Another Kind of Gratitude
I woke on Thanksgiving Day, nestled between my two men, our legs entwined.
I like to believe our hearts, too.
I yawn and stretch, disentangle myself to climb out of the Big Bed to go to the bathroom. When I return, they are both still asleep, though perhaps not as heavily so. I insinuate myself between them once again, savoring the warmth emanating from their bodies, the cocoon of blankets, the smell of naked, sleepy flesh.
I curl into Ad’s back, spooning him. Reach over and down, between his legs, to find him warm and soft. He fits neatly into my hand.
Grows quickly out of it, stiffening as he rolls onto his back with a chuckle.
“Want something?” he says, quietly, so as not to wake W.
Silently I begin to stroke him, squeeze him, grow him.
He turns on his side and slides his hand into my panties. (I have a moment to wonder why the fuck am I wearing panties? before I let my mind go blank and then refill with images of his cock in my hand, his fingers slipping between my pussy lips.
He begins to finger fuck me, slowly, deliberately.
I feel W stir on my other side. Without disturbing Ad’s rhythm, I inch my backside into the curl of W’s body. His arm curves over me and I feel his cock stiffening against my rear. His hand closes around my breast, squeezing.
I rock back and forth between Ad’s fingers and W’s cock, keeping time.
Sighs. A moan.
A sharp intake of breath when W pinches my nipple hard. As he grasps it and pulls, I feel him pulling the orgasm from my body, pulling it like taffy, taffy that is sticky and sweet on Ad’s fingers as Ad curls them into me and draws them out, massaging the full, heavy spot that is my g-spot.
In and out.
Back and forth.
Up and up.
Until, finally, with one of my hands fisted around Ad’s cock and the other holding W’s hand against my breast, demanding he squeeze it harder, the orgasm bells out of me, a warm gush of heat and liquid and satisfaction.
As Ad’s fingers slide from me, W presses into me from behind, pushing his cock into my receptive body as Ad kneels up and puts his cock in my mouth. And now I am rocking to his and W’s rhythm, Ad’s cock in my mouth, W’s cock in my pussy.
In and out.
Back and forth.
Up and up…
But Ad needs to change position so it’s my turn to kneel before him, to lay him back and worship his cock, slaver it with my spit and love and hot mouth.
I love this position. I wish W would move behind me and fuck me again, but I’m being selfish, aren’t I? This is Ad’s time. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate while W was fucking me anyway (apparently my girlparts don’t multitask well.)
Up and down I bob on his cock. I’ve been stroking him for twenty or thirty minutes by now, and he’s ready to explode into my mouth in moments, ejaculating with a long sigh, his semen salty on my tongue.
I roll over to plaster myself against W’s side. I want fucking now. Hard, deep, W fucking.
He grabs my hair and holds into me though, keeping me there next to him as he starts to finger me. I have his cock in my hand now, and he is so hard, thrusting into my hand in time with the finger he shoves into my cunt. I ride his fingers, and then feel Ad’s hand on my hip. I push back against him, encouraging him. When he doesn’t do what I am begging for, I grab his hands and put them where I want them – on my breasts. I squeeze his hands around my tits, wanting him to squeeze, to pinch and pull and maul – that is the only word for it and it is the word in my head as I start to grind against W’s hand and his cock at once and I am living out my own fantasy.
Pulling, grasping, mauling hands all over me, in my hair, on my throat, in my pussy, on my breasts. Hands everywhere and me just a body in between.
I come again, biting against Ad’s hand, which has come up to cover my mouth.
And as I settle back into post-orgasmic sleep, I am filled with gratitude. Gratitude for these two amazing men in my life, for how they give of themselves, how they give to me, and what they give to me: the realization of my fantasies, my hopes, my dreams.