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Chapter 13. A home-from-home
Freshers' Week is madness. You're an immature kid, fresh out of school, and every society, club or team is touting for new talent - a role you might just fill. And because this was Oxford, these weren't the kind of clubs and societies that you might find just anywhere.
Most universities would boast a photography club, maybe some musical societies and sports like martial arts, hockey or fencing. But at Oxford, there was a particular focus. So there was no football, but there was rugby. There was a dance group - 'modern', not ballet, to Phoebe's disappointment - and a jazz club, which we both signed up for out of curiosity. At Cambridge, there would have been the famous Footlights, alumni of which went on to successful careers in the media, but there was no equivalent at Oxford. And there seemed to be no swimming club, but there were more rowers than you could throw a pair of rowlocks at. Out of sheer desperation, I signed up.
And, inevitably, there was the Debating Society. Where Cambridge graduates became famous comedians, scientists and spies, Oxford tended towards politicians and journalists. And that was fine by Phoebe and me, because we'd always assumed that would be where our chosen subject might lead. So we signed up, I added a French conversation group to keep my skills going, and then we went for a punt.
The weather wasn't conducive to us repeating our outdoor adventures from earlier in the year, and anyway, there were too many people about, so we returned the punt and went to try the food - and, in my case, the excellent beer - at the Turf Tavern. We spent some time exploring our new home - the college itself, some of the neighbouring colleges and the city as a whole. Then back to the bookshop to buy a couple of the fiendishly expensive recommended textbooks - Phoebe bought three, I could only afford one and hoped to be able to either borrow hers or get a copy from the library.
We'd wanted to share a room, but it still wasn't college policy for mixed couples to share. We had separate rooms in different blocks. Worse, the rooms had single beds! But we worked out a plan. We stowed an inflatable double mattress under Phoebe's bed, and on the evenings we decided to fuck in her room, I used the built-in foot-pump, we laid a sheet over the top, took the pillows from Phoebe's bed and, well, fucked. On these nights, we'd experiment with whatever positions we hadn't tried - Phoebe's flexibility meant that some of these became quite novel and adventurous - and I'd stay until morning. (We reasoned that it would be better if I were to be caught sneaking out of a girls' dormitory block than Phoebe trying to sneak out of a boys' block.)
We'd been trying an inverted position one night - Phoebe doing a shoulder-stand, legs spread, while I first ate her pussy and then fucked it in a standing position. She really seemed to enjoy this; my cock-head was pressed tightly against her G-spot, my hands were free to rub her clit and even to reach underneath to tease her arsehole, and the head-stand meant that she had an excess of blood in her head, which somehow provoked a sequence of early and strong orgasms. For me, it wasn't so wonderful, as my cock was being pulled downwards when its natural preference was to point upwards. But Phoebe's cunt was tight and slippery, and her vocal performance was appropriately filthy. To the accompaniment of cries of "Oh yes, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!" And "Fill me up. Fill my cunt with your spunk!" I - well, I did exactly as she demanded.
Afterwards, lying on the mattress with her skinny body cradled in my arms, I looked into her big brown eyes and at her strangely appealing features. She smiled at me.
"I love you, baby," I said, smiling. Her reaction wasn't quite what I'd expected.
"Jesus Christ! About fucking time!"
"Sorry?"
"How long have you known me?" she asked, sitting up.
"Er - about - about three, nearly four months," I replied, somewhat surprised.
"And when did you make this startling discovery?"
"Well, I guess I've - er, maybe a couple of months ago."
"Richard, I knew I loved you before you left my house. I've been waiting all this time for you to tell me you feel the same. What took you so long?"
"Phoebe, baby, it's - it's complicated. When I met you, I was still in a relationship with Jill, my teacher. OK, so I was naΓ―ve, but I thought, at the time, that I loved her."
"Which didn't stop you fucking me!"
"Sorry, but you pretty-well insisted I did. And - well, I knew my feelings weren't being reciprocated by Jill, and she told me a week later that it was over between us, so..."
"Ah, so you fucked me on the rebound!"
"Phoebe, for fuck's sake! Look, my infatuation with Jill was exactly that. When I met you, I knew that you were so different. I liked you from when we first met. Then you seduced me..."
"I seduced you? Really?"
"If I remember rightly - and I believe I do - your precise words were 'So, are we going to fuck or what?' I'd never met a girl like you. I thought you were sexy, intelligent, fun and adventurous. You were also a great fuck, and clearly enjoyed sex. And as I began to realise that I didn't really love Jill, my feelings for you kept growing. I've liked you a lot from the beginning. I began to think I loved you months ago, probably after the weekend at your place, and I've now realised how much I do. I'm sorry if it's taken me a long time to tell you. I guess I felt rather crushed when my feelings for Jill weren't returned, at least not in the way I thought I wanted. I didn't want the same heartbreak with you until I was sure that I loved you and believed that you felt the same."
She looked into my eyes, then threw her arms around me and kissed me. It was what I might call a serious kiss; one that conveyed her feelings for me, despite our earlier disagreement.
"By the way, I do love you, Richard Watson. I have for months. And you're not a bad fuck yourself."
****
The weeks went by. Phoebe and I worked hard at our coursework; neither of us was going to squander the opportunity that a place at Oxford represented. We scheduled our time carefully, keeping up our respective hobbies. I tried to swim whenever I could at the local public baths, but I also began to enjoy the rowing. OK, so I ached from head to foot after the first few sessions, but gradually my muscles got used to the new demands being placed on them, and I found a lot of satisfaction when my crew beat a personal best - or another crew.
Meanwhile, Phoebe seemed to be getting on well with her modern dance group, as they prepared for a pre-Christmas performance. I doggedly maintained membership of my French group, trying hard to improve my language skills, but we both had to give up the jazz club quite early on. Not only were the demands on our time getting too great, but we found that some of the more experimental stuff was a bit too avant-garde for us, while the 'Trad' jazz was a bit too pedestrian. Yes, I could relate to most of Miles Davis's and Courtney Pine's material, but as my guitar skills were somewhat rudimentary, I didn't feel I'd ever be able to play like Django Reinhardt or Pat Metheny, and something had to go.
Then the Christmas break was almost upon us. There was a round of parties, entertainment - including Phoebe's dance group, of which she was undoubtedly the most proficient member - and a fair amount of boozing before we all headed off for the holiday. Phoebe and I had decided, very reluctantly, to spend the time apart at our respective parents' homes, on the basis that it might be the last time we would. We agreed to meet up in London over the break, and we set up a tentative arrangement for me to visit her before we went back to college. So I spent a rather dull Christmas with my family.
Then the invitation came through, and on the 30th January, I headed to Leamington to spend New Year with Phoebe and her parents. Again, everything was very friendly and cordial, though I could sense a slight undercurrent of Roger keeping an eye on me to ensure I wasn't a freeloader. But Phoebe's enthusiasm for me and my - I hoped - obvious devotion to her seemed to ensure his goodwill.
Phoebe had bought a ball-gag, which was just as well because, when I fucked her in just a pair of high heels, bent over her bed and wearing, at her insistence, handcuffs behind her back, her cries would've woken up the house. As it was, she grunted and squealed on every stroke, and jiggled like she'd been electrocuted when I started stroking her clit. When she came like that, I had no option but to blissfully fill her tight, wet little cunt with sticky cum.
New Year's Eve was rather tedious, to be honest. Roger had invited some friends around for a Hogmanay-style celebration, even though nobody had any Scottish connections. Fortunately, we weren't forced to eat haggis; Alison had prepared an excellent roast beef, with all the trimmings. The wines were, unsurprisingly, excellent, and we had real champagne at midnight, while Roger and a friend called Gerald set off some fireworks.
I admit I didn't take to Gerald. He was a 'free-market Thatcherite' through and through, whose whole attitude was 'if you've got it, flaunt it, and if you haven't, fuck you.' He clearly thought he was someone special because he'd 'worked hard to be where he was', ignoring the fact that his father owned several factories and had set him up in business with a generous, tax-deductible, interest-free (and probably repayment-free) 'loan'. And, of course, Daddy's connections gave him lots of free sales leads.
Gerald's wife, Miranda, and their daughter, Imogen, were far more interesting. Both of them flirted with me throughout the evening, and while under other circumstances I'd have happily fucked either or both of them, I was deeply aware that I had a girlfriend. Not only that, I was in that girlfriend's home, and her father was keeping a careful eye on me. I knew that there was a ton of bricks that would fall on me if I put a foot - or more especially, a cock - wrong. So I tried to be polite while signalling that I wasn't interested.
And honestly, I wasn't. I'd realised that Phoebe was far too precious to waste on a quick-and-dirty fling with anyone, least of all the wife or daughter of a friend of my girlfriend's father. During the evening, I tried to stay close to Phoebe and show that she was the only one I wanted.
Phoebe's friend Sophie had come along with her boyfriend, Paul, in tow. He seemed alright to me. Sure, he moved in upper-middle-class circles, while I was a rung or two below him socially, but he was a decent-enough guy. He, like Sophie, was studying law at Durham, and like my girlfriend, seemed to have left-leaning tendencies.
So we all drank too much, and Phoebe and I staggered off to bed around two in the morning. Sometime before seven, I awoke to the sensation of having my cock sucked. I'd been having this weird dream where I was surrounded by naked women - Phoebe, Jill, Sophie, Imogen, Miranda, Sharon and even Alison - and I was being urged by Roger to service them all. I kept moaning, "No! I only have one cock!"
"Of course you do. And it's in my mouth!" Phoebe said as I awoke, and though it wasn't true at that precise instant, she soon rectified that. It was still dark, but there's no better alarm clock than one that wraps a soft, hot, wet mouth around your cock and sucks it until it's hard. Which didn't take long.
Once Phoebe was satisfied that her work on my cock was done and I was hard enough for other duties, she slid up the bed and kissed me.
"Morning," she said brightly. "You haven't paid much attention to my nipples lately. How about you remedy that?"
What Phoebe said was not strictly true. Every time we fucked - or occasionally made slow, passionate love - I made a point of sucking her nipples. In fact, I made two hard, pink points out of them, as they reacted to my attentions. But I guessed that she felt they needed some more protracted attention than the usual minute or so they usually got before I moved south, so I let her press each of the conical pink nubs into my mouth alternately, while she used a hand to keep me hard.
Of course, I wanted to test her wetness, so my hand snaked down to her pussy and a questing finger probed. As expected, very moist. I was still intrigued and very turned on by her hairless mound and slit. Remember this was 1989 - or to be precise, January 1st 1990 - and the idea of shaving or waxing wasn't a thing back then. But there's something so blatantly sexual about the sight of bare, inviting pussy lips - maybe the inherent implied vulnerability, some adolescent fantasy or long-lost Ruskinesque memory - that, certainly in those days, was enough to get me instantly hard.
I also think that Phoebe relished the feel of that lack of hair. Almost every time I'd slid my finger in there, which was many times, she was wet - sometimes extremely so. At that moment, I couldn't see her sweet, bald pussy with her body pressed close to my face - remember, her tits were tiny, so with a nipple in my mouth there wasn't much space between my chin and her ribcage - but I could most certainly feel the rising damp between her legs. So I spent a significant length of time licking and sucking each nipple in turn as she casually stroked my cock and I carefully teased her slit. I didn't want her to come too soon, not before...
Abruptly, she changed position, straddling my body, carefully lifting and inserting my cock into the socket where we both knew it fitted best, and then pressing down on me. She held still for a moment at the point of maximum penetration before leaning forward again to present her nipples for more attention. This time, I had to curl my upper body to reach them, but it was worth it. As I sucked and nibbled and licked, she began to ride. Her hips took on a rolling motion, making sure that my cock made contact with every interior surface. I put one hand behind her to bring her close enough so I could keep up the attention on her nipples, and then slipped the other one back into her slit.
She seemed determined to make it last. "Not on my clit. Not yet," she breathed. Each stroke as she climbed up and sank onto my eager meat-pole was slow and deliberate. Meanwhile, my mouth was leaving her nipples wet and hard as I alternated between them. It was joyous, but my neck and back were starting to ache after a couple of minutes. I slumped back and moved my hand around her to cup each tiny tit in turn and gently squeeze and tug on the livid pink buds. It was just beginning to get light, and I could see her face, her big eyes closed, her mouth open and pouting as her breathing became more laboured.
"Harder!" she gasped. "Pinch them harder!"
I'd always tried to be gentle with Phoebe, even on the occasions she wanted some BDSM scenarios, when she insisted on being tied up or handcuffed, or when she begged to be spanked. I've never been into pain, giving or receiving, so it was difficult for me to adjust to being more forceful, but even as I pinched her nipple, she gasped, "Harder!" So I squeezed a little more. She moaned loudly.
And then she increased the pace, rising and pushing down faster and more deliberately. "Now! Rub my clit!"
I'd been skirting around her outer lips and stroking across that tantalisingly smooth mound with its inviting cleft. At her command, my finger slid straight in between those plump lips and homed in on the trigger button. It didn't take long; maybe a dozen more up-and-down cycles of her cunt on my cock, some insistent stroking of her clit and what seemed to me some rather brutal nipple-tweaking, and I heard - and felt - her coming. Her orgasm lasted quite a while - at least, I tried to prolong it as much as I could - while she moaned, rather more quietly than usual, interspersing the noises with the occasional "Oh fuck!"
Then her eyes snapped open, and her cunt suddenly tightened on my cock. She was using her internal muscles to milk my cock of its juices. Resistance was futile. As she treated me to a victorious smile - and a vice-like grip on my penis - I spurted my cream deep inside her.
"Happy New Year. No - Happy New Decade!" she said softly as she lay on top of me afterwards, my arms wrapped lovingly around her.
"Love you, babe," I smiled back.
"Me too," she sighed, as her head fell back onto my shoulder.
*****
It seemed that Phoebe had complained to her father about our accommodation issues at Oxford, and Roger - being Roger - sorted something out. Two days before term started, he drove down to Oxford with Phoebe, picked me up at the station and took us to a place about a five-minute walk from the college.
"I've managed to find you this small flat; one bedroom, with a lounge, kitchen and bathroom. The rent's not much more than your two rooms combined, and I've persuaded the college authorities to terminate your rental agreements, so you'll get by."
Phoebe threw her arms around her father. I just smiled and said, "Thank you, Roger. This is great."
He smiled back and replied, "Richard, can I have a word in private?"
He led me through to the kitchen while Phoebe started unpacking some of the clothes she'd brought with her in the bedroom.
"Now, Richard, you've done very well for yourself. You seem to be a very nice and capable young man, and I suppose I get what Phoebe sees in you. But you've landed on your feet with my daughter. Not only is she intelligent, witty..."
"Talkative," I added with a half-smile.
Roger smiled back. "Yes, that too. I think we both agree that she's a very attractive young lady, and from what I've seen and heard, eager to offer you the delights of her very flexible young body. Normally, I'd feel inclined to throttle the life out of any boy who took sexual advantage of my darling daughter, but as it seems that she has chosen to take enthusiastic advantage of your seemingly not unattractive body, I feel I have to restrain myself."
His smile was friendly, despite his words.
"But Richard, she's not only all the things I've said, but she's my daughter, and I lavish a lot of money on her. Your financial circumstances are well below hers, and it would be easy for you to exploit that. If you stay together and, who knows, in the fullness of time, become my son-in-law, then your social advancement will have been as impressive as a Saturn V. You'll be marrying into wealth and influence. And if you earn my daughter's trust and affection that much, then I'll gladly welcome you into my family."
Again, despite the implied threat behind his words, his smile was still friendly. I could see why he'd been a successful politician.
"But be aware that it's Phoebe's name on the lease. You're subletting from her and, if you split up or my daughter kicks you out, you'll be the one looking for alternative accommodation. Understood? And that will be the very least of your worries. If you ever hurt my daughter in any way, there will be no end to the pain and suffering I'll inflict on you. That girl is my world, and I've lavished all the love and advantage I can on her. If she once complains to me about you, you'll discover just how much influence I can have over your life. It won't be nice. Understood?"
"Yes, sir." Of course I understood. Money talks, and the more you have, the louder its voice. But shit, this was getting seriously heavy. I had visions of them finding parts of my body in the Thames if I forgot her birthday!
"Good. Now, for reasons that I partly understand, my daughter seems besotted with you. Keep that up and we'll all be friends." He stood up and reached out to shake my hand. "Glad we've cleared that up. Now, I brought a bottle of Bollinger with me and put it in the fridge. Shall we open it?"
I had no intention of splitting up with Phoebe, and it seemed she had no intention of discarding me any time soon. The previous term had been difficult, our sex life having to include inflating a mattress on the floor and sneaking out before first lecture. But now, with our own place and the rest of the academic year stretched out ahead of us, we were able to relax in one another's company.
And fuck, like it was going out of fashion.
Phoebe's libido seemed undiminished by being on the contraceptive pill, which (I'd heard) was a common side effect. Instead, we used every opportunity to explore our mutual desires and individual kinks and fetishes. We dressed up, tried various BDSM variations and did role-play. A big turn-on for her was 'naughtiness', particularly doing things where there was a risk we might get caught. On one occasion, drinking with some college friends in the Eagle and Child, she took my hand under the table and guided it to her naked pussy. When I gave her a quizzical look, she smiled and held out her hand, again out of sight of our friends, to show a small crumpled ball of material; her panties.
So I spent the next ten minutes gently, and then more insistently, stroking her very wet pussy. Finally, as I could see her getting dangerously close to orgasm, she said an abrupt, "Sorry guys, gotta go. I have a tutorial in the morning and I need to finish some coursework."
Outside, she ducked into an alleyway that led to some tucked-away houses, dropped into a squatting position, unzipped me and engulfed my semi-hard cock in her delicious mouth. She'd been saving her deep-throat skills for special occasions, so this was just to get me hard enough for the next stage, where she stood up, put her arms around my neck, pulled her legs up around my waist and whispered, "Fuck me up against the wall."
I adjusted the angle of my cock and went in with one deep, joyous thrust. She let out a muffled squeak, clearly trying to avoid her usual habit of screaming the place down, and gripped me harder with her thighs. I started some hard thrusts, and she let out a low, gasping grunt each time.
"Fuck me like a dirty slut, Richard. Use my cunt. Treat me like a whore."
Jesus Christ! I knew Phoebe liked to turn on the filth when it suited her, but this, coupled with the situation, was too much. I tried hard not to come, but I lasted less than a minute as she moaned more obscenities into my ear. It reminded me a bit of Sharon, my rather chavvy fuck-buddy from my holiday job, except Phoebe was whispering crude encouragement in her weird Chelsea accent, which made it even more erotic. To my lasting shame, I lost control and came before she did.
"On your knees, you bad boy!" she growled, and for the next couple of minutes, I knelt and licked her wet pussy, experiencing again the taste of my semen, as I finally took her to orgasm. There was a wet patch on the back of her skirt, so I tried to walk behind her as we made our way back to the flat, where Phoebe collapsed in a fit of giggles.
"Don't you ever do that again!" she said when she'd calmed down.
"What? Fuck you up against a wall? I thought that's what you wanted."
"No, you stupid twat! Don't you dare come before me again."
"Phoebe, you left me no choice. When you turn on the filth like that and act like the dirty slut you seem to want to be, you blow my fuses. You're a fucking sexual superwoman."
She grinned. "I am, aren't I?" Then she threw herself into my arms.
*****
It was early March, and we were sitting at home - our flat - a bottle of wine open on the table, each trying to finish an assignment, with the deadlines looming. Every now and then, we'd stop to test a turn of phrase or see whether the other agreed with a conclusion we'd reached. Our courses, though parallel, were not identical, so there was no direct competition between us. We'd also both been enjoying the Debating Society, which we found helped us marshal and structure our arguments in our written work. Yes, it was tough; if you're studying at one of the top universities in the world, you don't coast - unless you're Boris Johnson, who'd done precisely that twelve years earlier. But if you're a normal person, you work hard, keep up with the reading and coursework and try to develop your own voice and perspective on things.
I always remembered Jill's analogy - the ripples spreading outward from any event in history, each subsequent reaction part of a game of consequences - and tried to analyse events and outcomes accordingly. I sometimes found myself drawing up timelines and web diagrams to illustrate what I was uncovering, a bit like a detective trying to solve crimes. And I wondered how Jill was, whether she was enjoying her new life in Edinburgh. I had no address to write to, and this was long before the age of social media and mobile phones, so I guessed that would remain a mystery.
Then Phoebe said, "Oh, my friend Alethia wrote to me. She's dancing in a production of Swan Lake. They're doing a provincial tour before a season at Sadler's Wells, and they're performing for one night at the Oxford Playhouse. I'm a bit jealous; she didn't grow as tall as me and she stuck with the dance, so she's now with the English National Ballet. She's only in the corps de ballet at the moment, but she's an understudy for the girl dancing the Swan, so she might get her big break if the other girl gets a big break, if you see what I mean."
"Great. I'll see if I can get tickets."
"No need. Alethia's already sent me two for the Saturday night performance. They're doing a final dress rehearsal that afternoon, and then they're moving on to Manchester straight after the show. The company has some uninspiring digs booked, so I've said she can sleep on our couch on Friday night. Is that OK?"
"Sure," I said, somewhat distracted. "I'll be rowing late afternoon, and then off to the pub with the crew until around eight. We could maybe eat separately? Anyway," I said, returning to the assignment in front of me, "there's this thing that Keynes said, and I'm struggling to interpret it in the context of..." And I was off, trying to follow the ripples of British economics and politics in the early 20th Century.
My last lecture on that Friday was at two pm, and afterwards I hurried down to the boathouse to change and squeeze an hour's rowing in before it started to get too dark. I was getting into the sport, and my arms, shoulders and chest muscles had responded positively. They'd ached a lot at first, but Phoebe seemed to appreciate my new physique. However, when I got to the river, the eights had already left, so Andy, another Fresher, and I were left with a rather dilapidated coxless pair boat. It got worse; five minutes in, the rowlock on Andy's oar snapped - and it started to rain. Fortunately, we'd started by rowing upstream, so with some careful skulling on my part, Andy using his oar as a paddle and rudder combined, and allowing the current to carry us, we made it back. We were both wet and cold; without the hard physical exercise of rowing, it's pretty miserable being on the river when it's raining. We put the damaged boat back in the boathouse with a note for the maintenance guys and headed for the showers. But afterwards, it was still just after four - too early for the pub, we felt. (The licensing laws had changed the year before, so they were able to open all day, but I still struggled with the idea of beer before around 5 PM.) So I got on my bike and cycled home, hoping to have a simple meal with Phoebe, before or after a long drink of pussy juices.
I chained my bike up and opened the front door. It was already dark, but the lounge light was off, which I thought was strange as Phoebe should've been home by then. I was about to switch it on and call out for Phoebe when I heard the unmistakable sound of my girlfriend moaning in sexual pleasure. It was a sound I'd heard - and caused - many times; a sound I ordinarily relished. But this time, I wasn't the author of that sound. I wondered who was. The bedroom door was open, and a dim light was escaping. I peered around the doorframe and saw... my girlfriend, naked on the bed, kissing and caressing another naked girl.
And a very attractive naked girl. Like Phoebe, she was slim but, unlike my girlfriend, she had some interesting curves. In particular, she had breasts. Phoebe's little bumps, topped by their ultra-sensitive almost conical nipples, were fine by me, but she was never going to be able to give me a tit-wank. Neither was the blonde who was writhing around with Phoebe on our bed, but her breasts were delightfully-shaped; firm, round and with small, dark, hard nipples. Like my girlfriend, her pussy was enticingly free of hair, and she had a firm and peachy arse. Her legs were long and muscular, and given the way the two girls were twisting and writhing energetically around, she had the flexibility of a dancer.
And then I remembered that Phoebe had said her friend Alethia would be visiting. Alethia, who had stuck with the ballet when Phoebe had grown too tall to ever be a principal dancer. Alethia, who had helped to corrupt my girlfriend, opening her mind and ultimately her legs in the process, through pornography and vibrators.
And talking of pornography, I'm sure we all like a good porn video, but a live sex show is even better. I quietly drew up a chair to where I could see through the gap in the bedroom door while still in the darkness of the lounge, and watched. It was quite a show. There's a grace and fluidity to the sight of women making love with each other that's too often lacking in heterosexual sex. There was a lot of kissing and the rubbing together of body parts. I watched as each of them licked and caressed the other in places that I rarely spent much time when I was gearing up to fuck Phoebe. To be fair, Phoebe and I were often ready for the main event within minutes of the idea entering our heads. I've always felt that I was the luckiest fucker in the world, in that my girlfriend had an almost constant craving to have a cock inside her; my cock. While I, after a trying day, or even a good one, often couldn't wait to plunge into that tight, wet hole, she seemed equally as eager. As I'd already experienced, she would frequently tease me or even masturbate me in public places. At college dinners and even sometimes when we attended the same lectures, she would reach into my trousers and start caressing my cock. Or she'd take my hand, sit on it - having first, at some point, removed her panties - and I'd encourage her to a powerful orgasm, while she struggled to stifle her moans. As I said before, naughtiness was what we'd call today her 'superpower'.
But the girls were taking their time. Tongues and fingers seemed, at least at first, to go anywhere except the hotspots. It was only when arms and shoulders, thighs and knees - even feet - had been thoroughly explored, manually and orally, and a lot of mouth-to-mouth kissing undertaken, that breasts and pussies were attended to. I watched as each girl fingered and then finger-fucked the other, listening to the moans and the soft, wet sounds of manual penetration. I knew Phoebe loved her G-spot being stimulated by my fingers and my cock, and Alethia seemed to know just how to do this for her. I guessed this wasn't their first time together.
And then Alethia was straddling my girlfriend's face, and I was treated to the horny image of Phoebe, licking and finger-fucking the spread, neat little pussy of her best female friend while, hidden from my view, the friend was returning the compliment in a very hot sixty-nine. From where I sat, I was looking straight into that spread pink slit, and the sight was horny as fuck. There were wet slurping noises and lots of little moans and cries, which eventually reached a crescendo. I think Phoebe came first, and then I noticed a little gush of fluid from Alethia's open hole. Wow! Impressive.
After they'd caught their breath, the girls shuffled around and resumed kissing and caressing each other. I had a hard-on I could've used to bore a hole in the wall, but I sat still and watched them whisper to each other, stroke one another's hair and kiss. Again, two girls seem to kiss quite differently from how a girl and a boy would. There's a level of gentleness, of tenderness if you like, that's often overwhelmed and swept aside in the carnal passion of boy-kisses-girl-as-prelude-to-fucking-her kisses. So even the kissing was hot.
Finally, they both sat back against the headboard as Alethia started to explain something to Phoebe. And then she looked up - and saw me.
"OH MY GOD! There's a - a BOY! He's - he's watching us!" Alethia grabbed the sheets and pulled them up to cover her nakedness. I stood up and went to the bedroom door, smiling.
"Richard! How long have you been there?" Phoebe asked, blushing red and looking very embarrassed.
"Oh, quite long enough. I loved the show. I guess you must be Alethia. I'm Richard. You're gorgeous, by the way, and what you were doing with Phoebe was very sexy."
Alethia looked alarmed. "This - this is your boyfriend, Phoebe?"
Phoebe smiled. "Yes. He's cute, isn't he?" She giggled.
Alethia looked me up and down. "Er, yes, he is. You didn't say."
"As if I'd choose some wimp!" Phoebe replied with mock outrage. "And he fucks like a champ. I think I've done well for myself."
"I guess you have," said Alethia with a sigh.
"You know, you don't have to cover up like that, Alethia. I've seen everything - and I mean everything. I was looking into your sweet little pussy while Phoebe was licking it. It's very pretty." I grinned.
Alethia blushed even more. Then Phoebe bent close to her friend and whispered something in her ear.
"Really? Like - like now?"
"Why not?" Phoebe asked. "Bet you'd enjoy it."
"But - but he's like - your boyfriend. And he might not want to..."
"Phoebe? What are you whispering about?"
"Whether you should join us. Bet you'd like to do that, wouldn't you, Richard? Alethia's gorgeous, isn't she? And Alethia, sweetie - so is Richard. I bet you'd love for him to fuck you, wouldn't you?"
"Phoebe! I - I..." Alethia stuttered.
"Look, sweetie, I bet you haven't had any in weeks. Judging by how eager you were to get me between your legs, it's more likely to have been months. And it'll be months - possibly years - before you get an offer as good as this again." She turned to face me. "See, Richard, the problem with being a ballerina is that you keep fit and do all of these amazing moves, and boys pick you up and throw you around, and their hands often end up on your thighs or your titties - or sometimes in even more intimate places. But when you get off stage, most of the male dancers are gay. Unless I'm mistaken, despite being heartbreakingly pretty, Alethia has only had girls in the past few weeks. She and I are bisexual, not lesbians. I know she likes boys, but when you're touring in a company and there are ten girls to every straight male, it's very hard to get well and truly laid. Isn't that right, sweetie?"
"You make it sound like I'm some sort of frustrated old maid, desperate for - for cock."
"Well, aren't you? God knows, if I had to go for weeks without a good fuck, I'd start to go mad. Fortunately, I can get a good fuck - a very good fuck - almost whenever I need it. And as I'm your bestest best friend, I'm unselfishly willing to share my boyfriend and his clever cock with you, in the interests of showing what a great best friend I am. Try to steal him away and there will be a bloodbath, but tonight, my dear, you and Richard are in for a treat - if that's what you want."
My cock, which had been hard while watching the show, was beginning to throb. I'd removed my tracksuit top in the lounge, so I pulled my T-shirt over my head to reveal my naked torso. At nearly nineteen, I was justly proud of my body. I was fitter than I'd ever been. My chest, shoulders and six-pack were well-developed, first from swimming and, more recently, a lot of rowing. Alethia seemed to like what she saw.
"What do you think?" Phoebe asked mischievously as I peeled off my tracksuit bottoms and stood in just a small pair of briefs.
"Well, you certainly know how to pick them."
"I do. How does he compare with your last boy?"
"Adam?"
"You mean Adam Trent?"
"Yes. You remember him?"
"Who could forget. He was dreamy, but I never had the pleasure. I was too gawky for him, I suspect."
"Well, I have had the pleasure, except the pleasure was all his. He's always fingering your pussy when he's doing high lifts, deliberately teasing and making you wet. His harem - I think there are at least fifteen girls in the company that he regularly fucks - are all on the pill because he won't wear a condom. When he fucked me, he made me beg him to come in my mouth because otherwise he'd have come inside me, and I have sex so rarely that I wasn't on any contraception."
"Well, I think we still have a few condoms, and I can safely say that sex with Richard will be more pleasant than with smug Adam. Come on, boyfriend, show Alethia what you've got."
I turned around and pulled my pants down. "Just look at the arse on that!" Phoebe said with a crude, leery accent, and both girls giggled. Then I turned around. My adolescent, tumescent cock, was standing up at a jaunty angle.
"Oh my!" Alethia said. "You - you've removed all your - your pubic hair!"
And yes, I had, at Phoebe's suggestion. "Phoebe doesn't have any. Neither do you, for that matter. I find it sexy. I asked Phoebe how she felt about mine, and she said it wasn't a coincidence that nobody ever says 'Wow, what an attractive scrotum!' So I took a look at myself in the mirror and decided to shave it all off. The regrowth was horrible, so I got Phoebe to use some of that Stripwax that girls use for their legs. Frankly, that hurt like hell, but after the pain had gone, so had most of the hair. Do you like it?"
"I've never seen a - a bald cock and balls before. It looks - it looks a lot more attractive. And, somehow - bigger?"
I climbed onto the bed. "So, how big do you like it?"
"Not - not too big. I - I haven't had much sex - with boys, and - and I'm very tight. Sometimes it hurts."
"Not with Richard it won't," Phoebe said confidently.
"So, how do we do this?" I asked. "Who does what to whom, when?"
"Me first," Phoebe insisted, wriggling around and capturing my cock in her mouth on one swift movement. I groaned. Then Alethia pushed the sheets off her body and put her arms around me. We kissed - quite a 'hungry' kiss, if I was a judge of these things. Our mouths devoured each other as her hands roamed over my shoulders and chest. I moved my mouth to her neck and ears, and my hands cupped her firm, nicely-rounded breasts.
Then I had a very weird sensation on my cock as Phoebe popped its head through her throat and then rotated her body, so her feet were on the pillow - quite an impressive move. Alethia moved a hand to cup and stroke my girlfriend's pussy, as I ran my fingers down across her taut belly and slid my thumb between her plump outer lips. She sighed.
I'd not exactly become desensitised to Phoebe's deep-throat technique over the months we'd been together, but these days I could usually last rather more than a minute before depositing my seed in her gullet. But eventually I had to reach down and pull her head back off my cock, or Alethia wouldn't have got what she wanted.
"Focus on Alethia," I said, as I headed south to taste that neat, plump little slit. And not only was it delightful, but Alethia was highly responsive. Because she was already so wet from her earlier playtime with Phoebe, my tongue soon homed in on her clit; sooner than I would normally have done, but I sensed she was ready. The girls were kissing, Alethia had her fingers in Phoebe's pussy, and I slid one of mine inside her tight little hole. And it was tight. Phoebe's cunt is exceptionally tight; she's skinny and fit and does pelvic floor exercises, together with her ballet stretches, every day. I guessed that Alethia did the same. My middle finger slowly insinuated itself into her hot, wet little hole, found the special spot and beckoned to it, as my tongue took up a relentless action on her clit. Alethia squealed. And moaned. And wriggled. And gasped. And came. And gushed.
I personally find pussy juices delicious. Every woman I've tasted - and by this time I'd sampled maybe half a dozen - has a different but delightful flavour. I'd tasted my spunk a few times when I'd eaten Phoebe's cunt after coming, and it didn't stack up well alongside the flavour of woman-juice. While Phoebe never complained about getting a mouthful of cum, I'd noticed that her oral technique often involved getting me to finish in her throat, which doubtless helped avoid the rather astringent flavour of semen.
Anyway, Alethia's juices were copious and tasty. My arousal, which Phoebe had been in danger of taking too far with her wicked oral work, had eased sufficiently that I could proceed to the next level. But sometimes, you need to take it slowly. And I decided to let Alethia's orgasm subside before I popped the question and then popped my cock inside her.
So I transferred my oral attention to my girlfriend. Her squeals and moans ramped up a notch, and another when I started energetically finger-fucking both of her holes. The only thing that seemed to be stopping her from screaming the place down was the fact that her mouth and Alethia's seemed to be glued together, with her friend tweaking her conical, puffy nipples. I guess these girls had done this before.
As had I, because my skinny, geeky girlfriend began writhing around on the bed, legs flailing and hips bouncing up and down as I struggled to stay in contact with all her most powerful erogenous zones. Finally, she broke the kiss with her friend and let forth a stream of cries and obscenities that surprised even me.
"OH MY GOD! Oh shit! Oh fuck! Oh cunting fucking fuck! SHIT! JESUS! Of fuck fuck fuck! Oh my! Oh fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck!"
Yes, Phoebe was coming. And I felt it would soon be my turn.
"Alethia, are you ready?"
"I - yes, Oh yes!" she smiled up at me. And opened her legs.
I don't know about other guys, but something that can get me instantly hard is a girl spreading her legs and showing her open, naked pussy to me. I guess if she kneels in front of me and opens her mouth wide, or if she turns around and spreads her butt-cheeks to show that she has a plug inserted - well, they're also pretty intense dick-stiffeners. It's the direct sense of sexual invitation, aimed at you, that's so horny. And Alethia's pussy was smooth, attractive and very wet. Fuck!
But before I could take up position, Phoebe intervened. She passed me a condom she'd extracted from the bedside drawer. "Almost the last one left," she said, tearing open the wrapper and passing me the coiled-up rubber sheath. Then she grabbed a pillow and slid it under Alethia's peachy buttocks. And then pushed her friend's legs up and further apart, so her cute bestie was not only spread wide but bent double, holding her shins almost alongside her breasts. God, I love flexible girls.
"What?" Alethia said with a puzzled expression.
"My favourite position. Deepest penetration and best G-spot contact. Trust me. Richard loves it."
I do, for the reasons Phoebe said, and because of that insane sense of vulnerability as the girl, spread wide open and helpless underneath you, takes your cock deep inside her cunt and - in Phoebe's case at least - howls with the intense pressure on her most sensitive spots. Oh, and there's usually sufficient room to get a thumb onto her clit at the same time.
Suitably rubbered-up, and with an extra coating of KY Jelly, thanks to my glamorous and very horny assistant, I let my cock slide slowly up and down in Alethia's open slit. She cried out, almost as if in pain, but I knew I wasn't hurting her. A few slow strokes along her tiny but sensitive inner lips, tantalising her clit with the sheathed head of my cock, and her eyelids began to flutter.
"Ready?" I smiled down at her.
She nodded. I eased back, lined up and teased her tight entrance with just the tip. She gasped.
"Fuck her, Richard. Show the horny little minx what you can do with that cock," Phoebe murmured. I pushed gently, encountering resistance. Wow, she was tight. She gasped. I pulled back a little.
"Relax, baby. Let it go in."
Alethia's expression was one of erotic amazement. She was staring down at her wide-open pussy as I slowly, slowly, pushed a little of my cock inside her - and then withdrew again.
"Go on, Richard, fuck her. You both know she wants it." I felt Phoebe's hand on my arse. She skimmed my ring with her nail, knowing that's a great way to turn me on. Again I teased - just an inch in, then slowly out.
"Oh, please be gentle." Alethia gasped. I pushed deeper, and she cried out. "Oh, that - that feels so - so big!" she moaned. "Ooh! Oh, it - it hurts - a little - it - AH!"
And I slid in, overcoming that tense tightness, finally gliding in until our bodies met. Alethia let out a little shriek. I paused only briefly before making the slow return journey, maybe halfway, and then pushing again, gently opening her for what was to come.
Phoebe was always tight, but sometimes she played a 'special game', not waiting until she was fully aroused before begging me to fuck her. The net result was what we called 'virgin tightness'. We usually needed to use extra KY Jelly, because she wasn't always wet enough, but I loved the extra frisson of something that she said was as tight as her arse would be - she was still reluctant to try anal - and allowed her to play out one of her fantasies, of being a ravished virgin.
Alethia wasn't tight due to lack of arousal - I'd just made her come, as Phoebe had before me. No, Alethia was tight because very few cocks had found their way inside her, and because she was nervous about what she was doing and what was being done to her. But we soon settled into a rhythm that she clearly welcomed.
I love the expression on a woman's face when she's enjoying being fucked. Sometimes it's a big smile of rapture, sometimes a spaced-out look of near-orgasmic bliss. With Alethia, her face seemed to show delighted astonishment, as if she couldn't believe how good it felt. Phoebe, meanwhile, moved in close to kiss her friend, suck on her tiny nipples and slip her finger into Alethia's open slit. And we stayed like that, me gradually increasing the pace and power of my thrusts and Phoebe's clever fingers and mouth providing additional stimulation, until Alethia's little gasps and moans became louder and she gasped, "Oh fuck! I'm - I'm going to - I'm going to COME!"
And she did. As I pulled back before the last few strokes that I knew would lead to my own orgasm, to which I felt entitled now that I'd satisfied my new sex partner, a little gush of fluid spurted out around my cock. I waited a moment and then plunged in deep, maybe a dozen or more times, pausing briefly before each renewed thrust to allow more liquid to escape, until my seed filled a rubber for the first time in many months.
"How was that, sweetie?" Phoebe asked, stroking Alethia's hair before kissing her again, as I carefully withdrew. Stretched out again on the mattress, with the pillow under her head rather than her bum, Alethia seemed a little spaced out.
"Wow! That was - that was pretty awesome!"
"The best fuck you've had?" Phoebe asked, glancing at me and grinning.
"Ye - yeah. Just - just so good. Thank you. Thank you, both." And then she kissed Phoebe again.
I left them to it and went to discard the condom, clean up a little and then fetch some glasses and a bottle of wine.
There are quite a few variations you can achieve with three bodies. Less than an hour later, I was on my back with Phoebe on my cock and Alethia on my face. The girls had reignited activity with a two-girl blowjob - absolutely amazing. Phoebe had encouraged Alethia to suck me while I was still only semi-hard. She was surprisingly good for a relative novice; lots of soft lips and tongue, and quite deep. Then Phoebe had joined in with a 'cock kiss'; one mouth on each side, sliding up and down, like they were kissing each other with my dick in between. This didn't feel as good as a single mouth enveloping me, but it was very horny to watch and experience. Then they switched to Phoebe sucking me while Alethia licked my balls - at which point I had to beg them to stop.
And then, as I say, I found myself on my back with my girlfriend riding my cock and Alethia grinding her pussy against my mouth, which was fine by me. Despite Phoebe's best efforts, I remained focused on Alethia's pussy until she almost drowned me with another squirt.
By then, I knew what I needed to do next. I lifted a still-shaking Alethia off my face, and she rolled sideways onto the mattress and turned onto her front, still breathing heavily. "Babe, could you please pause for a moment?" I asked Phoebe. "I think Alethia needs fucking again."
"OK, but come back for me when you've finished!"
She lifted off, I grabbed the one remaining condom, tore the wrapper open and quickly rolled it on.
"Alethia, kneel up. Push your bum in the air."
Alethia looked at me with a glazed expression.
"I - I don't think I can. I'm - I'm still - still shaking from the last one..."
I didn't wait any longer. I grabbed a pillow and scooted around behind her, lifted her skinny body and positioned her face between Phoebe's spread thighs. Then I pulled Alethia's hips up, slid the pillow underneath her, lined up - and went in.
"OH FUCK!" Alethia howled. I took that as a demand, pulled back and slid my cock deep into her cunt, pressing down hard on the front wall to overload her G-spot. She let out some incoherent noises.
"Eat Phoebe's pussy," I told her and as she moaned, gasped and protested, I pushed her head back down between Phoebe's legs and then grabbed her hips to make it easier for me to thrust. Fuck, she was still tight. And very responsive. Within a minute, she was pushing back to meet me, her cries now more enthusiastic but muffled as her mouth was full of my girlfriend's twat.
When I sensed that the moment was right, I aimed a small stream of saliva down between Alethia's tight buttocks and moved my thumb over to circle around and over the puckered hole. Her head jerked up and she squealed, "JESUS CHRIST!" as my thumb slid into the tight, lubricated ring and started stimulating the inside.
Seconds later, her legs began drumming the mattress. She howled and writhed as I felt her coming again - or maybe just reviving the aftershocks of her previous orgasm. In any event, Alethia was getting what she wanted.
I desperately wanted to let go, but I found I could just - only just - hold on as Alethia went crazy underneath me. I managed a couple more thrusts before I had to withdraw and take a few deep breaths. My cock was twitching, longing for release.
"Phoebe, baby. Stand up. Pull your leg up. I want to fuck you wide open."
She knew what this meant. The day after we'd first met, she'd shown me the joys of having a flexible ballerina as a girlfriend when she'd stood on one leg, raised the other almost vertically up and opened up her delightful wet cunt in an almost impossibly erotic way. Since then, we'd explored that position several times. She climbed off the bed, leaving a panting Alethia to recover, then pulled up her leg to her shoulder in a move that would have most guys blowing their loads in seconds. I scrambled off the bed, tore off the rubber and, slipping behind my girlfriend, bent her slightly forward and thrust into that wet, open hole in one go.
Phoebe grunted and then jiggled around to get into the best position. I'd let my arousal drop a little, but I knew there was a severe risk that I'd come before my girlfriend. Alethia was watching us in a fascinated, post-orgasmic haze.
"Told you - he was a good fuck," Phoebe panted as I ramped up my fucking rhythm. I had my finger on her clit, but then an idea hit me.
"Alethia - quick - come here - lick Phoebe's pussy."
Alethia still looked rather dazed, but she pulled herself off the bed, knelt in front of her friend and started licking Phoebe's clit as I kept pounding in from behind. It didn't take very long for Phoebe's arousal levels to approach the end-stop.
"Aa-aaaa-aaaaa-AAAA-AAAAAAA!" she squealed as I felt the first tremors in that hot hole. I gritted my teeth and held on until we got to "OH FUCK OF FUCK OH FUUUUUUUUUUCK!" And then I did something unforgivable; I pulled out and stuck the head of my cock into Alethia's mouth. And came.
Her scream was muffled by my cock, but to my surprise, she didn't pull away, and she kept her lips in place as she allowed me to unload my balls. And when I finally pulled back, feeling light-headed at the sheer excess of physical and sexual activity I'd just been part of, she did something that surprised me; she swallowed my entire load.
Alethia left early the next morning after a minuscule breakfast. Lots of kisses and cries of 'See you later!' As we closed the front door, Phoebe turned and kissed me.
"So what did you think?"
"Of Alethia. Lovely girl."
"Good fuck?"
"Excellent fuck. Not as good as you, though." I put my arms around her and kissed her quite passionately.
Phoebe made quite a lot of noise as she came, bent over the breakfast table, as I fucked her energetically from behind. My hands were on her hips; I wasn't even stroking her clit. But I guess both of us were still quite stoked from the memory of what we'd done with Alethia the night before, so I started to come moments after Phoebe. In the shower, afterwards - there was just room for both of us - I was rubbing shampoo through her frizzy hair when she asked, "Would you do that again?"
"What? Fuck you over the kitchen table? Anytime you want, baby."
"No, you moron. I meant, have a threesome."
"Sure. With Alethia, or do you have someone else in mind?"
"I was thinking about one of your friends. I'd love to try it with two guys."
I paused my scalp massage. How would I feel, sharing my hot, over-sexed girlfriend with another man? What if...
"Er, OK. Do you have anyone in mind?" A clearly defined, one-night-only experience with Alethia, just before she went off on a tour, was one thing. Bringing a local friend into our bedroom could be something entirely different.
"Line 'em up and I'll choose," she replied.
As I showered off the shampoo, I wondered where this might lead.
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