A Girl's First FFM Threesome

Annie from my French evening classes asked me to her house party. Secret agent themed, she said, and that I had to come as a character from a spy movie. I hadn't a clue. She said I would make a beautiful Bond Girl. It meant nothing to me. I'm more Bridget Jones than The Spy Who Loved Me. She said I should Google for ideas.

I was twenty-two and had just finished my degree. I'd decided to stay in Manchester instead of going back home to Devon. I reasoned I stood more of a chance of landing a job in the city.

On the morning of the party, I caught a tram into the city centre and visited Affleck's Palace in the hunt for something suitably retro. Three floors of Vintage clothing, fetish attire and sundry items of the outlandish and bizarre. It took me the best part of the morning to settle on a pale white, mini shift dress, and matching almost knee-high white boots.

That evening, having done all I could with myself, I still couldn't see myself as a Bond Girl. All that effort for this, I thought. I'd managed to coax my hair into something resembling a beehive, even though I wasn't really sure if any Bond Girls ever had one. But I was proud of how I'd done my eyes: big false lashes, heavily pencilled spider legs underneath, pale blue and slivers shades. I sat looking in the mirror only to see I'd transformed myself into one of the girl go-go-dancers from Austen Powers rather than a hot babe from Goldfinger like I'd intended.

I didn't know anyone at the party apart from Annie. Jane from class was supposed to be joining me later but she never turned up. I was considering my option, one being calling a cab and heading back to my flat, when I spotted a guy I really liked the look of.

Over six foot tall, he had a handsome swagger. His physique and features ticked all the right boxes for what I look for in a bloke. But what really appealed was the way he carried himself in the authentic clothes he had chosen to wear for Annie's secret agent party. Immaculate in tuxedo and black bow tie, his hair freshly clipped, all lent him an authentic 1960s chic - think Sean Connery in that first Bond film.

After a few drinks to give me courage, I made my approach. I just went straight up to him and said, "Hi, I'm Lauren. You've really pulled off the spy thing."

He smiled, said I looked sensational too. We talked and seemed to click, and when he said he was going out for a smoke I said I smoked too and could I join him. So I followed him to the garden, even though I didn't' smoke. That's how much I fancied this guy.

He talked about people at the party while I listened and pretend to smoke, sucking and exhaling while doing my best not to cough. I was trying too hard and knew it, going over the top with my come-to-bed looks and coy pouts. When I touched his arm and laughed at some daft quip of his, I knew I'd got it real bad for him.

And my efforts paid off. When he'd finished his fag he took me in his arms and kissed me. I dropped my half-smoked Benson and let his tongue move all around my mouth. God! It felt so good to be kissed by a man again. I'd almost forgotten how nice it was to be all wrapped up in muscular arms, savouring the clean shaved freshness of a man's cologne. During that first kiss, a mad surge of what I can only describe as pure lust welled up and rattled the lid of my brain. Every nerve ending in my body fizzed like sparklers. The decks of my mind swept clean of every thought. For those first moments while we kissed, I was rid of all those mental nuisances that go round and round all day long. It was a perfect moment.

And there was a lot of stuff that was a nuisance in my life just them: the main one being I'd split with my then live-in boyfriend, Kenny, just a month before so was missing my daily fix of cock. And now this guy's cock was blatantly promoting itself by pressing into my abdomen from inside his pants. That felt really good too - as did his palms on my buttocks pulling me hard against him.

I was really getting into that kiss when I heard a soft and husky female voice saying, "Tom - I hate to interrupt . . . but can I have the car keys. I need that book I brought for Annie. We left it on the back seat."

She spoke so matter of fact. Such a world weary voice. Her tone suggested a person for whom the world no longer held any surprises.

His reluctance as he released me from his arms was as obvious, as was the disappointment that probably soured my face. He reached into his pocket and retrieved his keys and handed them over. Even I - dumb blonde that I was back then - immediately realised she was his wife.

If he was Sean Connery she had to be Liz Taylor. Her nearly black hair was done in an authentically sixties-perm, full of body and curled on her shoulders. And in complete contrast to the weariness in her voice, her large, heavily lined eyes were clear and focused. She had a string of giant pearls around her neck that glistened like tiny moons from the light reflecting from the high garden lamp under which we stood.

At first it was if I was invisible. She just took the keys and made to walk away, had gone only three paces when she stopped abruptly, as if just remembering something, turned and looked back at me, scanning me up and down with those densely massacred, enormous brown eyes. Her glance sort of sparkled as she took me in. And I swear, the corner of her rather sumptuous tart-red lips raised a sly smile. This might be just my imagination with hindsight, but I did feel appraised, weighed up. It was like I was up on stage for the first time, being judged by the female panel members of Britain's Got Talent. In the seconds before she smartly turned and walked away, our eyes became a tangle of meaning

When she had gone, I said, "Your wife?" I stood looking into his eyes, waiting to see what he had to say for himself. He said nothing, just looked at me looking at him. He wasn't giving much away, so I prompted him. "Doesn't she mind you kissing other women, then?" .

"Never mind her," he said, his arms reaching out for my hips to draw me to him again.

I raised my arms, palms becoming buffers flat against his broad chest. "What if she comes back," I said. "I don't want a scene."

"Oh she definitely will come back, but there won't be a scene." he said.

"Why won't there?"

"She trusts me," he said, still smiling.

His smug grin was beginning to annoy me Why did he suddenly think I was amusing.

"How does that work, then?" I said.

"She trusts my judgement."

He was talking in riddles and I was losing my patience. His arms reached for me again - and again I had to stop him from kissing me - even though I really wanted him to kiss me. In fact, I wanted him to do more than just kiss me.

"You're not making sense," I said. I could hear the irritation in my own voice.

"Its simple: I read people."

"What, like Darren Brown?" I said, sarcasm slipping into my tone.

"Derren - Its Derren."

"Whatever - Is what you do like what Derren Brown does?" I said emphasising the Derren.

"If you like."

"Have I been read, then."

"Just the preface."

At that moment his wife came back, and it was awkward. Then looking at her he said, "Mandy, this is . . ."

I stood in silence, horrified that he had forgotten my name. Then after seconds that seem like minutes, I spat it out. "I did say earlier when I first came over to you. I'm Lauren."

"So you did. Mandy, this is Lauren. Lauren, meet Mandy, my wife. Oh, and I'm Tom."

"Yes, you did say - and I remembered."

Mandy held out her palm and we shook hands as if we were at a business meeting. While gripping my hand she moved close and kissed my cheek. When her lips actually pressed softly against my flesh she let them linger fractionally longer than really necessary, and when she pulled away the night air chilled the skin of my cheek where her saliva and lip-gloss moistened. Being a well brought up young lady, I returned her kiss with a clumsy peck. Up close her fragrance had the effect of making me want to kiss her again. That fragrance unsettled me, a scent so subtle, yet blatantly suggestive. Expensive, I imagined. It stayed with me as I moved away, clung to the air about me - it contaminated me, even. Then moving back, I said, "Lovely to meet you Mandy . . . about earlier . . . I didn't realise he was married. He doesn't' have a ring - and he never said . . ."

"- He never does, won't wear a ring either. Never has. Says he hates any kind of jewellery. doesn't even wear a watch." she said as she released my hand. "But Don't mind me, you can kiss him as much as you want, sweetheart. You looked as if you were enjoying yourself. I'm sure he was enjoying you too. You're exactly his type."

And then I knew what this was all about. I learned all about swingers from a previous boyfriend, way back when I was nineteen. Adam had shown me one of those sites where people advertise for like minded people. At that young age I'd thought it all a bit pathetic and told him no-way when he'd suggested we might go to a club or place an ad ourselves. What he really wanted was for us to bring another tall blonde - just like me - into our bed. He had this thing about twins. but I was more into the idea of a rugby forward with a bigger cock than his. But no, it had to be a tall, pretty blonde, he said.

It never happened.

Anyway, Mandy's suggestion that I carry on kissing her husband really appealed. There was something so extraordinarily sexy about this guy that meant I was willing to step off my hillock of morality and get as much of him as I could while I still could. Having begun to sample the goods, only to be so rudely interrupted, meant I was still stir-fry crazy for him. Everything about Tom shouted sex appeal: the way he was dressed and carried himself in the role he had assumed for the party enhanced his sharp-jawed handsomeness, complimented his muscularity. The entire package touched something inside me. I remember thinking he was so perfectly right for me.

And although I thought Mandy quite the vamp, she stirred feelings in me no other female had ever done before. She appeared the same age as her husband, was a tall brunette, her legs showing long and shapely in an elegant, just above the knees mid-sixties style party dress that clung to her body everywhere it was intended to, and others places not intended. Her body was on the cusp of becoming middle-aged, just blooming into that unique time of life's voluptuousness and its blessing of curves.

But it was Mandy and Tom being married that gave the whole moment its exquisite risqué undercurrent. So I went to him, went up on tiptoes and circled him with my arms and kissed him. And what can I say about kissing Tom. He made me feel so wanted, safe, protected. And while I kissed him, I thought of Mandy's eyes on my back. I felt I was being ever-so outrageous by kissing another woman's husband right in front of her eyes. And in a way I felt smug too. Mandy was gorgeous, yet here was her husband getting just as crazy for me as I already was for him. The evening had taken on a definite frisson of decadence that I could never, ever, have anticipated when I was sat in front of my mirror three hours before.

Her voice again, soft but insistent, "Tom. We really must go. I told Clare we would be back for midnight. Her dad will be picking her up at ten-past. It's nearly quarter to now."

But he ignored her. His palms clenched both my buttock cheeks, drawing me to him, the hardness of him against my belly.

Then her voce again, "If you like Lauren so much, darling, you may as well bring her home with you - but we do really have to go."

I continued kissing him but images of them bundling me into a sort of giant party-doggy-baggy, to enjoy later, hovered at the edge of my mind.

"You'd love to come home with us, wouldn't you, Lauren?" he eventually said.

At that moment I wanted him more than I had ever wanted any man. I looked at Mandy to see if this was not just some wild wind-up. Her eyes communicated what I suppose I by then already knew. And then in an instant I became captivated by that wild gleam in her unwavering gaze. Immediately I understood that she also wanted me, wanted me perhaps even more than her husband wanted to have me. And that knowledge excited me beyond words. In that moment I decided to take up their offer.

Yes, I would allow myself to go to bed with them both. At that time in my life I'd never been with a woman properly but had always told myself that if the opportunity came up I would go with the moment, let it flow, finally see if lesbian sex in reality matched up to how I imagined it would be - and I had imagined it a lot over the years. But I'd never even considered a threesome with a married couple. My earlier boyfriend had me thinking any threesome I took part in would involve me as part of the couple pampering another woman and him, whereas now it was me who was to the focus of attention from this inordinately attractive married couple

So I nodded my head and said, "I'd like to come home with you both - but will you run me back to my apartment in the morning?"

"You may not want to go home in the morning," he said.

Mandy drove and I was in the back with Tom. During the fifteen minute journey he and I kissed and kissed. Halfway to their house he asked me in a whisper to take my panties of - so he could feel my cunt, he said. I hitched up my dress and wriggled free of my thong, the gusset of which was already moist. He had great big hands and fingers that made me so wet that I think I stained upholstery.

I was besides myself with need when the car pulled to a halt on their gravel drive. Mandy said I was to wait in the car until Clare, the babysitter, left. When the coast was clear she would come for me. But Tom wanted to stay with me. And she said, If you must, but make sure you save some of her for me," she told him. Then another car pulled into the drive, headlight illuminating the front of their house, showing it to be ultra-modern, very grand and in its own grounds.

All the while his wife talked, Tom's hand remained between my legs. Now he ceased finger-fucking me and moved his head down between my legs to complete with his tongue what he'd begun with his hand. As he lapped at me, I absently stared through the side window of the car and watched a teenage girl quickly leave the house and get into the newly arrived vehicle. Mandy stood on the step and waved as the car drove away. A moment later Tom brought me to orgasm. The first of many that night.

I'd hardly recovered when the car door opened. "You can bring her inside now," Mandy said.

When I stepped out of the car into the cool midnight air I had not quite recovered from my orgasm. As I swung my legs out and stood up straight, the heel of my boot twisted in the gravel and I almost stumbled. Those boots were second-hand and fitted poorly, purchased just to complete my look. Mandy was quick to support me, her arm about my waist taking my weight and steadying me until I regained my balance.

"You okay?" she asked, looking me directly in the eyes, not with a sexual sparkle but with genuine concern. It was the look a medic might give a patient whose condition was in doubt.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I said. And I was.

Quickly she took my hand and led me towards the house. At the porch I turned to quickly look back over my shoulder for Tom. I saw him getting into the driving seat of the car and in an instant my belly did a backward roll. The thought of him going off and leaving me had the same effect telling a seven year old on Christmas Eve that Christmas Day was cancelled.

When the engine started up I stopped turned fully around, letting Mandy's hand slip from mine.

"Don't worry, Lauren. He's only settling his precious Merc down for the night. He has to garage it come rain or shine. After he's kissed her goodnight he'll be hurrying straight back to you - I promise" she said.

Reassured, I allowed her to take my hand again and lead me into their home. My impression on entering for the first time are vague now. I do remember it feeling warm, inviting. That first night I did not have time to take in my surrounding fully, more pressing things had my attention. But the next day I was free to wander as I pleased.

The rooms were all large and had high ceilings - unusual for a modern home. With aid of an architect friend, it had been built it to there own specifications. I suppose Tom and Mandy were what some my call nouveau Riche, their I.T. business's success having being meteoric.

And although both she and he were from lower middle-class backgrounds, they were an oddity; not only did they have new money they also had taste. Every item of furniture looked carefully chosen, the pictures on their walls aesthetic statements about who they aspired to be. No that's not quite it: their "things" told me who they had become. Mandy said to me the next day, nearly all the paintings hanging throughout the house, were originals. The ornaments and objet d'art were beyond my ability to judge at the time, but I surmised them unique. I won't bore you with the details - only to say everything appeared chosen with great consideration and positioned just-so. The interior of their entire home was put together with inordinate care and attention to detail.

And it was the same impeccable thoughtfulness that they showed me throughout that night. They showered my body with such sensuous attention, concerned themselves for that period of time solely with pleasing me. And it was when I experienced the pleasure they gave me so freely that I understood the pleasure they both experienced in that giving.

Once I was in the house alone with Mandy, I was not sure how I should behave. I could handle men, never been fazed by one, knew what made them tick - a need to touch my pussy, my butt and tits, mainly. But a woman! Where did I begin? to be alone with this sophisticated older woman - well, to be honest I was left floundering. What was the etiquette when you were brought back to a couples home for a threesome? Were she and I supposed to wait until Tom turned up, or would she want to begin without him. As a guest, was I to await her advances or should I test the water by making a foray of my own. I was desperate to hold her curvaceous body in my arms, feel her actuality pressed against me.

My nerves fizzing with apprehension, my personality reverted back to an earlier me, a still wet by the ears ingénue; the girl I had been when just out of sixth form colleague. I wished Tom would hurry back, I'd been on familiar ground with him. He'd made me feel that no matter what the night had in store he would be there to take care of me.

We were in the lounge and I must have been looking around when she came to me and stood so that we were face to face. She was as tall as me in her heels and we faced each other eye to eye. She smiled and reached out her hand and brushed aside a wayward strand of my hair, hooking it behind my ear.

"Did it take you long to get it like that?" she said. Her large eyes were bright and scrutinised me. It was if she were searching for something in my soul, trying to discern who I really was

"It was a bit of a tussle," I said.

She picked at strands, rearranging them. After my romp in the back seat of their car I was probably looking very dishevelled. I also became very aware that I was now minus my knickers. Without them, I Suddenly felt deliciously vulnerable.

She seemed thoughtful, said, "Do you mind? I'd like to see you hair down - you have such an abundance."

"I never know what to do with it. I'd though of getting it styled," I said.

"No!" She was emphatic. Then more softly, "You mustn't. It's what makes you unique." Already her finger were undoing all my painstaking work.

She slowly unwrapped my beehive and it quickly collapsed about my shoulders. Her fingers began straightening it, setting strands in place, then she stood back to admire the results.