's Chicken, as always. Bill tells me I have no imagination
about food, because I always order the same things in ethnic restaurants. My
opinion is that once you find something you really like, why experiment. You
might be disappointed.

"This is delicious," I told him after the first few
bites. "How's yours?"

Larry set down his wine glass and leaned back. "Mine is
ready for you," he said, with a wicked grin. "When are you going to
admit that you're curious?"

I swallowed without thinking. And choked.
After Larry had finished beating me on the back and I'd consumed half a glass
of water, I managed to say, "I meant dinner." It came put a hoarse
whisper. My throat was raw. Choking on anything made with chili peppers is
dangerous.

"I'm sorry Cilla. I should have waited until your mouth
was empty." He looked properly contrite, but the hungry gleam was still in
his eye.

"'S'all right," I gasped,
before I took another big drink of water. A couple of deep breaths, and I felt
like I was going to survive. "Larry, why are you doing this to me? Is it a
joke?"

The sudden change of expression would have answered my
question, even if he hadn't said, "A joke? God! I wish it were." He
shoved his plate aside and leaned forward, resting both arms on the table. "Do
you think my wanting you until I can't sleep for it is a joke?"

"I...I..."

"No, Cilla, this is not a joke. I dream of you at night. You in my bed, your round, soft body in my arms. I wake up
remembering your taste, your heat. It's making me crazy!"

A swarm of butterflies filled my middle as I stared at him.
Uncertain of what to say, I licked my lips.

"Don't do that, for God's sake!"

"What? What'd I do?"

"Lick your lips like that."

"Well, excuse me, but my mouth was dry." I was wet
somewhere else, though. Wet and ready. My treacherous body wasn't waiting for
my brain to decide anything. It was hot to trot, swollen and tender. I
squirmed, and that only made it worse.

I was so confused, so uncertain. I'd already admitted to myself
that I wanted this man, but admitting it to him was an entirely different
matter. Once I did that, I was committed.

Who's it going to hurt?

I quashed that thought as
soon as it emerged. Or tried to. Trouble was, the
words I'd silently spoken to Bill last week came back to haunt me. I wouldn't
trade you for either one of them. But I'd
sure like both of them in addition to you.

I took one more bite of my dinner, and it tasted like so much
sawdust in my mouth. Laying the chopsticks aside, I said, "All right. Let's
suppose for a moment that we decide to engage in an illicit affair. Have you
considered the implications? We've got to work together on this project for the
next few months. I'm not much of an actress, even if you are. Pretty soon
people would start noticing that we're...we're--" I wasn't sure what word
to use. Intimate seemed to nice a term to describe an
adulterous affair. Having sex was accurate but far too tame for
the fantasies I'd had about this man. "--having sex," I finished, in
an embarrassed whisper.

"That tears it," Larry snarled. He grabbed my wrist. "Let's
go. We can't talk here."

Unfortunately we had to stop at the counter to pay, because the
office required us to turn in receipts for all meals. Janie, in Accounting,
loved to give us a bad time if we didn't. I could just hear her. "You paid
cash for dinner? And you didn't have time to ask for a receipt. What were you
thinking, Cilla? You're the Project Manager. You should set an example for the
others." She treated us all like we were irresponsible nine-year-olds.

As I stood beside Larry, waiting for my credit card receipt to
print out, I wondered what would be so awful about being an irresponsible
nine-year-old, just one time. Except the thoughts in my head weren't the least
bit childish.

"Let's go," he said, snatching the receipt from the
hostess's hand. Once again he caught my wrist in an unbreakable grasp.

"Wait! My umbrella!"

He paused long enough for me to pull it out of the stand beside
the door. The rain had stopped for now, but more was forecast. I didn't want to
have to buy another umbrella. I'd already lost two this year.

We walked back to the hotel, even though we'd taken the light
rail down to Chinatown. Larry
never let go of my wrist the whole time, but neither did he speak. Just dragged me along the sidewalk, crossing against the lights at
most intersections.

I have no idea why I didn't set my heels and demand he release
me. The thought didn't occur to me. There was something thrilling, something
exciting, about being dragged along the street by a man who'd admitted to
wanting me so much that it kept him awake nights.

I wondered if he was going to drag me all the way to his hotel
room, three doors down from mine.

If he did, then I wouldn't have to make a decision. If he
dragged me to his room, I was committed.

We saw Pete getting out of a cab as we turned the corner half a
block from the hotel entrance. He saw us at the same time, and stood, waiting,
for us to meet him.

"I didn't expect you back this early," Larry said.
His voice sounded strained.

"Deb caught me on the train. Her baby is pretty sick. Strep throat. I was already halfway to Beaverton, so I
went exploring. Caught a bus there, heading back toward town. I ended up
somewhere up in the hills--" He gestured toward the west, where the town
climbed foothills and spilled over their other sides. "I found this little
tavern. Best Reuben sandwich I've eaten for a long time." He held the door
open so I could go through. Even then Larry didn't release me. "How was
your dinner?"

"What dinner?" I said, wishing I'd asked for a
take-out carton for the food I'd barely tasted.

At the same time, Larry said, "It was fine. Goodnight."
He jerked me towards the elevators.

Pete stepped between Larry and the elevator door. "Something
happened tonight. What?"

"None of your god-damned business," Larry told him,
and shouldered him aside.

Or tried to. Pete
stood his ground. "Anything to do with Cilla is my business," he
said.

"That tears it!" I broke Larry's hold on my wrist, as
I probably could have done at any moment. "I am not a toy to be fought
over, guys. I am your boss, and I say it's time for us all to get some rest. I'll
meet you for breakfast at seven. We'll decide how we're going to divide up the
tasks we need to accomplish tomorrow."

As if I'd personally summoned it, the elevator door opened
behind me. I stepped inside. "Coming, gentlemen?"

From the expressions of hope on their faces, it was obvious
that they both would like that very much.




 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Three

Strong
masculine arms encircled my waist from behind. I knew, from the glint of golden
hairs, that they were Pete's. "Let's fuck, baby." The words didn't
fit the tone of the voice, which was soft, seductive. I've never been turned on
by dirty talk, but somehow this time I was. I wiggled my bottom against him,
feeling his erection.

"Oh, yes," I breathed. But before I could turn, his
hand was up my skirt and between my legs, rubbing, stroking, his fingers
pressing into me. In a moment his fingers had slipped under my panties and were
probing. One slipped inside, then two. They separated and I could feel myself
stretch wide.

Suddenly his other hand was on my shoulders and I was bent over
my desk.

My desk? Wait a
minute! I'm in my hotel room.

His hands were hard on my bottom, and his wool slacks prickled
my skin. Then his pants were gone, and his cock was pushing into me. Slowly. One delicious inch at a time, until I felt I'd split
open.

He was enormous!

And I loved it. Oh, God, yes!

He withdrew, and I moaned, pushing myself after him, wanting
him fully inside.

"Patience, Cilla. I don't want you coming too soon."
He held himself just barely inside me, the head of his cock rubbing against the
mouth of my vagina, slipping, sliding, a soft friction so gentle, so subtle,
that I almost didn't feel it. Yet it was so insistent that I kept trying to
rear back and impale myself again.

One of his hands held me bent over the table, and the other one
drove me higher. He teased his fingers through my thatch, dipped into my slit
and gave my clit a quick rub.

Almost before I could react to the charge of heat that touch
sent through me, he was back to threading fingers through my thatch, never
touching skin, yet I could feel the heat of his hand on me.

I couldn't help it. I screamed. "Pe-e-e-te! Now! Please. Now!!"


"Oh, yes, sing to me, you beautiful little bird. Tell me
what you want." He rammed himself in, then just
as quickly withdrew. "Sing, Cilla! Sing a song of sinful sex!"

I was on the edge, and I couldn't topple over. "Pete, damn
you, do it! Now, you bastard!"

He withdrew even farther. " Do
what, Cilla. Fuck you? Say it. Say it!"

"Oh, God, yes! Fuck
me!"

He withdrew completely, and I woke. On the
panting edge of orgasm.

For the longest time I just lay there, reliving the dream. What
on earth possessed me that I should be dreaming like this? I never had before.

Rolling over to my side, I saw the clock. A quarter to six. If I got up now, I'd have time for my
Yoga stretches for a change.

The orgasm still hovered, just out of reach. I rolled back. Raised my knees.

Touched myself.

Old habits returned. My hands remembered this, even if my head
had all but forgotten. I drew my fingernails along my inner thighs, raising goose
bumps from knee to groin. The scent of my arousal filled my nose. Slowly I
touched myself, parting labial lips, touching my clit lightly. I took it
between thumb and forefinger, slid two fingers of the other hand inside. As I teased
myself, I wiggled my fingers, seeking that one perfect spot in my vagina, the
one that Bill had always seemed to miss. Moisture flooded my hands as a surge
of heat started at my toes. I stopped all motion, but held the pressure on my clit,
kept my fingers bent and pressing in just the right place, as I let the heat
climb slowly up my legs.

Slowly, but faster and faster, until it
erupted into my very core, clenching my whole body, sending shockwaves of pure
pleasure outward.

I don't know how long it lasted, but when I was finally lying
sated and sweating on the torn-up bed, I didn't have the half-satisfied
sensation that had often accompanied masturbation when I was younger.

I felt well and truly fucked!

 

* * * *

 

Breakfast
was a working meal. Neither man stepped an inch out of line, almost as if they'd
made a pact to behave themselves. We sorted out the day's tasks, put together a
loose schedule, and arranged to meet for dinner in order to update one another
on the status of our preparations for the public meeting tomorrow night. While Gamlin Associates, the architectural firm that was the lead
on this project, would be there, the meeting would be our baby, from start to
finish. We were the public involvement specialists. The GA staff would be there
to answer technical questions. Staff from the city planning office would also
be present, but at this point in the process, they played a small role. Later
on we'd be working closely with them. It was Pete's job to make sure our
interaction with them went smoothly.

If anyone could do that, it was Pete Ivanov. He could charm the
birds out of the trees.

By the time I got back to the hotel about ten after five, I was
exhausted. There's nothing more wearing than trying to convince people that
your way is the right way. Some of the GA people still thought hiring a firm
like MSM was a
waste of time. They'd always had a good working relationship with the
permitting people in Portland. What
they didn't realize was that bringing other agencies in, like Aging and
Disability Services, and the Office on Aging, changed the whole picture.

MSM's task
was to make sure that everybody involved with the Gestalt Living Project stayed
happy.

Fat chance! But it was my job to try.

The hotel lobby was too public, so I sat in the bar, picking a
table from where I could watch the lobby. I wanted to catch Larry and Pete
before they went somewhere for the evening. Tomorrow morning I was meeting
Steve Gambel for breakfast, to bring him up to speed.
He'd been unavailable today.

The bartender had just set my too-expensive Coke before me when
I saw Larry walking across the lobby, cell phone at his ear. Ignoring the sharp
thrill of desire the sight of him evoked, I went to the doorway and called his
name.

He immediately changed direction. As he came through the wide
doorway, he flipped his phone closed. "Pete's going to be late," he
said, dropping his leather folio onto the table. "The woman who was going
to interview him got stuck on another story, so Pete's sitting around the
station waiting his turn." He propped his elbows on the table and ran his
fingers through his long, dark hair. "Man! What a day! I don't know what's
worse. Bureaucrats who believe that anything new is automatically suspect, or
helpful staffers who think they need to dot every i
and cross every t before they can cooperate."

Since I'd heard this lament from him before, I ignored it.
Larry was one of those people who gave the impression he faced impossible
obstacles, before he set to work overcoming them.

He ordered a beer. "Do you mind if I hold off on reporting
until Pete gets here? It's really not worth telling twice."

"So you had a bad day? Did you accomplish anything at all?"

One shoulder lifted in a small shrug. "Actually, yes, but
it was uphill all the way."

I smiled, knowing that was Larry-speak for saying he'd
accomplished everything he set out to do. "Isn't it always?" I had to
chuckle.

"So, let me ask you something I've been wondering about.
You and Pete knew each other before he came to MSM, right?
Did you meet in college?"

"A long time before that." He
seemed to look back into a distant past.

Not too distant, because I knew he was thirty-one. His birthday
had been last month.

"I've known him all my life. We lived next door to each
other as far back as I can remember."

"In Tacoma?" I knew
that was where Pete's parents lived. His father was in poor health, which was
why he'd come back to Washington State to
work.

"Uh-huh." He took a long swallow of his beer. "Ahh, that
hits the spot. Pete and I, we were closer than brothers from the time we were
in diapers. Did everything together. Even when my
family moved away, when I was nine, we kept in touch. Somehow or other we
always convinced our families that we needed to be together in the summer. He
went with us to Disneyland one
year and to Washington DC
another. I went with his family to Yellowstone and the
Grand Canyon. He's the brother I always wanted. I
think I'm closer to him than to either of my sisters."

I envied him. I'd never had a friend that close.

My phone warbled. "Excuse me." I flipped it open. "Cilla
Trent."

"Hey, boss, Pete here. I'm going to be even later. Karen
wants me to go out to the site with her. It'll probably be a couple of hours
before I get there. I'll grab supper on my way."

"Okay, but you call me as soon as you get back. I need to
be brought up to speed."

"Will do. Gotta run." He was gone.

"Well, I guess you'd better give me your report now,"
I told Larry. "You'll have to get together with Pete in the morning."

We sat there while he gave me a rundown of his day's
activities. I refused his offer of dinner because I wanted to get work done. A
repeat of last night's fiasco was the last thing I needed. But you want it,
don't you?

I ignored the voice of temptation.

When he'd finished reporting, I gathered my notes and said, "I'm
going to order room service, so you're on your own this evening. Just be sure
and talk to Pete before you start tomorrow."

Did I imagine seeing an expression of disappointment before he
nodded and left me?

I was just finishing writing up my notes when someone knocked
on my door. "Who is it?"

"Pete."

I paused, my hand on the doorknob. In the past I'd never
thought twice about inviting a male co-worked into my hotel room, particularly
when it was a two-room suite like this. For one thing, I'm older than many of
the men in the office. For another, there's never been so
much as a spark between me and any of them.

Until now.

On the other hand, not letting him in would show Pete just how
much aware of him I was. Caught between a rock and a hard place!

I closed the bedroom door before letting him in. "This
better hadn't take long, Pete. I'm beat."

"Ten minutes, max. I'll talk really fast." He walked
in and eased himself into the easy chair.

I perched on the edge of the desk, too tense to sit down.

He gave his report quickly, hitting the high spots. In far less
than ten minutes I was up to date on what he'd learned, what he'd done, whom he'd
met. "I'll write it up later and email you." He yawned. "Don't
know why I'm so tired." A short pause. "Maybe
because of the crazy dreams I've been having."

Without thinking, I said, "Crazy dreams? You too?"

His eyes went sleepy and his voice turned to warm, sweet syrup.
"Oh, yes, Cilla, I've been having wild, crazy dreams. Of
you. Naked. In my bed."

"Pete," I warned.

He held up his hand, palm toward me. "Not to worry. I'm
cool." He pulled himself out of the chair, moving with his customary
grace. "I'll see you...later."

I followed him to the door. When he'd gone, I made sure the
night latch was set.

 

* * * *

 

I woke
lying on my side. A warm body was snuggled against my back,
a questing hand cupped my breast. "Mmmmm."
Heat curled in my belly, spread though my whole body. I started to turn over,
but he held me.

"Lie still. Let me drive you mad," he whispered. A
moment of fumbling, and his cock, hard and insistent, slipped between my
thighs. I clamped tight and wiggled just enough to cause him to inhale sharply.
"Hold still, you little vixen. This is my game."

He toyed with my breast, rolling the nipple between thumb and
forefinger, then plucking at it, until it was full and hard. After a while, he
transferred his attention to the other one, and quickly brought it to full
attention too.

I did my best to lie quietly, to enjoy the build-up of heat and
tension. I could feel myself growing wet as a throbbing insistence grew in my
belly. Again I thrust backwards.

"Ahhh! She's
getting impatient. Maybe she'd like something a little different." His
hand left my breasts and caught one wrist. "Give me your other hand,
Cilla. Let me hold you."

I never even thought about it. I clutched at his fingers. The
next thing I knew, both my hands were manacled by his long, strong fingers.

"Gotcha!" He
chuckled.

The sound of his voice, the first above a whisper, brought me
to full awareness. "You...you're not Bill!" I tried to pull away, but
as soon as I moved, his leg came over mine and I was held firmly against him.

I should have been scared, but I wasn't, for I recognized his
voice. "Larry? How'd you get in here?"

"Your key card. It was
just sitting there on your desk. Such a temptation, Cilla."
He flipped me onto my back.

Before I could react, he was sitting astride my thighs, still
holding my wrists. In the dim city-light from the half-open blinds, I looked up
at him.

Larry is tall, probably six-two or -three. He looks skinny and
weak, but he's not. Someone had mentioned that he was heavily into one of the
Oriental disciplines--Karate, or Tai Chi or something. All I knew was that he
moved like a big, lazy cat, totally in command of his body.

And now he was in command of mine. I stared at his cock,
standing tall and proud. My God, he is enormous! A droplet glistened at
its tip. I had an irrational desire to rear up and lick it away. The inner
walls of my vagina contracted as I imagined the salty taste of it. "You can
let me go now," I told him. "I won't fight you."

"Ah, but I want you to." He leaned sideways and
picked up something. At first I thought it was the sash to my white terry
bathrobe, but then I saw that it was rope, thick, soft rope. One end of it
disappeared off the edge of the bed. "What's that for?"

"You'll see." He transferred my wrists to his other
hand, then leaned and caught up another rope from the other side of the bed.
It, too, was attached somewhere that I couldn't see.

"Larry?" I was starting to get a little nervous.
Kinky sex had never been my cup of tea. Whipped cream and chocolate syrup was
about as adventurous as I'd ever cared to be.

"Trust me."

Maybe I'm an idiot, but I did.




 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Four

He
looped the rope he held around my left wrist and tied it quickly. How he
managed it without letting go, I don't know, but before I knew it, both of my
wrists were firmly bound. I could have scratched my nose if I'd turned my head
to the side, but I couldn't reach one hand with the other.

I supposed I should have told him to stop, but I didn't.
Instead of scared, I was hot. Oh, God, I was so hot. I couldn't remember ever
wanting sex more in my whole life.

Larry loomed over me, standing at the side of the bed. So tall, so strong. Restlessly I moved, unable to lie still.
The motion made my robe fall open. I could feel the cool air wafting across my
thighs.

"Raise your knees," Larry said, still in that syrupy,
sexy tone. "Open them."

I knew how a puppet must feel when its strings were pulled. My
feet slid toward my bottom and my knees fell open. The skirt of my robe did
too, and as it did, it pulled the loose knot at my waist even looser.

Larry's eyes widened. "God!" he breathed. "Oh, God, Cilla. That's the prettiest sight I've ever
seen." He climbed onto the bed and knelt between my feet. His hands closed
firmly over my bare feet, the palms a little rough against the tender skin of
my arches. He clasped, then let go and slowly slid his hands up to my ankles. "You've
got pretty feet. I would never have expected the green toenail polish, though.
You've got a secret side, don't you Cilla? A secret side that's
dying for an adventure?"

Yes. Oh yes! But I only thought the words. If I could've
spoken aloud, I'd have begged him to stop making me crazy with desire, to take
me right then.

I was enjoying being made crazy. Oh, God,
was I enjoying it!

His hands continued to slide up, around my calves, over my
knees, where he paused to tickle the backs. I squealed--tickling is almost
painful to me--and kicked. Even as a child I'd hated being tickled, and I still
tend to react violently.

My foot caught him on the chest, with a good thump. "Ah,
you don't like that. Well, let's try something else."

He bit me on the knee. Just a gentle nip, but it tingled all
the way to my belly, and got even better when he laved the place he'd bit with
a tongue so hot it burned me.

By now my skin was so sensitized that the merest touch was
torture. The texture of the soft terry of my robe on my breasts was almost
painful. Not quite, though. It was like an itch, an irritation. At the same
time, when I did move, when I rubbed my back and bottom against the fabric, it
stung, yet at the same time soothed.

As if he could read my mind, Larry leaned forward and opened
the robe. "There," he said, smiling, "that's what I wanted to
see. And all ready for me, too. Just look at that!" He tweaked one nipple,
gave the other a light flick with his forefinger.

This time my squeal was closer to a scream. Not from pain, but
from sheer, burning lust. "Larry, give it to me now!" I trapped him
between my thighs, capturing his legs with mine. I locked my feet together and
pulled him forward, until he had to catch himself with his hands on either side
of my waist. "Now," I demanded.

"Ah, Cilla, I wish I could. But it's late, and my boss
would kill me if I didn't get a good night's rest. Remember, tomorrow night we've
got that public meeting. We need to be in top shape for that." He bent and
kissed my belly. Not once, but many times, in a slow progression downward,
until I could feel the heat of his breath as he dropped light kisses on my
thatch. His fingers separated my folds and his tongue dipped between them and
found my clit. When he sucked it between his lips, the orgasm hit me with all
the force and subtlety of a freight train. I know I screamed.

The next thing I knew, Larry was gently untying my hands. When
he held both lengths of rope in one hand, he leaned down, cupping my
still-trembling chin with the other.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he said, his tone now hoarse
and strained. "Sleep well."

Before I could find words, he was gone.

 

* * * *

 

The next
morning when I arrived in the hotel café, Pete and Larry were already seated.
They were in the middle of a heated discussion over the Mariners' chances for a
pennant this year. Not being a baseball fan, I left them to their debate and
ordered a poached egg, toast and orange juice. Ordinarily I don't eat
breakfast, but this morning was going to be busy. In fact, the whole day would
be hectic.

I tried to concentrate on what I had to do before the night's
meeting, but all I could think about was the events of the previous two nights.
As I ate, I stole surreptitious glances at both men--still arguing baseball--and
wondered if I'd dreamt it all. I mean, here they were, acting as if we were no
more than colleagues on a business trip, and yet I remembered.

Oh, God, I remembered. When Larry reached across the
table for the cream, I saw the flex of tendons in his hand, recalled the touch
of those fingers, the slight roughness of callus as he clasped my naked thigh.
Pete called to the waitress for more hot water, and the velvety-husky timbre of
his voice made me remember how he'd described what he wanted to do to me as he
bent me over the desk. "...tease you until you're wet, and then I'll eat
you. You'll taste like strawberries with cream. Or maybe
maple syrup on ice cream. But hot. Oh, God Cilla, you'll be so hot. You'll
burn my mouth. I'll be afraid to put my cock... "

I shivered with desire.

Pete laughed and bet Larry ten dollars that the Mariners would
make this year's World Series.

And I wondered if I was going mad.

 

* * * *

 

"Well,
that went much better than I expected," Larry said, as he helped me load
the remaining handouts into the trunk of his car.

"Cilla's good," Pete replied. "I've worked with
a lot of Project Managers, and she's one of the best." He set the
projector beside the laptop. "What about that idiot from the neighborhood
committee, though? Wasn't he a pain in the ass?"

"Shhh!" I
looked around. A few stragglers were still emerging from the school gym where
the meeting had been held. "Wait until we're in the car."

"Sorry. What I meant to say was, 'Isn't it fortunate that
the gentleman from the neighborhood committee is so concerned about the quality
of life of its residents?'"

I had to laugh. Pete's first comment was closer to what I was
thinking. Every public meeting I'd ever attended had one or more people like
the man in question. Negative, outspoken, illogical, and determined to be
heard, at the cost of everyone else's fair turn. I'd learned a few techniques
to deal with them, but nothing had worked this evening. I'd finally had to cut
him off rather forcefully, in order to let everyone have a chance to comment.
As it was, he'd caused us to run a half-hour over the time we'd planned for.
Then he'd cornered me afterward and had harangued me for another fifteen
minutes.

"Why didn't you just walk off?" Pete said, as he held
the back door for me. "He wasn't saying anything he hadn't said before."

Larry got in and started the car. "Listening to him was
the right thing to do. She made him feel like he was important, like what he
had to say was valid. People like that, if you don't listen to them, can give
you all sorts of grief later on."

Pete said something in response, but I'd tuned them out. The
day's stress had caught up with me, and I wondered if I'd be able to stay awake
until we got back to the hotel.

As I sat there, half-zoned, their voices lured me toward sleep.
I'm not sure whether I actually heard Larry say, "Ever consider a
threesome?"

"With Cilla?" Pete
asked. "Oh, man! What a concept. When?"

"I thought maybe tomorrow night. We've only got that one
meeting scheduled Friday, and it's not until ten."

"Dinner first?"

"Sounds good to me."

The next thing I knew, Pete was leaning in the open door and
saying, "Wake up. Cilla. We're home."

I managed to get to my room without help. I even managed to
hang up my suit and brush my teeth. When I woke the next morning, I was still
wearing my bra, half-slip and pantyhose.

Best of all, none of the erotic dreams had disrupted my rest,
and I felt able to face the dragons again.

 

* * * *

 

As if in
reward for a hectic three days, Thursday went smoothly. My early morning
meeting with the design committee required only that I be there. I found the
discussion interesting at first, then got lost as they
went deeper and deeper into technical aspects of engineering design. When it
was over, well past noon, I
joined Art Fortnum, the GA Project Manager, and a couple of the architects for
a late--and long--lunch. I didn't get back to the hotel until four.

The message light on my phone was blinking. I picked it up,
punched the code for a recorded message. "Hi, Cilla.
Larry here. I found this great place for dinner. Wear
something that'll wash. I'll meet you and Pete in the hotel lobby at
six-thirty."

All I wanted to do was hole up in my room and rest this
evening, but I needed to talk to both men. A couple of things had come up in
the lunch conversation that they needed to know. Stripping down to my bra and
panties, I set the alarm for six and slid between cool, soft sheets. I must
have been asleep in 30 seconds.

The alarm pulled me out of a vague, frustrating dream where I
kept trying to find files in unlikely places, but everything was locked and I
kept dropping the folders and scattering their contents all over the place. I
fumbled for the switch, muttering imprecations against hotel clocks that all
worked differently. After a few moments of mental confusion, I remembered where
I was and what I was supposed to do.

I also remembered who I was going to dinner with--and wondered
if I wouldn't be smarter to beg off. I knew, deep in my gut, how the evening
would end.

I'm not ready for this.

"Coward," I told myself as I ran a brush through my
hair. Tonight I'd leave it down, instead of pulling it
back into the twist I usually wore. "All you have to do is say no. It's
not like they're going to hold a gun to your head, or tie you up."

A tingle of desire quivered in my belly as I remembered the
white ropes and how I'd been completely at Larry's mercy in my dream.

It was a dream. It had to be.

"Stop worrying. Nothing's going to happen tonight, as long
as you're with the two of them. Safety in numbers, and all
that." I stepped back to make one last check. My chinos and lime
green polo shirt were about as washable as I'd brought with me. Slipping into a
mulberry boiled wool jacket, I grabbed my purse and went out, before I could
change my mind.




 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Five

"A cab? You're taking
a cab, Larry?" Ordinarily he insisted on driving his Mercedes everywhere.

"We're going to a brew pub, Cilla. I don't risk my car
when I've been drinking."

"Not just a brew pub," Pete said as he followed me
thought the wide double doors of the hotel. "They're known as much for
their barbecue as for their beer."

I climbed into the back seat. "Yum!
Southern style, I hope?" Pete got in after me.

Instead of getting into the front seat, Larry squeezed in
beside me. It was cozy, and I was way too conscious of the pressure of their
thighs against mine. When Larry raised his arm and stretched it along the back
of the seat, it relieved the crowding. Then I felt his fingers threading
through my hair. I pretended not to notice, glad he couldn't see the goose
bumps on my arms.

I doubt I'd ever find my way back to that brewpub. I can't even
remember its name. But I'll never forget that evening.

We pulled up in front of an old brick building, windowless and
dark. If it hadn't been for the neon sign above a heavy wooden door, I would
have thought they'd brought me to a deserted warehouse. Ruby's, it
flashed. On-off-on-off-on, turning the rain-slick street into
an eerie red tunnel through the night.

The interior was smoky, lit by wall sconces with amber globes.
As my eyes adjusted, I could see that the tables were small, round, and covered
with brown wrapping paper. I was wondering how long we'd have to wait to be
seated, when a tall woman came out of a narrow door behind the high counter on
which a cash register sat.

"We're reservations," Pete told her. "Ivanov."

She led us to a table in the back corner. Despite the nearby
sconce, I wondered how I'd read my menu. As it turned out, I didn't have to.
There wasn't one.

"We've got beans, fries, cornbread, and buttermilk
biscuits," the woman said, speaking rapidly. "Ranch,
Thousand
Island,
Italian and house dressing. You want a pitcher?"

"A pitcher of the Weizzenbier,"
Pete told her, before I could ask for wine, "and three glasses."

"Wait a minute. I don't want beer."

"You want this beer, Cilla. Trust me." Turning to the
waitress, Larry said, "Bring a pitcher of water too, please."

When she'd gone, he leaned forward. "I had lunch here
today, with some fellows from the Business Gazette. I've never tasted
beer so good. Smooth, dark, rich, with just a hint of
spiciness. You'll love it, I promise."

"If you say so." I
looked around me, as well as I could. The walls were old brick, the ceiling
open, with heavy wooden joists showing. The wood floor, now that I got a good
look at it, was wide planks that showed the scars of years of use. The
impression I had of an old warehouse probably wasn't far off. The beer arrived
just then, interrupting my inspection.

I sipped cautiously. Beer isn't my favorite libation, mostly
because of its bitterness. But this wasn't bitter, at least not enough to
bother me. It was almost as good as Larry had promised, in fact. "I could
learn to like this," I told my companions.

"Told you so," Larry said, with
a smirk. He scooted his chair closer--no mean feat, considering that we
were already practically rubbing elbows. Our round table was perhaps thirty
inches across, making two pitchers and six glasses quite a crowd.

Pete, on my other side, also scooted closer. Not quite enough
to crowd me, but certainly enough to make me feel surrounded. "We'll need
most of the table for the food," he said, when I looked at him with raised
eyebrow.

Before I could ask why we didn't spread out and put it between
us, the waitress returned. "You decided?" she said, looking at me.

I shook my head. "Not yet."

"I'll have the beans and fries," Larry told her, "and
house dressing." In an aside, he said, "Balsamic vinaigrette. Superb."

"Beans and biscuits for me, and ranch," Pete told
her. "Cilla?"

"I guess I'll have the cornbread, but no beans. And the house dressing." Having seen the mountain of
ribs just brought to the table beside ours, I doubted I'd go hungry.

While we waited for our meals, we caught each other up on the
day's accomplishments. We were all but finished here, and we'd accomplished
even more than we'd hoped to. Larry had made some good contacts with a couple
of local senior advocacy groups and Pete was sure he'd built some good
relationships with local regulatory staff. My own interactions with Gambel Associates had been productive.

We talked while we ate our salads--the vinaigrette dressing was
incredible!--and were still recapping the week's activities when the waitress
snatched the empty plates away. She returned in a moment to set a gargantuan
tray of ribs in the middle of the table. I was still gaping at it when she came
back carrying three aluminum pie plates filled with bread, pots of honey and
butter, and two soup bowls full of baked beans that smelled so strongly of
molasses and spices that my mouth watered. We all got knives, the fellows got
round-bowled spoons, and on the far side of the table she set a container that
reminded me of the tortilla warmers you saw in Mexican restaurants.

"You need any more washcloths, you let me know," she
said. "Enjoy your supper."

"Washcloths?" I said, my voice faint.

"You'll need 'em," Larry assured me, as he reached out
and picked up a rib, dripping with sauce. Without ceremony, he started gnawing
on it.

Pete did the same. I hesitated, then followed suit. Apparently
eating with one's hands was the only choice here.

After the first taste, I couldn't stop gnawing until I'd
removed every single scrap of meat from the bone. Oh, the ribs were wonderful!
Tossing the bone into the pile already begun by the guys, I reached for my beer
glass. It nearly slipped out of my greasy, sauce-covered fingers.

Without thinking, I stuck my little finger in my mouth and
licked it clean. One of my secret passions is eating with my fingers, but it's
something I rarely do in company. And when I do lick them, it's carefully and unobtrusively.

Somehow tonight good manners seemed unimportant. I licked the
ring finger, inserting it nearly full length into my mouth, and swiping at it
with my tongue. Drawing it out slowly, I made sure there wasn't any sauce left
on in. I was about to insert the third finger when Pete reached over and caught
my wrist.

"My God, Cilla, do you know what you're doing to us? I'm
hard as a rock!" He drew my hand toward him and took my middle finger
between his lips. His tongue touched the end, then wrapped around the tip. I
barely reacted when Larry took the other hand and started licking the fingers
there, not taking them into his mouth as Pete was, but running his tongue the
length of each one, wrapping it around each finger. His
tongue--that incredibly long, prehensile tongue--stroked and licked and teased,
until I wondered if I was going to dissolve into a puddle of desire, right here
under the table.

A gentle suction on the other hand pulled my attention back to Pete.
He was working on my forefinger now, and as I watched helplessly, he sucked it
farther into his mouth. The hot wetness inside shot a shiver
of pure lust up my arm and straight to my lower belly. My thighs
clenched together and the walls of my vagina tightened. I felt myself growing
damp, as my whole body became hyper-aware of every touch, every sensation.

I sat, helpless, as they toyed with my fingers. After a while Larry
held my beer glass to my lips. I opened my mouth like a baby bird, and drank.

"Not too much, sweet Cilla," he said, into my ear. I
heard laughter in his voice...and something more. "You don't want to lose
control."

Lose control? I was beginning to think I'd lost it long since.
I shivered, as Pete bit gently on the tip of my thumb before sucking it into
his mouth.

Larry set my glass down. "Cornbread?"
He broke off a chunk and buttered it. "Honey, too, I think," he said,
"not that you're not already sweet." He held the bread to my mouth.

Oh, it was delicious! I chewed, savoring the contrasting
flavors, the texture of the crunchy cornbread. Larry leaned close and took a
crumb from my lower lip with the tip of his tongue. I shivered at the heat of
his breath on my face. I closed my eyes, because if I'd kept looking at him, I
might have grabbed him and pulled him to me for a real kiss.

After an eon or two of mindless pleasure, Pete released my
hand. "Let her eat more," he said, sounding just as amused as Larry
had. "She'll need her strength."

"For what?" I
challenged. But my heart wasn't in it. Somehow I'd lost all interest in
anything beyond this room, these men.

The next moment, both of them were
back at the ribs, as if they'd nothing more on their minds but filling their
bellies. A flare of exasperation surged inside me, but changed to amusement
when Pete caught my eye and winked. His pursed lips told me that he was simply
taking a break. He wasn't through with me.

Neither was Larry, I realized, when his long leg tangled with
mine under the table. When I felt the stroke of his wool-clad foot atop mine, I
realized that he'd slipped his foot out of his Birkenstock. I tried to
concentrate on the rib I held, but the slow, sensuous glide of his foot, up and
down my leg, made me forget to chew.

Once again they cleaned my hands for me. Somewhere deep inside,
a tiny little voice told me I was being a reckless fool, but I ignored it
without effort. These men wanted me. Two handsome, intelligent, charming, sexy men, and they wanted me. Me! Cilla Trent!

How could any woman resist that?

I don't know how many ribs I ate, or how I managed to consume
most of the cornbread. I certainly don't know how they ate all they did--the
mountain of ribs had turned into a heap of gnawed bones--because it had seemed
like my fingers were in their mouths most of the time. But eventually Larry
picked up the tortilla warmer and offered it to me.

Inside were several warm, damp washcloths, scented with spices.
Cinnamon and cloves, I think. I took one and wiped my face, not caring if it
removed what little makeup remained there. Although the cloth seemed warm in my
hand, to my face it felt cool and soothing. Without thinking, I patted it down
my throat and into the open placket of my shirt, where it should have steamed,
so hot did I feel.

I went to the restroom while Pete called a cab and Larry paid
for dinner. As I entered, I saw myself in the mirror. And then I looked again.
Good grief, was that me?

My face was flushed, my lips were
swollen as if from a thousand kisses, my eyes were slumberous. Anyone knowing
what a cool exterior I usually offered the world would be convinced I'd just
come from a night of wild, hot sex.

I turned away and entered a stall. But the thought wouldn't go
away.

A night of wild, hot sex. So tempting.




 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Six

Once
again they crowded into the back seat with me. This time, Larry put his arm
around me, instead of simply resting it across the seat back. I stiffened, then relaxed when he simply let it lie gently across my
shoulders. Pete took my hand. He wove his fingers with mine and pulled our
linked hands over to rest high on his thigh.

"It seems a shame for the evening to end so early,"
he said. There was a question in his voice, one I couldn't possibly
misunderstand.

Decision time. I stole
glances to the left, to the right. Pete was looking out the window, apparently
not at all concerned with my answer. Larry was leaning back, his eyes closed,
equally unconcerned. I chewed my lower lip, wondering what to say. Wondering
what I was supposed to say.

So I said nothing at all. If they wanted to take the next step,
they had to be a lot more up front about it than subtle hints in taxicabs.

Besides, as long as I didn't commit myself, I was safe.

The short trip to our hotel was spent in tense silence. In
spite of my confusion, I felt comfortable, cherished, with them holding on to
me. Pete released my hand when he climbed out. As he stepped forward to pay the
driver, Larry came up behind me and wrapped one arm around my waist. "A
drink first? Or straight to our rooms?" He was
using that warm, syrupy tone again.

Damn him!

"I'm tired." Of disappointed
anticipation, of unseized temptation, of unkept promises.

Of being a fool about two teasing boys. It was
time I started acting my age.

I stepped away, out of his reach. "You two are on your own
tomorrow. Just be at the depot by two, Pete. I'll meet you there." In my
own ears my tone sounded harsh, strident. A deep breath, some
conscious control. "Good night." I stalked inside and headed
toward the elevators.

They were right beside me.

"She's pissed," Pete said.

"'Scared?" Larry
wondered aloud.

I spun on my heel, faced them. "I am not angry, and
there's nothing to be afraid of. I'm tired and I'm going to bed."

"Sounds good to me." Pete
crowded me, until I took a step back. Another. Larry
was beside him, not giving me room to go around, and after the third step, I
was inside the elevator.

The door whooshed shut. Larry pushed a button. Not to our
floor. "My room's on five."

"We've got a surprise for you, Cilla. You'll like it."


Pete stepped so close to me that I felt the warmth of his body
on my breasts, my thighs. "We thought we were being subtle. Guess we were
wrong." His hand cupped my chin. "Cilla, will you come with us
tonight? Will you trust us?" His smile was gentle, sexy, and his soft
brown eyes held no more threat than a puppy's.

"Trust you? To what?"

"To take care of you. To lead you on an exciting adventure." The syrup in
Larry's tone smothered my irritation. The promise in it sent shivers of
anticipation down my spine.

The elevator slid to a silent stop. Over the door, the red
indicator lights showed 12. I knew, from having stayed in this hotel
before, that the twelfth floor contained the VIP suites,
each of several rooms, with amenities not available to us common working
stiffs.

I could have said no. I waited for my conscience to prod me.
But no small voice advised caution. In fact, I thought I could hear a little
red devil urging me to yield to temptation, because I might never get another
chance.

I looked at Larry, tall and dark and handsome, and always a
little crumpled, in his loose wool sweater and rumpled Dockers, his scuffed Birkenstocks.
Then at Pete--a little shorter than I stood in my heels, but well-built and
cute, with his snub nose and his shock of unruly hair and his cool,
ultra-stylish clothes. Good friends, good companions, honest and decent.

Even their propositions had been gentlemanly. Well, mostly.

"One night," Pete said.

"Because we can't let it stop here," Larry added.

I looked from one to the other. Tempted.
Oh, so tempted. "But never again? Promise me that."

Pete nodded. "Some things should be unique."

"We've come too far to go back, but there's no ahead to go
to."

Larry's words made a crazy kind of sense. I looked at him, then
at Pete, searching their eyes for any trace of dishonesty, of threat.

All I saw was kindness, affection. "All right," I
said.

As Larry inserted the card key, I realized I wasn't feeling
even the smallest twinge of apprehension. Just that tiny glow
of desire that had been smoldering inside of me for weeks.

The room was huge, with a long sofa facing floor-to-ceiling
windows. They looked out on the city, to the river, a dark, faintly gleaming
ribbon dividing downtown from the East Side. I
smelled a faint tang of chlorine and looked for the source. Before I could find
it, Larry went to the low credenza behind the sofa and lifted a bottle halfway
out of a silver bucket. "Champagne?"

The beer I'd drunk with dinner was still buzzing in my head. "Not
now." I walked farther into the room, conscious of Pete following so
closely that I could feel the heat of him on my shoulder, my bottom. As I
passed the sofa, I saw the source of the chlorine smell. A hot tub, faintly
steaming, sat in the middle of a gleaming expanse of tile, off to the side of
the room. Beyond it a door led into a bedroom, dimly lit by a soft spotlight
shining on an enormous bed occupying a dais in the center of the room. Sheer
curtains surrounded it, hanging from a gilded medallion in the ceiling. "Oh, my!"

"You like it?" Larry came to me and framed my face in
his hands. "We wanted this to be a special time for you, Cilla."

"Special and exciting," Pete murmured, as he stepped
even closer and pressed himself against me. His erection fit nicely against my
bottom. I couldn't resist leaning into his embrace.

As I did, Larry kissed me. A gentle, questing
kiss at first, barely a touch of his lips against mine. But then he ran
the tip of his tongue--that incredible, prehensile tongue--along the seam of my
lips and I opened to him.

He nestled against me, letting me feel his erection, too.
Because he's so much taller, it pressed against my belly, to well above my
waist. He still held my face within the cradle of his hands, tilting my head to
give him better access to my mouth. I was lost in the sensation of his tongue
against the soft tissues inside, the sensuous tracery as he explored my teeth,
the roof of my mouth, the insides of my cheeks.

Pete's arms were around me--when had that happened?--and
when I tried to lift mine to embrace Larry, I found them held against my sides.
"Uh-uh, Cilla," Pete murmured into my ear. "You're our captive.
We can do whatever we want to you, but you can't touch us, not unless we
give you permission."

I remembered the feel of soft ropes on my wrists and shivered.
Not in fear.

"It's warm in here, Cilla. Why don't you take off your
jacket?" Larry released my face and stepped back. His long, facile fingers
buttoned my wool jacket.

Pete let go of me to pull it from my shoulders. As he did, he
ran his hands down my arms, squeezing slightly. He tossed the jacket somewhere
to the side. I heard fabric rustling and realized he must be removing his own coat
too. When his arms encircled me once again, I felt the slither of silk against
silk, his shirt against mine. This time his hands didn't simply clasp at my
waist, but slid upward to cup my breasts.

My breath hissed between suddenly clenched teeth as I looked
frantically at Larry, embarrassed for him to see a man's hands on me like that.
But he was smiling. "What color is your bra, Cilla? Is it lacy?"

"Yeah. I can
feel the lace," Pete said, over my shoulder. His fingers stroked and
prodded gently. "Low-cut, but no padding."

"No, you don't need padding, do you, sweetheart? You've
got beautiful breasts."

"They sag," I blurted. There was no hiding the
ravages of time and feeding three babies.

"They're lovely." He unbuttoned my shirt, pushed it
aside so that my breasts, in their peach-toned, lacy bra, were revealed. Even
in the low light, I could see the dilation of his pupils as he stared.

Again Pete's hand cupped, his thumbs lightly scraping across
nipples already distended and hypersensitive.

Larry bent and kissed my neck, just under the angle of my jaw.
His teeth nipped gently, then not so gently. I gasped at the tiny pain, but not
in protest. It had sent an arrow of hot hunger straight to my vagina. I felt myself
clench, and clench again, in small spasms of anticipation as he nibbled his way
across a collar bone and downwards. His tongue tickled across the skin just
above my bra, and licked inside.

Pete lifted my breasts, pushing them together, and Larry's
tongue delved into the valley between them. I could feel his breath, hot and
humid, through the delicate lace of the cups.

My knees were weak and I swayed. Pete wrapped his arms around
me and held on.

Larry straightened. "Your turn," he said, his voice
not entirely steady. He stepped back and stripped his sweater off, revealing
his broad chest. Skin gleamed in the soft light, bronze and sleek, as he tossed
it behind him.

Before I knew what was happening, he was behind me, holding me
tightly against his lanky body, and Pete was kneeling before me, his face
pressed against my belly.

I felt the heat of his breath again. This time it enflamed me.
I writhed, wanting my hands loose so I could press him
closer...push him away. My panties were damp and the wool of my slacks seemed
harsh and painful against skin suddenly tender and raw.

Larry rubbed himself against me, then bent and bit the back of
my neck. His teeth held me gently as he pushed his knee between my legs. Once
again my own knees threatened to give way. As I swayed, his arms tightened.

I had been so focused on Larry that the cool air wafting across
my belly surprised me. Pete had unfastened my slacks and was slowly easing them
down my legs. "Nice wool," he said as he pulled them past my knees. "I
like the lining. Bet it's sexy to wear." He tightened his hands and slid
the slacks partway up my thighs.

Yes, it was sexy, although I'd never noticed it before. The
slick polyester lining was cool on my heated skin. As he rubbed it up and down,
static electricity made the tiny hairs on my thighs stand on end, adding to the
exciting sensation. I wondered if I'd never again be able to wear these slacks
without getting turned on.

"Pete--" Was that my voice? That
high, thin, pleading sound?

He leaned forward until his breath was hot on my mound. The
thin, peach-toned nylon of my panties was no protection at all as he opened his
mouth over me and prodded me with his tongue. "Ahhh,
you smell so good," he murmured. Then he kissed me.

I screamed. And came.




 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Seven

When I
came to myself again, I was on the bed. Pete was beside me, on his side, head
propped on one hand. The other hand was stroking my breast. Well, actually one
finger of the other hand was exploring my breast, a light touch against the
lace, with occasional forays across a nipple aching with need.

Oddly, I wondered where Larry was. Then I heard the
unmistakable pop of a champagne cork.

I sighed, and relaxed. As I did, Pete's finger delved inside my
bra and stroked across a nipple so aching, so tender that I could have screamed
with the pain/pleasure of it. "You're tense, Cilla," he said, close
to my ear. "Relax. The night's a pup."

I had to laugh. My dad had said that often when I was a kid,
and hearing it always made me remember how he'd find some reason to let me stay
up another hour. "What time is it"?

Until Pete answered, I hadn't realized I'd spoken aloud. "Nine-fifteen. We've hours yet. Our meeting tomorrow
isn't until ten, is it?"

Before I could mentally sort tomorrow's responsibilities from
tonight's temptations, Larry knelt on the edge of the bed. He held two flutes
in one hand, one in the other. They were filled with golden, bubbly wine. "We
need a toast," he said. He was smiling. I couldn't help but smile back.
Larry's smiles always invited a positive response. A mostly happy fellow, he'd
once said of himself. Seeing the glass half-full.

Having been married to a pessimistic realist for twenty-six
years, I enjoyed Larry's outlook. Truth and gloom got tiresome, after a while.

Pete nudged me, and I sat up. Way back in the depths of my
mind, a tiny voice warned me that I didn't look my best in peach undies that let the loose skin and the not-firm muscles
show, but right now I didn't care. I reached for the flute Larry held out to
me.

"To we three," he said, his
teeth flashing in a wide grin. "And to the adventure we are embarked upon.
When tomorrow's sun rises, we'll be different people than we are now."

I raised my flute in response, but wasn't totally sure I wanted
to be someone else tomorrow. I rather liked who I was. Most
of the time.

"Not different, Lar," Pete
said. "Just wiser," He sipped his champagne. "Cilla is perfect
as she is. I don't want someone else."

"Oh, Pete, you don't know me," I said, knowing that
if he did, he'd be so disappointed.

"I know what I need to know," he told me, stroking
his palm down my thigh. I sat tailor-fashion, not caring that I needed a
bikini-wax, not minding that my tummy pooched instead
of making a firm, concave curve above my pubic bone. The look in his eyes,
admiring, desirous, hungry, told me that none of that mattered.

There was something wonderful about being wanted, about being
desired. It made me forget that I was forty-seven, and that my body was
well-lived-in. I reached out and touched his mouth, tracing the outline of it.
The first time I had touched him voluntarily, tonight. Either
of them.

He captured my fingertip between his lips and nipped, then
touched it with a soothing, wet tongue. When I shivered again, this time with
renewed desire, Larry moved up behind me. His long legs stretched out on either
side of my hips and the heat of his body warmed my back. When he scooted
closer, I felt the pressure of his cock against my spine, and knew he was
naked. Another shiver, and in response he came even closer, nestling my body
against his, until his warmth soaked into my back and penetrated to my core. "Drink
your wine," he said, his voice little more than a
ghostly whisper in my ear. "You need sustenance."

I tipped the glass, swallowed. As the bubbles tickled my nose,
the heady wine slid down my throat and warmed me to the core. I let my head
fall back against him, felt his chin dig tenderly into the top of my shoulder.

A touch on my ankle made me open my eyes. They had drifted shut
as I relaxed into Larry's embrace. Pete was pulling my legs out straight, one
on either side of him. His hands were warm--no, they were hot, burning hot. As
he positioned each leg, he stroked up to the knee, higher to the soft, tender,
sensitive skin of my inner thigh. Oh, God! I wanted to scissor my legs
together and catch him. Wanted to pull him close and make him push inside me.

He still wore his slacks, fine wool, pleated,
loose-cut slacks. Usually they hid evidence of his manhood so well. I'd
wondered how big he was, but now I saw. The wool molded itself over his groin,
and I saw the shape of him. As stocky and wide as the man
himself. He might not touch a woman's tonsils--where had I read that
silly comment?--but she would know he was inside her. I wondered if I could
accommodate a penis of that diameter. With that thought, I felt the juices flow
even more, until my panties were soaked and I knew I was leaving a wet spot on
the satin bedspread.

No, not a bedspread, I realized, as I felt a momentary concern.
Someone had tossed the spread and blankets aside, and we sat on ecru satin
sheets, slick, warm and soft. I hoped they were washable.

Oh, God! why am I thinking of stuff
like this? I forced my mind away from
the mundane--where it spent far too much time--and to the men at hand. Larry
was still behind me, and his fingers were stroking back and forth under the
elastic back of my bra. I wanted to scream at him to stop. To take the damned
thing off, to touch me...touch me...touch
me!

And then he did. A quick movement of his hand and the bra fell
from my breasts, leaving me all but naked. My peach nylon panties were little
concealment, especially with the crotch soaked with the fluid of my desire. I
felt the bra slide past my arms, and it was gone.

In the next instant, Pete's mouth closed on my nipple. He
suckled, and I gasped as I felt the draw of his mouth clear to my vagina, to my
clit. I could feel the pressure of my panties against tender, delicate tissue,
could feel a wrinkle in the slick satin sheet I sat upon.

While Larry slowly, lazily stroked a thumb across the other
nipple, I burned. Every flick of Pete's tongue, every caress of Larry's thumb
sent arrows of fire down a myriad of nerve ending. I tingled up my spine, down
my thighs, deep into the very feminine core of my being. And as I writhed,
wanting friction to ease the throb of blood in my cunt, Pete stopped massaging
my legs and rolled to one side.

Come back, I
wanted to scream. Come back. Touch me again!

Instead he stood at the side of the bed and unbuckled his belt.
Unbuttoned the slacks. Slo-o-o-wly
unzipped them. And let them fall.

He wore no underwear, as I'd suspected, His cock sprang huge
and erect before his belly, its head dark red and already showing a droplet of
moisture at its tip. The curling hair surrounding the base of that thick shaft
was as gleaming gold as the hair on his head. His balls were tight against his
body. I stared, again wondering how that cock would feel, pushing inside me,
stretching me, filling me.

He knelt and crawled back toward me. My legs were still open
and he came right up between them, until his cock was staring me in the face.

An inch from my lips.

"Doesn't it look good enough to eat?" Larry said,
from behind me. "Wouldn't you like to wrap your tongue around it, try to
swallow it? How far inside could you take it, Cilla? Could you take the head,
or more?"

He had risen to his knees too, and I felt the hardness of him
between my shoulder blades. His hands no longer reached under my arms but came
down, over my shoulders and across the tops of my breasts. He caught the
nipples between his thumbs and forefingers and rolled them. It hurt. Oh, yes,
such exquisite pleasure/pain. I cried out, and when my mouth opened, Pete's cock
slipped inside.

Hot. Oh, so hot. So soft/hard. So
pulsing, pushing. I licked the salty drop from the tip and savored it. Without
volition, my right hand lifted, closed around his balls. Their pebbly surface
imprinted my palm, and I wondered how long the pattern would remain there,
reminding me of this night.

I sucked, and Pete groaned. He thrust and withdrew, nearly
choking me until I adjusted to the size of him and the penetration. I was ready
to take him even deeper, but he withdrew, with a groan.

"God, woman, you've got a mouth on you," he muttered,
sitting back on his heels. "I would've come in another second." He
drew a deep, shuddering breath.

"My turn," Larry said, from behind me. I felt him
backing away, and was bereft. His hands had been so warm. So
soothing. So arousing.

"Lar, she's still got clothes
on," Pete said. "Are we gonna let her get away with that?" Larry
stretched out so that he lay along my side. "Clothes?
My goodness, so she does." His fingers crept under the leg of my panties
and pulled. The nylon and lace stretched. "We can't have this," he
said. "Lie down, Cilla."

Mindlessly, helplessly, I obeyed. I slid down on the bed,
rolled to my side.

"Uh-uh, on your back." Pete
commanded. "Here. Use this." He slid a fat pillow up beside me. "Put
your head here."

I did, and relaxed into the downy depths of it. Until Larry took hold of my panties. His hand slipped under
one side and gathered the fabric tight. In one smooth motion, he'd stripped
them down, over my none-too-slim hips and down my thighs. I felt them leave
streaks of wetness as they slid, and swallowed in embarrassment.

Pete must have understood, because he said. "So
wet with your honey, Cilla. A woman should weep honey like that. It
shows her body knows what it's supposed to be doing. A woman wet with this--"
He lifted the panties to his face, inhaled. "She can't lie about her
desire." He inhaled again, then pressed the
panties against his face before tossing them over one shoulder.

Larry, meanwhile, had been kissing his way from my foot to my
knee. More than once I twitched as he nipped me, not hurting, but a gentle pain
like no other I'd ever felt. When he reached my knee, he kissed and nipped his
way down the other leg. Somehow at the end of his journey, he ended up kneeling
between my legs.

Automatically I tried to pull them together, but he was in the
way.

"Don't try to hide, Cilla. Don't you know that there's no
prettier sight than a woman's petals, her sexy little bud, her inviting, open
cunt. You just make me want to climb in and stay forever." He touched me
then, a fairy-touch, a butterfly-wing stroke that had
me arching my back in an attempt to prolong the sensation. His thumb moved
idly, not quite touching my clit, but making itself
felt nonetheless.

"You're ready, aren't you? Oh, yes, I can feel it. I can
smell it. You want me. You want me to fuck you. Deep and
hard. Don't you?"

"Yes," I panted, "Oh, yes."

I had forgotten Pete, as Larry had tortured me. But no longer. Because just then his thighs framed my head
and he leaned over my face. "This isn't going to work, you know. She can't
reach me."

Larry sat back on his heels. "You're right. There's got to
be a better way. She needs us both at once, not taking turns."

"Wait a minute!"

"No problem," Pete said at the same time. "There
are ways. D'you want head or
pussy?"

"Toss you for it?"

"Just take your pick, Lar. Which
do you want first?"

"Pussy, then." He
leered at me, then winked. I've never seen a grown man
so much like a bent-on-mischief kid. "Are you game, Cilla? I promise we
won't hurt you, and I guarantee we'll pleasure you. But I need to know the
limits before we start."

I swallowed. Although my fantasies had always been on the
adventurous side, I'd never been one to experiment with unusual positions. Bill
didn't enjoy oral sex, so I'd never really had an opportunity to see if I liked
it or not. One the other hand... "Noting un-unnatural," I faltered, not
completely sure what I meant.

"Right," Pete said. "We'll keep it nice."
He grinned. "But not so nice it's no fun."

No guarantee, but somehow I knew I could trust Pete to stay
within whatever boundaries I set, now or later. I nodded.

The next thing I knew, I was lying on my back, surrounded by
men. Well, only two men, but they seemed to outnumber me by way more than that
as they knelt, large and somehow overpowering, on either side of me.

"First we need to make sure you're ready," Larry
said, his voice dripping syrup. He leaned forward and took my nipple into his
mouth.

On the other side, Pete did the same.

It was as if they shared thoughts. Their hands touched me in
unison, their mouths followed parallel paths from breasts to throat to mouth,
back to breasts, to navel, and on down until warm breath warmed my clit. But
neither of them touched it. Soon their hands were between my legs, pressing on
my mound, squeezing my buttocks. I was so caught up in what was happening to me
that I lost all sense of time, of place. I became one enormous mass of
sensation, yet I was nowhere near orgasm. It was like being outdoors on the
first warm, sunny day of spring. I needed to soak up all the warmth I could,
because my body was parched and dry.

An eternity later, Larry rose to his knees. For the first time
I really noticed his penis. It was enormous. I had though Pete large--and he
was, in diameter. But Larry's was long--just like his tongue. I gulped. If he
stuck that all the way into me, I would feel it on my tonsils.

"It's time," he said.

"Yeah." Pete
rolled onto his back. "Do me, Cilla. Take me into your sweet mouth and
suck me off. But gently, slowly. Take your time."

I stared at him. I'd been able to take him into my mouth for
those few short seconds, but would I be able to keep him there long enough for
him to come. Without gagging or choking half to death.


"Sure you can," He grinned. "Just take it easy."
With a wiggled of his hips, he made his cock move invitingly. "Here, kneel
between my legs."

I did. And bent to touch the tip of him with
my tongue. He smelled of musk and sex and a faint hint of the spicy
aftershave he always wore. And he tasted like...like more. I swirled my tongue
around the tip of him. Then closed my lips over him. Suckled.

"Whoa! Not too much of that."

"I'll distract you," Larry said from behind me. "Can
you get up on your hands and knees?"

I sat back on my heels, with this awful vision in my mind of my
breasts hanging like a cow's udder and my belly sagging. "No, I'd rather
not."

The men exchanged a glance.

"You don't want us to see you in such an awkward position,
do you?" Larry sounded as if he understood.

I nodded.

"Well, I won't promise to close my eyes, but I will
guarantee that I won't be paying attention to what you look like, Cilla. See
this?" He held out his hand. It shook with a fine tremor. "I want you
so bad I'm almost sick with it."

He took me into his arms. "Cilla," he said, he face
close to mine, "all that's happened until now has
been foreplay. Tonight is our last chance. I want to make love to you. And I
promise--I give you my word, sweetheart--that I don't give a flying fuck what
you look like when I'm inside of you. All I care about is how we fit together,
how we pleasure one another, how much joy we share. Understand?"

I nodded, unable to get words past the lump in my throat. What
had seemed like a lark, a daring, sexy adventure a couple of hours ago--heck, a
couple of minutes ago--was now so much more than that. In some oddly temporary
way we were committing ourselves to each other.

I glanced at Pete, and he was nodding. "Me
too, Cilla. This is our moment out of time. Fate gives us occasional
precious moments, and tonight is ours. I won't close my eyes, because I
guarantee that you can't be ugly or awkward to me. You're beautiful--and
tonight I love you."

Still I hesitated.

"One more thing," Larry said. "If you want to
back out now, do it. This is important to me--to us--but not as important as
having you feel good about it. You've got to want this as much as we do, or it's
not going to work."

His mouth firmed, but his eyes pled with me.

I held out my hands to them. '"You are two of the nicest
men I've ever know. Thank you for trusting me as you have,
and thank you for wanting to share one night with you. I'll stop worrying. I
trust you.

"More than trust. You
said it, Larry, Tonight--just for tonight--I love you. Both
of you."

Their arms went around me. We three held each other in a solid,
loving embrace, skin to skin, our hearts pounding in anticipation, and in a
shared rhythm.




 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Eight

All that
happened after that is a blur. A lovely, erotic blur bejeweled
with some vivid memories.

I remember once...

Larry was behind me. Curled around me spoon
fashion. My leg lay over his and one of his was between mine. His cock pushed
between my legs. He slid it in...and in...and in, until I really, truly did think I could feel it with
my tonsils. I was full as I'd never been before. When he moved, I wanted to
scream, because it was such delicious, incredible torture. But I couldn't
concentrate on what he was doing, because Pete's cock was probing at my lips,
demanding entrance. I opened to him. And took in that enormous, that thick and
glistening shaft. I gagged, then found a way to hold
him inside. My tongue found a path around the slick, fleshy head. Discovered a
tiny fissure in which it could probe. Because he was in front of me, I could
use my hands on him, and I did. I clutched his balls, squeezed just a little.

And this time he screamed. Moaned? I don't know what to call
the sound he made, agonized, and ecstatic all at once. I clasped both hands
around him, squeezed, as he started pumping into me.

But I was quickly distracted, as Larry pulled almost all the
way out, then pushed inside again. Slowly.
So-o-o-o slowly. His enormous cock filled me again,
until I could feel its tip at the very entrance of my uterus. Oh...my...God! I
had never felt anything like this before. I was impaled. I pulled away, to
escape the awful pressure, yet in the next instant I was pushing back with all
my strength.

I wanted...deep, hard and deep. I wanted to feel the hard
strength of him all the way to my belly. I writhed and twisted on him, yet at
the same time, I was sucking on the monstrous shaft filling my mouth. Larry
slammed into me, shaking my whole body, and with each slam, I sucked harder.

I felt the climax coming, a wave of heat, a pressure climbing
from my toes, tightening my calves, stiffening my knees, hardening my thighs.
The heat rose like a wildfire, until I wanted to scream with the pain of it--with
the pleasure of it. And then it hit. I did scream, I know, because the memory
of the sound is still in my head.

I screamed and Larry yelled and Pete shouted.

Larry was rigid against my back, his hands clutching my breasts
with a painful grasp. Pete's legs were wrapped around me,
his hands were clutched tight in my hair. And his spurting cock was all but
choking me as he pumped himself into my mouth.

I swallowed the salty gism, loving the flavor of it--of him--on
my tongue.

Gradually we all came to rest. Pete's cock shriveled a little,
until I had to hold it between my teeth, or lose it. I opened my mouth and let
it free. It slipped down to lie quiescently against my throat. I licked my
lips, taking the last bits of Pete-flavor into my mouth.

Bill had said once that ejaculate was unsanitary and far too
salty to be ingested.

I thought it was delicious. Like dessert. But I'm not a doctor.
All I could think of was that it would be good with champagne.

Larry's arms held me tightly against him. He was still inside
me, still filling me, but without the insistent pressure of before. I felt a
trickle of moisture ooze out of my vagina, and knew he'd come far more than I
could contain.

I wondered what he tasted like. Different
from Pete?

"Sweet Cilla," he said, rising onto his elbow so he
could kiss me on the mouth. "I can hardly wait to taste your pussy."

I felt the heart of embarrassment flood my whole body. He must
have too, because he said, "You didn't think I'd let you give and not ever
take. Next time..." He kissed me a gain. A promise of more
delights.

He lay back down behind me again and cupped my breast in his
hand. "It's so comfortable here." He pressed against me and I felt
his penis grow hard again.

Already? We'd
barely finished.

He did nothing more, though. And neither did Pete. Not right
then. I must have dozed, because the next thing I knew was when Pete rolled
away from me. At the same time, Larry scooted back and sat up. "We need
more champagne," he said. "I'll be right back."

While he refilled our flutes, Pete was arranging the bed. He
gathered the fat down pillows into a pile in the middle, then
he sat back on his heels and looked at them. "I want to eat you," he
said, "but I don't know where to put Larry."

The shiver of anticipation that shot from my head to my heels
left me gasping. I'd never had more than one orgasm in a night in my life. Was
he seriously planning to entice another one from me?

Oh, God, will I disappoint him? For a
moment I wished I'd never agreed to this insane adventure.

"No, this won't work. There's got to be a better way."
Pete moved the pillows, making a pile at the edge of the bed. "There,"
the said, once he had them laid in a brickwork pattern. That should work. "Come
here, Cilla."

I let him arrange me as he wished, wondering what he had in
mind. He made me lie on top of two of the fat pillows, with my legs hanging
over the edge of the bed. He stepped back and looked at me, making me grow hot
with embarrassment. As if sensing how I felt, he leaned over me and kissed my
belly. "Stop fretting, Cilla. Don't you know nothing you do tonight is
unattractive to us? Just relax and enjoy. We are."

Somehow, I believed him.

Larry had held my champagne flute while Pete was testing his
arrangement of pillows, and now he handed it back. The wine was still icy cold.
Each bubble burst in my mouth or under my nose like a tiny firecracker,
attacking what few inhibitions I had left. "It's not going to be just you
and me, is it?" I said to Pete. "I want..."

"So do I, sweet Cilla,"
Larry said. "And Pete knows it. He's a generous man, our Peter. He'll
share you with me." Tipping his glass up, he drained it. "Whenever you're ready." His gesture took in the
stack of pillows, the side of the bed, the drifting bed curtains, and even the
hot tub just outside the bedroom door.

I knew if I got into that deliciously warm water, I'd be done
for the night. I was already so relaxed that every gesture, every move was an
effort. But I didn't want to stop. I wanted to know the taste of Larry, to feel
the dimension of Pete inside me.

"Later," I said, "When we're tired and ready to
sleep."

"Later," Pete agreed, his
voice a catlike purr in my ear. He reached around me and lifted the almost
empty flute from my hand. "Lie on the pillows, Cilla. I want to fuck you."

I crawled across the yielding mattress and arranged myself on
the pillows. Not to Pete's satisfaction. For he pushed and
lifted and plumped until he had me exactly how he wanted me.

"How's that?"

I opened my mouth to reply that it felt as if I was about to
slide off the bed, when I realized that he was asking Larry, not me.

"It'll do" Larry said. He set his flute on the table
beside the bed and came to stand beside my legs. Again I felt uncomfortable,
for in the spread-eagle position Pete had placed me, I had no secrets. Larry
paused, to gaze between my legs. "Your lips there are as pink as your
mouth," he said, sounding almost thoughtful. "Lovely." His
finger traced the lips of my vulva, and I stifled a small scream. I was so
unbelievably sensitive that the merest touch made me wild.

He climbed on to the bed and the next thing I knew, he was
straddling me. His knees were on either side of my waist, then inching up along
my chest, until he was just below my breasts. He let himself down until I felt
his balls resting on my diaphragm. Not six inches from my eyes, his cock, still
glistening a bit from his gism and my wetness, bobbed eagerly.

I must have gasped. Up this close, he was enormous.

"You like what you see?" Larry said, with a devilish
grin.

Although I wasn't entirely sure I wasn't in grave danger from
that massive tool, I nodded. As men's hardware went, his was about the biggest
I had ever seen. No, not about. His was the biggest I could
have imagined.

A touch on my thigh distracted me from my fascinated gaze at
Larry's penis. Pete was settling himself between my legs. When he applied
pressure, I lifted them so he could scoot up close to me. The nest moment I
felt his breath on me, cooling flesh still wet with Larry's ejaculate. Once
again the muscles in my lower belly clenched in hot desire.

His tongue touched me. Tenderly, seeking out
my clit. I writhed, lifting myself to his mouth, even though I couldn't
see him.

But I had no time to think about what Pete was going to do to
me, for Larry was petting me, stroking his long-fingered hands across my chest,
tweaking my nipples and kneading my breasts. Even as I felt Pete's tongue
lapping at my clit, Larry's cock slid between my lips.

I tensed. Ready to squelch the gag reflex I'd felt when Pete
had come inside my mouth. But there was none of that. Larry's invasion was
delicate, gentle, and he gave me time to taste him. To suck
him inside. As I curled my tongue around the head of him, I felt a
gentle touch, small proddings on the flesh at the
mouth of my vagina, tickles almost.

More light touches, then a pressure as something penetrated my
vagina. Something big, hard, almost overwhelming. It
pushed in...and in...and in
until I felt stretched beyond belief. "Oh, Cilla, you're so tight, so hot,"
Pete said. I heard quiet desperation in his voice." I won't last..."

Larry pulled himself free of my mouth and caught his cock
between my breasts, which he squeezed together, enclosing it. After moment he
began sliding his cock back and forth in the tight dell between my breasts.
Back and forth, back and forth--Oh, God, I still remember the friction and the heat
and the pressure of that hard shaft against the sensitive skin of my breasts as
he moved in hypnotic rhythm with Pete's trusts into me.

I don't know who came first. All I can remember is an all-over
sensation of my skin feeling like it was stretched near to bursting, then it
did...I did...we did...exploding together like skyrockets, like volcanoes, like
meteors ripping through the atmosphere. Larry's gism squirted across my chest.
I heaved and writhed as spasms beyond anything I'd ever experienced shook and
twisted my whole body.

Larry feel forward on top of me, his arm wrapped around my head.
He was panting like a distance runner at then end of his race.

Pete had fallen forward and lay half on-half off of my abdomen.
His puffs were in time with my hoarse gasps for breath. Yet he still had the
energy to roll to one side and plant a gentle, sweet kiss on my thigh. "Oh,
Cilla, that was something else!" he said, his voice weak and fading.

"Way cool," Larry whispered, tightening his clasp on
my head for a moment.

We slept then. At least I did. When I woke I had the sense that
several hours had passed. I stirred, trying to free my right arm which was
trapped under Larry's body and tingling from being crushed between his ribs and
mine.

Pete no longer lay across my abdomen, but was curled beside me.
When I moved, he woke and pushed himself upright. "Are you all right?"
His voice was sleep-blurred, gravelly.

In the dim light from the wall sconces, I could see that Pete's
usually stiff-standing hair was going off in all directions, like a cluster of
ripe, golden straw. "I'm fine," I told him.

Easing myself out from under Larry, I sat up. Other than a
couple of twinges in thigh muscles not used to being spread wide for long
stretches of time, I was better than fine. I was wonderful.

"I feel like a new woman," I told Pete. "Like I've been reborn." But my yawn spoiled the
effect. "I could sleep for a week."

"Oh, not yet," he said. "It's not late." He
nudged Larry with his foot. "Wake up, Lar. You're
wasting precious time. There's still a tub full of hot water just waiting for
us."

"Ummmm. Cilla?" He rolled on to his back and opened his arms--but
not his eyes. "Come and kiss me, sweet Cilla."

Unwilling to move, I reached for his hand and brought it to my
lips. After nibbling each fingertip in turn, I kissed them, one by one. "Larry--"
I couldn't think of anything to say.

"What?" He was obviously still half-asleep.

"Just...Larry." I bent
and kissed him again, this time touching my tongue to his lips. His mouth
opened but his eyes did not.

"I'm thirsty," I realized. "Do we have anything
but champagne to drink?"

"I'll see." Pete rolled off the bed and strode out
into the other room. I heard the small refrigerator open, then after a short
interval, a clink of glass against glass. "Coke or
water?" Pete called.

"Water." I
scooted to the edge of the bed, and in doing so realized I needed to make a
stop before going into the other room.

When I came out of the bathroom, my hair combed--it had looked
like the proverbial rat's nest--and the worst of the sticky semen washed off my
chest and chin--I found the bedroom empty. From the other room a low-pitched
hum told me that someone had turned on the hot tub motor.

Turning back to the bathroom, I grabbed the thick terry robe
that hung on the back of the door, Being naked in bed with Larry and Pete was
one thing, Making a grand entrance in my skin was a bit more than I could do,
even after...after everything.

Larry was sprawled along the opposite side of the tub, arms spread wide, head thrown back, eyes, closed. The
slightly rosy light coming in through the wide window made him look terribly
young and unbelievably innocent. And so very appealing.
I wanted to go and sit beside him, to take his precious face between my hands,
and kiss him until we were both weak with desire.

As I hesitated in the doorway, Pete stepped into view. He was
nude--delightfully, magnificently nude. For a short man--compared to the other
men in my life--he was beautifully put together. Wide shoulders, deep chest,
narrow hips, and straight, sturdy legs. I'd never realized how utterly male he
was because most of the clothes he wore were loose and sometime almost
androgynous in style.

"Here's your drink," he said, holding out to me a
cut-glass tumble filled with ice and water. "And there's more champagne."

"I have to work tomorrow," I reminded him.

His grin told me how important that was to him. "Amtrak's
doing the driving. You can sleep all the way home."

So I could. I accepted the water in my right hand, the
champagne in my left. "What about Larry? I hate the though of him driving--"

"He's a Blazers fan. He's got tickets for tomorrow night's
game, so he'll come home on Saturday."

I felt a minor twinge of disappointment. I knew that with the
day's dawning, this night out of time would have to end. Still, the thought of
Larry and Peter having lives apart from here, apart from now, filled me with
regret. My secret, selfish self wanted this idyllic adventure to go on, and
on...and on.

Larry's plaintive voice startled both of us. "I'm all
alone in here."

Laughing, both Pete and I climbed into the tub. The hot water
churned and bubbled, massaging muscles that had been stretched tonight as they
never had been before. It soothed delicate tissues abraded by friction, and wilting
bodies already limp with satiation. I leaned back against the curved side and
let myself go.

But not for long. After a
few moments, I felt a pressure on my leg, a questioning touch up the side of my
thigh. Looking down through the bubbles, I saw Larry's hand petting me. "You're
kidding," I said, sleepily.

"No, not entirely. I
admit, I've got all the initiative of a melting snowman, but there are still
some delights we haven't sampled. Just give me a while to catch my breath."

"Oh. Larry, I don't think--" He'd already come twice.
Could he--

Could I?

"Don't worry. We'll take what we can have and be
satisfied. But I haven't tasted you yet, Cilla, and I want to."

A stirring of desire deep within my belly freed me to say, "Oh,
yes, I'd like that."

Pete's elbow nudged me. "There's something I haven't done,
either."

"Flip for first?" Larry said.

Pete grinned and waggled his eyebrows at me. "Uh-uh. We
can share again, can't we Cilla?"

"I can't imagine anything I'd like better."




 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Nine

Larry
surged out of the tub and grabbed the robe I'd left beside it. Instead of
putting it, he used it to dry himself as he strode into the bedroom. In a
moment he was back with an armload of towels. "I've an idea, but we'll
need to be dry."

Pete and I climbed out of the tub. I shivered in the cool air,
until Larry enclosed me in a fluffy towel. Buy the time he'd rubbed me dry,
with Pete's enthusiastic help, I was glowing and semi-aroused.

And sleepy. Try as I might, I couldn't stop the jaw-cracking yawn that overcame
me. Then I had to laugh, as both men's mouths opened in equally wide
gapes.

"Let's go to bed," Pete said, scooping up the damp
towels. "We'll fall asleep together."

"But first..." Larry's tongue swiped across his
smiling lips, leaving no doubt as to what was coming first.

He waved me toward the bed. "Sit down, Cilla."

I sat, wondering why Pete snapped his fingers and turned back
to the other room.

I perched on the edge of the bed and Larry knelt before me.
Pete returned, carrying a glass of ice, which he set on the table beside the
bed. "Thirsty," he said with a grin. He settled himself behind me
with his legs stretched alongside mine. His hands came to cup my breasts
gently, and his touch showed me I'd be tender tomorrow.

Larry dipped his head and blew on me. I was warm and still
moist from the hot tub, so his breath cooled my skin and raised goose bumps.
Tiny tremors shuddered up my belly and down my legs.

Pete lifted my legs and laid them over his, spreading me wide.
I resisted, still not comfortable with being wide open to their view. But Pete
was far stronger than I and had his way, gently but inexorably. Then I stopped
worrying bout anything, for Larry's long tongue began to explore me. He licked
along the labia, never quite touching my clit, but coming so close--oh! So
close!

Again and again I wanted to yell at him to just do it!
Then he'd find another wonderfully erotic spot and I'd forget my impatience in
sheer ecstasy.

Eventually, when he'd reduced me to a quivering mass of desire,
he flicked his tongue across my clit, then drew it
deeply into his mouth. I felt the pull from my toes, where now-familiar heat
gathered. "Wait--" I gasped.

He withdrew. Just a little. "Oh, not yet, sweet Cilla. I want to enjoy this a bit.
But oh, man, I could just eat you up, you delicious morsel." His tongue
swiped the length of my slit and dipped into the mouth of my vagina.

"Laaarrrrryyyyyy." I felt
the orgasm begin.

Then Pete put an ice cube against my nape. I screamed and tried
to escape, but he held it firmly there until I forgot all about coming.

"Damn you!" I snarled. "I was about to--"

"I know. But Lar didn't want you
to, and neither did I. Relax Cilla. You'll have your orgasm--more than one if I
haven't lost my touch. Just not now."

He removed the ice cube, leaving trickles of icy water running
down my back. But not for long. His mouth was hot on
my skin as he licked and sucked the moisture away.

Larry was still while Pete was busy. His head was between my
legs, his breath warm on my thighs. Then he moved, and licked again, his tongue
darting in and out in a delicious imitation of coitus. The tingles in my hands
and toes that always presaged an orgasm increased. They spread up my arms and
legs, until my skin was one responsive nerve ending from head to foot. The
slight prickle of Pete's heavy beard on my nape and upper shoulders only
complemented the sensations Larry's tongue elicited.

"Relax," Pete murmured in my ear. "Enjoy. Don't
think. Just feel. Feel this..." He nipped me at
that sensitive angle where neck and shoulder blend, then laved away the tiny
pain.

Larry continued to work me with his tongue. As he licked and
sucked and penetrated, I did stop thinking. My mind, my body,
perhaps my very soul, were totally involved with the gathering storm
Larry was calling up. Like a magician, he wielded his wand--his long, facile
tongue--and I became his willing slave as he brought me almost to the
edge...again and again...and again.

He and Pete cooperated well, for whenever I was so close...SO
close...Pete would apply more ice. The heat would recede, and Pete would soothe
me until I stopped shivering. Then Larry would begin his torture again.

"Oh, God, Larry, I can't stand much more of this," I
moaned, after what must have been the tenth time I was rudely pulled from the
edge of bliss. "Do me. Do me NOW!"

"Be careful what you ask for, Cilla," Pete said in my
ear. His strong hands clamped my legs atop his and stretched me even wider.

I had never experienced anything like Larry's tongue play, but
now I realized that he had only been toying with me. Now he became deadly
serious. In seconds I was in the grip of a force so strong that being plunged
into an icy bath wouldn't have made any difference. The orgasm surged,
gathering strength, carrying me along on a wave of fire, leaving nerve and
sinew tight in its wake. When the ultimate paroxysm hit, I heard myself scream,
then I was swept beyond conscious thought.

Later I decided that writers who spoke of orgasm as a flight to
the stars hadn't been exaggerating.

But I didn't have time to think then, for before the
contractions in my belly and vagina ceased, Pete pulled me away from Larry and
stretched me on the bed. Quickly he mounted me and slid that enormous cock into
me. I was wet from Larry and my own secretions, so he slid in easily. The
friction of his thrusts brought me back to the edge almost immediately, and as
I once again tumbled over that ultimate cliff, I heard Pete shout his own
completion. He sagged against me, still breathing hard. "Oh,
Cilla, my love. Thank you," he whispered, just before he rolled
away.

My eyelids drifted closed and a wonderful lethargy overtook me.
Until I felt my legs being spread.

"Ah, sweet Cilla, just one more time," Larry said. "You're
so wet, so inviting. Can you do it again?" He rubbed the head of his cock
back and forth across tissues tender from his suckling and lapping," I'll
bet you can."

"Noooo..." The word came
out a breathy moan. Yet as he entered me, pulled out, entered again, going only
a little way inside, I felt an unlikely resurgence of heat flare in my belly.

"Yes, I thought so." He slowly pushed himself in,
deeper and deeper, until I wondered how much more I could take. Then the tip of
him touched a place, deep inside me, that I had never known was there. I locked
my legs around him. "There," I gasped. "Right
there."

He began to move more rapidly, each thrust pressing on that
mysterious place and driving me closer to the edge.

"Now!" His
shout acted as a trigger, and I careened into orgasm again.

He collapsed atop me and lay there for a moment, breathing as
if he'd won a race. I was beginning to wonder if he'd fallen asleep when he
rolled to one side and pulled me to lay spoon fashion against his front. Pete
curled back against me so I was the filling in their sandwich. Larry's arm was
tight around my waist, so I slipped mine around Pete and pulled him even
closer. The last thing I remember is kissing the only part of him I could reach--his
shoulder blade.

Wrapped in the warmth of two male bodies, I slept until the
ring of a telephone woke me.

Larry rolled away from me and picked it up.

"Yo?" He listened, then dropped it back into the cradle without speaking. "Wake
up call," he said. "It's seven. Time to move."

He disappeared into the bathroom, naked as the day he was born.
I couldn't help but admire his lithe body.

What on earth am I doing here? was my next thought.

"Your luggage is in the closet," Pete said as he, too,
rolled out of bed. "I had the hotel move it." He headed to the living
room. Seconds later I heard the door of the other bedroom close. I was alone,
in an enormous bed that still smelled of a night of passion.

Larry emerged from the bathroom. "It's all yours," he
told me. "I'll shower in the other one. Shall I order breakfast?"

How could he be so matter-of-fact? Didn't last night mean
anything to him? To Pete, who'd walked away from me without a backward glance?

I quashed the thought and merely said, "Yes, please. I'm
starved."

"...there's no ahead to go to." Larry's words came
back to me. Of course they'd walked away. Our idyll was finished. We had to go
back to the real world. Larry and Pete were wise enough to realize that we'd
never be able to work together if we didn't put last night completely behind
us.

Could I convince myself they were right?

The question plagued me as I showered away the smells of sex,
the lingering aromas of semen and sweat and musky secretions.

I emerged into a bedroom from which all trace of our wild night
had been erased. The bed was made, the empty glasses
and bottles were gone. As I replaced my cosmetic bag in my suitcase, I wondered
why they had done it.

Oh, don't be dense, Cilla. Last night never happened. It was a
fantasy. A dream.

I had to believe that.

Zipping everything together, I stacked my briefcase on top of
the suitcase and pulled it behind me as I went into the living room. Larry was
standing by the window, coffee cup in hand. He wore a dark blue-and-red tweed
sweater, the usual rumpled Dockers, and ragg socks
with his Birkenstocks. His long, dark hair was neatly combed into a short pony
tail that was tied with a leather thong.

"Coffee?"

I turned to see Pete standing by a room service cart that sat
beside the credenza. He was holding a silver coffee carafe and one eyebrow was raised in polite inquiry.

"Please," I said. I could play it as cool as they. I would.
But I couldn't help but think how different Pete had looked last night, his
magnificent body unconcealed. What a shame he had to wear clothing.

We discussed this morning's tasks as we ate. Gradually I
adjusted to the situation, thankful in a way that the strong sexual tension
that had existed between us before was no longer there. It had been replaced by
a comfortable familiarity, much like that shared by members of a close family.

We were no longer strangers. I knew what it was like to go to
bed with them, and they knew my body intimately. There was no more mystery. No
more anticipation.

I was free to go home to Bill, whom I loved in a way I could
never love another man. We've weathered years together, and I'll willingly--happily--stay
with him, even if we never make love again.

But now I have memories to take with me through the future, incredible
memories that I can take out sometimes and cherish.

If I live to be a hundred, I'll never forget a single moment of
last night. Other women have fantasies.

I have memories.

 

THE END




About
the Author

 

Annice Dare
started collecting erotica a long time ago, when Santa Claus brought her a very
thick book titled Erotic Poetry. Intrigued, she went looking for more of
the same, and discovered Victorian erotica, popular in England during
that very prudish period. Although she still collects erotica, she would rather
write her own, sharing some of her fantasies with her readers. Visit her
website, www.annicedare.com to share them.

 

Annice lives
in the Pacific Northwest with the man of her
dreams. Their small house is filled with overflowing bookcases, more paintings
than wall space, and as many glass paperweights as she can afford.