Bad Boy

I heard Tiffany leave her perch. She unstrapped her dildo while she watched us fuck and, totally naked, slipped into bed with us, placing herself at the head of the bed and positioning her crotch under Kyle face. She spread her legs open, revealing her pussy, all wet and puffy and ready for sex. "Eat," she ordered him. Kyle kept his neck strained inches above her hot pussy, his eyes shut. His belly and arms were quivering with the strain of holding himself above her pussy. He was drooling around the gag and shook his head.

"Eat!" She yelled, and she put her hand on the back of his head. But she didn't force his face down between her legs. She tangled her fingers in his hair, but she waited while I kept fucking, getting closer with each thrust to coming. My balls were weighty and hitting against his ass, like pounding on a door.

I felt him give up, releasing the tension in all of his muscles. I looked up to see him collapse over Tiffany's pussy, letting his head fall between her thighs. She had him where she wanted him, and locked her shapely legs around his head, trapping him with his nose against her clit. She ground her hips savagely against his face, tugging his hair and cussing at him. "Oh, you bad boy, bad boy." God I love that phrase.

I was close now, pumping desperately. Any second... Tiffany had put both hands on Kyle's head and started rolling her hips more rhythmically now. She was getting close, too. As a last thought, I reached around him and felt his dick hard in my hand from me having rubbed against his prostate. I couldn't help but chuckle to myself at his body's betrayal. Sometimes people don't even know what they want. I started jacking him, intent on having all three of us come on time. I pumped faster and deeper and Tiffany started moaning, desperately wanting it. It started boiling up in me, until I felt a release and slid into my orgasm, losing all other thought. Tiffany bucked her hips up and cried out and I felt it: Kyle cock's pulsing with jizz. We were all in this together. I rode it out as long as I could, unashamed of relishing in the feeling, all my pent-up emotions from high school, college completely gone. We were lovers now.

And when the feeling slowly dwindled down, both of us (really, all three of us) just lay there for a minute, our breathing still heavy and uneven, until it became more calm, and we lay in silence, holding each other, basking in the afterglow. The sudden nurturing feeling that springs up post-sex came to life, and I leaned forward to kiss his raw and welted ass again, not as feverishly as before. Sweeter this time. I felt Tiffany scoot her lovely ass down on the bed and she took Kyle in her arms. His face was still red and slathered with come and tears. There were tears standing in his tired puppy dog eyes. She smiled at him and undid the gag: "It's okay, babyy..." she said in a kind voice. He dropped his head onto her breasts, sobbing. She put her arms around him in comforting way while he cried, shaking and heaving uncontrollably. And when he was done, there was a moment of calm while he made short little gasps and she stroked his cheek. It looked really beautiful, actually. It looked like young love.

As he stopped sniffling, I got exhausted and leaned forward onto his back again. I almost wasn't expecting Tiffany to lean forward over Kyle and grab me under the chin and kiss me in a nice, almost romantic way. But it was a fitting end. She pulled her lips from mine, still holding my jaw. "The check is on the table," she whispered, "I love you." She gave me another devious little smile and winked at me. What a tease.

I almost didn't want to take my hands off of Kyle, but it was time: After all, I should only be here for one thing. I let my hands slip off his back and gave him a friendly pat on the ass, feeling a little proud seeing my cum dripping down his balls and his own cum smeared on the sheets. The smell of sex was everywhere in that room. What a mess to clean up, I thought. But I think Tiffany was up for it. I silently pulled my clothes back on without looking at anyone and left, still a little shaky and wobbly down the stairs. I picked up the check that was folded neatly on the coffee table and left the house as though nothing had ever happened. I was resolute driving home not to unfold the check until I was seated on my couch at home again. When I did, I cried.

Now I'm in a new city, and have things to be thankful for: It's a lot warmer here; I've got a good job; I've even got a little boyfriend. It feels good to fuck without worrying about what people outside the bedroom will think of you. I never talked to Jeff or Tiffany again, but I hope they're well. I still think about that night all the time, but like it happened to someone else, not me. I don't feel bad about anything I did, about fucking or about leaving. I still just live day by day, like I always have.