The first time we meet he is nervous. I smile coyly and he licks his lips apprehensivly . . Does he know I keep my strap ons in the drawer below the one were I keep my suspenders and stockings? I find myself wondering, what he would look like on his knees in front of me, my fattest cock stuffed deep in his arse his beautiful eyes watering, gazing back at me through long lashes, hurt and amazed. I smile again and open my legs slightly before I get up, just to see where his eyes go.
I come back, watching him, watching me. I sit down next to you, kiss you below your ear, my eyes on him and whisper, 'fresh meat?' You nod. I notice him shiver softly.
He wears his innocence like a scarf, I get wet imagining you tying him up with it.
As you tower over him, he asks you to rub his chest with your stubble. Your nails scratch him, leaving marks that disappear as if they were made in water. He lies between us and we stroke him, spank him. He is uncomfortable being the object of both our attentions; a look of momentary panic as we touch him together, not knowing who to respond to. I kiss him; his mouth is dry, our eyes are open. I take his hand gently and brush my lips over his yielding fingers. He sighs and smiles, I move our hands down the tangle of bodies and sheets. He relaxes between us and I reach over to you, feeling you getting hard against him. I open my legs for him to fist me. Then we fuck him.
He lays between us sleeping, we all hug. I felt closer to you than I ever have before.
In the morning you said this is how it ought to always be; but when you cooked him breakfast and kissed him on the lips I knew you'd never done it this way before. Despite myself I envied that tenderness, that you wore like a brand new shirt, perfect and unspoiled.
When he's away you say it is like there is an empty hole, and we laugh.
You know I miss him. I know you do, too. How wonderful and unexpected that we three fell so easily together. Yet all things change. Now, there are only four hands, not six, two mouths, not three.
Still, I want this, now, I want the hair on your head and your rough face grazing my thighs. You know this is how I like to be touched; through the split in my skirt; vehemently- without the tenderness that you reserve for our next meal.