TRIO - with Pink Extension Cord

Helen's awareness grew slowly, tenderly, working upwards through layer after layer of unconsciousness. It was odd how she could be aware of her own mind as it came alive again. Upwards, like the first blade from a buried grass-seed. What had triggered germination? Her own snoring. Weird - she seldom snored.

Her consciousness wriggled about, finally burst forth, just a tip, to explore the upper, outer world. Her body was hypersensitive. She could feel how she was tangled with the sheets in a most peculiar and un-Helen-like way. Eyes still closed, she didn't need to move or look to explore her surroundings.

She was alone in her bed – there were none of the microseisms that signal another person's presence. Likewise alone in the house – houses always tell careful listeners if there's anyone else within.

Wet against her cheek? Damp spot on the pillowcase - she must have been drooling, too. She checked her body, mentally inventoried all orifices. Each sent back similar signals. Soreness? No, not quite soreness, and certainly no damage. Just the affectionate tenderness that comes from unusual use, extra intensity, extra stretching. Hip-joints likewise, a shade of internal "Whew! What the hell was THAT?"

Her mind sorted slowly, delicately through a jumble of memories, as yet unable to sequence them properly, although each was crystal-clear on its own. Mutt and Jeff? They'd come fully prepared, fully qualified (and HOW!), just as advertised.

A pink extension cord – where the hell had they gotten such a thing?

Sandwiches – oh my god yes! A whole new favorite dish!

The routine with the enema-bag.

And foam, shaving foam – plus generous amounts of the world's slipperiest lube.

The incredible Q-tip exercise!

What in the name of everything holy had come over her, anyhow? Rhetorical question – she knew it wasn't really complicated. A concatenation of events and frustrations and needs. Not to mention roaring unrequited simple lust.

Two weeks ago, she'd gone to dinner with her best friend, Phyllis. Among their little women's circle, Phyllis was the fully-acknowledged erotic wild card, thirty-something, stunningly pretty, never married, and a sexual adventuress par excellence. It took only the slightest little inducement to bring out the story of her latest adventure, regardless of what and with whom – and the stories always had the ring of utter veracity.

The mostly-staid (but longing to be otherwise) circle was fascinated by her tales of groups of various compositions – all-nighters with strangers, older and younger men, men in twos or threes or even four. Not much interested in other women, but always willing to have them participate if and when things leaned that way.

Phyllis's clear preference and specialty was trios of two men plus herself – and she had regaled them for over a year with stories of Mutt and Jeff – their height difference was striking, and she always gave her partners nicknames, never had slipped by dropping a real name into her stories.

The Mutt-Jeff-Phyllis arrangement was almost a regular thing now – it had started at the party where she'd met the pair. Late in the evening, attracted to them both, a bit tipsy, and thoroughly horny, she'd asked straight out, "Which of you two attractive gentlemen is going to keep me from being lonely all night?"

They had answered simultaneously "Me!" and she'd suggested the trio.

Two-male trios, she said, were always a dicey thing because of the potential for alpha-male testosterone problems, with competition getting in the way of pleasure, but this one had worked perfectly. Mutt and Jeff were straight hetero, had never met one another before that night, but formed an instant bond between themselves and with her, around the intense sex they all seemed to require. "No holds, and no holes, barred!" Phyllis told her audience. In great and glorious and mouth-watering, envy-making detail.

At their private dinner, after Phyllis's tale of her latest episode with another new lover – apparently quite a good one - Helen was envious, horny, and pissed at herself for her own conservatism. She vented a little to Phyllis over dessert, mostly at herself – it had been months since she'd had a decent sex partner, five years since her divorce from a rotten lover. Her fortieth birthday was less than two weeks away... that atop the frustration and rather frank Phyllis-envy didn't help her mood a bit.

Phyllis listened, commiserated, then abruptly stood up and took out her cell-phone. "Sit!" she commanded. Phyllis walked around the table, took several snapshots of Helen.

"What are you doing?" Helen asked, but Phyllis just grinned happily to herself and refused to say.

As they left the restaurant, Phyllis said "Look. I have an idea. A possible birthday present. Can you be home for absolutely certain tomorrow night at eight, to take a phone call? Promise me!"

Helen agreed, pumped for more information, but Phyllis just said "I'll call you tomorrow at the office to get you ready. Trust me."

Phyllis's call came in at about 1030. "Darling..." she began, "... just listen for a few seconds. Don't say a thing until I ask you to. Okay?"

Intrigued, Helen agreed immediately.

"I called up Mutt and Jeff last night after dinner. I made a suggestion to them – about them and you." Intense sputtering from Helen, cut off immediately - "Now hear me out, dammit! No conniption fits allowed! I e-mailed them those pictures I took – they agree they'd absolutely LOVE to meet you. That's both m-e-e-t and m-e-a-t. As a birthday present from me to you.

So – they will be on a conference call with you tonight – at eight sharp – I'll set it all up. You have to promise me you'll seriously consider it, and that you three will have a completely candid conversation. I think you'll like them – I do NOT deal with dumb men, you should know that. Neither dumb nor insensitive nor unskilled. Now you can talk!"

Helen, to her own incredible surprise, found her pussy slippery-wet, and herself agreeing. To the phone call, at least. No promises beyond that, but she would take the call. She spent the rest of the day alternately berating herself for stupidity, and shivering with anticipation.

That evening, nervous wasn't the half of it. Two glasses of a favorite merlot helped, but not hugely. The phone rang at twenty seconds to eight. Goose-bumps galore – but she could always just hang up, no? Phyllis was on the line to do introductions. Helen managed to swallow her frog, and when conversation got started, Phyllis bowed out.

Much to Helen's relief, the two voices were pleasant, strongly male, well modulated, friendly. Warm. "Happy birthday to her!" – they even sang it. They men understood her nervousness, pulled her quickly, smoothly into a conversation that ranged widely, not just about sex. When the talk got around to the idea of them as a trio, they discussed the concept, not specifics. It defused anxiety, seemed almost an academic exercise.

They were clear about the necessary ground rules - the basic one was voluntariness, and the objective was entirely to give pleasure. Nothing else permitted. No pain, no mind-games other than erotic ones.

There would, of course, be a safety word – they liked "longitude" – say it once, and whatever was going on would stop immediately, because things could, they admitted, get pretty intense and one might conceivably want a break. Or one might get scared at something unexpectedly new – but they tried not to startle anyone.

Say the word twice, and the men would pack up and leave instantly, no argument or questions. No, they'd never had to use it. Likewise "No", they wouldn't discuss the activities of the prospective new trio - not with Phyllis or anyone else, although it was fine with the men if Phyllis chose to reveal all to her girl-circle. They didn't do that themselves – not honorable, and quite likely to bite back.

The men were, they made clear, team-mates, not partners – both were totally fixated heteros with not even peripheral homoerotic interests – not upset at the idea, just not either man's bag of tea. And not a trace of an STD or live sperm to be found – they, like Phyllis, were exquisitely careful in their partners, and both had old, well-tested vasectomies.

Finally, after thirty minutes of discussion, into a very relaxed momentary silence, came the question - should they get together?

She nibbled her lip, they waited politely. Finally, with her belly whirling, she invited them over that Friday. They should arrive at eight. And of course, she could just tell them NO at any time – and they'd leave. It was to be HER birthday present, after all. Other ground rules they suggested and she agreed – no alcohol or other chemicals were wanted or allowed, and they understood the need for down-and-alone time next morning so they would be gone in the very early AM, if all worked well. Which they were quite certain it would! And she was to meet them at the door wearing only her nicest robe – nothing else whatever.

Friday, at last! Belly in a knot, her brain yelling at her "Stupid!" while her pussy was screaming "Not stupid, just so damned SLOW!" She fiddled with lights, waiting. She was naked beneath her silk robe, her nipples at full stand, the fabric like a flame against them. Pits and legs freshly shaved, bush trimmed.

She worried what the men would be like – Phyllis had refused to provide any detailed description other than to say Helen would be pleased by the packages – worried what they would think of her. She was in good physical shape – great, actually – but forty already, good GOD!

Maybe that was a big part of the overall problem? "Duh?!" she told herself. Yep!

The door – three gentle knocks. She stood there for several long seconds, then steeled herself and opened it. Mutt and Jeff stepped in at her gesture, scanned her up and down gently, and she was infinitely relieved to see their eyes light up. Two very good looking men indeed – Phyllis had been right, in spades! Men in black – she almost giggled – black slippers, black cycling shorts, black muscle-tees. Muscle-tees usually didn't attract her in the least, but on this pair it worked.

Things were starting out well. Helen's appreciation of Phyllis ratcheted up a full notch as her prepared "instant rejection" speech, and her "I believe I've changed my mind" speech, went into the mental round-file.

Each carried a largish black sport-equipment bag over his shoulder. Mutt and Jeff indeed. Serious adult males of the species – in their primes. Mutt, the taller by far, stood perhaps 6'2 or 3, well muscled to just short of body-builder level – say, 215 pounds or so and very well distributed, blond, piercing dancing delightful blue eyes. Big hands, muscular and craggy, hands and wrists and forearms fit for a Michelangelo's attentions. And every bit of at least 45 years old, too! Jeff – smaller, dark-headed, a bit more slender, mustachioed. Black irises – dark to the point of invisible pupils. No fat, either, but more slender, less well-cut muscles, five nine-ish, maybe 160, runner's legs and butt. Maybe 35 or 37.

Two utterly beautiful men. Hers for the duration if she chose. "IF? What IF?" Who was she going to kid? Her belly was busy throttling whatever remained of her inhibitions.

They got body-language permission and kissed her – very differently from one another, equally sensuously. Both were very good – and to her, kissing had always been a most important indicator. Better and better. Her crotch gushed, the insides of her upper thighs wet now. When had that last happened?

Mutt asked gently, "Care to unwrap the packages, see if the merchandise is acceptable? Remember... It's your choice. You can always just say "NO" – that's part of the deal."

They stepped out of their slippers, stood there grinning at her. The bulges in their shorts were live things: the men hadn't been in the house for two minutes, and already she could see the changes – which certainly suggested that they were pleased with what they saw in her – how nice!

She took hold of herself mentally and, with a huge and unexpected jolt of pure bravado, said "A fine idea...", then leaned forward and tugged Jeff's shorts down to his knees. His cock sprang out at her, nicely curved with a tiny list to port, a goodly average for thick and long, but with the head covered entirely by a twisted foreskin, the first she'd seen in real life. In the five seconds he took to step clear of his shorts, his cock went from three quarters to fully erect and stood there bouncing gently with his pulse.

Jeff laughed at her startled reaction and said "Mutt's got a bigger tool, and a perpetual hardon – doesn't seem to go away even when he comes. Women have told me that isn't necessarily a bad thing. Me... I'm more of a nine-lives cat affair. Up and down a lot, but always another up when needed. We wouldn't want our lady getting bored with too much similarity!"

Grinning, Mutt helped her tug his own shorts down, stepped out of them. She almost gasped: he wasn't nearly hard yet although the inflation was progressing visibly – even so, he was by far the most well-endowed man she'd ever encountered. Even at half-stand. Size might not count for a lot, she thought, but it certainly could get your attention! No foreskin on this monster, she admired the big, pink helmet with its single eye. And both men were utterly clean-shaven, another new thing for her. When she got over being surprised – it took all of perhaps ten seconds or so - she decided she rather liked the appearance.

"Our turn?" asked Jeff quietly, reaching for her lapel, but stopping to wait. She swallowed hard, nodded. Together they slipped her robe off – nude, very 'Venus-on-the-half-shell', she stood and watched their reaction. One hundred percent positive. As for herself – her nipples and areolas were crinkled hard, her arms and belly flooded with goose-bumps. Her boobs were in the full-arousal "erection" mode, taut and solid and hyper-sensitive all over.

"Nice! Nice, nice, nice!" they murmured, together. "One genuinely beautiful woman you are, madam. Gorgeous!"

Suddenly she was shivering and melting simultaneously as they examined her – touching delicately, thoroughly, fingertips and mouths flooding her with delicious sensations as they explored the broad expanses and curves and hollows of her skin. Mutt, it turned out, was an armpit hog – Jeff concentrated on the backs of her legs and nape of her neck.

In thirty seconds her nipples were incandescent beggars. They got their turns, certainly, but the men took their time, slowly, slowly, until she was almost screaming for something more overtly and profoundly sexual – the soft-sensuality they had completely figured out!

Then Mutt said quietly "Time to move to the bedroom, Helen? You be guide, I'll handle the transportation." With utter ease he picked her up bodily (and her a solid 132 on five-foot-six!), cradled her in his arms, and followed her directions up the stairs. Jeff picked up both gear-bags in one hand and followed close behind, his free fingers never leaving her calves. She heard clearly the sound of Mutt's heart booming away inside his chest as she pressed herself against him, half embarrassed but totally enthralled.

Better and better!

Mutt deposited her on the bed. The men opened the gear-bags. "Goodies and supplies!" Jeff grinned at her. Out came two huge luxurious towels. "Protection for the linen... we're going to need it!" Then out came a flat silver dish – an antique barber's shaving salver! "Personal barbering service shortly – but first, perhaps M'Lady would like a little warm-up?"

She nodded, and Jeff spread her legs wide – she flushed red and shivered violently at the exposure, and even more with the first touches of his tongue on her sensitive areas. He was simply superb – he seemed to know before she did exactly what would best please her in the next second.

Mutt dedicated himself to her breasts and lips. Neither would let her do anything at all for himself – plenty of time for that shortly, they said. Two minutes later, and she was writhing and gasping in the most intense string of climaxes of her life. And realizing that these two hadn't been in the house a full quarter hour yet. Collectively they could not have exchanged two hundred words! And here they all were... Good GOD!

Mutt called a halt – and immediately, out came shaving foam, razor, clippers. They proposed to shave her pits, legs, and pussy. She accepted the idea despite her own fresh pit and leg shaves. She had never shaved her crotch, much less had two gorgeous men do it for her, but in for a nickel, in for a dime.

Lathered, shaved carefully and thoroughly, then wiped down with hot damp washcloths, and detail-inspected by tongue and lips. They declared her to have passed. Mutt's very first explorations with his mouth over her newly-shorn mons convinced her – there were scads of nerve endings down there, the good kind, that she'd never used before.

And of course there was more. From amongst the gear emerged a small bottle of what she recognized as the slipperiest lube known to womankind – her own favorite, in fact.

Then an enema bag. At that, she gasped, shook her head – but they understood, the head-shake expressed surprise and something like anticipation, not "NO!" She did manage "Why?"

Jeff whispered "Guess!" and smiled broadly.

Remembering Phyllis's descriptions of activities, Helen understood instantly and flamed red: the men laughed delightedly. Up on her chest and knees they put her, ridiculously, erotically exposed. Studied her admiringly for a few seconds. Then they flooded her bowels. It was an amazing sensation, being slowly filled up with warm liquid and having no control over the action – unctuous and sensuous in a most peculiar way. Two quarts. She felt about to burst when the bag was done: Mutt picked her up, carried her into the bathroom and set her on the porcelain throne.

The water gushed from her in a thunderous rush, settled to a stream, then spurts and dribbles. A second two-quart cycle – the water hotter by far – again filling her to just short of uncomfortable. Another seating, and a quick return to the bed.

Jeff knelt between her legs, mouth on her pussy and first one, then two fingers deep inside her butt, for several incredible minutes – while big blond Mutt continued his overall whole-body explorations with tongue and lips. The earlier visual hints of the men's anatomies had been correct, their self-descriptions had been free of braggadocio.

Mutt's hardon was most unusually large -especially in diameter- now that he was fully aroused. It occasionally bobbed near enough to her face so that she could give it a cursory lick in passing, but the big guy was in no hurry – thank God, she thought – oral games were fun, but she didn't think she could get enough of that splitter into her mouth to do it justice.

Later in the evening (not MUCH later!), she found out that her capacity was greater – significantly – than she'd known. One of many revelations that night. Mutt even complimented her, several times.

They had begun actual fucking, she remembered dimly, with a simple missionary, one-on-one, nothing particularly fancy, Jeff's smaller cock did the honors of first entry and warm-up. Thank heavens for starting small! Or, at least small-ER!? In any case, they alternated, gentlemanly turn-taking, for how long (tens of minutes? An hour?) and how many changes of penetrator she couldn't remember but it was a lot. When one man would withdraw for the changing of the guard, he always spent a couple of minutes with his mouth on her clit, "Just to be certain she was ready for the other guy..." The man recently relieved of fucking-duty for the moment always regaled the rest of her body with lavish attentions.