The Accidental Throuple

Anne and I had been living together for about three years when Sarah and David broke up.

We had been dating long enough, and through that critical period in our late 20s, that was impossible for me to know which things about our sex life were unique to her, and which things were unique to aging. Sex was different with her than it was with the caravan of art hoes I had hooked up with in college, and we were getting serious enough that she was probably going to be the last woman I ever slept with. I couldn't say I was unhappy with it, but it was a little odd to think about. Anne gave great head, but almost exclusively as foreplay. Would I never have another woman ask me to cum down her throat? Anne wasn't interested in anal, or in threesomes. Admittedly those are a bit of a big swing, but it felt weirdly final knowing that they would definitely never happen.

When I was younger, all of these things seemed possible. I never had a threesome, and I never fucked a woman in the ass, but with the women I was hooking up with in college they both felt on the table. And because I only get to live my life once I couldn't ever really know: was it that women in their early twenties are more uninhibited (or perhaps more performative), or was it Anne? I loved her, and ultimately I was very satisfied, but I can't say I never missed hooking up with sluts.

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Sarah was, technically speaking, one of those sluts--we had briefly hooked up as college before deciding to just be friends. And it left us in sort of a weird place. When you're friends with a full ex, there's so much context around the relationship that the sex is just a drop in the bucket of the things that makes the relationship weird. But when you're friends with someone you used to fuck, you're left with a basically normal friendship that is extremely open about sex. So she and I knew a lot of the dirty details of eachother's lives. Experiences, preferences, kinks, the whole gamut. And we talked about it more freely than people who date do, because it didn't feel like we'd ever do anything about it, so there was zero pressure. It was great.

She knew I liked thigh highs, opaque socks more than sheer stockings. I knew she liked anal--she had once remarked, after hooking up with a lab partner she hated in the back of her car, that she didn't understand how guys always knew she'd get off if they fingered her ass. I didn't have the heart to tell her.

We moved to different places after college, and kept decreasingly good touch as we both grew and changed. The pretty unremarkable decay of a friendship with someone you don't really ever expect to run into again.

*****

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I had just gotten out of a long term relationship that culminated in a pretty messy breakup when I met Anne. She had been single for a while, but had been striking out. Our friends set us up. I'm pretty sure they didn't even actually think we'd be a particularly good match, it's just that we both needed to fuck and we were both basically decent people. The nice thing about meeting someone through friends is that the first date feels a lot less like a job interview: you already know the other person is basically okay, so you can get right into knowing eachother instead of trying to subtly suss out whether they're a serial killer or a republican or something.

We ended up hitting it off a lot, not that it mattered that first night. We talked about movies (we had both, coincidentally, been on an Altman kick), our jobs (we both, less coincidentally, hated them), our pets, and our hobbies. More importantly, we made eachother laugh. I brought her back to my place, ostensibly to look at some art I had picked up at an estate sale (we had already agreed to go to some over the weekend as a second date). Player that I am, we did indeed spend some time inspecting and discussing the painting before settling on the couch for some interminably long smalltalk as I tried to figure out whether she wanted me to kiss her.

She did, obviously.

In my defense, I don't think it was obvious at first. But by the time we hit the what-felt-like-three-hours-but-was-probably-more-like-five-minutes mark, it was mostly me not knowing how to start kissing someone you haven't spent the last four years dating.

Fortunately for the both of us, once we started kissing the hormones kicked in and she climbed on top of me as we both shifted to a more horizontal position. The weight of her body against me, her gentle moans and groans and breaths, the little laughs she let out as my hands caressed her hips and crept up the velvet-soft skin of her sides to the bottom of her ribs, every detail had me hard as a rock and struggling against my jeans. My last relationship had devolved into a cold war for months before we finally broke up. It had been so long since I felt this desired. But as Anne started gently grinding against my erection, I knew that she wanted me.

Anne's shirt had ridden up a bit from my hands exploring her sides and her back and her ribs, but I didn't want to stop kissing long enough to ask if they could go further. But Anne, inferring from my earlier waffling, was more direct. She pushed against my chest a little to sit up, pulled her shirt over her head, and unclipped her bra. I watched reverently as she shrugged it off her shoulders and tossed it to the side. It was late on a gorgeous summer night, and the entire sky was pink and gold from the setting sun, and it lit up the whole room with this gorgeous warmth. Which is to say that her tits looked absolutely spectacular: her impossibly smooth skin and her hard brown nipples glowed, a perfect handful that held themselves up with such effortless grace it was like gravity couldn't touch them at all. But I could. She smirked at the awe in my face. My hands bolted to them, greedily, as she leaned back in to kiss me, our joint movement making me collide with them a little more roughly than I intended.

I would have been content to stay on that couch all night, kissing and groping and grinding. I would have been content to stay on that couch allweek. But Anne wasn't content with just being content. She stood up, and I joined her, and our lips locked together as she started to unbutton my shirt, and pulled it off my shoulders as I wiggled my wrists through the sleeves. My hands went straight to her ass, pulling her whole body close so I could feel her tits against my bare chest. Her hands went straight to my jeans. She ran her palm along the length of my cock and gave it a little squeeze, and I could feel her smile against my lips as we kissed. That smile might have been the single most flattering moment of my life.

She broke away again and lead me to my bedroom. I wasn't normally this much of a follower, but between my inexperience with bachelordom and her cool, commanding confidence I was a little off base. She took a moment to look around, half evaluating my decor and half, I think, just getting a lay of the land, and then turned around and let herself fall backwards onto the bed, her entire body beckoning me. I crawled over her like an animal and locked my mouth onto hers. She spread her legs around me and pulled me in, and started gently running her fingernails over my sides and back. I put one hand in her hair, using my elbow and forearm to hold myself aloft, then moved down to start kissing her neck as my other hand went back to her beautiful breast.

She was either surprised or relieved at me finally taking initiative, and released me with her legs. I rolled a bit, so my crotch was no longer pinning her to the bed, and moved a hand down to her jeans. My fingers paused at the button of her fly, and I moved my head away from her neck for a moment to look at her face. Her eyes were closed, but she was smiling, and she nodded. I unbuttoned, unzipped, and started to slip my hand into her panties before realizing that geometrically I wouldn't really be able to rub her clit effectively from this position. I broke away from her again, stood back on the ground, and grabbed her jeans on either side of her hips. She grabbed the sheets and wiggled a bit as I pulled her pants and panties off and threw them in a heap at the floor, then knelt in front of her.

Her legs, which I was yet to see bare, were shaved silky-smooth. Her pussy was trimmed to a uniform half-centimeter, and it was glistening and open. I touched my cheek against the inside of her thigh and slowly began to creep forward, just barely grazing her tender skin with the stubble of my beard. As I approached her vulva I looked back up at her. "Move up." She scooted back further into the bed, and I crawled on and returned to my place between her thighs.

She smelled neutral, vaguely sweet and musty. I started by gently running my tongue along her lips for a minute. She laughed and called me a tease and I dove in, tonguing and gently sucking her clit as she moaned and moaned. I wrapped an arm around each thigh, grappling them down and holding them apart, giving me space to maneuver. She writhed and struggled against me a little, but I held firm. Her hands moved to my hair and she began running her fingers along my scalp.

I don't really know how to describe eating pussy. I feel like the experience is so overstimulating--your blinded and deafened by her body and everything is happening on your lips and tongue--that I end up just going with the flow of her body instead of thinking anything in particular through. But after a while she gently tugged at my head, and said "I came here for dick."

I crawled back over her and she kissed me, my face still sloppy from her cunt. She gently pushed my shoulder and I rolled onto my back. She straddled me, and started to undo my pants. "I came here for dick and from what I can tell you've got a pretty nice one."

"What, you mean this old thing?"

She freed me from my jeans. My boxers soon followed, and before I knew it my cock was level with her face. "Pretty nice" she whispered, hitting the two syllables of "pretty" with equal stress to avoid damning me with feint praise. Then she ran her tongue, painstakingly slow, from the base of my balls all the way to my tip. Holding her tongue firm against the head, she retracted my foreskin, exposing my glans to the texture of her tongue, before taking just the head into her mouth, sucking, and pulling back until it popped out with a smack. "Nice and thick."

That really got me going. It felt real. My dick isn't huge, it isn't monstrous, and, statistically, it's probably not the biggest she'd ever seen. But it is pretty nice, and it is thick. She didn't say it like a compliment. She didn't even really say it like she was talking to me. She said it like she was talking to herself.

She spent a little more time sucking me, her mouth on my head as her hand worked my shaft. Something about the way she moved made it feel like she was sizing me up, like there would be a test after sex where she had to draw it from memory. And then she popped me out of her mouth again, kissed me on the lips, and flopped back down onto her back. I grabbed a condom from the nightstand and clumsily rolled it over my cock--I hadn't worn one since the last time I was single, and in those intervening years I had convinced myself that maybe they weren't as annoying as I remembered. They were. But between the remaining spit from her sucking, and the rigidity instilled by the jiggling of her breasts after she flopped onto the bed, it wasn't too much of a hassle.

We kissed deeply for a moment as I rubbed my shaft along her vulva, and our mouths remained close as I began to sink inside her. I could feel the breath of her gentle gasp against my lips. As I sank all the way in to the hilt I involuntarily whispered "Fuck", a silent prayer to what we were about to do. Her gasp turned into a deep moan. After a stationary moment, savoring the experience of being inside her, I started to thrust again, back and forth, slow and deep. She wrapped her legs around me. They were impossibly smooth, and felt almost cool against my skin.. Her hands reached for my face and pulled me back to hers for a kiss, then started roaming all over me, feeling the muscle of my arms, running her nails over my back. She tilted her head back to get some air and I buried my face in the base of her neck and she moaned.

I fell into her rhythm, fucking her madly with steady, deep strokes. I moved my mouth to the other side of her neck, then back to her lips, then I gave up on being able to kiss and simply panted to the side of her ear. The arm holding me up wrapped its fingers up in her hair, while my free hand pawed at her ass. After what could have been a minute or a week, her moans finally took form as language. "I need to ride you."

I stopped, deep inside her, held her close by the hip, and rolled us over. She sat up on me and started to rock.

When she first had said that she wanted to be on top I was a little nervous. The way that many women like to ride--grinding back and forth on my pelvis, doesn't really do a lot for me. It's hot to witness, but when I'm wearing a condom, "hot to witness" just isn't enough. But the way Anne rides dick is miraculous. I don't really understand it, physically. The movement is mostly back-and-forth, but my head rubs against something inside her (I don't think it's the cervix, it could just be some special spot on the walls) and her pussy grips the base of my shaft in a way that somehow translates the horizontal movement into vertical stimulation. It doesn't make any sense. It's incredible.

I spent about thirty seconds dumbfounded by the sensation. She smirked, pulling me from my daze, and I immediately brought my hands to her tits, caressing and massaging the mass of them as my thumbs gravitated to her nipples. She closed her eyes, and ran her fingers through her own hair, and then brought her hands down to my shoulders and pressed down for leverage.

That didn't work great, and we both knew it. She paused, we laughed, and I craned my neck towards the headboard. "That'll work", she said, dismounting momentarily to let me scuttle on over to the proper position. She straddled me, with almost a cowboy saunter as she threw one leg over, then grabbed my dick and held it in place as she sank herself down. This time, I got to watch her face as it went in. I honestly think that's the moment I fell in love with her.

I was leaning against the headboard, with a pillow under my back, and she leaned forward and braced her arms against it. As luck would have it, this meant her breasts were dangling right in front of my face. As she rode and ground with her mysterious movements I finally had the opportunity to bring my mouth to her nipples--first her right, then her left. Slow, lolling swirls around her areola. Long, flat licks against the teat. Darting flicks. Each idea I tried got a warmer reception than the last. I moved on to sucking. I pulled one nipple into my mouth, giving my tongue the opportunity to race all over its surface. I grazed it, ever so gently, with the edges of my teeth. I sucked it hard against my tongue. And all the while she kept grind-bounce-rocking herself on my cock. Soon, she started to curse. "Fuck fuck fuck FUCK fuck fuck fuck ohhhh fuck." I never knew how she was going to hit the next "fuck." Some were nothing but breath, some were rapid and percussive, some turned into yelping shouts halfway through. And then "I'm... I'm..."

I grabbed her hips tight, but let her movements guide me. I gently sucked one nipple into my mouth and started stroking it hard with my tongue. And Anne dissolved into an orgasm.

At the end of it, she crumpled down onto my chest. She was panting directly onto my neck, and I could feel with perfect clarity every molecule of air that left her lips. Some scattered across the hairs on the back of my neck. Some glided up and over my ear. Some pooled in a warm pile atop my collarbone. After a minute she started to kiss the top of my neck, just below my chin, just a couple of times. "How do you want me?"

"I'm good, we don't ha--"

"How do you want me?"

"From behind?"

She nodded, let herself rest her weight on my chest for one more moment, and then dismounted shakily. As she maneuvered into doggy she seemed to regain some energy. I rolled off the bed and stood up beside it. She arched her back. The sun had set at this point, but her body was glossy with sweat in what little light there was. I grabbed her hips and pulled her up into the right position--I don't think she anticipated that I'd be standing beside the bed, rather than kneeling, but that's where I do my best work and I needed to impress her. She seemed to really like me putting her in place like that.

"Are you ready?"

"Fuck me hard."

I did.

I kept my left hand on her hip and used my right to guide myself in. I went slow for the first two strokes, making sure she could take all of me comfortably. She could, and I started pounding. I'm really not normally a jackhammer guy, I swear, but between the challenge she issued me and the condom, it's just what happened. I grabbed her hips hard, fingers pressing into the bone, and watched her ass ripple and wave. And each stroke, for just a moment, I could see her asshole peeking out from between her gorgeous cheeks.

And it was working for her, too. She had started by wailing and gripping the bedsheets, which frankly took a second for me to register as agoodthing rather than bad. And as I could feel the beginning of an orgasm welling up in me, she reached a hand back and started furiously rubbing her clit. And it was good timing, too, because I was beginning to fall apart.

Male butterflies will, at the ends of their lives, begin to digest their own organs in an effort to have one final ejaculation, one last chance at making some butterfly babies. That's how I felt, maintaining that furious pace, determined to keep steady until we both came. My hips were aching, my muscles steamed with exertion, and my hands had started to shake just a little, when she started to cum. I don't know if it was the physical sensation of her convulsing around me or if it was just the knowledge that I didn't need to keep going, but I came, buckets, the orgasm pulsing through my entire aching body.

I collapsed on the bed, condom still dangling from my softening cock. She joined me, cuddled up, using my pec as a pillow, and we laid there for a minute, panting, in a daze.

*****

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I hadn't really intended to go straight from one long-term relationship into another, but I'm sure you can understand why I did. We went exclusive after a month, less as a deliberate choice and more as an acknowledgement that neither of us really had the desire to date anyone else anymore.

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Sarah moved back to town after Anne and I had been dating for about a year. Our friendship resumed swimmingly, but it was different. We didn't talk openly about sex anymore, partially because I was in a relationship and she had quickly become friends with Anne, partially because we were older, and partially because the world had changed. When we were in college, women would reblog porn on the same tumblr accounts that they posted selfies on. No one was doing that on reddit, or twitter, or any of the other sites that hadn't banned porn. But we still remembered everything we knew about eachother, every dirty little secret, every anecdote. I remember one day Anne had found an outfit that thigh-highs wouldn't look too ostentatiously slutty in, some sort of summery dress that needed them for warmth as fall began to creep into the air, and when Sarah saw us she gave me one of those "you dirty old man" looks.

She pretty quickly started dating David, a friend-of-a-friend who I can't really say I disliked but personally had little in common with. She could have done worse. They made eachother happy. They moved in together after about a year--Sarah's landlord wanted her to sign on for another full year, and David owned his condo, so it just made sense.