We met them at a dimly lit tapas bar downtown, one of those places where the candlelight flickered like a secret waiting to be told. She came in wearing a dangerously short dress—no panties, as she told us in a whisper after kissing both of us on the cheek. Her boyfriend smirked. Proud. Nervous. Turned on beyond words.
The waiter took our drink orders while she slipped under the table, pretending to adjust her shoe. What she really did was unzip both our pants and take turns tasting us, stroking and sucking, her lips gliding from one shaft to the next like she couldn’t decide which one she craved more. She whispered, “I love them both. I want to *** on them together.”
Later, back at their place, we didn’t waste time. She stripped, crawling onto the bed between us, whimpering with need. I licked her ass while he tongue-fucked her soaked pussy. She shook like a live wire, gasping, moaning, barely able to breathe between the orgasms that came in waves.
Then came the moment she begged for—“Both. Please. At the same time.”
We didn’t make her wait. Her body stretched, welcomed us, adored the overwhelming fullness. She clenched around us, breathless, broken open by bliss. Her cries filled the room like music.
We came for her, again and again. Her mascara streaked, her thighs trembling, her holes dripping. And still, she whispered, “More?”
