Sing, Little Bird

"Can you wait a little?" she asks. "I've got another treat for you, but it may take a while until Emma's up for it." You nod, having resigned yourself to being ranked second in importance only. And you don't mind, not really, because God, it's worth a lot to watch that quivering little mess of a girl you've just fucked into oblivion lying there, spent and happy in her lover's arms, that wonderful, marvellous arse still prominently on display. So you sit down at the foot of the bed, trying to ignore your pulsing cock as best you can, gently stroking the swell of Emma's arse.

"You're a rare one," you whisper, and Emma rocks with silent laughter. "A rare and beautiful bird, and I'm honoured to have got to have you, for a little while."

Time passes, bodies rearrange themselves, and Anne makes sure you're both plied with water - and a little whisky for you. Your cock remains as hard as ever but it's getting easier to ignore it, easier to watch the life come back into Emma's face as Anne strokes her hair. After half an hour or so Emma sits up, roots through a drawer in the bedside table and comes up with a hair tie. She pulls her fiery locks back into a ponytail, then taps Anne on the shoulder. Anne leans close and they have a whispered conversation - then Anne leans over to you and gently tugs the condom off your cock.

"No barriers for this bit," she says, and winks. Your stomach does that funny leaping thing again, and you watch the two of them closely for signs as to what awaits you now. Then Anne orders you on your feet again, but rather than kneeling on the bed, Emma sits down at the foot where you sat after your first orgasm, and those big brown eyes stare up at you expectantly.

"Can you guess what's going to happen?" Anne asks, the devious little smirk firmly in place.

You have a wild hope, surely, but you don't want to say in case it makes you sound greedy. So you shake your head.

Anne tuts. "I can read minds, remember? And I'm pretty sure I'm right about yours. So, let's try again. Can you guess what's going to happen?"

"She's going to suck me off?" you say, the upward inflection in your voice making you sound like a hopeful ten-year-old at Christmas.

"Almost right," says Anne, and as though on cue Emma opens her mouth wide. "You're going to fuck her little face.

"You mean..?"

"I do," says Anne. "She's going to keep that lovely mouth open and you're going to put your hands on the back of her head, like so, and you're going to make her gag. Are you up for that?"

You try to look dignified, but you know you can't suppress the look of astonished pleasure on your face. Anne laughs, and Emma smiles her little dimpled smile and your cock twitches in reply. Your hands on Emma's head are sweaty, and you try to dig your fingers into her hair but the ponytail is too tight, so you take hold of that instead.

"Is that allowed?" you ask, and Anne nods her consent.

"Right," you say, and you spread your legs a little wider, balancing your weight more evenly on your feet. "Are you ready?" you ask, and Emma, her pretty freckled face angled up at you, nods.

"Alright then. Here we go." And you hold her head steady as you push your cock into her mouth. Her lips close over you and you give a few short thrusts, testing the give of her mouth, relishing the hot wetness on your cock. Emma applies a gentle suction, just enough to keep a steady pressure, but does nothing else, waiting for you to push slowly into her, getting an inch or so beyond the head before hitting her uvula. Emma gags, the sound and feel of it sending shivers down your spine. Then you feel her throat relaxing and you push a little deeper, the head of your cock sliding past the blockage and down into her throat.

It's such a wonderful feeling, so different from the slickness of her cunt, or the tightness of her arse, that you wonder that so many brilliant things can be combined in one body. Then Emma gags again and the feeling on your cock is so riveting, so achingly sensual, that you keep her head still for a moment just to feel it again. Then you pull back and God damn if it isn't the most affecting thing you've ever seen, that alabaster face screwed up, those big brown eyes watering. There is something both fierce and vulnerable about the expression on her face, and you're content to enjoy it as you give her a moment to catch her breath. When she's composed herself she opens her mouth again, and you push back in. This time you hit the back of her throat immediately and she swallows, letting your cock glide down all the way until her nose is nuzzling your pubic hair. You thrust two, three, four times, her hair clutched safely in your hands, until she gags, and you let her go at once.

"God," you moan, as a thread of drool comes away, Emma's face flushed and drawn. "This is the hottest thing I've ever seen." Emma smiles, a little shakily. Anne reaches out a hand to wipe the saliva off her chin.

"You can go a little harder if you like," she says. "She can handle it."

"You sure?" you ask, wanting so much to fuck that little mouth but not wanting to end the evening on a low.

Emma nods emphatically, and opens her mouth by way of invitation. You curl your hand into her hair again and push your throbbing cock inside. This time when she's swallowed you down you thrust a little faster, and the speed seems to be making it easier for Emma, whose throat is hot and slick but remains relaxed. You manage a dozen thrusts before she gags, and as she does you thrust twice more, then pull out, stroking the back of her head with your free hand. Soon Emma opens up again, and as you thrust in she puts a hand on your arse, pulling you a little closer with each thrust, her nose pressing deep into your pubes. Then, quite out of the blue, Emma scrapes her teeth along your length as you pull out and the thrill of it makes your cock leap.

"Do that again," you tell her, and you thrust in deep again. One, two, three thrusts, each one hitting the back of her throat, then she gags and you slide out, feeling her teeth against your hypersensitive skin. Your heart is pounding now, and as you push into her mouth again you can feel the orgasm begin to build inside you. Three thrusts, four thrusts, then the delicious gagging feeling again and a moment's pause. Five thrusts, then a gag. Three thrusts. Eight thrusts and Emma's hand squeezing your arse and with a groan you shoot your hot, sticky load down her throat. Emma gags and gurgles but you keep her head steady, her face pressed firmly against your body, your cock spasming and spurting as her muscles contract around it. Then she pulls away vehemently and your cock slides out, a wash of saliva and semen coming out with it. Emma gasps for a moment, goughs, then she angles that sweet face up at you and smiles her dimpled smile. You ease yourself down onto the ground before her, your legs tangled. You reach out to wipe the slime off her face and Emma laughs, genuinely laughs, and she takes your hand in hers and presses its palm to her lips.

"Is that what you wanted, my sweet?" Anne asks, nuzzling Emma's hair. Emma nods, and rests her head against Anne's chest. Anne strokes her hair gently, calling her my love, my sweet, my darling little girl, and you sit and gaze at them, now utterly spent. Then Anne gets you more water, and you wipe yourself down with the towel she hands you, and after a little while you stand up on shaky legs.

"You weren't hoping for anything else, were you?" you ask. "Because I don't think I have it in me."

"No, we're fine," says Anne. "Thank you. You've been marvellous. How about you go and have a shower, and we'll chat in a bit." So you wander off into the bathroom, leaving the exhausted women to revel in each other's company.

When you get back, clean and dry but naked like the day you were born, Emma is sitting at the table, looking sleepy but content. Anne is busying herself in the kitchen.

"I'm making salad, if you're hungry," Anne says, and nods at the plate standing ready for you. You pull on most of your clothes and sit down, a soft, warm glow suffusing your body. Emma is wrapped up in a warm dressing gown, her hair brushed back, her hands in their long sleeves wrapped around a steaming mug of tea. She smiles up at you as you sit down, cheeks dimpled, and you smile back. It's a lazy sort of understanding, the connection formed by having shared something very intimate which has now ended. Anne soon joins you, carrying a yellow bowl and a big wooden spoon and fork with handles carved to look like elephants. She sits between you and begins doling salad onto three plates. A little cube of feta drops from the spoon and lands with a thump on the table. You reach out for it at the same time as Emma does and your hands brush together, an act somehow more intimate than anything you have shared so far.

"Sorry," you say, and you pull your hand back. Emma smiles (God, that smile) and pops the cube of cheese into her mouth.

"I don't mean to be rude," Anne says, her voice firm but gentle, "But after this we'd like you to leave. We'd prefer to spend the rest of the night alone. I'm sure you understand."

"Absolutely," you say, and nod to show you've definitely, absolutely understood. "No problem. I'm honoured to have spent so much time with you as it is." Then there's a silence, a long and comfortable one as you eat. You feel as though you're coming down from a hgh, your body adjusting to being on level ground again, and you imagine that Anne and Emma must be going through something similar. When the plates are clear you begin to stack them on auto-pilot, and carry them to the sink. On your way back you pick a sock off the ground, then Emma's black bra. You place the bra on the bed, stand balanced on one foot while you pull the sock on, then try unsuccessfully to pull your belt through the loops of your trousers. But Anne doesn't take pity on you now, and in the end you admit defeat and stuff it in your pocket.

"I don't remember where I left my coat," you say, but as you say it you spot it hanging on the back of a chair.

"I think that's it, then." You can feel yourself playing for time, not wanting to leave the magical place in which you've spent the last few hours. But you know it can't last, that already the mood is changing, and soon you'll be an intruder in someone else's house instead of the welcome guest as which you entered.

"Right," you say, and walk up to the table, hand outstretched. "Goodbye, then. Thanks for a lovely evening." Anne shakes your hand and smiles warmly. "Thank you for playing along," she says. "I hope you had a good time." God, have you ever. But now's not the time to gush.

"It was alright," you say, with a smirk. Then Emma has taken your hand in both of hers and is kissing it, lips pressed tight to your knuckles.

"Thanks," she whispers, and with that rule broken the evening is at an end. You let yourself out of the flat and walk down the dark, silent street, heading in the direction the taxi had driven in from. You'll walk until you find one, you decide. The fresh air will do you good. And before you round the corner you take a last look at the windows of Number Three, and though you're already too far away to be sure you'd swear you can see Emma's pale face looking back at you past the curtain.