She hovers in the dark, somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. The bed beneath her is soft and welcoming. It cradles her naked body, holding her prisoner, sapping her strength, rendering her incapable of doing anything but yielding to its indulgent grasp. The beat of her heart is steady and relaxed, and her breathing is gentle, almost silent. Life support on minimal.
She floats in a nether world that is warm and safe and free of consequence.
The door to her bedroom is ajar. She left it that way deliberately, an open invitation to either – to both – of her hosts. She had slipped between the crisp sheets hoping that at least one of them would accept the invite at some point in the night. That was why she left the cream chemise she’d brought with her folded neatly in her suitcase.
For a time she had lain in the dark, staring at the door, willing the footsteps to come. Eventually, she had turned her back on the maddening gap and closed her eyes.
Sleep did not come for her, though.
Her wanton thoughts refused to relinquish their hold on her. The softness of her breasts and the hardness of his cock; the taste of his come mixed with hers as she feasted upon the woman’s freshly fucked cunt. After a while, the lover had had no choice but to surrender to the restless whimpering of her body. Curled into a foetal ball, she gently stroked herself as she ran the film of the evening’s events through the cinema that existed within her mind. Every few minutes, she grabbed the lips of her sex more tightly, imagining that it was his mouth upon her, sucking on her flesh, pulling upon her succulent labia.
With little warning, another climax approached.
How many is that?
As she’d orgasmed, she’d couldn’t help but wonder if her new friends were fucking quietly on the other side of the wall; whispering to one another in the dark, reliving the delicious depravity the three of them had conjured. The temptation to return to the bedroom where she’d already taken – and given – so much pleasure was nearly overwhelming.
But instead of giving into her desire, she’d rolled onto her stomach, buried her face into the suffocating pillow and tried muting her cries of completion as she tugged feverishly upon her clitoral hood.
The flames of the first orgasm had barely subsided before she was greedily fanning the flames of a second.
How many is that?
She had pressed her face into the pillow more firmly, and as she groaned her pleasure, she wondered if she shouldn’t have vented it nakedly, brazenly, allowed the vocalisation of her climax to pass through the lath and the plasterboard; a siren’s call, beckoning to the desirous, to the sexually enthralled.
Too late, she’d thought. And perhaps too much.
She was all too aware of how greedy she was when it came to sex. Truth be told, she was all but insatiable. Her husband knew only too well, which was why he countenanced her periodic adventures. She thought she understood why.
If you grab a tiger by the tail, sometimes, you have to accept that you can’t hold on, and you just have to hope that it won’t tear you apart when you let go.
That was when she closed her mind to the life she’d temporarily stepped out of. There would be guilt later; there always was, along with something that verged on mourning for the fresh excitement that had passed through her world so fleetingly.
Exist in the moment. There was no choice. What was the point of all this otherwise?
But her cunt still cried out for attention. She turned her fantasies back to him, imagined that he had heard her cries of self-induced pleasure, that he had been unable to resist Ligeia’s beckoning. She pictured herself rolling over to face the door, seeing him standing inside the threshold, stroking his hardness as he watched her writhing against her hands. Then he had flung back the duvet, stretched out beside her, entered her slickness from behind as she continued to grind her clitoris against her fingers and her palm. He cupped her breasts, gripped her waist, and fucked her until she panted wildly and her heart raced wildly and the orgasms drowned her, one after the other, endless waves crashing against an unquenchable beach.
The perfect crescendo to her quest.
And finally, she had slept, exhausted and sated, her hand still pressed comfortingly between her thighs.
Now, floating in that netherworld between sleep and wakefulness, the lover becomes aware of movement in the hallway outside her door. Her eyes remain closed, but she is rousing now, and despite the lethargy, she is certain she senses the presence of another person in her room. The double bed shifts under the weight of someone behind her. She feels a ripple of excitement as she is catapulted into total, wakeful awareness.
Which one of them has finally come to her?
A delicate hand softly strokes the lover’s upper arm. She hears the woman whispering, “I wasn’t sure whether to come in. I didn’t know whether or not to wake you…”
The lover rolls onto her back. The woman is kneeling on the bedroom floor, her left elbow resting on the bed, palm propped beneath her chin. She still wears the pink pyjamas that she’d been wearing as the three of them had said goodnight to one another in the hallway.
No late night sex, after all, she realises, somewhat disappointedly.
The woman’s smile is warm and inviting, though. The lover feels her cunt pulse.
You greedy, greedy girl.
“I’m glad you did wake me,” she says quietly. “In fact, I can’t think of a better way to be woken up.”
She wants to draw the woman’s face to hers, to kiss her softly, slowly. But she is conscious of her breath, fearing that it is too pungent for so delicate and beautiful a moment. The woman laughs as the reason for the lover’s awkwardness becomes evident. She strokes her hair.
“You are silly.”
And then she gives the lover the same, wicked look she’d given her the night before, while the two of them sat together on the sofa, and the woman slid her hand up inside the lover’s skirt just before they kissed for the very first time. The woman leans closer, and the lover’s sex pulses again at the prospect of what is to come. But then the woman stops and whispers, “He’s still sleeping in there with a dirty smile on his face … are we going to give him something else to smile about?”
The lover swallows and then she smiles. “Yes, I think that we should … but first, I really have to brush my teeth.”
The woman laughs as the lover slips from beneath the covers and skips naked into the ensuite bathroom.
The lover stands before the large wall mirror, suddenly aware of how wet she is already. Kaleidoscopes of past and future intermingle in her mind, a whirl of decadent, provocative imagery. Her sex pulses with delectable anticipation.
She brushes her teeth in record time.
When she opens the bathroom door, the woman is standing right in front of her. She is completely naked too. The sight of her makes the lover’s cunt lurch. In the days and weeks to come, she will still experience a rush of excitement whenever she recalls this unexpected moment.
The lover takes two steps forward and they are face to face. Their nipples brush together, sending another bolt of electricity through her, through them both, if the woman’s expression is to be believed. The lover puts her hands about the woman’s waist and pulls her into a kiss that’s slow like molasses. The woman rests her hands upon the lover’s shoulders, and the lover responds by running her hands up and down the centre of the woman’s back. The woman trembles and groans softly into the kiss.
The lover is getting wetter by the second.
She slides her hands onto the softness of the woman’s arse, pulling her even closer. She tries to slip one of her thighs between the woman’s, but the woman breaks their kiss and draws back, smiling sweetly. The lover flits between panic and excitement. Has she moved too fast? Are they about to climb into her bed, to share one another without the distraction of cock? She doesn’t mind. She’s been on heat for both of them, but right now, all she wants is the intense sensuality of femme-to-femme sex. The woman came first. The man can wait his turn. Perhaps he’ll hear their pleasure and come to see them managing without him. Perhaps they’ll let him join them. Perhaps they’ll make him watch. Perhaps they’ll lock the door with him still outside. The lover doesn’t mind any of those scenarios. She just wants to feel pleasure, and to give it back and see the splendour of its effect.
And then the woman takes a step; not towards the bed, but towards the bedroom door, and as she does, she holds out her hand to the lover. The lover finds the gesture even more exciting than the prospect of the two of them alone in bed. She accepts the woman’s hand, allows herself to be led the short distance to the couple’s bedroom.
Another wave of arousal engulfs her as she sees the man’s motionless form, his back towards them, his tanned skin vibrant against the brilliant white of the sheets, his broad shoulders tapering down to his waist. Her cunt quivers.
You are so fucking fickle.
The woman drops the lover’s hand and turns to the door. The lover is gripped by a moment’s uncertainty, and then she realises that the woman is only closing the door behind them. The lover takes the opportunity to drink in the beautiful curve of the woman’s bottom, and then the woman comes back to her, kisses her tenderly upon the mouth, and with the same wicked smile, slides into the bed and holds the quilt open. Just as the lover’s door had been.
The lover wastes no time in accepting the invitation. In all her wanton adventures, she cannot remember ever feeling so aroused. She slips back into the woman’s arms, renewing their slow and sensual kiss. The softness of the woman’s breasts against her own is wonderful, intoxicating. She slips a hand between the woman’s splayed thighs and discovers that the two of them are equally as wet.
On the other side of the bed, the man stirs, probably hovering somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. The lover wonders when he’ll detect the presence of another person in his bedroom, in his bed. She wonders how he’ll respond. She thinks she has a good idea.
The lover smiles.